#one of those projects that will probably never see the light of day

[neopuppy]

Bestfriend Jeno who invades readers privacy and goes through her computer filled with videos of ykyk💀

warnings. errrhhmmm🤔 masturbation, yeah..

“Damn, he really did a number on your phone.” Jeno’s fingers drag down the shatter of cracks distorting your screen, neck ticking to the side. “I can definitely fix it though.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, I worked at one of those phone repair kiosks a couple summers ago, these screens cost a fortune to get fixed you know? I have a lot of leftover supplies, can probably find something in my stash that will fit.” He informs, patting your shoulder. “Means you’ll have to be disconnected all day though, is that okay?”

“I guess, have some lectures to get through and a group project to finish so I’ll be at the library most of the day if anything.”

“Alright, write down your passcode and maybe your apple log in just in case.” Jeno nods to a notebook, grabbing a pen to hand you.

“Why the log in?” You hesitate, eyeing your phone nervously.

Jeno shrugs, holding your phone out to you. “I only want to help, I know you’re kind of down on your luck right now. I understand if you want to be around when I fix it but today’s one of my only free days for the rest of the week, so..”

“No no, it’s fine.” You sigh, pushing the phone back toward him. “I might be back late, don’t know how long this meeting with my group will take. If you could leave my phone on DND? I’ll probably still be texting from my laptop.”

“Yeah, not a problem.” Jeno nods to his notebook, smiling as you scribble down your passcode and password. “I’ll get this all fixed up for you, free of charge.”

“I’ll have to repay you somehow..”

“What are friends for?” He laughs, motioning to the living room area scattered with your belongings. “Shit happens..”

“Thanks Jeno, everything you guys have done for me..” trailing off, you murmur shyly. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you and Jaemin for helping me out like this.”

“Don’t worry about it, focus on school.”

After bidding you goodbye and good luck with your project, Jeno moves to his bedroom, whistling to himself as he traces down the largest crack on your phone screen. “Gosh, what a dick..”

He didn’t ask what the fight was about, the timing didn’t feel right with you sniffling as he and Jaemin helped you carry your belongings in. He never liked your boyfriend much anyway, or well, ex-boyfriend..

Jeno boiled it down to jealousy at times, whenever he’d have to witness the unfortunate public displays of affection between the two of you. It’s not that he likes you, not necessarily.. but your friendship hadn’t exactly stemmed from genuine interest in forming a platonic relationship. It just so happened that while he had one idea, your mind had already honed in and focused on another.

“Eh, I always knew he wasn’t right for you.” Jeno mumbles to himself, tapping your phone screen to the image of your now ex-boyfriend’s lips squished against your cheek. “Gross.”

Jeno gets to it, unwrapping a new razor to begin removing the old screen topper first and see the real damage. Lucky for you, he’d gifted you a durable screen protector when you’d gotten a new phone. Great for dropping, not so much for a crazy boyfriend hurling it at a wall though.

He’s pleased to see the damage is a lot more minor under the protector, mentally patting himself on the back for handling that for you in the first place. A text pops up lighting the bare screen. “Oh right, do not disturb.”

Jeno taps in the passcode, swiping down to turn off notifications only to come to a pause as another text comes in.

‘It’s easy money, I did it my first year of college to cover rent, and you're shit out of luck at this point if you think a dorm will open up this far into the semester.’

He knows he shouldn’t, but there’s no way you’d find out anyway..

‘Isn’t that prostitution?’

The last text sent from you has his eyes going wide, quickly reading through the chat between you and the name he recognizes as your best friends, the same one whose car Jaemin had found you using as a makeshift home..

‘It’s not illegal in our state, and it’s anonymous. You won’t get caught or anything. Trust me, I worked there for 11 months, best money I’ve ever made.’

Jeno mumbles a ‘what the fuck.’ To himself, opening his phone to copy down the address she sends in next.

‘Besides, what difference does it make? You were getting fucked by your asshole ex on stream for way less.’

“What?!” Jeno looks around in shock, covering his mouth in case someone else is home. An arsenal of unanswered questions race through his mind, swiping to put your phone on ‘do not disturb’ finally as he takes a deep breath to calm down.

“There’s no way..” he chuckles, licking his lips nervously as he taps open your photos and scrolls until a locked album named ‘delete’ catches his eye.

Jeno spent a year learning different ways to break into stolen phones with not even a passcode to assist, the thrill of unknown has his thumb punching away before he can even talk himself out of it. Not that he would..

Why wouldn’t you immediately delete photos or videos you wouldn’t want anyone to see anyway? You can’t be that stupid..

“Oh shit.”

You are that stupid.

Jeno groans, leaning back in his computer chair as he slowly scrolls through the album of over 1000 photos and videos, most consisting of topless shots. More scandalous as he reaches the middle and sucks in a deep breath reading the time on the first video he sees.

Eight minutes and twenty seven seconds..

Patting around for his headphones, he plugs them in and opens the video up to hit play, sinking deeper into his seat as your face appears half-fucked out with dreamy eyes and saliva wet lips.

The deeper familiar voice he recognizes as your ex’s comes through, making his stomach tighten. “Fuck.”

‘How can you ask me for more after I just fucked you full?’

‘Please daddy, n-need more.’

The camera runs down your bare body, laid back against dark sheets with your thighs hoisted up and open; panning down to where white streaks of cum paint your stomach and mound. ‘Feel that? My dicks still so hard.’

‘Keep fucking me, don’t stop fucking me. Fuck that cum deep inside of me.’

Jeno pants, short of breath as he digs the heel of his palm against his groin and groans. Fuck fuck fuck… he knew it. The past few years of having to pretend he valued your friendship more than his desire to fuck you, he always knew you were nothing but a pathetic sobbing whore. The sound of your sobs and aroused whines vibrating through his ears has him ready to make a mess, smoothing in past the waistband of his sweats to free his length, he’s thankful for the point of view shot; making it easy to tune out the masculine grunts passing between your pretty cries.

‘Fuck. I’ll breed you better than that.’ Jeno voices to himself, surprised your lazy ex didn’t make you get on top. The amount of cum covering your lower half has his hips jumping from the chair, eager to fuck into his fist faster.

One thought continues to pass through his mind as he grips around his cock and strokes to match the pace pushing you up and down along the screen.

He needs to fuck you.

