#like i promise i was going to be normal about it

[your-greatest-queen]

counter suggestion: high school tv drama, but it's the teachers. Idk about y'all but nobody had more crazy shit going on in my high school than the teachers.

The teacher everyone thought was a lesbian in freshmen year but apparently had a husband divorced him in senior year because she was in fact a lesbian, she was just the last one to find out. The art teacher snuck a baby pig into her classroom and had her art students help raise it for weeks before she had to smuggle it back out. Same art teacher almost burned down one of her rooms and the school had to be closed for two days because the whole place smelled like a burnt tire. World's best drama teacher has a secret girlfriend who is very pregnant but if you asked him about it he would come up with an outrageous lie to cover up his extremely normal life. Three principals in four years and the third one came into his first day of school with a cast on because he stopped a guy from stealing his neighbours car by shoving his entire arm in the door before the guy could close it. The art teacher (yes, the same one) sprayed a stain on the floor with sanitizing spray and dropped the F bomb when it bleached the floor, then made me promise not to tell on her. Freshmen year math teacher introduced himself by telling us about a Robert Munsch book and then revealing that the book was about his sister and the baby illustrated throughout the book was him, and promised if anyone ever brought the book in he would cancel class to read and talk about it even if it were a major test day. Drama teacher (the one with a secret gf) has a dad who's a youth pastor and he got arrested for kissing a teen girl which severely fucked up his life as a teacher of teenagers also. Science teacher got a yellow light one day and thought he could speed through it but got slammed and ended up upside down in his truck, crawled out without a scratch, and 15 minutes later realized he should probably let his son know before he saw it on the news (he has three kids and a wife, unsure of why only the one son got to know). Same science teacher doubled as a religious studies teacher senior year and during a presentation where a Hamilton song was played the eco science teacher next door came over and cried while watching. English teacher so flamboyant and captivating that he doesn't even need weird events to be a major plot point in my high school journey or a tv show. Same English teacher decided to direct a stage performance of beauty and the beast and the previously mentioned eco science teacher played Mrs. Pots and apparently there was crazy show drama that they would not elaborate on.

And these are just things that I as an old student knew about! And this isn't even all of them! Add the extra flourish of creativity that comes with writing a fictional series and boom! A tv high school drama series! I mean what could go wrong? Riverdale lowered the bar so much that it's guaranteed to be a hit ✨

can we have tv dramas set in college please. fucking nothing happens in hs man. now im in college and my friend got chased by feral hogs a week ago in the woods and its like the 5th craziest thing to happen this week

[dannyriccsystem]

Hiii can we have No.3 and 50 for Lando? Thank youuu

I DON’T WANT TO LIE, I’VE BEEN RELYING ON YOU.

1K SPECIAL - LN4

Soft make out session + “I want your hands on me. You won’t break me, I promise.”

SUMMARY: Lando needs some help when it comes to touching you.

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

WARNINGS: Suggestive, fluff, slight comfort

FEATURING: Lando Norris x Reader

IT WAS A MINOR MISHAP. Not even something you thought twice about, but Lando’s been carrying it like a heavy weight on his shoulders. During an act of intimacy, your body had frightened him, bleeding upon penetration. You quickly explained it was a normal thing, but Lando politely excused himself and the night was over before it even started.

Your feelings weren’t hurt then, because you could understand being a little bit shaken, especially if you didn’t know that was something that happened from time to time. He was under the assumption he did something wrong— That he hurt you. So no, it didn’t make you feel bad, but the following days certainly did.

You could tell he was avoiding being too touchy with you again. It was a stark contrast in comparison to the way your relationship worked before. He used to always have his hands on you, desperate for your attention and praise. Now, he seemed distant, and it was really frustrating. It started to feel less like concern and more like disgust, and that wasn’t fair to you. You didn’t get to control things like that.

Your breaking point was during movie night. Every Tuesday, on his weeks off, you both stayed in to watch a movie of one of your’s choosing, alternating each week who got to pick. This week it was your decision. The lights were dimmed, the couch covered in blankets and pillows for extra comfort. You subconsciously threw your legs over his lap, not even thinking about it.

Normally he’d put one hand on your calf and rub slow circles into you. It was a comforting sensation, having him constantly and carefully caressing you. But tonight you felt him tense up and shift with discomfort, his hands lifting to rest on the back of the couch. He was acting like a goddamn virgin.

“Lando,” You snapped firmly as you pulled your legs back, sitting up on your knees. He jolted, making eye contact with you, his gaze uncertain. It wasn’t fair that he always looked so pretty, because you were meant to be scolding him when all you wanted to do was kiss his stupid face. You were deprived of his love. “What’s going on with you? Is this about the other night?”

He blinked slowly and you could practically see the gears turning in his head, looking to churn up some sort of excuse or dismissive answer. “What are you talking about?” Just like that, yep.

“You’ve clearly been avoiding me. Deny it all you want but there’s something different about you, and it’s making me feel shitty. You won’t touch me, you won’t kiss me, you barely hug me anymore.” You took a deep breath, needing some air after spouting all of that word vomit. “I just- Is it something I did?”

He softened, his hypothetical tail tucked between his legs. His hands were clasped over his lap while he gently twiddled his thumbs. “No,” He started with a huff. He broke apart his hold on himself, his right hand running through his hair while the left pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is causing this?”

“I’m just scared of hurting you,” He admitted quietly— Vulnerably. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, and your cold exterior melted away to harbor some sympathy. “I know it was natural, but I got to thinking about how rough I’ve been, and about how- how I could easily hurt you without meaning to, and that’s just…” He trailed off.

“Scary?” You finished for him. He looked at you, finally looked at you like he was actually listening, and he nodded. “It’s okay to be scared. You’re meant to trust me like I trust you.” You grabbed his calloused hand, smoothing it out with both of yours. He squeezed your palm. “But I know you’re not going to hurt me, and if you do, I know it’s not intentional. This was one little slip up— And, I mean, it wasn’t even really that.” You looked down at his hand in yours. “I don’t want things to stop because of that.”

Lando always felt like he wasn’t allowed to be weak around you. Around anyone, for that matter. He always had the media on his back, reminding him time and time again that he shouldn’t be so frail mentally. He needed to toughen up to have that champion mindset, but he couldn’t help the way his brain was constantly tearing itself apart.

But right now, it was a breakthrough moment. You were too sweet and too genuine, because the way you looked at him, like he hung the moon and the stars for you, made his heart thunder in his chest at a nearly concerning rate. Not even racing kicked up his adrenaline this fast.

“Then… Will you show me how?” His query was vague. You tilted your head and that prompted him to follow up, “Show me how to love you.”

You grinned, and it sent that sinking feeling in his chest packing. With that beautiful smile of yours, it was impossible for him not to mirror it. “Of course I will.” You pushed yourself up, climbing over onto his lap. He was still tense, and it was obvious, but you figured it would melt away as you went on.

You placed his hands on your own hips, firmly pressing them down to let him know you were fine. His fingers curled in slightly, hot palms pressed against your shirt. “Good,” You praised softly. You leaned in for a kiss, your lips connecting in a sensual peck. That’s how it began, a series of one peck after another, followed by noisy ‘smooches’.

But it started to develop further, where he’d have to pull back to gasp for air before diving back against your mouth for more. His hands had fallen back, and his actions were still extra tender. There was a barrier between you two, and it was obvious. Longer kisses didn’t equate to passion.

“Touch me, Lan,” You muttered against his plush lips whilst grabbing his wrists, almost aggressively. You placed his hands right on your ass, holding them there. “You’re not gonna hurt me— I’m not fragile.”

When you looked at him, you could tell he wanted to argue his insecurities again. So instead you just didn’t give him the opportunity to. You crashed into osculation again, releasing your hold on him. This time he kept his hands there, firmly gripping your backside.

“I love you,” he mumbled between kisses, replacing his air with words. He was smiling against you, the passion in his words evident.

You ran your fingers through his curls, gripping the soft locks to pull him further into you. He chuckled at your desperation, making your cheeks flush with warmth. Yes, this was what it should have been like. “I love you too,” You mused, shortly followed by, “I hope it stays that way forever.”

[wordsarelife]

—foolish one

pairing: theo nott x fem!reader

summary: it's your birthday, but theo forgot about it.. or did he?

warnings: very very little angst, mostly fluff

note: i absolutely hate this and beg you guys to not let this piece form your opinion about my writing lmaooo

“i told you he was an asshole.” enzo was laying on your bed, facing the ceiling.

you turned around to look at him. “come on,” you muttered, and enzo moved so he could hang his head over the edge and stare at you. you almost had to giggle at how red his face got.

“what am i supposed to say?”

“something that’ll make me feel better,” you suggested. “you’re my best friend, enzo.”

“fine,” he sighed, before he thought for a moment. “maybe theo had a good reason to forget your birthday. maybe someone obliviated him, or he hit his head and forgot all about your six-year friendship—or no, better, maybe he went out to fight voldemort to make sure nothing could come in the way of your special day.”

“enzo,” you sighed dramatically.

even though you hated to admit it, he was right. your hopes had been up all morning, excitement pooling in your chest while enzo and you walked to the great hall together. your excitement had evaporated into thin air when all your friends had been there—except for the one person you had most hoped to see.

your friends had, of course, congratulated you and promised to give their presents to you in the common room later, but theo hadn't shown up all morning, and despite their best tries, you had slipped into a sour mood at his forgetfulness and absence.

"let's just stop moping around, how about that, huh?" enzo suggested, and you rolled your eyes.

"i'm not moping around," you remarked. "i'm getting ready." as if to prove your words, you quickly grabbed the blush, applying it onto your cheeks.

"yeah, you were totally doing that this past hour," enzo nodded sarcastically. "i'm not saying that you shouldn't be disappointed about theo, i'm just saying that you have friends who actually remembered what day it was."

"yeah, i know, and you're right." you smudged the blush with your fingers until it looked even and mostly natural, before you stood up. "let's go back down and join the others."

enzo smiled and nodded, following you out of your room. to your surprise, the common room wasn't looking like it normally did. it was decorated with balloons and streamers, and a happy birthday banner was hanging between two tall columns.

it hadn't looked like that when you had come back from breakfast.

"happy birthday!" your friends and a few housemates chorused as you laughed in surprise.

theo stepped through the crowd of people, a wrapped present in his hand.

you turned around to look at enzo, who just shrugged. "sorry," he smiled, and you shook your head, realizing that theo's absence had been part of a bigger plan.

"you didn't forget?" you asked unnecessarily, your eyes looking up at him with hope.

"of course i didn't," theo shook his head as if he couldn't fathom how you would ever think he could forget. "i was just busy planning this party, so i couldn't congratulate you sooner."

you shook your head, tears brimming at your eyes as you again took in the room around you. "you did all that for me?"

"of course," theo chuckled. he opened his mouth, ready to give you your present, but you interrupted him, opening your arms and throwing them around his body in a hug.

he tried again when you loosened the hug, but was interrupted by your friends, who all walked forward, ready to congratulate you. you looked around one of your friends in front of you, trying to gather a look at theo. he smiled at you, sending a wink in your direction, before he stepped back, letting the small box sink into his pocket, saving it for later.

you didn't see much of him for the rest of the party. someone always demanded your attention, but you saw him look at you a few times, maybe even debating coming over and joining the conversation.

you knew theo hated birthday parties, especially ones that involved a lot of talking. but he had still organized this for you, surprising you with something you loved, because in that departure, theo and you were polar opposites.

the party began to wind down, and though you had tried your best to enjoy it, you couldn’t help but feel the growing distance between you and theo. but you were determined not to let it ruin your night. there would be time later. you'd get your moment, your chance to talk to him.

and then, as if on cue, theo appeared. he was standing in the doorway, watching you, his expression unreadable. you stood up straighter, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear as you moved toward him.

"hey," you greeted softly, your voice almost unsure. it had been a long evening, and though the disappointment from earlier still lingered, you didn’t want it to define this moment. you wanted this to be your chance to reconnect.

theo’s eyes softened when he saw you, but there was something else there—a quiet sadness, something he hadn’t allowed to surface all night. he gave you a small, almost apologetic smile. "hey. i, uh... i wanted to find you earlier, but something always got in the middle."

"no, yeah, i get it," you smiled. "it's fine."

"i still need to give you your present." his expression relaxed a bit as he found something he could hold onto. his hand went into his pocket and took out the small black box, holding it out in front of you.

you looked at it for a few seconds before you softly took it, his and your fingers meeting for a fleeting moment.

the box snapped open with a low thud, revealing a dark red cushion and a beautiful golden bracelet laying on top of it. it was decorated with little diamonds, which seemed to be a bit too real.

"theo..." your breath hitched, unable to come up with real words. "this must've cost a fortune."

theo ignored your words. "do you like it?" he asked instead. "you mentioned something about a diamond bracelet your grandma always wore, which got lost when she died. this is the closest i could find that fit your description."

"you remember that?" you wondered, looking up with tears forming in your eyes. "that was years ago."

"i wanted it to be as close as possible to the real one," theo shrugged. "this one came out at the beginning of the year."

"you're joking," you shook your head, still not able to really understand what was happening.

"you said you loved that bracelet," he continued to explain. "and i remember how sad you were when it got lost. i wanted you to have something to remember your grandma by."

"theo..." you said once more. "this is too much."

"no," he shook his head with a soft smile. "it's the least i could do for you."

you looked up again at his words, your eyes crashing into his. the sincerity in them almost made you stumble. you had waited years for him. years in which you had begged that he would finally say the words.

but all this time, he had clearly shown you what he felt, with you being simply too oblivious to realize it.

"do you want me to help you put it on?" theo asked, and you nodded, holding your arm out in front of him.

theo's fingers were soft as they worked around your wrist, the golden bracelet bringing a sudden cold to your heated skin.