#asks #idk how else to warn this #lmk #this is from the gloryh*le fic #nct hard hours #nct smut

[youryurigoddess]

The summer that was never supposed to end

You’ve probably noticed how in Good Omens 2 Crowley’s eyes are brighter, more saturated, as if glistening with liquid gold. We’ve already covered his hair. And it’s not only the visual aspect of him — even in objectively stressful conditions, Crowley appears mature and put together, way cooler and more protective than before. Even his faults are heavily romanticized in the past and present scenes, reminding of the S1 body swap, when Aziraphale projected his love to him on the way he played the demon in Hell.

It’s not just the demon. The whole season is more vibrant, bolder, filled with sunshine. Just like a summer that was never supposed to end. Like a memory of a loved one seen through the eyes of someone who thinks of them every day until the end of the world.

S2 seems ridiculously saturated, whimsical, and full of red and gold, just like a certain demon. Aziraphale not only painted his bookshop in his image, but literally colored the whole world in Crowley’s colors. It was such lush and saturated and blooming with warmth and hazy light.

It’s either that all the newest events are just another memory seen through a certain angel’s eyes, or said angel actively made it appear this way — as in, his feelings grew so strong that they’ve started to warp the reality around him. And it’s a well-known fact that Aziraphale has a tendency to affect his surroundings, either unconsciously, when his presence in the bookshop literally lightens up the sky seen through its windows, or very much consciously, when he takes over the position of a master puppeteer and manipulates people with or without the help of his miracles.

S1 was more dramatic and apocalyptic, but not particularly gray — at least not as much as the color grading typically used in portrayal of similar apocalyptic narratives. S2, at least as seen through Aziraphale’s own La Vie En Rose lens, is vibrant and saturated. And those colors drastically fade in the heavenly light of the elevator during the credits, suggesting that they won’t be as visible in the course of S3.

But I don’t want to ramble about the apocalypse sandwich and the three-act structure here, so let’s circle back to S2.

Good Omens 2 was really set in a summer that was never supposed to end. But it did, autumn crept in, and there was no chance of hearing the nightingales sing. They all had left by the time an angel and a demon finally kissed.

In the most literal sense: the very last nightingales usually migrate from the UK to their wintering grounds in Sub-Saharan Africa in the first days of September.

Aziraphale was right that nothing lasts forever — and the passage of time on Earth is marked by subtle details invisible to the immortal eyes.

The main thing about autumn migration is how sudden and hard to predict it is. The birds start disappearing gradually, often without notice, until at some point they are no longer here. Much like the angel leaves the bookshop — their shared nest — to spread his wings and fight.

And it was basically announced on the poster.

Can you see the migratory formation of birds up in the sky? It looks like Aziraphale is the last one to get off the ground and fly.

#Yuri is doing her thing #good omens #good omens 2 #go2 spoilers #go2 meta #good omens meta #no nightingales #in the most literal sense #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorcés #crowley #aziraphale #your friendly neighborhood eldritch horror might be messing with more than your life #the summer that was never supposed to end #the good omens crew is unhinged #everything is connected

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Could I request something with a reader who is worried that they might be too dumb for Donnie? Preferably 2012, but whichever iteration you'd like is fine ❤️

Am I Not Smart Enough For You? (Fluff)

2012!Donatello x reader

A/N: Had to do 2012 Donnie, because it feels like a long time ago since I last did one for him💜

Warnings: None💜

In the heart of the bustling sewers beneath New York City, Donatello was deeply engrossed in his latest project. The soft glow of computer screens illuminated his determined features as he meticulously tinkered away, his mind swimming with circuits and algorithms, moving back and forth between his monitor and the large machine that stood proudly in the middle of his lab, slowly growing larger with each passing day.

Donnie was fully caught up in his work, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth, as he watched his fingers move with concentration, that he did not see you enter the lab.

You stood at the entrance of Donnie's lab, a worried expression furrowing your brow as you watched him work. Long had there been a worrisome topic, that you had wanted to turn over with your turtle boyfriend, knowing it was best to bring it up so you could talk about it, instead of staying silent, letting the problem grow until there was no way to fix it. You admired Donnie’s brilliance, and his intellect that seemed to know no bounds, but sometimes, it left you feeling inadequate. Doubts gnawed at the corners of your mind, whispering cruel thoughts about your own intelligence compared to his. In some ways, you felt horrible for even thinking that Donnie would think less of you, due to lesser intellect, but if you were a genius like him, you would probably feel alienated, especially when your own partner did not know what you were talking about, and simply unable to understand. You loved listening to Donnie’s drawn out explanation, even if you didn’t understand a word. But it was the way his eyes would light up, and how his body would move with sudden energy, and a bright smile on his face. It made it all worth it, even if you were too dim to follow along.

With a heavy sigh, you finally spoke up, your voice hesitant yet tinged with concern, as you slowly stepped into the lab. "Hey, Donnie?"

Donnie glanced up from his work, his eyes softening as they met yours, along with a smile, obviously happy to see your unannounced visit to the lair. "Hey, (Y/N). What’s you doing down here? Did you text? I didn’t see your message".

You hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt nervously. That caused Donnie to halt in his movements, his eyes focusing on your hands. It was obvious to him that you weren’t just down here to say hello.

"I... I've been thinking”. That sounded like the start of a sentence, that Donnie only could fear the ending of. His heart increased in speed, and his mind raced, praying that you weren’t about to say the thing that would tear his world apart. “Do you ever... worry that I'm not smart enough for you?"

Your question was almost a relief for Donnie, who had feared something way worse. He blinked at you for a moment, before he finally realized what you were asking about. Donnie's expression softened with understanding as he set aside his tools, his attention fully on you now, his arms reaching out for you, asking you to come closer. "Oh, (Y/N), no. Never for a second. You're incredibly smart in your own way".

You blinked, surprised by his response. "But... but you're a genius, Donnie. And I'm just... me. Sometimes it feels like I can't keep up with you, like I'm always a step behind whenever you talk about your projects".

Donnie reached out, gently taking your hand in his own, his fingers gliding over your soft skin in soothing and comforting motions. "Being intelligent isn't just about knowing facts and figures, (Y/N). It's about understanding, creativity, and so much more. And in those areas, you shine brightly. I mean, look at your art! Your drawings, your paintings. Even Mikey is jealous of those".

You swallowed back the lump forming in your throat, touched by his words. You looked down on your hands in his strong three fingers once, blinking away a few tears. "But what if I mess up? What if I'm not enough for you?"

"Don't you see?" Donnie's voice was earnest, his gaze unwavering. "You are more than enough. You bring a perspective to the table that I could never have on my own. You challenge me, inspire me, and make me see things in a different light. That's what makes our relationship special. And I love you. That is more than enough for me".

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding through you. "Thank you, Donnie. I needed to hear that".

He smiled warmly, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "Anytime, (Y/N). I'm here for you, always".

And as you leaned into his embrace, the doubts that once plagued your mind began to fade away, replaced by a newfound sense of confidence in the love you shared with the brilliant turtle who held your heart. In the heart of the genius, there was always room for love, understanding, and acceptance. And together, you knew you could weather any storm that came your way.

“I love you, Donnie”, you said, your face buried against his shoulder, feeling warm and comfortable in his arms.

You felt his chest vibrate with a small chuckle, before he pressed his lips to the side of your head, kissing the side of your temple. “I love you too, (Y/N)”. He pulled from the hug, before using his foot to reach out for another chair, letting it roll over next to him. “But now that you’re here, do you want to help me? I really need your thoughts on something”.

You smiled at Donnie, happy that his statement about your perspective in things wasn't just something he said to make you feel better, but something he actually meant. And so you took a seat next to him, smiling brightly as he showed you what he had worked on.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raph #tmnt mikey #tmnt leo #tmnt x reader #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 donatello #tmnt 2012 donnie x reader #tmnt 2012 donatello x reader #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt 2012 leonardo #tmnt 2012 raphael #tmnt 2012 raph #tmnt 2012 michelangelo #tmnt 2012 mikey

[youryanderedaddy]

When The Flood Comes

tw: female reader, cannibalism, starvation, murder (not reader), religious imagery, hinted past sexual assault, imprisonment, hinted jealousy, slut shaming, dark!Cassian, disturbing descriptions

You used to love Easter as a child. It was the only time your mother would spare money on something as non - essential as chocolate or food dye. She would take a short break from her needlework, or whatever sewing project she had going on, and she would sit down to paint a few eggs with you, barely a carton, with whatever charge her client had left the day before. The first egg was always as red as blood, and she would rub a small cross across your forehead while the paint was still warm. For luck, she would say - and may the year ahead be fruitful. 

These days you think about your mother more often than you’d like. Sometimes you dream about her - you’re brought back to the tiny yellow cottage in the middle of the forest, so very close to the river that started the whole mess. You can feel her hands caressing your hair, the warmth of her long skirts soaking into your bare legs as she sings you a lullaby and rocks you to sleep. You can almost hear the melody in your head - you don’t remember the lyrics anymore, but you know it must be something soothing. Something suiting of a soul destined to go to Heaven. 

It makes you chuckle - but it also makes you cry, the thought of it all. Your mother probably thinks you’re up in the sky now, naked and running in a flowery field surrounded by angels. You wouldn’t blame her, you decide, if she has already given up on finding you. You’re not sure how long it’s been, but you’ve bled three times already - so it must have been three whole months at least, and that’s enough for the heart to grow weak, for the mind to forget. Especially those not worth remembering. 

Cassian doesn’t let a single day pass without reminding you just that. He explains that once you enter the catacombs, you become part of the church. You melt together with the stone and the marble, you blend in behind the old dungeon bars just like a martyr nailed to a cross. Nobody knows you’re here - nobody knows that this place still exists. As far as the public is aware, the catacombs burnt down to the last peg during the Saturah war. 

And yet here you are, chained like a dog. Your stomach hurts again. In the beginning of the Lent you didn’t feel much different, some phantom pains here and there, a wave of nausea washing over you as you woke up, but now the emptiness is almost ever - present. Just like a bitter past lover it doesn’t let go, leaving you curled up and aching more often than not. You can’t remember the last time you had something solid in your system - something different than watered down soup or herb tea. Chamomile. Hibiscus. Pennyroyal. Pennyroyal. Pennyroyal. Pennyroyal.

It’s hard to see in the utmost dark - but Cassian’s candle burns bright, illuminating everything around. Once your eyes settle into focus, you make out his face - his eyes sparkle with cold reflected light, but he’s not looking at you. His entire focus seems to be directed at the plate before him. He runs a finger through the white satin tablecloth, wrapping his digits into one of the knitted holes, and your heart stops beating for a second, anticipating the crumble of the table and everything on it - but it never happens.

The deacon eats in absolute silence for what feels like eternity - the only sounds that leave his body are muffled moans of perverse appreciation as he cuts into the bloody meat and brings the piece into his open mouth. It’s utterly disgusting - the warm scarlet essence of the poor animal drips down his chin, his cloth, his hands, it smears all over the beautiful handsewn cover, and yet you’ve never felt such intense hunger in your life. All you want is to sink your teeth into the rich pithy texture, to tear into it until you feel the vein pop under your teeth. Your mouth is watering.

“He has risen.” The man finally smiles, a nice warm smile, but his eyes never leave the meal. You look up, keeping your hands on the ground to retain balance - even such small movements are enough to make you dizzy and you end up falling backwards. Cassian holds up something you barely recognise as a glass, greedy to gulp the liquid inside. It leaves a purple stain down his jaw and he quickly wipes it with the end of his white sleeve. “You must be hungry.” He purrs as if talking to an animal, and you nod with unhidden desperation. You’ve never been so hungry in your entire life.

He makes a gesture for you to come closer and you crawl towards the bars, opting to get your head out despite the tight gaps between the metal sticks. The man caresses you with one hand, calling you a good girl and a hundred other sweet names you’ve never heard him even utter before. It becomes increasingly hard to follow his voice as your stomach growls louder and louder, filled up with acidic emptiness to the brim. He finally takes pity on you and throws a ripped piece of the slab towards your feet.

Your past self would have laughed at that. She would have smiled mockingly, turning her back on this depravity. She would have broken the rusted grates with a shove - and then she would have strangled the fucker with her bare hands. But you’re not her anymore. You’re not the woman who could fall asleep under a cloak tree, who could smile and sing during a rainstorm, who could skip with the wind. You can pretend to be her all you want, but you doubt she’d want to share her skin ever again. The body you’re stuck in, her body, is wretched beyond repair. Covered in belts and bruises, melting into a puddle of pain and scarcity, begging for the tiniest moment of mercy. And what a mercy it is.

What a mercy it is to feel the raw, dense flesh on your tongue, to be able to bite into something instead of slurping salt and broth from someone else’s hand, someone else’s spoon. What a mercy it is to tastе the grease and the fat, the sweet, tangy bite, for the meat to stick in between your teeth and not flow through. To chew slowly because there’s something to chew on, to drink the fluid oozing out of each nip and abandon the bones hidden beneath. It tastes… divine. 