"can you do something else for me?" you asked without thinking.

theo didn't even hesitate. "of course, anything."

you took a small breath, the moment feeling like it stretched forever in your chest. "kiss me, theo." your voice was almost a whisper, as if you didn't really want him to hear the words escaping your lips.

the stunned surprise on his face was enough to make your stomach drop—just for a second, you thought you might have ruined everything. that this might be too much, too sudden. but then, just as quickly, the surprise vanished, replaced by something deeper, more certain. his expression softened, his gaze lingering on yours for a beat longer, and in that moment, you knew. he wasn’t pulling away.

your eyes fluttered closed, and before you could take another breath, his lips were on yours. it was gentle at first, as though he was still testing the waters, but then, it deepened—slow and warm, like everything else that had felt uncertain between you two was melting away.

his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, and you couldn't help but press closer, feeling the comfort of his presence, the certainty in his touch.

down there in the dark common room, theodore nott's lips were all you felt and all you wanted to feel for the rest of your life.

[7-wonders]

Seeing Ghosts

Dr. Jack Abbot x psychiatrist!reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: A case hits too close to home for you. Jack wants you to know you're not alone.

Word count: 1.9k

A note from the author: "I'm just going to write a little blurb," I say to myself. "Fucking liar!" my laptop yells at me.

I don't even know what I'm doing with this but I'm watching The Pitt and cannot get this old man out of my head! If you're reading this, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Content warning: Mentions of suicidal thoughts

You’re on night rotations for the first time in years, taking over for Dr. Gibbons who’s out on paternity leave. Night shift has been kind to you with a fairly easy workload as your body gets adjusted to a completely opposite sleep-wake schedule, but tonight, you’re called down to the ER for a 5150. 20 y/o male, brought to the ER after his roommate found him with cuts to his wrists. He's crying as his wrists are tended to, so sure that some unseen entity is on the phone with Pitt's admissions office right now to get his scholarships revoked.

You recognize him, this young overachiever who has the weight of the world on his shoulders for no real reason other than that he feels it will all collapse if he's not the one to hold it up. Not because you've met him before. You recognize him because, at one point in time, he was you.

One of your favorite parts about your job is getting to truly connect with your patients, and you feel that one of the best ways to do that is by meeting them at their level. Sitting next to them, giving them your first name and insisting they call you by that, and, if they allow for it, holding their hands. You catch a fair amount of shit for it from other doctors (mainly those for whom psychiatry isn't their specialty), but there's a reason why your patient satisfaction scores are so high. You know what you're doing, and you know how to accomplish a positive outcome, so when Shaun Gold takes your outstretched hand, you know you've got an in.

“I understand, that you feel like you’re alone in how you’re feeling right now. But can I tell you a secret?" He nods, and you tighten your grip on his hand. "You're not alone. So many people have felt the exact same way. I have felt the exact same way."

"You have?" Shaun's face opens up at this revelation, seeing in front of him a successful (-ish) doctor who's also battled the lowest of the lows.

"Yep. And I'm not here to tell you that I never feel the way I did then anymore, because I would be lying to you. But I have the right skills now to help me combat those feelings. Therapy, and coping tools, and medication. That's what I'm trying to do for you here. Give you the proper skills so that you can be the best possible version of yourself. And maybe one day, you'll be in my position, helping to give hope to somebody who needs it. So?" You squeeze his hand, smiling when he squeezes back. "Can we help you?"

Shaun agrees, and you get him safely transferred up to your ward with a schedule laid out and a promise that you'll be back in an hour. A favorable outcome, which is all that one can ask for in this career. But it doesn't change the heaviness in your chest, which continues to press down on you even after you're back down in the ER to discuss potential care plans with Ellis. Throwing yourself back into work is normally your trick to get your mind off of a tough case—it's not the healthiest coping mechanism, but mental health is nothing if not a balancing act—and you're left searching for relief. Where's a physician to go when everything feels a little too...much? Your fellow dayshifter clued you in on just the place.

The roof of PTMC is quiet at this time of night, no incoming or outgoing medical flights interrupting your stolen moment of peace. Almost immediately, you can see why Robby finds so much comfort in being up here. Leaning against the railing, having the cool breeze on your face and watching cars crawl through the streets of Pittsburgh like ants in an ant farm...it may not comfort you, exactly, but it does help to calm you down enough that you can focus on the things you would tell a patient in your position to do: deep breathing and grounding.

From behind you comes the sound of the rooftop door opening and closing and your slow exhale turns into a harsh sigh, assuming that it's some medical student coming to find you about a drunk experiencing hallucinations. Do people not remember how to use a pager anymore?

"Fancy seeing you up here." You'd be able to pick Jack Abbot's voice out of a crowd of hundreds, and it's no different now when he's standing behind you. Your shoulders, which you hadn't realized tensed up at the threat of being pulled back to work before you're ready, loosen up almost immediately.

It was naive of you to think that Jack wouldn't have picked up on anything out of the ordinary in any of the doctors on the clock tonight. He and Robby are two of the best ER attendings in the state for many reasons, but the way that they look out for those on their teams is one of them. Ellis probably snitched, you think, before realizing that you're not giving Jack nearly enough credit for his intuitiveness.

"I've heard so much about this 'trick' from Robby, figured now was the perfect time to try it out. Sorry to steal your hiding spot," you call out, keeping your eyes focused on the lights of PNC Park in the distance.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're alright, because god knows I would hate if someone came up here, interrupted my moment of peace, and asked the same." You can't help the smile that appears on your face. "But I am...here. Y'know, just in case you feel like talking."

You recognize this language, and it makes you chuckle. "Who's the psychiatrist here?"

"Not me, thankfully."

"Saw a ghost downstairs," you supply, still staring determinedly ahead. "I'm pretty good at compartmentalizing, at separating my work life from my personal life. But every so often, a certain case comes in that just...hits too close to home."

"I completely understand."

What Jack doesn't tell you is that, the moment you saw your ghost in that student, he saw his own ghost in you. He often hears negative feedback from those in the ivory tower about how he could stand to be a little more caring to, well, everybody. Though Robby hosts some of the worst patient reviews, he has more than a few of his own.

But who the hospital administration hears from is the bad seeds. Drunk idiots, antivaxxer mothers, bigots who think they can get away with snide comments to members of the staff—the types of people for whom complaining is in their blood. They're more than happy to fill out the survey provided to them with their discharge instructions, flaming everything and everything about the hospital—but especially about Dr. Abbot, who has been called anything from "gruff and unapproachable" to "a raging asshole."

He doesn't do this for them, though. He does it for the people that can actually benefit from his help, those who likely won't fill out a survey. The young parent frantically making sure that every test and procedure for their sick child is covered by Medicaid before consenting. The unhoused man being treated on his fingers for frostbite (and who will find a warm, sturdy pair of gloves tucked with his discharge paperwork).

The veteran fresh off a tour of duty and having her first real bout of PTSD.

You found yourself caught off guard by how close you felt to this case, and in that moment, he saw himself in you.

"I've been that student before—still am, sometimes," you admit quietly, knowing Jack will still hear it. "I was always too scared of what would happen to me if people found out I was feeling this way. I was sure that I'd be judged by everyone, but especially by doctors. I had no reason to feel that way, of course, but I didn't know any better at the time. I think that's why this case got to me; I needed him to hear me, to know for certain that he wasn't alone in his feelings and that he had friends in those who would be taking care of him."

Jack's silent, but you know that's not a bad thing. When he finally speaks, his voice is closer than it was when he first joined you on the roof. "I think that's what distinguishes good doctors from great doctors. Good doctors study hard, perform quality work, and genuinely care for their patients. But the great doctors are those who allow their experiences to fuel them. Who go through pain, or heartbreak, or grief, and use those feelings to guide their work and how they treat those that come under their care. And you, my friend, are a damn great doctor."

"Thanks, Jack." You don't say what you want to, which is that he's describing himself, too. The man's trying to teach a lesson, after all, and you've seen his disdain when his lessons have been hijacked before.

"Got any plans after work?" he asks.

"Besides still trying to get used to working nights?"

He chuckles. "Can't help you there. But if you're not feeling like the walking dead come seven, I know a great diner in the area. We can share some more ghost stories, maybe. Only condition is that you can't divulge the location after we go, no matter how much you may want to sing its praises. I can't go having my favorite breakfast spot overrun by interns and residents, after all."

It's a good thing that you're still facing away from Jack, because you wouldn't be able to school your face to some neutral expression fast enough. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't carried a bit of a torch for Jack for a while—the kind of crush that's easy to sustain when you work opposite shifts and your interactions are in stolen five-minute interactions before your shift ends and his begins. If this were day shift, you know Dana would be teasing you endlessly and going on about the betting pool that's allegedly been steadily gaining money since you volunteered to temporarily move to nights.

("Garcia has twenty on you both being too chicken to make a move before Gibbons returns from paternity leave," Dana whispered to you last week when she was supposed to be giving you a status update on the Kraken before clocking out for the night. "Don't give her a win."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you claimed, cheeks burning as you focused on reading from the tablet in your hands.)

"Let me guess, the VFW?" you tease.

"Nah, their pancakes suck."

On your next exhale, when the heaviness in your chest seems to have finally abated, you turn around to face Jack. He's closer than you thought he would be, a couple of feet away at most. Close enough that you can see the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. "Alright, we can go to your super secret breakfast spot. But I'm expecting world-class waffles, deal?"

"Deal."

When Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders in a loose hug, he doesn't put it down again until right before the elevator doors open on the ER. You don't mind in the slightest.

[worrywrite]

Haven't read all of these but:

+Frankenstein: there is a difference between "pretty" and "sublime". In fact sublime is frequently misunderstood as a synonym for perfect. The monster is sublime and uncanny. Beautiful, perhaps. But a monster nonetheless.

+The Great Gatsby: it isn't quite a tragedy. Not quite a romance. When people ask "why didn't the character just do x" they miss the point that literature is not beholden to Occam's razor. Often the point of a story is the contrivance of it, the story where the character didn't immediately call and tell their friend the thing they would have saved their life or the blackmail victim that didn't immediately go to the police or double check to make sure their blackmailer wasn't bluffing. The story is the story and it happens the way it happens. If you are bothered by it, that means it's working. So, why didn't Gatsby just move on? Because the rest of us would, and Gatsby wasn't like the rest of us. His unhealthy attachments and motivations that led to his success were also poisonous to him. He thought he was a better kind of person, capable of it all. And he might have been right. But he was also a broken child.

+ Romeo and Juliet: in a sense, yes, actually. But also, no. Romeo and Juliet is a story about how we often fail to escape the circumstances of our birth. Our name, our family, what the world designed us to be. Much is decided for us, much of the world is beyond our control, and we had no choice to be born into it. And, in our darkest moments, it seems the only thing we can really choose for ourselves is death.

+Of Mice and Men: Again, when a book bothers you, that means it's working. It's about marginalized people, about "the other." And it's from their perspective. It's supposed to haunt you. It's a tragedy. The tragedy of the American dream for everyone that isn't "normal" and how it still tempts with the promise that it might make you normal in spite of yourself. The book isn't ableist, America is.

+Lord of the flies: I think we've all covered this one. There's a big post that circulates about it every now and then. It's about the latent trauma of war in the civilian population.

+Orpheus and Eurydice: again. If a book bothers you, that means it's working. Maybe you might have saved Eurydice. But Orpheus didn't. And it isn't about, as many Greek myths of the gods are, following instructions. The gods are cruel and fickle, and they pull people apart a the seams whether they are portrayed as such or not. The rules given to Orpheus are meant to torment him, to test his faith. He might have loved Eurydice enough to come to the underworld to visit her, but he wasn't sure she loved him the same. This is the point. You can never really be sure of another person's feelings.

“the monster is supposed to be good-looking” “why didn’t gatsby just move on” “romeo and juliet is about two teenagers being stupid” “of mice and men is ableist” “wuthering heights romanticizes incest” “lord of the flies is about the innate evil in human nature” “holden caulfield is a whiny brat” “if i was orpheus i wouldn’t have turned around”

[grayandthyme]

my ground gives out beneath you | oneshot

masterlist

pairing: tommy miller x f!reader

synop: While gardening, you make the wrong move. Slipping through a door you had no right to be near in the first place. Tommy is mad. Really mad. He can't lose anyone else. Especially not you.

warnings/tags: fluff, slight angst, sexual suggestions, showering together, implied sex, use of swearing, mentions/depictions of violence, self-deprication. no use of y/n. reader is lowkey kinda silly for going outside but oh well.. gardener!reader.

a/n: the miller boys and getting angry about you almost getting hurt. typical. also I loooove writing dialogue for tommy... emotional sassy man.. wanna lick that mustache pls

w/c 4.6k (super short, kind of a drabble)

You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, careful not to smear more dirt across your face—not that it mattered. You were already covered in the stuff: jeans caked to the knee, boots sunk half an inch in soil. Your fingers dug into the earth, turning old till with practiced motions, pressing it down again like it was muscle memory.

Jackson had its charm. Quiet. Steady. Safe enough that you’d stopped flinching at every shadow. And somehow, you’d found a purpose here. Strange little corner of peace in a world long laid to hell. Resident gardener. Crop overseer. The one who brought a pop of color to porches, or laid flowers at graves no one else could visit.

It wasn’t just a job. It was something to do. A way to keep your hands busy. A way to keep moving forward. You planted things. Grew things. Helped life come back in the smallest ways.

Then you went home. Washed the dirt from your skin. Letting the man you love gently scrub the rest from your back. Sat close enough to him that neither of you have to speak.

For the end of the world it was good. Sometimes, too good. Some days it felt almost normal.

But today wasn't one of those days.

Your eyes skimmed the seed packets laid out in rows—carefully labeled, sorted. One bag near-empty, light in your hand: tomato seeds, your favorite project of the season. You drummed your fingers along the edge of the garden box and stood, stretching the ache out of your spine.

"I'm gonna go grab the rest of the bags—you guys good in here?" you called over your shoulder.

A chorus of “Yes ma’am!” and “Thank you!” followed you out, and you slipped through the wooden corridor of the greenhouse.

Outside, the sun had started its descent behind the mountains. Jackson glowed in that late golden hour—the kind of light that made it feel like nothing bad had ever happened here. The smell of roasted meat from the Tipsy Bison floated on the breeze, kids screamed with laughter at the wooden playground, horses clopped along the gravel paths with saddlebags full of supplies.

You weaved through the garden plots—mounds of soil, rows of orange tree saplings, rusted shovels leaning like old men against fence posts. You passed rows of sprouting herbs and markers scribbled with names that felt like promises. Toward the farthest edge of the land, just before the great wall of Jackson rose up like a fortress, you spotted the stash.