“Do you like it?” Cassian asks eventually, voice full of amusement as he brings his hands together. He’s covered in stains from head to toe, but somehow he still remains as proper and pure as a tear. You don’t want to break away from the pigsty on your lap - you want to bury your face in the meaty red goodness, to savour each and every bite, but the singular surviving thought in you tells you to obey the man, lest he takes the food away. You don’t want him to take it away. You don’t want to die. Despite everything, you don’t want to die. So you nod - with your whole body, and you bow, because you need him to understand that this moment right now is essential. Fateful. 

“What is it?” You rasp breathlessly, unable to hide the excitement in your tired, sluggish movements. You feel a spark of energy building up inside your chest and you want to scream with joy. Maybe the next bite is what gives you the strength to break out of this hell. Maybe the next bite will bring her back to life. “It tastes like lamb.” You mumble, tapping your knee impatiently - waiting for the man to speak so you can return to devouring the remains of your… dinner.

“You can call it that.” He chuckles, eyes glowing with pride. “It is a sacrificial lamb of sorts.” His finger grazes the flame, but the man seems oblivious to the burn. “Although, I’m surprised, dear. I mean, I knew you were an insatiable whore…” He finally looks at you. His eyes are inhumanly cruel. “But to forget your own lover...”

“W-what do you mean?” Your heart skips a beat and you immediately freeze in place. As your ears ring with uncertainty, you become painfully aware of the stench of blood soaking into the collar of your filthy robe. “Don’t you find the taste familiar? Come on, darling… I know you’re going absolutely crazy with starvation, but it wouldn’t hurt to use that pretty little brain sometimes.” Cassian sneers, ever so malicious, picking up the wine glass again.

You inhale sharply as your chest tightens with panic. Someone is screaming at the back of your mind, threatening to tear your head open. Your thoughts are racing. Places, places, men, meat, sweat sticking, drenched in… You don’t have a clue what he’s getting at.

“Aww, my love. You really don’t remember? You must be completely gone by now.” His voice is sweet, but nothing like chocolate. Nothing like butterfly kisses and sugar, nothing like a warm hug on a cold night. It’s so sweet it hurts your throat. “You’ve had his lips,” The deacon grins with all his pearly teeth out - it makes you shiver. “And now you’re having his heart.”

“Who the fuck are you talking about?!” You scream, unable to take the suspense any longer. You should be used to it, you should be used to his stupid love for theatrics and tension just like you should be used to the rats crawling around at night, and his hand gripping your neck until you see stars, and the stinging pulsing pain between your thighs, but you’re not, and you never will. Maybe that’s why you still have it in you to get angry.

“Michael, of course.” Cassian spits the name out like a curse, breaking the play - pretend once and for all. “That fucking tub-thumper you stole from Martha.” He laughs loosely, shoulders going up and down with ferocious madness. “I figured, if you love him so much, why not become one with him?” His voice drops to a sinister mumble. “Eve was created out of Adam’s rib. I wonder if his flesh will compose a new form inside of you and me.” He steps closer towards the bars, taking a hold of them like a man possessed - and for a moment you’re not sure who’s the prisoner and who’s the warden. “We’re born from blood and blood we become. His death will mark the beginning of our love.” 

His tone is gentle, his arms are soft, digging into the metal grates with the patience of a saint - trying to pull you outside through sheer will alone, but you don’t budge. You can’t. You’re stuck in place, tied down to the stone - cold filth you've already spent forever in. And before you know it, you’re emptying your guts upon the ground, watching the warm bile settle into each crook and nanny. Yellow, green and red mix together, painting the tiles all odds of brown. The reek of sickness fills the damp air, and you wish you could sense the mayor’s perfume beneath all the vomit, but there is nothing more to it now. He was a man and now he’s acid. He was loved, and now he’s less than meat. 

“How ungrateful.” Cassian hisses, letting go of you. He takes a second to brush the vomit off his shoes before turning back to you. “I decided to do something nice for you despite your betrayal, and this is the thanks I get?” He scoffs, crossing his arms. 

“You’re sick.” You clench your eyes tight, drowning in a storm of tears and snot. You can’t comprehend what just happened, what he told you. You’re not sure if you’re still dreaming or if you’re awake, if your reality has turned into an endless nightmare. Like crickets inside of your temple, the screams never end. “If I’m sick, then you must be poison.” The man bites back with venom, but you can see the smirk waiting to spill at the end of his lips. There is an air of conspiracy, of shared obscenity that should unite you, but instead it only makes you want to choke on your own spit. 

“I tried to cleanse you, my girl, I really did.” He squints, drowning whatever is left of the wine in one go. “I kept your body pure for forty days and forty nights. It’s the Last Supper. You can become one with me, or you can rot away.” He leans down, pushing himself closer to you. “All I ask is that you erase him from your soul. Devour whatever’s left of him, and let the memory go once and for all.” He speaks slowly as if he’s performing a ritual. You can feel yourself go drowsy, falling under his trance. “Then… Then come back to me. I’ll be waiting.” He kisses you deeply, urgently, letting you taste the blood off his tongue. 

The hunger is back.

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Study Buddy 2

Warnings: this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.

Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.

Character: Walter Marshall

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

You breeze through the book to your own surprise. Between your other classes and your part-time gig down at the shop, you make quick work of it. You sit to transcribe the notes you made by hand into the doc as your phone buzzes.

‘Should start writing. I can meet tomorrow.’

The message is as blunt as anything else he’s said to you. Your brief first meeting with Walter still sticks in your head. You look back to the document and see another cursor in the doc. Your words are backspaced and reworded before you. You sigh. It’s going to be one of those projects.

‘Sure. I work til 2. Library?’

You put your phone down again and ignore the edits as you continue to input your notes. You don’t know why you’re doing any of it. He seems intent on doing it all himself.

Buzz. You flip your cell and cup your chin as you read the screen. ‘Can’t make it there. Daughter’s sick. Meet me here.’

Here? As in his home? That’s a lot.

You don't get it. He suggested tomorrow then just as quickly pulls the rug out. It's like every answer you have is wrong.

‘Don't work day after.’

‘Tomorrow after 2 is fine. I'll send address.’

That's it. Even via text, you hear his unbending tone. How can you argue with that punctuation?

You just type OK and leave it be. Maybe you'll get murdered. It would at least be the end of your problems. Of all the group work you’ve ever done, he’s the least compromising person you’ve ever encountered. Usually you’d be happy to let someone else take the lead but something about his demeanour just comes off condescending.

Or maybe that’s your insecurity talking.

You continue your notes in the doc. You notice the other cursor, highlighted green, moving around the page. You try to ignore the changes in real-time being made to your own thoughts. This isn’t going to be easy. At least you’ll be able to say you earned your grade.