Stacks of seed bags. Five feet high, months of scavenging and trading packed into burlap and plastic. A quiet kind of accomplishment.

You sifted through the bags, fingers brushing over worn burlap, each one so familiar that you could almost name the seed inside by scent alone—mint, coriander, marigold. It was second nature by now. Kind of pathetic, maybe.

Blowing out a short breath through your nose, eyes flicking across the row. No tomato seeds in sight. That same low-grade frustration began to simmer, a small, annoyed huff escaping you. Maybe hangry.

"The hell…" you muttered, dirt-smudged fingers raking through your hair, tugging strands away from your face. Definitely hangry.

That’s when you saw them.

Just outside the gate. A few bags—stacked a bit haphazardly—barely ten feet away, resting against the outer fence. You could practically touch them. Tomato seeds among them, you were sure of it.

A metal door stood between you and them. Heavy, rusted, barred from the inside.

It’s not like anyone’s out there, you told yourself. The walls were manned. Watched. This spot was under a watchtower, practically inside the town. It wasn’t like you were heading out into the goddamn wasteland. It was… what? Two minutes outside the line?

You didn’t want to radio someone to fetch it for you. That felt worse. Weak. Like asking meant you weren’t capable. That you were soft. Cowardly.

Hell, Tommy had gotten you into Jackson in the first place. Pulled strings. Gotten people to vouch. And ever since, it felt like you owed something. Like every seed you planted was penance for a favor you didn’t know how to repay.

Your hands were already moving before you could talk yourself out of it. You unlatched the thick metal bar with a quiet grunt and slipped the door open just wide enough to slip through. The hinges creaked like they hadn’t been used in weeks. Still, you stepped through.

The air outside was different. Feral. Thick with the smell of pine and iron. Just past the threshold, nature had taken over—overgrown grass curled around your boots, vines crept up the base of the watchtower, and fallen branches tangled in forgotten fencing. You’d said it before: this would be prime land for garden expansion. You’d even told Tommy. But no one ever followed up.

You navigated through the dirt and gravel with careful footing, the uneven earth crunching beneath your boots. Kneeling by the stack, you moved fast—hands brushing over the coarse burlap, the scent of earth and dried seed rising up to meet you.

"Gotcha," you muttered, fingers closing around the tomato seed bag and tugging it free from the pile. It was heavier than you remembered—forty, maybe forty-five pounds—but you managed to hike it against your hip, adjusting for balance.

The weight pressed into your side as you made your way back, sidestepping tangled roots and patches of wild grass. You moved slow, cautious, but confident. The door was just ahead, right where you left it. Still cracked open. Still safe.

See? Easy. No problem. You worried for nothing.

A snap. Not from beneath you. From the trees. Somewhere off to the right.

The seed bag dug into your side as you slowly turned your head. Not fast—fast would make noise. Fast would mean panic. And panic meant death.

You scanned the trees. The underbrush. The shadows stretching longer now that the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon.

You shifted your grip on the bag, inching one foot back toward the open door. Then it screamed.

That god-awful, bone-splitting screech—somewhere between a person and a demon—ripped through the air. From the treeline, it lunged.

Runner.

No time. You dropped the bag, stumbling backward as the infected barreled toward you, all limbs and rage, its mouth gaping open with the promise of ruin. Its hands stretched, fingers curled like claws.

Its arms missed you by inches, but its momentum dragged you both down in a vicious spiral—crashing through the underbrush. You tumbled, slamming through dirt and dead branches, pain flaring in your back and ribs. The runner snapped its jaws in blind rage, its limbs clawing at the earth beside you but never quite finding skin.

You slammed against the base of a tree, disoriented, vision split by branches. You kicked and swung out, again and again, keeping the thing’s flailing body at bay.

BANG.

The shot split the air. The runner seized, neck jerking. It dropped. Silent.

Your breath caught in your throat as you lay there, heart thundering. Then the sound of boots barreled down the hill—furious boots.

Tommy’s hands were on you before the world came back into focus. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” he snapped, grabbing you by your shoulders, shaking once—not rough, just enough to remind you you were alive.

“No bite,” you gasped. “Didn’t touch me, I swear—”

“I don’t give a shit what it touched. You shouldn’t’ve been out here alone.” His voice cracked halfway through, like it betrayed him. His jaw clenched. “You know better. You know better.”

You blinked at him, eyes wide. His were burning.

“I almost put a bullet through it too late,” he continued, quieter now, but heavier. “You realize what that would’ve done to me? What it would’ve meant if I saw that thing sink its teeth into you?”

You stayed silent. There was nothing to say.

Tommy looked away, like even meeting your eyes hurt. He ran a hand down his face and muttered, “Jesus… You’re not just some fuckin' girl. You’re part of me now. And I ain’t got the kind of heart left to bury another person I love.”

He hauled you up—not gently—and slung your arm over his shoulder. His grip was tight. Protective.

“You want tomato seeds?” he growled, voice dark and cracked with anger. “You ask. I’ll bring the whole damn field if it keeps you behind the gate. But you don’t get to pull stunts like this."

"Not now. Not with me.”

You nodded, throat tight. The weight of what almost happened still ringing in your bones.

As he guided you back toward the wall, you could feel it in the tension of his body—he wasn’t just mad. He was terrified.

. . .

You’d misread him.

He wasn’t just upset—he was seething. Quiet, tight-lipped fury. The kind that didn’t need to be shouted to make your chest ache. The walk back to town was heavy with it. No words. No looks. Just the clamp of his hand on the back of your jacket, guiding you forward like a soldier escorting someone who’d stepped out of line.

You hadn’t even gotten to finish your shift. No chance to wave off the other gardeners. The stares were the worst—dozens of eyes trailing after you, low whispers cutting the air. Concern. Pity. Fear. You weren’t the survivor today. You were the reckless one, the fragile one, the woman who nearly didn’t come back.

Tommy’s grip never loosened. Not once. Like if he did, you’d vanish into the ground or go running back out again.

By the time you reached the house, your heart was pounding with the quiet shame of it all.

He finally spoke, voice flat and firm, the words razor-sharp in their simplicity.

“Go get changed.”

“We’ll talk later.”

And then he disappeared—into the hallway, into the silence, into himself. You stood there in the entryway, mud drying on your boots, hands still trembling from the brush with death, and it hit you.

It felt like punishment. Maybe it was.

A few moments pass, and you finally make your way upstairs to the bathroom.

You peeled off your clothes in silence, careful with every movement. Each scrape, each bruise, each patch of gravel-burned skin lit up angry and raw against the parts of you that were still whole. It all stung now—the sting of adrenaline gone, leaving nothing behind but pain and consequence.

You sat on the edge of the tub, sockless feet pressed to the cold tile floor, your arms folded tightly across your chest like they could hold you together. But they couldn’t.

The bathroom light buzzed above you, casting your reflection in the mirror like a ghost. And then, finally—finally—you let go.

A breath broke. Then a sob. Then another. And another.

No gasping. No theatrics. Just that hollow kind of crying that seeps up from your ribs, thick and unrelenting, like grief had been waiting patiently behind your teeth.

It wasn’t about the fall. Not really. It wasn’t even about the runner. It was the look on his face. The way Tommy hadn’t spoken to you. It was knowing, deep down, that you scared him. And that scared you more than anything else. It was an accident. You tried to convince yourself it was an accident. That you didn't go through with it because you were tired of being Tommy's sheltered girl. He's lost so much, how could you add to that?

You’re part of me now. And I ain’t got the kind of heart left to bury another person I love.

The sobs didn’t stop—they just changed. Softer now. Like something had cracked wide open inside of you and there was no stuffing it back in.

You slid from the edge of the closed toilet, knees curling beneath you as your bare skin pressed against the cool, aged wood of the floor. Arms braced out in front of you, hands shaking against the boards like they could hold up the weight of the world. Like they could hold you.

But they couldn’t.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. Time blurred at the edges. Pain and shame blurring with it.

A knock.

Soft. Careful. Still heavy.

Tommy.

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t need to.

You didn’t answer right away—couldn’t—but you heard the way he shifted just outside the door. Boots scuffing against the floor. A sigh, quiet and worn.

“I ain’t gonna ask to come in,” he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges. “But you’re hurtin’. And I’d rather be in there hurtin’ with you than standin’ out here pretendin’ like I ain’t.”

Silence.

“I was mad,” he added, slower this time. “Still am. Don’t mean I don’t love you. Don’t mean I ain’t scared shitless at the thought of you not comin’ home.”

You swallowed hard, head still bowed. The words splintered something in you, but not in a way that hurt. In a way that made you feel seen.

You reached for the towel near the counter, dragging it close, wrapping yourself in it like armor.

“C’mon in,” you whispered, voice wrecked.

The doorknob clicked. The door eased open.

Tommy stood in the frame, his expression unreadable—somewhere between fear and fury and a heartbreak he’d never admit to. But he stepped inside without a word, sinking to his knees beside you.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, eyes glassy, but jaw tight. “And I can’t. You hear me?”

“…’m sorry…” you manage to gasp, the words catching and breaking in your throat like brittle glass. Each sob lurches out of you, wild and raw, dragging your chest tight. The tears keep falling—hot, carving burning paths down your cheeks.

You’re still on the floor, still bare, shivering from the cold and guilt. The wood beneath you bites at your skin, goosebumps rising in waves. You feel stripped open, not just of your clothes—but of everything.

Pride. Defenses. Sense. Though the entire thing was your fault.

Tommy doesn't speak right away.

He just kneels there, next to you. His fingers twitch—tight, twitch, release—over and over, like he’s working through something bigger than he knows how to say.

Then, quiet and flat:

“Don’t apologize for survivin’.”

You blink up at him through the haze of your crying, eyes swollen, lashes wet.

“That’s what that was,” he continues, voice a little rougher now. “You didn’t go out there ‘cause you’re stupid. Or reckless. Or tryin’ to piss me off.” A bitter huff. “Though you damn well managed that last two.”

He pauses, jaw ticking. His gaze doesn’t quite meet yours. It hovers just over your shoulder, as if looking straight at you might shatter him, too.

“You went out there cause you thought you had to. ‘Cause no one ever taught you to let someone else help. You don't owe me anythin'." His voice softens, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“Well, I’m here now. I’m right here. And I ain’t lettin’ you bleed alone on a bathroom floor. Got it?”

You don’t answer.

But you nod.

And that’s enough.

Tommy reaches for the towel, tugs it a little higher over your shoulder, making sure you’re wrapped tight. Then he shifts, lowers himself beside you, pulling you gently against his chest. You curl into him—still trembling, still raw—and he just holds you there, like he’s trying to put all your broken pieces back in place with nothing but his hands and the steadiness of his heartbeat.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “You’re safe now. And I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You sink into him like soft wax against a flame—malleable, undone. His arms encase you, dark and steady, holding you like a thing he refuses to let shatter. You let your fingers roam in small, quiet passes—mapping the constellation of moles and sun-darkened spots that speckle his skin like old stories. Scars like soft warnings, sunspots like prayers. He feels real beneath your hands. Solid. Warm.

Your voice is barely more than breath.

“Tommy?” A pause. The weight of his name clings to your tongue. “…Is it a bad time to ask if you’ll… shower with me?”

For a moment, there’s just the sound of the house breathing around you. Wood creaking. Pipes humming. Your chest rising and falling where it rests against his.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes scanning your face—searching, measuring. Not for lust. Not even really for permission. But for intent. For what you need.

His voice is quiet. Rough, like gravel smoothed down by the years.

“Darlin’,” he says, “I’d carry you in there if you asked me to.”

"I'm a big girl, I can walk…" You jest, a small laugh slipping out from your crying demeanor.

His eyes are soft as they meet yours. Thumb brushing across the back of your hand before he drifts to undo the buttons of his flannel. There’s something hesitant in the movement, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. He doesn’t want to push you, doesn’t want to make you feel anything more than what you’re willing to give.

But you can’t stop the way your body moves towards him. How your lips lift, barely brushing against his as you reach up to gently pull his shirt from his shoulders, your fingers trembling as you guide it down his chest. His breath hitches, a low sound escaping him when your lips meet his neck, soft, fleeting. Like each soft kiss is an apology.

I'm sorry for being stupid.

There’s no hurry. No franticness. Just the weight of everything you’ve been through, pressing in, and the need to feel something real. Something that isn’t broken. You press your body against his, and he inhales, his hands coming up to your face, brushing your tears away, though you’re not sure when they started again. Maybe his presence.

You pull back for a moment, your breath shaky. You don’t say a word. But the look in his eyes tells you everything. It’s soft, but it’s fierce. Like he’s terrified of what’s been lost and what could slip away in an instant.

You kiss him then. Slow, soft, desperate in its quiet way. Your hands slide over his chest, fingers slipping down the curve of his torso, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. He doesn’t stop you.

It’s not about sex. It’s about the quiet, desperate need to be together in this chaotic world. To remind each other that you’re both still here. That you’re alive.

When you finally break apart, you let the fabric fall between you both. His shirt, your clothes—discarded in a pile against the old wooden floorboards. His arms circle around your waist, pulling you into the shower with him, close under the hot water. Feeling the weight of everything you didn’t say, everything you didn’t need to, pressing against you. You kiss him again, this time deeper, pulling him closer, seeking solace in his warmth, in his scent, in the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, the words barely rising above the hum of the water. They cling to your throat like thorns, fragile and raw, curling out with a trembling breath as your fingers curl into the warmth of his skin.

"I'm so fucking sorry," you repeat—choked, hoarse—like it’s not a sentence but a prayer. A desperate offering to something bigger than the both of you. Maybe to him. Maybe to the pieces of yourself that still believe you deserve to be held.

Tommy doesn’t say anything at first. Just rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, like he’s trying to breathe you in. His hands move over your spine, slow and deliberate, anchoring you there like you might otherwise drift apart. The warm drip of the water.

“You think I don’t know what that guilt feels like?” he says lowly, voice gravel-worn and edged with something close to ache. “I’ve carried it so long, I forgot what it feels like to walk without it.”

You keep your face pressed to his chest, lips parted but speechless. The silence says everything you can't.

He exhales, slow and tired. “I can't bury you. That ain't somethin' I can do… You go, and I go with it. There'll be nothin' left of me."