💻

It seems a bit reckless to be walking up to stranger’s house. In fact, after reading a thriller about murder, it rings in your head as a very unwise decision. That being said, you have to get this assignment done. It might not be worth your life but what choice do you have?

You compare the house number with the address in your phone. That’s the one. One-half of a faded old duplex. You stride up the narrow walk beside the bushes and climb up the concrete steps. You knock and wait.

You’re exhausted already. You don’t know if you’re ready for this. Work was no fun. It never is. Sorting packages is no glorious deed but it pays.

You wait and go to knock again. The door opens before your knuckles can meet the wood and you nearly rap against the chest of the man behind it. You give a sheepish cringe and rescind your hand.

“Uh, hi,” you utter awkwardly.

“Mm, hey,” Walter responds, “come on.”

He checks his watch as he backs up. It’s almost three. The buses were clogged down in the city’s core and you missed your connection to his neighbourhood. He probably wouldn’t care that you walked two blocks just to make up for the change in commute.

You step inside as he stands against the door. It’s a tight squeeze. You can smell the woodsy hint of his cologne as you brush by him. You stay on the mat and lift your foot to untie your boot with one hand. You waver as he sidles by you and switch feet. You leave the worn treads by the door.

He looks to his left and you see the hooks mounted on the wall, jackets already hung there. You take the hint and put yours with them. You swipe your bag back up and follow him down the entryway and through the second door on your left.

The kitchen is lit with an amber hue, the glass shade of the ceiling light lending a soft tint to the space. He points you to the round table across from the apron of the counter and you claim a chair quietly. You peer around curiously as he marches to the counter.

He doesn’t say a word as he fills a navy blue mug. You bop your foot under the table. You feel like you’re disturbing him but this was his idea.

“Coffee?” He asks. At least he’s kind enough to ask.

“Um, no, thanks,” you wilt out, “I’m all good.”

You reach to your bag to distract yourself. You open up your laptop as you put it on the table. He sits heavily to your right, his cup clunking down onto the wood. He drags over the notebook with loose leaves tucked between the pages.

“You mind typing?” He asks, “I’m no good with the small keys.”

“Sure, uh, let me just open up the notes...” you swirl your fingers around the touchpad as he exhales. Each breath sounds exasperated.

“You’re not one of those,” he wonders, “no coffee? What, you don’t like caffeine?”

“Um, well, I have one coffee in the morning but I don’t drink it after noon or my head hurts.”

“Mmm,” he hums flatly, “too bad.”

He lifts his cup and gulps again, elbows on the table as he hovers the mug between his hands. He seems like that type. No sleep, only coffee. It might explain his general demeanour.

“So, I’ll just make a second doc where we can put our draft,” you explain to another one of his rocky grumbles.

You hear something hoarser from down the hall. Coughing followed by horrid hacking. Then a moan as a door opens.

“Dad,” the thin voice wafts down ahead of the girl. She’s maybe fifteen, a blanket around her shoulders, as her reddened nose offers the only colour in her drawn face, “I need more cough syrup.”

“Faye,” he stands, his cup hitting the table just as harshly as before. “Go back to bed.”

“My head hurts,” she whimpers.

He stalks over to meet her by the fridge, “I know, sweetheart,” his softened tone surprises you, “go lay down and I’ll bring you some tea.” He opens the fridge and takes out a dark brown bottle, “here.” He hands her the syrup and she sniffles. He pats her arm gently, “don’t get me sick, kid.”

Her glazes eyes flit towards you as you sit with your hands over the keyboard. You look away meekly, caught.

“Who’s that, dad?” She asks.

“Schoolwork,” he gives the terse answer, “group project.”

“Oh,” she lets out the single syllable before she devolves back into a coughing fit.

“Lay down,” he demands.

As she retreats, he turns back and crosses to the counter. He flicks on the kettle and faces you, glaring over at you.

“Just a minute,” he says.

“Take your time,” you return gently, “she’s in rough shape.”

“Mm,” he rumbles, “I’m sure she doesn’t mind the time off school.”

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #night hunter #study buddy #au #series #drabble

[wokeupdreamy]

Strawberries and Cigarettes.

Theodor Nott x Hufflepuff!Reader

summary: you and theo had never talked much, hell you two were complete contraries. he was a stoic, cold slytherin and you were a giddy, always friendly hufflepuff. but what happens if through fate you run into each other one night and it makes you realize that you had never want anything more than to figure out the confusing riddle ‘theodor nott’.

authors note: hi, this is the first fanfiction i am writing (if you don’t count what my fourteen year old self wrote on wattpad, lol) and i actually don’t even know if i am going to keep writing this. i don’t even know if anyone will see this, i still have no clue how tumblr really works…anyways got the idea when i was listening to strawberries&cigaretts by troye sivan.

(also english isn’t my first language so bare with me!)

i don’t even know where this little fanfiction is even headed yet, but i guess we’ll figure that out on the way! alright, that being said, i hope you enjoy this first chapter and let me know if i should continue this little series! <3

warnings: none yet, probably some angst and violence in the later chapters, but the first one is just harmless fluff and theo being mysterious lol

find chapter two here: https://www.tumblr.com/wokeupdreamy/734705717659025408/strawberries-and-cigarettes

word count: 1.9k

Chapter One:

It was late, almost too late at night when you left the greenhouse. Working on your little extra credit project for Professor Sprout, not that you needed better grades as they were already perfect, you had completely lost track of time.

Only when the faint moon had been shining in through the windows, illuminating the room in an eerie light, you had decided to call it a day, or better a night.

Brushing off the dirty from your uniform, brows furrowed at the stain on your skirt, thinking about how difficult it would be to get out, you nearly collided with the tall figure in front of you.

Shutting your eyes, mentally preparing yourself to hit the cold, grassy ground. But to your surprise a strong arm caught your waist, just in time.

As soon as you had regained your balance, your eyes shot up to see who your mysterious savior was. And almost immediately your eyes were met with his sharp, blue ones.

Theodor Nott.

“Careful where you’re going.” he snickered, his face almost stoic. If you would’ve looked closely, you would’ve seen the faint smirk on his lips, but you were busy catching your breath from the shock.

“Nott.” you stated, a hint of annoyance laced in your voice. It wasn’t that you disliked the brown haired Slytherin, no. But you’d always tried to keep your distance from him, you being a Hufflepuff and him being a Slytherin helping tremendously with that. Sure, you were in the same year, a few boring words and ‘hi’s being exchanged between the two of you when paired up to work together in class but never more.

You doubted that he even knew your name, of course not, why would he? It wasn’t like you were particularly popular, well liked but not popular. Hell, you were the complete opposite of the grumpy boy, always being nice and friendly, offering your help to those who needed it.

“Didn’t see you, I am sorry.” you gave him a small, apologetic smile, realizing that picking a fight with a Slytherin, alone and in the dark, wasn’t probably the smartest idea.

“Of course.” he scoffed, letting go of your waist. The smirk he had worn a minute before had turned into a flat expression, the corners of his lips still turned upwards but the rest of his face being utterly blank, unchanging.

“What were you doing in the green house, at this time of night?” he asked, his eyes wandering down to the mud stains on your skirt.

You looked down and quickly realized how dirty you had actually gotten. The soil from the gardening, together with the mud on the ground, had left a mess of dirt on your usually clean and neatly pressed uniform.

“I was working on my herbology project.” you answered.

“And what are you doing in the grounds at this hour?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowed.

Once again his eyes seemed to look directly into yours and once again the same smirk appeared on his lips.

“Oh, you know.” he murmured, his voice low.

“Can’t sleep.” he added, his arm gesturing to the night sky.

“Have to get some fresh air.” the rest of his face was indifferent, as if nothing and no one was of any significance to him.

You felt like telling him that the Headmaster would surely not be pleased if he caught a student in the grounds at this hour but decided to shut your mouth. It was not like the Slytherin cared for rules, no, you’d seen him go to detention enough times over the years.

The two of you stood there in silence, the wind rustling the trees breaking the still.

And in some stupid way, you couldn’t help but admire the way the faint light from the moon above seemed to cling onto his perfectly sculpted figure. His messy, dark brown hair blowing in the wind and the light shining on his high cheekbones.

He was truly a beautiful specimen that looked like he belonged on the covers of the muggle magazines you read. But you knew that the moment you would have admitted that to him, he would probably laugh it off.

As much as you would have loved to keep looking at him, the cold was starting to seep into your bones. Shivering slightly, you pulled the sleeves of your robe over your hands. The dirt under your nails was still visible.

“Well-“ you started, “I’m afraid I should be going, before someone sees me in out in the grounds at this hour. Professor Sprout wouldn’t be to pleased either.”

You expected him to turn around and go his own way but he just shrugged. “True.” he chuckled, once again surprising you.

And just as quick as the conversation had started, it was over. The boy had turned, his back now to you.

Without looking back, he gestured to the side, as if to invite you to walk beside him.

There was no sign of annoyance or boredom on his face, as if you being there wasn’t that big of a deal.

You hesitated for a moment, before walking up next to him. And as you both walked in silence, you realized just how fast paced he walked.

The grounds were eerily similar to the greenhouse, empty and still and quiet. It felt peaceful, the only sound being that of your footsteps along with the wind. There wasn’t the slightest hint of voices talking or laughter. It felt like you were alone in the world, both of you.

As you walked beside him, you found yourself sneaking peaks at the boy. His hands shoved in the pockets of his robe, his face turned to the path ahead.

Even if you wanted to strike up a conversation, you had no idea how you could do that without it being awkward as hell. So you decided to enjoy the silence for as long as it would last.

But soon, Nott started to talk.

“I’m bored.” not a question. A flat, monotone statement. “I like being around plants.” again, no question.

The boy just wanted to state facts.

The silence lasted for a few more seconds and the you decided to respond. “Oh, yeah?” you asked. “But you don’t even take Herbology?” you furrowed your brows in confusion. Theodor Nott liked being around plants?

“Doesn’t matter. Plants are peaceful.” he stated, his voice just as quiet and flat as before.

“And the greenhouse doesn’t have any people in it.”

You couldn’t help the fact that a small smile crossed your lips. The boy wasn’t that intimidating after all.

“You don’t like people, do you?” you asked, the question coming out before you could even stop yourself. You could’ve cursed at yourself for being so blunt, already mentally preparing yourself for a snarky comment or a rude insult.

But nothing of that sort came.

Theo looked at you, blue eyes piercing into yours as if looking at your soul in particular.

His expression was blank, but the smirk was still playing on his lips.

“What makes you think that?” was his quiet response.

The silence was almost loud, but you felt it was your turn to talk.

“You’ve never exactly been interested in having a conversation, have you?” you questioned him. “In all those Hogwarts years I’ve only seen you talk to a handful people for longer than five minutes.” Again, he just shrugged.

You were expecting him to be annoyed but strangely enough, that wasn’t the case.

A smirk still on his lips, that didn’t seem to go away anytime soon, he looked straight at you.

“Is that bad? Not talking to everyone I see?”

Another long silence fell between the two of you.

“You know, I find it quite amusing. You trying to figure me out.” he finally broke it. His voice was still quiet and emotionless, as if talking was just a chore.

As much as what he said was kind of insulting, it was true. Not to your credit but you didn’t know much about Theo, at least not in comparison to how much you thought you knew others. About your friends and the other students in your year.

“What is there to know about you?” you asked, trying to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at his remarks.

His cold eyes were on you again, he was the one not answering you immediately, as if thinking about his response longer than necessary.

“There is nothing about me.” he finally muttered.

Once more, you were stunned into silence.

His answer was the last thing you expected.

Your brain was racing, asking if there was more to the story.

Maybe the boy really was a loner, you thought.

Before you could find the courage to open your mouth, Nott started over.

“So, you like plants?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit more curious and lively than before.

“Uh- yes.” you answered, your arms crossed in front of you to protect against the cold wind.

You had always liked plants.

There was something very calming and soothing about them. Their quiet energy and their almost peaceful presence.

When you were having a bad day or you felt sad or tired, the greenhouse was the place to be.

It was the one place in Hogwarts where the chaos of everything and everyone was non-existent.

Once again, a silence took over the two of you.

You wanted to say more. Ask him more questions. Be intrigued in what kind of person he was and if there was more to the story about the boy with the cold eyes.

But suddenly you knew that doing that would be useless.

He wouldn’t tell, not to you. Not now, not ever.

And so you kept quiet. Not speaking a word until you reached a familiar spot, the entrance hall.

Unsure of what to do, you entered the castle behind him, hands nervously fumbling with the hem of your skirt as the two of you just stood there.

He would have to go down to his common room, while you would make your way to the Hufflepuff common room near the kitchens.

Once more you were both alone, in silence, both facing the stairs which would lead to your separate paths.

You hesitated, not knowing what to say, what to do, how to take your leave as it seemed like he had no plans on speaking again.

The boy had one of his elbows on the wall and was leaning on it, not looking at you. His hands still in the pockets of his robe.

The longer you stood there, the more uncomfortable the moment became.

“Well…uhm good night to you?” you mumbled, finally mustering up the courage to break the uncomfortable silence.