There’s no venom in it. Just truth. Just the kind of pain that sounds like anger because love doesn’t always come out gentle.

“I ain't mad you went out there,” he continues. “I’m mad 'cause you didn’t think twice about what it'd do to me. About what I'd be without you.”

Your breath catches. He feels it.

“I ain't like the others, never have been,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “I don’t shut it down when I care about somebody. I feel it. I feel all of it.”

You look up then, blinking through the mist, your thumb brushing over the scar on his forehead.

“I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “You’re not a burden. You’re mine. My girl. My woman—" He hesitates, a deep inhale, "And mine don’t die alone in the goddamn dirt.”

He says it like a vow.

"If you asked me to lay down n' die, I sure as hell probably fuckin' would…"

His words don't burn anymore.

You kiss him again—slow and firm and full of every word you can’t manage. And he lets you. Holds you like the world might split if he doesn’t.

Your fingers find his hair—thick, dark—and you curl them there, anchoring yourself in the strands like they’re the last solid thing in a world built on rot and ruin. A gentle tug, not out of desire but out of need. Something quiet and aching. Like you're trying to make sure he stays.

The kisses taper off, each one slower than the last, until your foreheads rest against each other and the only thing left between you is breath. Steam swirls around your tangled forms, the water falling soft.

You're both still, tucked into each other beneath the muted warmth. Spaced out. Safe, for now.

And then your voice breaks the hush, small and hoarse but real: “How’d you know I was there?” You pause, fingers still laced in his hair. “I thought you were out on patrol.”

Tommy exhales through his nose, his arm tightening slightly around your waist.

“I was,” he says, voice thick with something unspoken. “Checkin’ the perimeter like I’m supposed to.”

He pauses.

“But then I saw one of the watch guys… leanin' over, squintin’ toward the south gate. Looked nervous.”

His jaw ticks. You can feel it against your temple.

“And I don’t know what it was—just somethin’ in my gut. Cold, sick feelin’. I ran. Didn’t even think. Just ran.”

His voice quiets, but it hardens too.

“Don’t ever make me feel that again.”

You swallow, guilt catching sharp in your throat.

Tommy shifts then, just enough to look at you. His hand comes up, thumb brushing a drop of water from your cheek.

“I know you’re strong. I know you’ve survived a helluva lot. But don’t you dare think you gotta prove it to me by gettin’ yourself killed.”

There’s no accusation in his voice, just a worn-out sorrow, like someone who’s lost too much and refuses to do it again. The silence returns, but it’s softer now. Heavy with feeling, but not drowning in it.

The water runs warm for a little while longer, soaking into your skin like ointment against old bruises. Tommy doesn’t say much more after that. Doesn’t have to. His touch stays—steady, grounding. You stay curled against him in the falling water until your fingers start to prune and the steam fades into the cold edges of reality.

Eventually, he murmurs, “We should get out. Water’s goin’ cold.”

You nod, not really wanting to move. But he helps you, carefully untangling your limbs, stepping out first to grab two towels from the wall hook. He tosses one over his shoulder before turning to wrap the other around you, gentler than you expect. The fabric scratches your scraped knees, but you don’t flinch, it only stings a bit.

You dry off in silence, your breath fogging the mirror, his silhouette moving behind you as he runs a hand through his wet hair. He’s quiet, but there’s still a charge in the air between you, something unspoken and taut—less like a rope about to snap, and more like one that just pulled someone back from the ledge.

He watches you in the mirror, eyes flicking to each fading bruise and open scrape across your shoulder and collarbone. “You got lucky,” he says, voice low, gruff.

“I know.”

There’s a beat where you think he might say more, maybe even get mad again. But instead, he moves in behind you, pressing a hand flat against your back.

“You hungry?”

Your eyes dip in the mirror, watching his hand round your hips, tough calloused fingers resting right below your bellybutton.

"I don't know," You exhale, eyes flicking back up to meet his face in the mirror, "You angry enough to not give me what I want?"

His eyes practically dilate—soft fingers once resting on your stomach, now curling into a deepened hold. Pushing your waist against him. The angular feeling of his bare body pressing against the taut arched form of your hips against the granite. His free hand comes up to brush some of the hair from behind your back, over your shoulder. Soft kisses peppering shoulder blades. His lips trace up, the feeling of his facial hair tickling against soft vulnerable skin. A gentle kiss to the lobe of your ear, and a whisper.

"Don't ask for shit you can't handle."

. . .

You curl toward him instinctively, limbs tangling with his. One arm under your head, the other slung across his ribs. His hand settles between your shoulder blades, thumb grazing slow circles into your spine.

He smells like soap, saw dust and sun-warmed cotton. And for the first time in hours your chest doesn’t ache from holding it all in.

Minutes pass like that. The silence between you is full—but not heavy. Not yet.

Then, his voice, low and rough in the dark: “I heard the runner before I saw you. Screechin’ like it was already eatin’. Thought I was too damn late.”

You don’t say anything. You just press your forehead harder into his collarbone.

“I’ve seen what those things do to people. What they leave behind.” His voice cracks a little. He coughs, as if to clear it. “You don’t get to do that to me.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” you whisper.

“I know.” A pause. “But intent don’t mean shit when the ground gives out beneath you.”

You tighten your grip around him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again, but he shushes you this time, mouth brushing your temple.

“Not tonight,” he says, voice softer. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You let yourself believe him. Let your eyes fall shut to the rhythm of his breathing. Let the warmth of him hold the pieces of you together while you rest.

Tomorrow will ask more of you both.

This isn't fixed.

. . .

[hard-core-super-star]

moondust in your hair [W.Maximoff]

pairing: baker!wanda x college student! reader

summary: after spending weeks looking for the perfect place for your first date, you take wanda out and give your relationship a label.

warnings: none, i think; pure fluff for once; first date shenanigans; R giggling and kicking her feet over wanda being cute

wordcount: 1.9k

a/n: HIHIHIHI! so, i survived all my midterm exams which means i was finally able to finish this fic! i couldn't resist and wrote one more part for the baker!wanda series because i love her so much. plus, writing fluff has been incredible for my mental health lately. anyway, i expect to back to writing sinful smut by next week but for now, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

For the first time in a long time, Westview had become your home again.

You still weren't fully tied down to the small town, still traveling back and forth between it and NYC, but you'd found a small semblance of normal.

Your semester at university was almost over, the threat of finals weeks looming over you whenever you decided to relax for a little too long, which meant you were one step closer to spending your summer with Wanda. There was something slightly silly to your excitement, like you were some sort of schoolgirl, looking forward to staying up all night on the phone with a forbidden crush.

In a way, that was exactly what it was.

You didn't want to call it sneaking around, it made it sound like you were doing something bad. There was nothing wrong with what Wanda and you had but that didn't stop people from talking.

From crafting stories about how she was cheating on Vision because they technically weren't divorced, about her kids hating you, about her having manipulated you with the promise of a job.

They were awful rumors, completely made up to destroy the reputation of the older woman's bakery, and yet, there was no denying the weight they carried. The damage they could do if they got out of hand.

It made things complicated, yes, but you weren't going to give up so easily.

So, after asking Wanda out on a formal date, you got to work. Every moment of free time was spent exploring the outskirts of town, and trying to find a nice place to set up a picnic for her. It took longer than you would have liked but eventually, you made a decision and told the older woman you had finally figured out how to take her on a date.

To say she found it all ridiculous would be an understatement. She swore up and down that she didn't care about other people, that she had no problem with taking you out to a nice dinner despite the rumors. You believed her but you weren't about to risk it.

Something that she found incredibly sweet and endearing.

But when the day finally came and you told her, the smile she gave you made the wait more than worth it.

It was a slow day at the bakery and you could hardly contain your excitement about what would come next. You were practically bouncing around the room, cleaning up whatever little mess you could find to keep yourself busy.

You'd told her the second you arrived about your idea but you couldn't simply have her shut the bakery early because you were dying to sneak away with her. As hard as it was, you had to wait.

The wait, however, allowed you to fill your cute picnic basket with as many treats as you could. That did mean the displays at the front were more empty than usual but it wasn't like there were too many people around to complain about it.

Plus, it gave you an excuse to keep Wanda away while you packed things up.

But finally, after what felt like forever, the workday was over and the older woman was closing up shop.

"Go wait for me in the car, will you, sweetheart?" She asks as starts closing the blinds.

You turn to face her, your pout not even fully formed, and she shakes her head affectionately at you. Without another word, she crosses the space between you to press a quick kiss to the top of your head.

"You're not the only one who has some surprises up her sleeve." You can practically feel her smiling against your skin and it makes your heart skip a beat. "Now, go. Please?"

Who are you to deny such a request as that one?

Your feet carry you out the door before you can pout again, your picnic basket clutched in your hands as you walk to her car. It's a little silly but you keep your head down just in case. Even though it's closing time, the sun is barely starting to set and there's still a lot of light. Not to mention, a lot of nosy people walking their dogs.

You manage to make it to the car without a problem and a few minutes later, Wanda joins you. Whatever items she brought are obscured in a tote bag so you can't tell what they are. You have no doubt it's probably wine and fresh fruit, two things that will pair nicely with the cookies you stole from the display (you'll pay her back next week).

The second she's in the car, she hands you her phone so you can punch the location into her Maps app. The action makes you smile despite how small it is. You're sure you'll never get used to how much she trusts you. How badly she wants to make sure you're taken care of in every way.

"Are you going to tell me where I'm going?" She asks as she starts the drive.

You shake your head with a giggle. "Nope, it's a surprise. You're only allowed to drive."

"Oh, that's all I'm allowed to do?" Almost instantly one of her hands drifts to yours, interlacing your fingers and squeezing.

"Hmmm," you pretend to think. "I guess you can do something else if you'd like."

"Cheeky girl," she teases before giving the back of your hand a kiss.

The rest of the drive is spent just like that. With Wanda teasing you in between quick kisses and even quicker banter. You're sure your jaw will ache soon from all your smiling but you don't mind. Especially because her smile is just as big as your own.

Despite how distracted you both are, you manage to make it to your destination at the perfect time to watch the rest of the sunset. Your excitement is more than obvious as you rush a laughing Wanda out the car, holding the picnic basket in one hand and a few blankets in the other one.

"Slow down, sweetheart!" The older woman calls out as you rush down toward a secluded spot in a clearing of trees.

"Hurry up, slowpoke!" You shout back.

Her laugh accompanies you until you start setting up, laying down the blankets and pulling out the sandwiches you packed. It's while you're plating the cookies that Wanda joins you with, like you guessed, a bottle of wine in one hand and a tupperware filled with fruit in the other.

She wordlessly helps you finish your set-up, her eyebrow raising once she notices just how many pastries you took from under her nose.

The silence lingers for a little while but it's not uncomfortable. If anything, it reminds you why you love being in the green-eyed woman's presence so much. Being with her is quiet. Calm. Soothing like a day on the beach.

You lean against her side as you start digging into your feast, your eyes bouncing back and forth between the woman keeping you company and the stunning sunset overhead.

"How'd you find this place?" Wanda finally asks.

The mere question makes your cheeks heat up. "Well, I…I spent a lot of time exploring. There's no privacy almost anywhere in town so I ended up out here. It's practically a park."

"You know I would have been okay with going out to a restaurant, right?"

You shrug. "Yeah, but I wanted to do something special. And do it somewhere where we can't be interrupted."

Even though your intentions are innocent, they still make Wanda smirk, which in turn makes your stomach do a backflip. "I usually wait until the third date for that stuff, baby."

"Oh, shut up."

You hide your blushing by bumping your shoulder against hers and hoping it'll distract her. Your idea sort of works except she places her half-empty glass of wine down and takes your free hand in hers.

It's not the movement itself that makes your mind freeze, it's the ease with which she does it.

You've spent the better half of a university semester pining after this woman, thinking she would never give you the time of day, and now you're here. With her. With your side pressed tightly against her and her hand in yours, holding onto you like she never wants to let go.

It's not until the sun has fully set, and you've both eaten far too many cookies and drank almost a full bottle of wine, that you dare put a voice to your feelings.

You're on your backs, staring up at the night sky and pretending like you're paying attention to what she's saying as she points out random constellations instead of focusing solely on the veins on her hand. She's giggling about something, you're not too sure what since your mind is swimming a little, and the moon reflects the little sparkles you know litter her eyes.

When she realizes you're not laughing with her, Wanda turns to look at you. "You still with me, sweetheart?"

Instead of answering her question, you blurt out your own. "What are we?"

Her eyes widen in surprise but her lips quirk up into a smile. Not the smirk she's been throwing your way in between flirty comments, not the small and slightly fake one she uses when people are annoying her at the bakery. It's the one she reserves just for you. Where her eyes grow soft and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing.

"What do you mean?"

You inwardly groan, not in the mood to play a weird form of Hot Potato where you pass questions back and forth. However, you're not about to back down. Not yet, at least.

"I don't know. I just…well, I really like you, Wanda. I didn't just ask you here because I was looking for a quick, fun time."

The whole time you talk, you feel like kicking yourself for getting so tangled up. You can't help it. Not when she's looking at you like you're more important than all the stars in the sky.

"y/n," she says before you can start thinking too hard. "I really like you too. And I don't know what we are, but I know what I want us to be…if you think you'd be interested, I know I'm not-"

You surge forward before she can finish her sentence.

There's very little grace to your movements as you press your lips against hers, drowning out whatever complaint she was going to make about herself. You don't want to hear. You don't think you can even bear the thought of hearing her say anything bad about herself.

Not when she's the most perfect woman you've ever laid eyes on.

Despite her surprise, Wanda melts into you. Her lips taste sweet like the pastries she spends all her free time making and you can faintly make out the smell of wine that lingers.

When you move to deepen the kiss, she throws her arm over your side to pull you against her.

The sudden movement makes you gasp but you don't dare move away. You allow her to pull you in until you're basically on top of her, your lips ghosting over each other as you try to catch your breath.

It's there, lying breathless with her beneath you, that you realize how crazy you are. How absolutely insane you are about her.

She doesn't seem to care, if the smile on her face is anything to go by.

As you move in to kiss her again, you realize you don't care either.

You can't care.

Because Wanda Maximoff wants you.

And that's all you truly care about.

[jadexbnny]

OVERWHELMING - GETO SUGURU (nsfw)

content. "suguru was just supposed to be trip-sitting you. . .but then you started being a bit too touchy, leading to his boner getting a bit too hard, and suddenly he has you in bed with his touch leaving you flustered enough to green out.

warnings. 18+ !!!! established relationship, horny!geto x high!reader, fem!reader, dom!geto, substance use (THC), penetration, tittie play, oral (m!recieving), unprotected sex, cervix kissing, pet names, fluff, praise, missionairy, creampie.

author's note. i love geto. also, nobody greens out. dw. also if it feels like its kinda jumping around thats bc i tried my best to simulate what being high feels like. also this is my first ever smut so sry if it sucks ass.

word count. 2.4k

"are my fingers wobbling for you too?" you question, looking over at your boyfriend with your palm spread open. you can see it clearly, your digits waving as if they were ocean tides, spread wide open in front of suguru's face.

he looks over at you, brown eyes meeting yours with an expression of 'i fucking told you so' as he lets out a sigh, taking your headphones off and placing them to your side.

"baby, you're high."

you'd promised him that you'd only take 1/3 of that gummy. suguru had narrowed his beautiful brown eyes at you, brushing the hair spilling over the corners of his headphones back in a knowing manner.

"it's never just 1/3 of a gummy with you. . ." he'd murmured, rolling his eyes knowing damn well he'd give in.

and so he had.

you'd giggled, eating the share of the gummy as you'd promised, but as it was to happen, time slowly trudged on yet your high never hit. you'd given it minutes, then hours, and then grown frustrated. following this frustration, and a whole lot of pleading, suguru had agreed to trip-sit you if you ate the rest of that gummy.

which you did.

that brings us to present times.

you're too high. you know you're too high with the way you can feel every sensation ten times more than you normally would. for example, every time you see water you feel like you haven't drank any in years, and every time you look over at suguru you feel your heart ready to rip out of your chest.

"suguru~" you whine, throwing yourself at him, arms wrapped around his neck tight, so tight it feels like you're going to drown if you let go of him.

he doesn't flinch, only letting out a sigh following which his lips curve upwards slightly, a gentle smile that's reserved only for when you're being painfully cute. he hums, a slight question in his voice. in your ears, his voice echoes, as if it's a call for your heart.

"i feel like i'm talking through a megaphone. . ." you mumble before gasping, looking up at him with widened eyes, "am i? is everything i'm saying echoing?" you whisper that last part, as if afraid to talk too loud.

he only chuckles at you, shaking his head and leaning down to nuzzle his nose against yours.

"no, my love, you're talking perfectly normal, i promise," he mumbles, matching your tone in a comforting manner, an assurance that you're safe. your heart races when he leans closer, and you swear you feel it leave your body when he nuzzles his nose against yours. you've felt his nose against yours a million times, yet every time it brings about that sensation of fluttering.

"i love you. . ." you mumble, looking up at him and smiling, what you think is a bit too wide but that's probably just you being high off your mind.

he mumbles something back but you can barely hear him, all your sensations dialing in on his lips and how they move. have they always moved like that? your gaze shifts to his eyes, looking at you gently. then to his arms, wrapped around you in an embrace. why couldn't you feel any of these sensations before?

the more you think, the more the panic rises in your body.

"fuck, i'm high. . ." you whisper, to which suguru only tilts his head slightly. before he can say anything, your panicked words interrupt him.

"baby! i feel so weird!" you whine, eyes widened with nothing but terror as you look up at him, "i feel like i'm going to die. . ." you complain, lips curving into a frown as you hug him tighter. he only lets out a chuckle, shaking his head a little.

"my silly girl, you won't die. i'm right here." he whispers to you. this however, does not calm your panic as you only sink further and further into your own head, farther and farther away from him.

"i am. . ." "you're not" "but i can't feel my arms-" "that's-" "or my legs. . ." "baby-" "suguru!! i feel so dumb right now!!" he tries to calm you down at first, but then just sighs and picks you up by your thighs, looking up at you with a gentle expression.

"let's go to our room then,"

the walk to your room is a blur and you forget it almost instantly. the only thing that you register is the soft plush of the mattress beneath you and suguru's body pressing on top of yours. you look up at him through your panicked expression and for the first time notice the blush thats dusted over his cheeks, the slight pout on his lips.

"do you even know how hot you are?" he mumbles. his voice is a quiet whisper, yet its filled with a hint of wanting. as you feel yourself snapping out of that panic you were previously in, you feel his body against yours. tight muscles pressed against your sensitive skin and his raging boner nestled right against your stomach.

"why are you hard. . .?" you mumble, looking up at him with a dumbfounded expression.

he looks embarrassed, narrowing his eyes at you and leaning further down so his nose is nestled against your temple, his lips pressed against the skin of your ear. you can feel his breath, warm and tempting as he whispers to you, "in case you didn't know, you've been rubbing up against me for the past hour. . ." he mumbles.

honestly, you've been penting him up for the past hour. rubbing your breasts against him at every chance you, fingers sliding up and down his arms, your body pressed against his. what to you was touch for comfort was to him absolute torture.

"hey," he mumbles, looking at your with that pouting expression of his, "i think you owe me something for being so patient. . .i've waited with this boner for so long, baby," he whispers.

you know damn well what he's doing and it's working. you feel that familiar warmth in your body, that blush creeping up your skin.

he slowly reaches for the hem of your shirt, lifting it up just far enough to expose your perking breasts, one hand reaching for it as his fingers brush over your sensitive nipple. you shudder slightly, your flustered gaze meeting with his eyes, so obviously filled with desire.

"i'll only do it if you're comfortable," he whispers. you bite at your lower lip before nodding a little, "i'm comfy." you mumble. he hums, "you remember the safe word?" you nod again, "lemon,"

almost immediately, his lips cover your nipple, tongue darting out to lick at the sensitive tip. his hands find your other nipple, pinching and rubbing at it, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him. the sensations are so overwhelming, making you feel as though you could cum from this alone. he continues to play with your tits, watching with eager eyes as you writhe beneath him.

your reactions are so cute, he finds himself wanting more. more and more of you until you're all his.

"your reactions are so hot, baby," he mumbles, his hungry gaze meeting with yours. his lips leave your nipple, the cold air leaving them hard as he presses his lips to yours "do you wanna use those pretty lips of yours?" he whispers, moving his lips against yours in what starts out as a gentle kiss. it devolves to one of pure need simply seconds later, with his tongue slipping into your mouth and teasing at the roof of your mouth.

you let out a whimper against his kiss, which only strokes at the fire more. a groan escapes his lips, his hands gently sliding down the side of your body to meet with your womanhood. your skin feels like it's burning, every inch of your body that he touches is left on fire.

and then somehow you're on top of him, completely naked, your lips pressed against his thick cock as it rests against his stomach. he's sat up against the headboard, watching you with eager eyes. you don't process anything, simply letting yourself get carried away as your tongue licks a stripe up his shaft, making him shiver a little.

"you're such a tease, baby. . ." he mumbles, biting on his lower lip as he watches you work your lips around the tip, his cock resting against your chin before you slowly sink it down your throat, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

he shivers at this action, cheeks flushed as the warmth of your mouth envelopes him, your tongue pressing against the underside of his dick, dragging in a teasing motion as you bob your head up and down slowly, deliberately, doing your best to pent him up further. your tongue dragging over his length, so teasing, leaves him groaning, his fingers reaching for your hair and tugging at it lightly.

"pretty girl, don't do this to me," he whispers, voice tinged with desperation. as his eyes meet with yours, you feel your resolve crumble away. his eyes always do that. make you feel like you just give in, trust him, and he'll handle the rest.

you suck at the tip lightly, tongue darting out to lick it in a teasing manner before you actually get to it, sinking down on his cock once more, taking it in your throat and actually giving him some conviction. with every bob of your head, out and in, he lets out a slight groan.

"you're so aggressive when you're high. . ." he mumbles. you can't even feel him in your throat, it feels like an out-of-body sensation, and so you simply continue for a bit before releasing his cock with a 'pop', your hand wrapping around his length to continue the job while you give him a lopsided smile.

and something about the smile sets him off. he reaches for your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss and pushing you onto your back. the plush of the bed meets your back once again as you let out a groan against his lips. he breathes heavily, warm breath mangled with yours.

"can't take it, my love, i need you," he whispers, hurriedly pushing your legs apart to reveal your wet core to him. "need this cunt," his words are rushed as he lines himself up with you, leaving little room for you to react. all your eyes can see are his abs, tense as he holds your legs apart, his thick cock pressed against your entrance and teasingly rubbing against your folds.

"tell me you want it too," he mumbles, his voice hoarse and thick with need. you nod hurriedly, "please, suguru," you mumble.

those words are all he needs. the sensation you feel is delayed but he presses into you, your walls stretching to accommodate his length as he nestles his cock into you. you let out a moan, the sensation of him inside you leaving you breathless. he groans a little, feeling the way you tighten around him.

"relax," he groans, giving you but a second to adjust before he starts thrusting into you. it's ruthless, an obvious sign of just how long he's waited for this. "fuck, you feel so fucking good," he curses, cock dragging against your gooey walls as he fucks you into the sheets. you're a moaning mess, arms gripping at the sheets as you try to find your words.

but you can't. it's so overwhelming. his cock stretching you out, pounding you with a speed much faster than your thoughts are processing at the moment. pleasured moans escape your lips, only encouraging him to continue fucking you harder. it's insane how good he makes you feel, how his dick fits so perfectly into your cunt, how every thrust hits that exact spot that makes you shiver. you can see it in your head, his cock pumping in and out of your tube, a sleeve that's made to pleasure him.

and he knows this. "such a good girl you are," he praises as he leans down, arms to the side of your head as his lips press against yours. his hips continue slamming against yours, unrelenting in their pace as he kisses you roughly. he continues hitting your g-spot, nearly bruising that spot as he continues pleasuring you.

"f-fuck, baby-" you moan against his lips, letting out a whine of pleasure as abuses your g-spot. it feels so overwhelmingly pleasuring. it leaves your cunt contracting against him, and his lips leave yours for a second, his pace slowing a little.

"baby, did you just cum?" he questions through pants, somewhat dumbfounded. you let out a breathless moan, too lost in the sensations to even say anything, "i...i don't know," you moan, "but i want more,"

he smirks at your words, starting to thrust deeper, "mmm, like how i'm filling you up?" he rasps, panting as he continues fucking you. your legs shake slightly as you feel him stretch you again, mind practically blanking from the overstimulation.

"look at you. . .high out of your mind and you still want more. . .my good girl," he grunts, pressing sloppy kisses against your face. you feel his length inside you, your vision hazy as the pleasure takes over your mind. you can't feel anything except for his dick, so deep in you, almost kissing your cervix with every pump.

he reaches down with one hand, pressing his thumb against your swollen nub, teasing it a little. you let out a startled moan, eyes widening as you look up at him. he smirks, shutting you up with his lips again as he continues his ministrations. his shaft pressing deep into you, paired with his rough fingers against your clit

"are you gonna cum for me again, baby?" he grunts, wet thrusts turning sloppier as you nod fervently. he groans, pumping into you faster, wanting to cum alongside you.

"fuck, i'm close," he rasps, and you feel it this time. the orgasm ripping through you, every nerve in your body shivering as the warm sensation ripples from your core to the rest of your body. his fingers overstimulate you as they continue rubbing despite your orgasm. he lets out a hot groan against your ear, his tip kissing your cervix as ropes of sticky, white, cum floods your insides. he fucks his cum into you, gently, his finger shifting to your eyes to brush your hair to the side. his lips press a kiss to your forehead as he pulls out, letting the liquid drip out from your cunt.

his warm arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you feel a kiss pressed to your forehead. "my high baby," he whispers.

credits to @/cafekitsune for the dni banner.

[kiskivmiske]

Coral is a pretty evil dragon and should not be forgotten when talking about the three sandy girlies. She's much more evil than Blaze and is "like to hate" character for me.

At this point, I'm convinced she didn't put enough effort into the nest protection on purpose, because she referred to Shark as "soft" for helping pris- babysitters. Didn't move the eggs because tRaDItiOn. And pretty sure she shot down other ideas for safety measures. Used her animus daughter as a weapon knowing really well how animi end up on the example of her ancestor. Broke her other daughter's trust by imprisoning her friends and leaving them to drown. Threatened to kill said daughter. Imprisoned her in a cell that will instantly kill her if she attempts to escape, also probably knowing she isn't aware of eels. If it was for her safety, she would be warned.

"She's a grieving mother" I'm not entirely believing it. Mostly because she's not a very trustworthy person. She ordered to throw DoD in the prison and starve them, even though she promised to keep them well fed and protected. And then pretended to throw the dragons executing her orders in jail, knowing damn well her daughter doesn't know aquatic.

I'm also certain she assigned Whirlpool to be her purposefully shitty aquatic teacher to keep Tsunami in an informational vacuum and detached from all SeaWings as long as possible so she would be easier to control.

She also wrote a scroll on genetic inferiority of the commoner dragons. That's stepping into the Eugenics territory. She almost gives off Umbridge vibes. Except her name doesn't match her color. Too bad she's not coral pink.

She's a good character because she's still unlikable despite supposedly going through grief. And no, xy guy, if I like this character doesn't mean I condone murder and eugenics.

She is shown as more normal in the second arc, but only for a short while. Can't guarantee she's not tormenting poor SeaWings as we speak.

STOP this is the feminism checkpoint. you have to comment something you like about a flawed female character. or explode

[emeraldserenade]

Commando ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you and Joaquín were roommates, why wouldn't you wear your most comfortable clothing around each other

tw: fem!reader, reader wears a nightgown, filthy, Joaquín washed readers hair in the shower (it's not really described but it may not be the most inclusive thing I've written), barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Please forgive me for skipping the smut, it's late and I'm tired. I'll write a smut for you guys to read soon, I promise 🫶 I had too many roommate!Joaquín thoughts after I got a new pj set today

➽──────────────❥

Joaquín Torres was the perfect roommate, he was kind and considerate. He never complained about chores or your obscene amount of candles you liked to have around. However, he loved his grey sweatpants and no underwear combo. It was his apartment too, why wouldn’t he wear his most comfortable clothes? You, however, went feral at the sight. Your mind was plagued with thoughts you shouldn’t have. You were mature, you told yourself. You could handle seeing the most attractive man you knew in that situation, you definitely did not stare at his dick any chance you could. 