Theo tilted his head as he looked up at you, his eyes now curious as he stared at you. His face suddenly showing more emotion than before. His smirk was gone.

Silence once more.

But after a moment of thinking, his face once again looked blank.

“Good night to you too.” he muttered, his voice as monotone as before as he started descending the stairs.

Shaking your head, still trying to understand this strange encounter, you started your own way to your common room.

If you had learned one thing tonight, it was that Theodor Nott was a fucking mystery.

And you had never wanted to solve a mystery this badly before.

#theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #harry potter #theo nott x y/n

[writing-mlm]

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

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

Summa Cum shut the fuck up [D.W]

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

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

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

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

Until you saw Damian Wayne. 

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

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

Until it did. 

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

And his name was above yours. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t say anything. 

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

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

4:34 am

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Then again, you could’ve been studying. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

And you’re too prideful to let that happen. 

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

He hands you the test back and you stand up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fucking hate you.”

—

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be ready in five.” 

And he was. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How the fuck do you even act at parties. 

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

“Hey,” You offer a smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty sure you bottom,” 

“Just this once.”

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you

[love-toxin]

DO U HAVE SUNDAY THOUGHTS…

/WHIPS MY HEAD AROUND EXORCIST-STYLE

(cws: toxic relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, yandere goodness)

It has to be said: big male manipulator daddy energy. If he wants you, he will ruin everything you love. He's smothering with endearment when you act according to his desires, and viciously brutal in his discipline when you go against his virtues. If you want out of his reach you'll just have to kill him because he's not interested in letting his pet personal attachment go.

Not that he isn't gentle at times, even sweet. He can be gentle and is actually very good at being so. He does truly love to see you smile and to feel your happiness flooding out of you; he loves the excitement in your eager gait when he shows you the Golden Hour for the first time, and all those colours and wondrous sights you've never seen before come to life in the dream. The reflection of all those brilliant, glimmering lights in your eyes is a sight he'll never forget.

But you are not his equal, for the simple reason that you require more guidance to be on your own. Sunday is convinced that you're a little lost lamb, delicate and unworldly, and that you need a proper mentor before you can even think of making your own decisions in life. Little do you know that he has no intention of ever seeing you in that light of equality, but to be fair, neither does he. He's just certain that you're a passion project requiring his help, and that is something he is all too happy to lend despite his many other duties to the Family.

That means, however, that you're essentially stuck with him. With Robin's death so fresh in his mind, he can't let something he loves out of his sight ever again. You must stay with him and be by his side every second of the day--aren't you flattered? He trusts you most implicitly, to the point that you've listened to all but only the most exclusive inner workings of the Family, which are the only times that Sunday will briefly excuse himself to have a meeting with his companions alone. Sometimes it ends with only himself coming back out, but if you haven't learned already you will learn to keep your lips sealed about those occurrences. "It's nothing for you to worry about." Sunday's famous words ring in your head, usually followed by a welcome distraction of tea or a walk or even some ice cream. Anything for his little darling.

Part of what makes Sunday so enticing--and in fact is probably a large part of why you'd get sucked into his facade--is that he offers you something you likely don't have; a family. And not just that, but unconditional love, support, wealth, affection, comfort, anything and everything you could ever want, even if it's not directly from Sunday himself. Although you're by his side nearly every moment of the day and he's all too eager to offer you attention whenever possible, being part of the Family and part of Sunday's inner circle means that you're part of something much bigger than yourself. The Family members treat you with dignity. The Hounds protect you. The people of Penacony adore you. And no matter where you are, no matter what you do, Sunday will never give up on his unending affection for you. It doesn't matter what it is. It doesn't matter what crimes you've committed or what guilt you feel for your past, whether you're a happy person or you're miserable, whether you can't hold up your relationships or you're an egregious people-pleaser; Sunday will never, ever give up on you, and that's rare to find in anyone, much less someone of his status and one with so much romantic affection for you. He'll tell you himself that he physically cannot abandon you, it's just...not within him to even think of it. You're meant to be together. That's the way it should be, forever and always.

#sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #hsr #ellie writes #anons

[thetravelingtyper]

On The Same Page pt2 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

After a recurring nightmare, you and Sam decide to open the shop early...only to have an early arriving customer.

Part 1, part 3

Oh, the boy's a slag, the best you ever had

The best you ever had is just a memory and those dreams

Weren't as daft as they seem, not as daft as they seemed

My love, when you dream them up

You awoke with a jolt at your alarm, the cursed song striking once more before you could silence your phone. As you sit up the irony is not lost on you. Your dreams of late had been haunted by the caricature of your ex, some cartoon evil laugh chasing with the constant ringing of your phone. The dreams always ended the same, except for this last night:

He was upon you in a moment, clawed hand reaching up your leg. You kick and kick but the words never escape your sewn mouth. The words of your ex-coworker swarm you like angry flies, bold and ugly.

“Disgraceful”

“Stepped over for the CEO’s daughter”

“They were shoddy anyway…”

The voices all fade into your ex’s final words to you: “I never loved you anyway.”

That crushed your heart into ash and scattered it into the indifferent winds. But before he could drag you back, a shape formed in your conscience. Heavy boot steps silence the laughter and a large figure passes in your peripheral vision. In the haze of your dream, he passes the shelves, the bookstore emerging from the darkness to surround your ex and the harpies. 

Your panic slows in the familiar setting and with a kick you send your ex stumbling backward. Turning your face up from the hardwood floor you look towards the figure as the haze clears. It's a man, tall and in black, just browsing but something draws your eye. And as you feel yourself awaken his eyes, hardwood and honey, meet yours. 

You hear shuffling before there is a knock on your door. You call him in and Sam’s head pops in. Green eyes hidden behind black curls meet yours and he pauses upon seeing your slouched shoulders.

“Nightmare again?” He kicks a pair of jeans aside and enters your room.

You stand, make your bed swiftly, and turn to address him in the glory of your Rainbow Fish Pajamas. 

“Yeah, except there was a man this-”

“You got Soap on the brain again?” It comes out immediately and you flush before rushing forward to hit your older brother figure. He was and wasn't wrong. In the following weeks after Soap’s initial visit you found yourself developing a steady friendship with the Scot, who insisted on dropping in every other day. It started with recommendations but quickly turned into shared tea over book conversations. You learned a little about him in the meantime, finding out he worked as a bartender literally down the street from your little shop. The convenience of his closeness and his ease of personality found you a fast and steady friend. 

“-despite your obvious stupidity, no I do not like him!” You huffed, and it was true! Soap was handsome but in truth, you believed that one he was in a relationship and second he was better as a prospective friend. 