Joaquín wore his sweatpants combo because you wore your thin little nightgowns around. Ones that hugged every curve with slits up both sides that went to your hips. Showing that you were, in fact, not wearing anything under them. Joaquín went feral at that, he swore he was mature. That looking at you didn’t give him a raging boner and the thoughts of bending you over whatever surface was closest. 

If there was a third roommate, they would have definitely moved out by now. The lingering looks, the obvious imprint in Joaquín’s sweats that showed just how much he loved you in your nightgowns. However, you two would probably already be together if there was. Then maybe you two wouldn’t be in the situation you were currently in.

It was a chill day for you, one where you didn’t have work or errands. So you stayed home in your nightgown, watching movies and listening to music. Joaquín came home for lunch, Straight Up and Down by Bruno Mars was blasting through your speaker. You were swaying your hips to it, singing softly along with the song as you cooked lunch. Joaquín paused at the sight, his breath halting. You spun and smiled widely when you saw him. 

"You’re home," you made your way to him, pressing yourself against him for a hug. He returned in earnestly, but he couldn’t think of anything but you in the night gown. 

"Yeah, I came back for lunch," he managed to get out, tightening his hold on you. 

"You could have told me," you pulled back and went back to cooking, thankful you made enough to share. 

Joaquín was extra quiet, normally he would be chattering away. But he was just sitting at the table with you as you ate in silence, not that you didn’t like just sitting with him, it was just odd. "Is everything ok? You’re oddly quiet," you pushed your empty plate away from you as you turned to look at him. 

"Just tired," he told you and you just nodded at him. You didn’t fully believe him but you weren’t going to fight him about it. Joaquín was fighting himself, he either had to stay quiet or admit that he can only think about you underneath him.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín took the rest of the day off, he called Sam and gave some bullshit excuse and Sam didn't even question him. You were happy, you got to spend your day with Joaquín. He showered and changed and you told yourself not to stare.

"Fuck this," Joaquín randomly mumbled before getting up from the loveseat and walking to where you were on the couch. You were confused until he sat next to you and pulled your lips to his. You gasped in shock before melting into his embrace.

"What was that for?" You questioned when you had to pull away to breathe.

"You've been wearing those little thin nightgowns with nothing underneath," he told you like it explained everything. He slowly inched his hands up your thighs, pushing the hem of your nightgown up.

"And? You wear your sweats around with no underwear," you shot back. "This is our apartment, can't we wear whatever we reasonably want?" Joaquín moved to hover over you, his hands still slowly moving up until your nightgown was bunched to your waist. You suddenly felt self conscious about not wearing any panties. Joaquín took his eyes off yours to look down and a groan left his throat at the sight. You were squeezing your legs together for some friction and Joaquín had the perfect view of you under him.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he practically sighed before reconnecting your lips. You had half a mind to push him away, demand to know what this meant, but the way he collected your arousal and slowly started to rub circles on your clit made your head dizzy. You finally got control over yourself enough to pull away from his lips.

"Wait," you huffed and he immediately pulled away from you. "This, this means something right? This isn't just a mindless fuck?" You looked Joaquín in the eyes, needing an answer.

"This isn't mindless, I'm in love with you," he admitted and you beamed up at him.

"Then, please, continue because I'm in love with you too," you shimmed closer to him but he grabbed you in a bridal carry. You were taken to his room and placed gently on the bed.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín left you in bed for a moment to get a nice warm and damp cloth to clean you up. You hummed thankfully as he gently wiped you down before he carried you to the bathroom. You sat on the toilet as he started the shower for you both.

"You'll have to hold me up," you rasped, your voice and throat hoarse from the last hour.

"How horrible, I have to hold you," he gave you a flat look and you giggled. The water was warm and you felt so much better with the sweat slowly washing off you.

"I'm going to smell like you," you smiled as he washed and rinsed your hair for you. "Molly at work is going to be jealous, she has a crush on you," you were just talking to talk.

"That's too bad, I've already been taken," he told you and you smiled.

"Mine," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him. You felt him laugh before affirming your word.

"Yeah, I'm yours," he kissed your forehead gently.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[grain-of-sando]

i don't believe this (i'm in love again!)

cm punk x reader

You don't watch wrestling. You don't know why you even agreed to go to this wrestling show. However, you DO know that whoever the cutie that's in the ring right now seems to be looking directly at you.

OR

CM Punk sees you in the crowd and falls in love.

WORD COUNT: 3007 TAGS: gender neutral reader, meet-cute, ecw/roh punk, punk is in luvvvv TITLE INSPO: hit by the sugarcubes

(cross-posted to ao3, read here !!)

You don’t really watch wrestling. Like, at all.

On a Saturday night, you normally would be staying inside and watching a crappy movie while barely awake, but instead, you’re sitting inside of a venue watching a match all because your friend begged you to go with her. She promised she’d pay for a meal afterwards, and it’s not like you have anything to do, so you begrudgingly went.

Despite your hesitance, you were having a good time watching, even though you didn’t have a clue what was happening. Maybe the Ancient Greeks were onto something with Gladiators, because every single move that happened in the ring made the whole crowd erupt like animals.

As you asked something to your friend about how much longer this is gonna be on for, the entrance music of a new wrestler suddenly filled the room, making some of the more dedicated wrestling fans start cheering. You looked around to see who was entering until you saw him.

Oh my god, he’s cute.

While you watched this wrestler you had no clue about sauntering out into the ring, you shamelessly ogled at him. He came out in a black zip-up jacket with a white stripe across the chest, along with some red shorts and some generic black boots. As he combed his taped-up hands through his bleached hair, you could make out a piercing on his lip with the silvery metal glimmering from the light upstage. Despite his more alternative look, his face looked full of energy, which says a lot considering you weren’t sitting close to him in the slightest.

Not to mention he had a great build… You probably had no chance, but it doesn’t hurt to stare.

“Who is that?” you yelled while leaning over to your friend. The room was so loud that your yell was equivalent to a whisper. Your friend looked over at you and shouted back, “CM Punk!”

You were about to ask her what the hell CM meant, but as you were glancing back at this CM Punk guy, you noticed it felt like he was looking at you.

Okay, don’t be delusional.

You blinked a couple of times to make sure you weren’t being crazy, but the more you looked at him, the more it felt like he was truly staring at you. You gave a smile in case he truly was looking, and maybe you’re truly insane, but you could’ve sworn he smiled back.

-

“Okay, okay, maybe you were right,” you started, walking out of the arena with your friend. “Wrestling is fun to watch. I was wrong. Happy now?”

“Now I am!” your friend replied, snickering. You were about to ask her where she parked, but suddenly your friend stopped walking and said, “Oh, shoot, would you mind if I run to the bathroom really quickly before we go?”

“Go do your thing, I’ll wait here,” you assured, waving her off. She gave you a little “I’ll be quick” before she scurried back into the arena, leaving you standing in the cold outside. The parking lot was full of people shuffling into their cars and talking amongst themselves about the different matches.

As you looked around and fiddled with the hem of your shirt, you heard a voice behind you.

“Uhm, hi, hey,” the voice started. You turned around, shocked when you realized the voice was CM Punk. He looked tired and less… well, half naked, with him sporting a grey shirt under his jacket and some regular blue jeans.

Was he really looking at you during the match after all?

“I, um.. I saw you in the audience,” CM Punk started, fidgeting with his hands as he spoke. “I knew I'd be mad at myself if I didn’t try and talk to you.”

He seemed to be nervous, but his eyes remained fixed on you, which gave you the opportunity to admire their hazel-green color. God, he looked even cuter when face-to-face with you. You must’ve been a saint in a past life because karma had to be the only reason he would even notice you.

As you guys exchanged your hellos and formalities, he asked, “Do you, umm… have any plans right now?” You might’ve accidentally given him a funny look at his question, because he immediately started to backtrack and say, “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a creep, I just… would you maybe wanna go grab a bite with me?”

You were about to say yes in a heartbeat before you remembered your friend. Crap, she was your ride home…

“Um.. I’d love to, can I just call my friend super quickly?” you say, trying to smoothly pull your phone out from your pocket. CM Punk nodded and said, “Sure, sure, take your time.” If you didn’t end up going out to eat with him, at least you know he’s nice.

You stepped away and quickly sped through your contacts to find your friend, silently pleading for her to pick up for every ring. The second you heard her voice, you immediately started speaking.

“Hey, sorry this is sudden, but you know that CM Punk guy that just wrestled, like, 20 minutes ago?” you said quietly, trying to seem casual about how excited you are over this.

Your friend said on the other line, “Uhm, yeah, duh, what about him?”

You paused. “Okay, so… He may have just asked me out.”

“…Lying is a sin, you know that, righ-”

“I’m not lying!” you argue. “He just asked me if I wanna go get food with him, but I didn’t want to abandon you since that’s kind of a crappy move-”

“If you’re telling the truth and he seriously just asked you out, I’d be pissed if you didn’t go!” your friend interrupted you. “Go get that man!” You gave a sigh of relief and said, “Okay, okay, see you tomorrow then!”

With that, you hung up and turned back to CM Punk. “Well, where to?”

“I know there’s a diner nearby,” he said, seeming way more relieved at you officially accepting his offer. “My car’s somewhere in this area, except I can't see shit in the dark…” He muttered that last part, but you still caught it and giggled at his annoyance.

The two of you walked around the parking lot until he pointed to a grey car in the distance, picking up his pace. When the two of you reached the car, he quickly unlocked the car and hopped into the driver’s seat while you opened the passenger side door. His car wasn’t anything fancy, and honestly, the inside was pretty cluttered, but you didn’t care in the slightest. He could’ve had Fred Flintstone’s car, and you would still be gushing.

“Sorry for the mess,” he said, picking up some of the random receipts and junk lying on the passenger seat.

“Don’t worry, my car’s not any better,” you assured knowing damn well you clean your car regularly, sitting down and closing the car door. He grabbed the steering wheel, tapping on it with his fingers before saying, “Um… I don’t do this often. I don’t, y’know, normally ask out people after matches.”

He looked over at you. “..and I wasn’t even expecting you to not reject me from the get-go. You’re really gorgeous. Out of my league by a mile,” he said earnestly, gazing at you in a way that made you know he wasn’t just trying to flatter you.

You gave him a bashful smile and said, “You’re not giving yourself nearly enough credit.” You couldn’t see his face very clearly in the dark, but you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks turn ever-so-slightly redder.

Punk turned his key on the ignition and started slowly pulling out of the parking space, scanning around for the exit in the dark lot.

-

You and Punk arrived at a small diner near the area that seemed to be aiming for a 50s vibe, but then again, all diners have that “sort-of-vintage-sort-of-given-up” decor. He pulled into the parking lot and rummaged through his center console until he pulled a beat-up leather wallet.

Taking the key out of the ignition, he turned to look at you again and said, “Okay, ready to go?” You nodded and opened the door, moving over to his side and walking into the diner together.

After sitting down and ordering your meals from the waitress, you turned your attention back to your date. In the diner’s artificial light, you could see him way clearer compared to in the dark outside. His eyes looked more visibly tired, probably because he just got pummelled by a grown man not even an hour ago. As he shrugged off his jacket, you noticed his tattoos more clearly. Sure, you saw he was tattooed when he was out in the ring, but it’s hard to pick up detail when you aren’t face-to-face with the guy. As his hand pulled on the sleeves of his jacket while taking it off, you noticed the tattoo on his hand that said ‘NO GIMMICKS NEEDED’, not to mention his knuckle tattoos that spelled out ‘DRUG FREE’… You barely had a conversation with him so far, but his tattoos seemed to tell a story in themselves.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Punk jokes, grinning at your obvious staring. You yanked your gaze back to his eyes, slightly embarrassed, saying, “Sorry! I just – I really like your tattoos.” “Oh? Thank you,” Punk looked down at his arms as if he forgot he had ink on him. “You got any yourself?”

You shook your head. “I wish. I just don’t have any good ideas for what I’d wanna put on my body, like, permanently.” As you spoke, you aimlessly admired the heart tattoo he had near the inside of his arm. “Trust me, if I had a good idea, it’d be on me already.”

“If it makes you feel any better…” Punk lifted the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing to reveal his large Pepsi tattoo resting atop his shoulder. “I don’t have the most meaningful tattoos ever.” As he let go of his sleeve, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to you. “I think you’d look great both with and without tattoos, though.”

Just as you were about to compliment him back, the waiter came strolling over with your guys' drinks and plates of food. After taking a bite from your surprisingly good burger, you looked back up at Punk, who must have been starving after his match because a good third of his burger had already been scarfed down.

“So, how’s it like being a wrestler?” you asked, making him perk up. “Sorry, that’s probably a lame question,” you backtracked, taking a sip of whatever soda you ordered. Punk shook his head and replied, “No, no, it’s not lame, wrestling’s… a very weird career, to say the least.”

“Weird?”

“Well, for starters, I get paid to get beat up and beat up other guys,” Punk jokes, making you stifle a laugh. “It’s definitely fun, though. Not for everybody, but I’m not everybody,” Punk quipped while stuffing his face with the fries he ordered.

“Do you only do wrestling?” you followed up. “Like, for work, I mean.” Punk nodded, swallowing before continuing, “I used to work at a comic book store, but once my wrestling career took off, I just stuck to this.”

“That’s enough about me, though… what do you do for work?” Punk asked, sipping his drink. You still feel like you don’t know nearly enough about this guy, but if he’s asking you questions, who are you to not like the attention?

“I’m in school right now,” you say, “I’m getting my bachelor’s, but I work as a receptionist part-time.” You pause, trying to get through your words without seeming like such a bore. “It is not as cool as wrestling, that’s for sure.”

Punk chuckled at your own self-deprecation before adding, “–way less injuries, though.”

“If injuries are your dealbreaker, I think you might be in the wrong line of work,” you jokingly counter.

Punk laughed at that, sipping his drink before saying, “You think?”

“Wait, wait, wait.. now I need to ask,” you start, “What is the worst injury you’ve ever gotten?”

Punk thought to himself for a moment – okay, if he’s thinking, then at least he didn’t get something crazy – before answering, “I once fractured my skull.”

Wow, nevermind.

“Okay, I was gonna explain, you can pick up your jaw,” Punk chastised, smiling at your shock. “It was… I wanna say it was near the beginning of my career. I tried to do a neckbreaker move, and I thought I broke my neck while the match was going on, which, y’know, that’s still–” Punk furrowed his brow and winced, “– but whatever. Anyways, once the match was over, it felt like the biggest challenge just walking from the ring to backstage.”

“Other than that… maybe a broken nose,” Punk finished, acting like he just told you a mildly infuriating anecdote, meanwhile you were still trying to envision how the hell a fractured skull probably feels like. You shook your head and commented, “I don’t know if I’ve ever even gotten, like, a fraction of that level of pain.”

“Trust me, you’re not missing out,” Punk noted, stuffing his face with some of his fries.

The two of you talked casually about your guys’ lives and interests as you ate – or, in the case of Punk, inhaled – your meals. When the waiter came back to ask about dessert, Punk raised an eyebrow at you as if to silently ask if you were still hungry, but it was getting late, and you unfortunately had work the next morning. Once Punk – who insisted on paying for your food despite you telling him you were definitely capable enough to pay for your own $8 meal – covered the bill, the two of you walked back out into the cold and into his car.

While Punk turned the car on and adjusted the heating, you looked over at him. A nearby light pole was casting a halo around his silhouette, making him look otherworldly despite his unassuming look. The light against his jet-black hair made him look like a solar eclipse you can’t seem to look away from.

“What?” Punk asked you, noticing you staring. “Do I got somethin’ on me?” He brought his hands up to half-hazardly wipe whatever he assumed was the reason for your gawking. Instead, you just shook your head and said, “You just look really good right now.”

“You know, it’s unfair how nervous you make me,” Punk teased while starting his attempt to pull out of the parking lot.

As Punk merged onto the nearby road, he glanced over at you and asked, “Where do I turn?”

“Keep going down this road,” you signaled, all while digging in your pocket for your phone. All your most recent messages have been your friend begging for details on your date, so you sent a quick ‘on my way home’ text to hopefully satisfy at least her craving for how long the date was.

As Punk drove, the two of you mostly sat in silence, only broken up by your directions. The lack of conversation wasn’t awkward; if anything, it felt comforting being able to sit in each other's presence without feeling an obligation to keep speaking. As the two of you reached closer and closer to your house, you told him to make a turn at the Circle K nearby.

“Just drop me off here,” you said, pointing to the convenience store’s neon sign. Punk turned into the lot, but he furrowed his brow and asked, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I wanted to pick up a few things anyway.” Punk parked at the front of the lot before proceeding to rummage through the center console of his car for a pen and an old receipt for CVS.

“I have another show here tomorrow,” he started, flipping the receipt over to the back while scrawling something on it, “but in case you can’t make it…”

After he finished writing, he held out the receipt with his phone number on the back. “Give me a call sometime. I really enjoyed hanging out with you.”

You grabbed the receipt from his hands, giving him a bashful smile. “I enjoyed it too.”

You held the receipt, but your hand didn’t move away from his. Instead, the two of you just held onto it while staring at each other. He had a soft expression, but the fiery glint he always seemed to have in his eyes made you feel like you were all he was focused on right now. You noticed his eyes seemed to be bouncing from your eyes to your lips.

“Can.. can I ki–”

You cut him off by answering his question before he could even get all the words out, closing the distance between you two with a soft kiss. His lips felt soft against yours, and although you could’ve stayed in his car and kissed him senseless for eternity, your body was aching to go back home as fast as possible.

You pulled away and looked at his astonished expression. His hazel eyes looked so blown out you would’ve assumed they were black if you didn’t know their true tone, slightly widened just looking at you like you’re an angel descended from the heavens. You tried not to giggle at his expression, instead moving some of the stray hairs out of his face before grabbing the receipt.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” you say. Punk nodded, seemingly still starstruck and saying “yeah, yeah” while you opened the door and stepped out. You waved goodbye at him before closing the door and scurried over to the front of the Circle K. You watched him reverse out of the lot and drive off as the wind blew against you.

You just met him, but somehow it felt like you’ve been wanting to know him your whole life.

(let me know if you enjoyed reading!!! im new to posting on tumblr so lord knows i need all the interaction i can get LOL)

[queen-of-the-avengers]

The Only Exception

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k (including lyrics)

Warnings: none

Summary: Love doesn’t exist for someone like you. It’s not in the cards and never has been. That is, until you meet Bucky. He keeps proving to you that there is a whole world outside of the castle you’ve locked your heart in.

Square Filled: bed sharing (2021_ for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: this is based on the song The Only Exception by Paramore (inspiration from the music video)

x

When I was younger, I saw my daddy cry And curse at the wind He broke his own heart and I watched As he tried to reassemble it And my momma swore That she would never let herself forget And that was the day that I promised I'd never sing of love if it does not exist

It’s the middle of the night and you can’t sleep. Bucky softly snores next to you since he found sleep a few hours ago, but you can’t seem to get there. Your head is resting on his arm with your back to his chest, and his metal arm is loosely slung over your waist. The reason you can’t sleep is because your mind is filled with fear and bad thoughts. Thoughts that make you doubt the relationship you’re in.

If you can even call it a relationship.

This whole thing with Bucky started when he was on the run from SHIELD and HYDRA. You two met in Vienna when you were on vacation. He was at a vulnerable point in his life and wanted the simple life which is what you had. You rented a small cottage on the edge of the city that was surrounded by trees.

He found comfort in that and he found comfort in you. You thought the little tryst in Vienna would be the extent of your relationship, but you found yourself back in the United States with him. Suddenly, the realization that what you two have or had would be real, and it scared the fuck out of you.

Love doesn’t come easily for someone like you. Everyone around you had failing relationships or relationships they couldn’t escape. Your sister just got a divorce, your best friend has never been in a serious relationship and goes through guys faster than is normal, and your parents aren’t that better off. The earliest memory you have is of your dad crying because he lost your mom, his wife, and it was his own damn fault. He had an addiction, a gambling addiction, and he let it consume himself until your mom forced him out of his home, her life.

Your father was cursing himself at the same time your mother was drowning in her sorrows. She swore never to let this happen to her again.

That was the day you promised never to let something as arbitrary as love past your walls. The relationship with Bucky started off as physical until you started growing feelings for him. Feelings you’ve been trying to avoid this whole time.

You lift Bucky’s arm and carefully slide out of bed. You gather your clothes while keeping one eye on Bucky to make sure he doesn’t wake. After getting dressed, you grab a pen off his desk and write “I’m sorry” in scrawly handwriting.

You can’t get hurt like they have, so you leave.

Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul That love never lasts And we've got to find other ways to make it alone Or keep a straight face And I've always lived like this Keeping a comfortable distance And up until now I had sworn to myself That I'm content with loneliness Because none of it was ever worth the risk

Tears blur your vision but you keep driving away from the house, away from the comfort of Bucky’s arms. You don’t know how to do this. You don’t know how to let anyone past your thick walls knowing your heart might not be safe with them. All you’ve seen is pain and you can’t allow your heart to be drenched in it.

The red light stops you at the intersection, and you sob at leaving Bucky alone knowing he is going to wake up to that cowardly note. He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve you. He deserves better. Your head falls back on the seat as you think about Bucky and what you two have shared over the years.

“You know, if you drive any faster, you’ll get into a wreck,” you chuckle.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”

Bucky stops at a red light and looks at you with hooded eyes. He is driving you home after a first date, and he has wanted to kiss you since picking you up. He was going to wait until you got to your front door like a gentleman, but he can’t wait.

He grabs the sides of your face and kisses you, catching you completely off guard. It’s a good kind of surprise because you’ve wanted to kiss him since he picked you up. His lips feel too good to stop, and it sends your stomach into a flutter.

Someone honks behind you and you pull away from him to see the light has turned green. Bucky licks his lips to savor the taste of you before driving off.

You can still remember the words he said to you when he dropped you off. Please stay. You make me human. That’s what sent your stomach plummeting. That’s what scared you. Loneliness is a familiar feeling, one that you’ve memorized every detail of. Up until Bucky, you had sworn that you’d be content with loneliness because then you wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt.

No one else had been worth the risk, and it terrifies you that Bucky may be.

Someone honks their horn behind you and you look at the light that’s no green. You take off down the road, seeing stores and parks that you and Bucky frequented. All the good memories are wrapped in a clear plastic film of fear. You look at the strip of stores on your right and see yourself and Bucky walking down the street with ice cream in hand. A happy smile on your face, relaxation in his features.

If only it were ever that easy.

I've got a tight grip on reality But I can't let go of what's in front of me here I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream

If you turn onto the freeway now, it’ll take you away from this town, away from Bucky. If you make a U-turn at the light, you’ll be driving back into his arms. You’re parked on the side of the road, unsure of the decision to make. Everything in you is telling you to take that ramp and not get hurt. No one is worth the risk of pain that you’ve seen.

However, you can’t seem to let go of Bucky. When you’re with him, it’s fun and free. You don’t have to worry about where you going to go or who you’re going to be with. If you’re with him, you know you’ll be safe. That’s when the monsters like to strike. Safe and vulnerability go hand-in-hand. If you show one of them, the other is bound to trip you from behind.

It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

What if you stayed? What if you didn’t let fear control you? What if, for once, you allow yourself to be happy? Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you to break the cycle. It gave you a good one and here you are, wasting it.

Bucky became your first for a lot of things, the things that truly mattered. The first man you told ‘I love you’ to. The first man you let sleep over. The first man to meet your mom. The first man to sink his claws so deep that you feel him in every thought you have.

Maybe it’s finally time to push yourself out of this comfort zone you’ve barricaded yourself in.

You put the car into drive, pull up to the light, and make a U-turn.

You are the only exception And I'm on my way to believing Oh, and I'm on my way to believing

You open the front door carefully, straining your ears to see if Bucky is awake. You’ve only been gone for two hours, but he doesn’t sleep much. You tiptoe up the stairs and pad softly to his bedroom door. The moonlight shines dimly inside the room, but you can clearly see the outline of Bucky in the sheets.

He’s still asleep. He hasn’t read your note.

You peel off the layers of clothes you hurried to put on and leave them in the same pile his are in. Bucky has shifted during sleep so you lift the covers and slide back next to his naked body. The second he feels your skin, he turns and wraps his arm around your body. You snuggle closer to him and press a kiss to his bare chest.

“Please don’t break my heart,” you whisper.

Finally, you succumb to sleep knowing he’ll be there in the morning.

x

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[sorrowful-wallflower]

Sword - @into-the-jeggyverse - 419 words

"Oi, Potter!" Barty hollered jovially down the corridor. James sighed. He really didn't want to deal with him right now, not after everything he just heard from a group of seventh-year Slytherins. He knew Regulus could take care of himself, but that didn't stop the worry when James thought about him in the Dungeons, especially after he ran away from home. Ran away straight into James' arms at his parents' house. "I'm not in the mood, Barty," James said quietly when he got closer. "What's gotten into you? You're not normally this melancholy." James peered over his shoulder for a second before he started moving forward again. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it." "Nope." Barty pulled him to a stop. "Not gonna happen. Tell me what's wrong," he remarked sternly before lowering his voice to a whisper. "Do we need to go to the room?" It took James longer than he would have liked to realise what Barty was asking. He shook his head before looking around and pulling him into an abandoned classroom. "No. It's got nothing to do with me. Not really." James sighed again before sitting on a desk. "I just heard something on my way back from meeting with Reg, and I'm trying not to turn around and beat their asses." "Ooo, who we beating up? It's been a minute since I've seen any action," Barty replied giddily, bouncing on his toes. James couldn't help but smile at his friend despite his anger from earlier. He shook his head in amusement before shoving Barty's shoulder lightly. "Nobody. I promised Reg that I wouldn't do anything." "Does it have to do with Reg?" Barty asked seriously. James nodded. "I can take care of whoever it is, if need be. I didn't promise him anything." "No, that's fine. It's just Snape and his cronies talking about how he ran away. I didn't hear what else they said, though. They put up a silencing charm right before I passed," James told him sullenly.

It was taking everything in him not to leave the classroom and hunt them down to demand they tell him what they said about his boyfriend. "Oh, is that all?" Barty laughed, waving James' concerns away. "You don't have to worry about Reg. He can take care of them if they try anything. I mean, have you seen his dagger collection?" "Well, yeah, but he'd have to get close to use them, even with his magic." "Not if he used his sword," Barty remarked nonchalantly.

[revelboo]

Here is my dog Butch for who likes to stick its tongue out but incredibly afraid of little ants. I named him after the the dog in tom and jerry hehehe. May we get another chapter of 'Everything is alright'?

Aww! Cutie!

xD Shocky is assuming the human still has the original new spark and that it’s Star’s kid. He’s not figured out there are two sparklings or that Megs is now a mommy. The one Megs has just needs spark merging, but Soundwave’s new spark the reader has needs nanites and spark bonding both.

Everything Is Alright Pt 158

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Be that as it may,” Megatron growls, voice low and colder than you’ve ever heard it as he stares at you in Starscream’s hand, expression blanking. And he’s sitting on Starscream’s berth like he has every right to be here. Know he’s just delighting in messing with Star just like how he can’t seem to stop himself from saying shitty things to you if Star’s around just to try and get a rise out of you. “I don’t think either of you can make me leave,” Megatron adds, picking up your blanket and rubbing it between his servos.

• Venting in your lingering scent, he’s not sure why Starscream’s words bother him. It’s not like he cares what the Seeker thinks. But the way you’re looking at him? Hates that disgusted look on your face, like you can’t stand him sometimes. Hates the vulnerable way it makes him feel even more. Weakness is death, knows that. Learned it in the mines then had it reinforced in the gladiatorial matches. Soft things like you, dreams of a family aren’t meant for him and he knows it. “Why are you like this?” You ask, sounding more tired than like you expect an actual answer.

• “What do you expect from someone with his background?” Starscream grumbles, refusing to sit anywhere near the warlord and risk him trying to take you. And Megatron bares his denta in a cold smile. Knows that a comment like that would normally warrant him losing a wing, getting beaten to the point of being in danger of offlining, but Megatron can’t risk that anymore and they both know it. He’s safe from Megatron because of you.

• “You had no issue with my background when you pledged your and your trine’s undying loyalty to me,” Megatron says, optics locking on you as he talks to Star. You hear Star’s wings lift in affront with a shush of sound, but you can’t look away from Megatron. “But we all know how little your loyalty is worth.” There it is, swallowing a groan, you know they’re about to get into it again. That hatred between them a living thing.

• “You betrayed me first,” Starscream snarls, wings flaring. ‘If you’re going to start screaming at each other, put me down over on the desk or take me to Soundwave, please,’ you say, sounding so exhausted he immediately feels guilty. Venting in aggravation, because he doesn’t want to upset or stress you, he sits down heavily at his desk, back to Megatron. “You made us all a promise you knew you couldn’t deliver,” he mutters, rubbing a servo apologetically against your cheek. The warmth of you helping calm him, even though that old hurt is never going to completely go away. Or be forgiven.

Previous

[dontbelasagne23]

I’m am so sane and normal about Edwin and Charles I promise…

Apart from “you, Charles rowland, are the best person I know” and the hug afterwords and the way Edwin touched his heart because it felt like it was beating even though he’s dead.

Apart from the lantern motif and how it symbolises their devotion to each other.

Apart from Edwin being caught gazing at Charles while he was talking and Charles not noticing

Apart from Charles grinning like an idiot in love every time Edwin goes on a bitchy rant because it’s endearing to him rather than annoying

Apart from Charles saying “that sounds a lot like you doesn’t it” implying he likes Crystal because she is similar to Edwin

Apart from the way that Edwin says “Charles I’m in love with you” on the stairway in hell because he hasn’t got anything to loose

Apart from the way Charles cradled Edwin’s face when he sees him again in hell

Apart from the way Edwin corrects himself to Crystal “I could loose- we could loose Charles”

Apart from the way Edwin holds Charles hand and pushes it away gently when he’s getting overprotective (jealous) about the CK

Apart from the way Charles lingers and looks back at Monty and Edwin while they talk

Apart from the way they hug each other so tightly when they realise they aren’t going to loose each other (to the point where they crash into each other so forceful Charles sways on his feet)

Apart from the fact that the last line is Charles to Edwin “my smile is pretty convincing!”

Apart from that I’m totally normal about them!!

[morcez]

IFHY

Synopsis: You are forced to work on a project with the man you hate the most, Satoru Gojo. Satoru is the campus fuck boy, but what happens when he tries to add you to his roster?

Content: College au, Fuckboy!Gojo x Nerd!Reader, Nanami Kento x Reader, rejection, mature, suggestive, Gojo is a huge asshole.

enemies to lovers. enemies to even bigger enemies.

wc: 2.4k

Satoru Gojo is the biggest asshole known on campus, the standard fuck boy. He’s a spoiled brat. You hated him. You hated him the same way oil hates water. You hate the way he’d get praised like a god for the bare minimum, you hated how he treated women like mating holes, you hated how damn fine he is. He wasn't fond of people like you either. Girls who don't throw themselves at him and much rather focus on their peace. Guys like him found quiet girls like you as homework answers or a checkpoint to brag about to their douchebag friends ‘Yeah dude, I fucked loser in me lang class.’ It makes you shiver thinking about how gross those types of guys are, and how pathetic you must be to let one in your pants. You’ve had very minimal interactions with Satoru. You weren’t his usual type, so why bother speaking to you?

It was a normal day for the most part. You sat in the back of your ethics class, the class you happened to share with Satoru. You’re not quite sure why he even takes this class, as if he’s ever thought critically a day in his life. He sits in the very front of class, likely to Kento's request. He sits with his two roommates, Suguru and Kento, who couldn’t be any more different from him. 

As class starts, the professor announces that there will be a project that must be worked on with a partner. Nothing out of the ordinary. You look around the class, seeking who you would partner up with. There weren't too many promising options. Maybe Nanami? You've partnered with him before in other classes. He’s probably the only one who’s on the intelligence level. You’re eyeing the handsome blonde so intensely that you don’t even notice Satoru standing in front of you.

“You got a thing for Kento?”

You jump at the sudden sound, then groan, realizing who it is.

“Ya’ know he’s way less classy than he displays himself to be.” He says, looking down at your seated frame.

“I was just going to ask to pair up with him,” you say quickly, hoping Satoru would just go away.

“He’s already partnered with Suguru.” Something in his blue eyes twinkled with mischief. Satoru and Suguru are two peas in a pod. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen one without the other.

“Why aren’t you paired with Suguru?” You ask with your eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

“I’d much rather you be my partner.”

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh. ewwwwwwwwwwwww. You aren't sure what game he’s playing, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let him use you to win.

“No, thank you, Satoru.” You stare him straight in the eye. Expecting him to have a harsh reaction. But he stood there looking at you with the same smug smile on his face.

“Everyone else already has a partner,” he bites his lip to attempt to contain his giggle.

You look around the class to see everyone already seated with another person.

He won.

He begins to turn and walk away, a smug grin still on his face.

“I’ll see you soon, partner.”

It’s been two days since you were forced into being group partners with Satoru. You had Satoru Gojo blocked on all your social media; he had to get your number by begging Kento. Satoru insisted that you should come over and study because "libraries and cafes cause too much distraction." You smelt bullshit from a mile away, but school is too expensive to be fucking around with your grades, so you reluctantly agree.

You honestly contemplated ignoring him and the assignment altogether, but here you are, standing outside of his apartment door. You knock on the door a few times. Part of you hoped that he forgot so you could just go home. The door unlocks and opens carefully. You're greeted by Suguru, his sharp eyes stare at you for a minute before flashing a kind smile.

"Satoru, your partners here!" He yells before letting you in.

Their apartment is huge, it might as well be considered a house. The kitchen and living area are spacious and surprisingly clean. Their home is gorgeous; you couldn't help but compare it to your compact dorm. Both Satoru and Kento are seated on the coach. Satoru gets up once he notices your presence. Kento gives you a small smile and wave, then looks at Satoru in disgust. Satoru gives Kento a cheeky smile in response.

The air felt heavy, and you sensed there was some type of bickering occurring before you arrived. Too scared to say anything, it felt like you were standing on fragile glass.

"Let's get some privacy," He says, staring straight at Kento. He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you to his room. " I wouldn't want us to have any distractions."

Satorus' room is isolated from the rest of the home, standing at the end of a long and empty hallway. His room is actually decently decorated. Posters and Vinyls littered his walls. His desk set up was neat, with expensive gaming equipment, of course. There are flourishing plants decorating his windowsill. You wondered which girl he screwd helped him decorate. Soundproof foam plastered to his wall, you didn't want to think too hard about what he had it for.

You’re sitting in the Satoru Gojo's bedroom. He’s sitting on his bed, a huge textbook sprawled across his lap. You’re sitting at his desk, on his overly pricey gaming chair. You tried to create as much space as possible between you two. You didn't say a word, as if you hoped he’d forget you're there. Hold your breath; scared to breathe too loudly. The man releases a dramatic sigh, finally breaking the loud silence in the room. 

“Ya’ know, the whole point of being partners is to work together.” He says, slightly annoyed. You give a hum in response. You refuse to turn to look at him, opting to look at the words on the computer screen in front of you instead.

He lets out a scoff. “Why so far? Hm?”

You choke on air. You haven't entertained him whatsoever. Why is he trying? Is he that committed to being a whore?

“C’mere." He pats his navy blue sheets, the space next to him. This textbook is sooo confusing. I need your help.” 

You turn to face him. Greeted by a sinister grin. You knew it was a ploy to get you in his bed, but you weren't going to let this horny bastard ruin your grade. With a groan, you stand up from his comfortable gaming chair and make your way over to his bed. You sit as far as you can, while still being able to see the textbook lying on his lap. So not far. He scoots closer to you, closing the already small gap between you two.

“What were you confused about?” You say trying to steady your voice. 

He grabs your hand that's closest to him and drags it to the page, using your hand to point to the portion he was ‘confused’ about. Your breath hitches at the contact.

The nerve of this guy.

“Explain it to me? Please, Smarty?” His bright eyes lingered on you, as if he were not allowed to look away. You refuse to maintain eye contact any longer. Mumbling the explanation he asked for, as your nervous eyes try to find anything else to look at. He continues to look at you, intently and amused, as if your anxiousness was entertaining. His thumb lightly rubs over your hand sensually. 

“So much knowledge in that pretty head of yours.” He coos.

Is he allergic to reading the room? So damn sure that every woman that crosses his path wants to fuck him. 

You're angry. So damn annoyed. Who even is he?

You scoffed and aggressively retracted your hand from under his. You expected him to be angry, annoyed, or surprised. But when you look at him, he has confidence written all over his face. He closes the textbook and removes it from his lap. He turns his body to completely face you.

“Think you’re too good for me, smarty pants?” He teases.

You turn to face him completely.

He’s fucking unbelievable.

“I know I’m too good for you.” You state

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, “What’s the ethics behind being a stubborn know-it-all?”

“Want to tell me what’s the ethics behind you being a dick for a brain whore?” You snap.

He has that flirtatious grin stapled on his face, as if he’s plotting something mischievous. Satoru places his hand on your knee, then slowly glides it up to your thigh. A chill shoots down your spine.

“Want me to show you instead?” 

His words make your stomach flip. His blue eyes make you freeze as if he were Medusa.

Your brain was yelling at you to go off. To scream at him. To hit him. To move his hand. But you didn’t stop him, and neither did you want to.

“You’re gross.” You mutter under your breath. Looking everywhere but at his face. Fearing that if you looked too long, you would've folded.

He chuckles amused. His hand travels up to the waistband of your pants.

“Sooo fucking disgusting.” He mocks

 He hooks his finger over your waistband, using it to tug you close to him.

Sitting face to face.

So close you can feel his breath. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear how fast your heart is pounding.

His hand plays with the elastic of your waistband a bit more like it’s a yo-yo toy. 

“You’re impossible.” You snark at him.

He laughs a bit, then lets go of your waistband. Letting the elastic slap your skin. You flinch at the impact.

“Is that so, smarty pants?” He asks with that filthy grin on his lips.

You give a small nod.

“real cute.” His hand slithers to grab your waist.

“I fucking hate you.” You say this, yet your actions are contradictory to your words. Your body is moving closer to him. Your arms move to rest on his shoulders. “I’m sure you do, sweetheart.” He lifts your hips and moves you closer to make you sit on his lap. You’re straddling the Satoru Gojo. His hands wander around your waist, your hips, and gives your ass some attention too.

“No, I mean it. I really do hate you.” Your hands once again betray your lips as you glide your hands over his muscular shoulders and pecs.

His hands slide underneath your shirt. You slightly jump at the sensation of his warm hands against your cold back.

“I hate how cocky you are, and how you think the whole world revolves around you. I hate how you think rules don’t apply to you…”

His eyes linger on you. The look on his face was unreadable. Was he getting upset? His hands grip on your waist slightly harsh, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your skin.

“I hate how you-“ suddenly his hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb landing on your lips. You finally shut up. He traces his thumb along your lips. He looks at you, engrossed in every single slight movement you make. 

“Well, I hate how you don’t know how to stop running that smart mouth of yours.”

He giggles at your silence.

“Hear that, smarty?” He pauses, referring to the silence. “Much better, right?”

You give him an annoyed glare, not daring to say another word. 

His other hand grips your hip securely. His glowing eyes glance down at your lips with a grin plastered on his.

He's ready to go in for a kiss. The move that solidifies his entry into any girl's pants. He's heard countless 'I would never sleep with him.'s Yet they all end up in his bed. Words couldn't express his excitement to finally add your name to the long list of bedbugs. He didn't care that Kento was upset about his little bet with Suguru to get in your pants. All that mattered was that you're exactly where he wanted you to be. He leans closer to you as he pulls you in. He closes his eyes. He’d never have thought he’d be this close to you, feeling your fluttering breath on your face. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and he’s already enjoying himself way more than he expected, way more than he should.

So very close to the two of y’all’s lips meeting, when suddenly he feels pressure to his forehead pushing him back.

Did you just push him?

Did you just reject him?

He lies back, his elbows holding his upper body up. He looks at you with confusion. His big blue eyes look up at you for answers, just to see you grinning. Satoru looks like a big, sad puppy.

He quickly sits up to be on the same level as you. His hands grip your hips tightly.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” He whines. He fucking whines. His eyes look at you desperately. 

“Real cute.” You mock.

He looks at you as if you’re pure evil. How could you be so cruel, and look beautiful doing it?

“Don’t look so mad." You coo, "I was trying to tell you all the reasons I hated you, but you didn’t want to listen.”

He glares at you, and all the admiration in his eyes is gone.

“You’re such a fucking smart ass.” He barks.

You giggle with amusement.“You’re just mad I didn't get your cock wet.”

 He rolls his eyes at your words. 

“I should get going.” You sing with a sweet smile on your face, in contrast to Satoru’s sharp grimace. You give his shoulders two friendly taps before getting off his lap. His hands loosen their grip on your hips. It was weird. Even though he was seething with frustration, he didn’t want to let you go. He felt despair wash over his body once you were out of reach.

You make your way to his bedroom door, giving him a simple “See you around, Satoru.” Before walking out.

 

Soon after you left, Suguru and Kento went to Satoru's room, finding him lying on his bed, defeated. His hands covered his ashamed face.

Geto leans on the doorframe of Satoru's room. "Never thought you'd finish so fast." Geto calls out to him mockingly.

"Shut up," Satoru mumbles into his hands. "She rejected me."

Kento lets out a loud sigh of relief, and a "thank god" slips from his lips. Suguru laughs loudly at the platinum's defeat. "Smart girl." He says in between chuckles.

"She's not even that smart."

lie.

"She's not cute either."

Another lie.

"I fucking hate her"

Loud incorrect buzzer.

dividers from @v6que

A/N: I haven't made a piece this long in forever, so please spare me. I might make a part 2, so lmk if you'd like to be tagged! Thank you for reading!