Sam grins, dodging your poor attempt to smack him as he spins out of your room,

“He is hot though, poor lad probably gets hit on every shift. Remember we promised to visit on Saturday night! Come on let's open up the store early. I have a good feeling about today!” And with a clap of his hands for you to hurry he closes your door, exiting down the hall towards the kitchen. In a moment you can hear him lighting the stove to make breakfast. 

In the resulting silence, you dress yourself, passing a reflection of yourself in the mirror and choosing to ignore it. Your laptop sits beside your current project: A Smith Corona Corsair, one of the few possessions you had brought with you. The typewriter was the start of your writing career and you kept it well-tuned for work. 

You run a soft hand over its polished ivory keys. The mint blue of the case had a few scratches but was mostly worn from love. You remember as a child hammering on the keys, which graduated into a curiosity for mechanical machines and writing. The stone kept tumbling after you finished your Master’s in English and first stepped into the editing business. In the topsy-turvy world you found yourself in a comfortable position as an editor for a company, a year in deciding to write your books and the rest was history. 

You close the typewriter and quickly change into a manageable but comfy outfit then head out into the hall. Closing your door, you head down the hallway of your small flat, passing photos from back home with Sam. Taking a right you pass into the open concept of the apartment (Sam’s room was straight across the hall from yours). You pad softly on the carpet, stepping onto the rug and into the kitchen where Sam is making breakfast. He flips a pancake as bacon sizzles on the griddle. Running a hand to his shoulder you lean over to see how it was coming, sufficiently satisfied at his improving cooking skills.

“You are learning well”

“I get it from the best” he replies pulling you in for a small hug and a kiss to the side of your head. He releases you at the ding of 8 am on the clock. 

“You want breakfast up here?” You hover over the cabinet of plates, proceeding to pull two out for the food with silverware following. 

“Nah, let's just open shop, I'll eat in the sitting area before cleaning the book return. Can you take the counter today?”

You nod and shift aside so he can plate the food. The Ghibli style meal looks filling and you sigh, you go to take a swipe at the fresh pancakes but Sam dances aside.

“Wait till we’re downstairs.” He follows it up by gathering the silverware and heading towards the stairs. You pout and go to open the door for him and proceed to follow him down the hardwood stairs.

---

You set up post at the counter by 8:11, a plate of food set aside the stack of holds. Some paperbacks gleam with a glossy finish, while other hardbacks are nice with matte coats. Before your eye moves away you catch the shine of antiqued gold. You gently move the top books aside to grab the fabric-bound hardback: Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea by Jules Verne.  It looked to be a 50s-60s American release, bound with an inner marbled coat of paper and inlaid with gold foil lettering. The deep aqua of the fabric was barely worn, you wondered if the book had ever been read at all with the great condition it was in. You looked inside the cover for a name but on a a shibu inu shaped sticky note were the initials S.R.

Huh, that's interesting. You ran a hand over the scripting, it wasn't Sam nor your handwriting. You shrug. They must be regular then. You and Sam had a ‘write and set aside’ policy in the store. 

It was an unspoken rule amongst the two of you (and the regulars) that if a book turned up on the counter like this, with a name, it was put ‘on hold’. You set the beautiful book aside with a final glance, then turned your attention to breakfast. 

After finishing your meal you opened the doors to the bookstore at an early 8:34 am. Turning back to the counter you head over and hook your phone up to the music. You flip through Your Love first then frown, the implications of the song a bit much, next Jessie’s Girl. At Rick Springfield’s voice, you sigh, flashes of the girl your ex dumped, and you turn the song again. Then finally the sweet guitar riff and a beat that puts you on your toes kicks up. From the back of the shelves, Sam's head full of hair pokes out.

“It's been a while since we've had a Bowie day!”

You smile back at him as Modern Love kicks up. You sway from around the corner and flip the sign to open, you turn on the neon sign and turn to go stock the sitting area when there’s an immediate ding of the bell as someone enters. You turn around as Sam calls a Welcome in from the back of the store. The first sight that hits you is a literal wall of a man, then there is the smell of worn leather and pine. You step back with a small oh in surprise. 

He wears all black except for a pair of well-fitting jeans and leather boots. As your eyes trace up his tall figure you catch a snug shift with a leather jacket fitted over. Then a black surgical mask and…you freeze. Looking down at you with a slight sense of amusement are eyes the color of darkened honey. 

The man from your dream! But in the flesh and oh…

“I am so sorry!” You wave your hand in front of you a little shy to be caught staring.

The man offers no more than a slight nod with amusement dancing in his eyes. He regards you a moment before mentioning in a low voice, rough but soft:

“No worries dove.”

And with that he steps around you, brushing your arm with the slightest touch of leather, and disappears into the books.

You stand for a moment more before a blush runs up your face and a tingle runs down your spine.

Fuck.

END

I love writing this. I am no longer bored in the library thank you to these lovely people (Taglist!)

@ghostlythots

#cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap and reader #simon riley fluff #fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #on the same page

[seratopia]

donatello x reader (fluff?) - random headcannons

this list has been piling up, these are more general

No matter how much y'all say it, I don't think his love language would be physical touch. Donnie seems too awkward to return hugs or kisses, but nonetheless still notices/appreciates them when you do it. Instead, I feel like he'd opt for acts of service instead. Like, fixing your glasses, showing you cool features on your laptop, creating a custom chat interface for you two.

He lets you borrow that purple hoodie

You hear "Erm akshually-" alot lmaooooo ; he often infodumps the most random shit to you, you've become accustomed to listening to him.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he's slightly into LOA stuff (Law of Attraction). It's canon that he listens to positive self-affirmations while he sleeps, so maybe that's a thing for him idk

Steals your eyebrow pencil to fill in his brows for the day. It'd be cool to see him into makeup.

Plays SO MANY games holy shit, has tried everything on Steam.

Obviously he has Discord, no questions asked. Organizes his servers into neat, purple folders. He only uses dark mode, he hisses if he ever sees light mode. Also knows how to make and works servers very well; likes making embeds and such for fun.

^^ On top of this, he probably has a lot of online friends; he doesn't need to show his face or reveal his identity. I see him staying up really late, playing random games at 2 AM on a Discord call.

Very very techy; uses Linux, built his own PC, set up the lair's wifi router too. The brothers come to him all the time for help on their tech fixes, mainly on Nintendo Switch.

My boy is CHRONICALLY ONLINE, he definitely knows all those niche internet songs. He gives me weird kid vibes, like The Living Tombstone, Rat by Penelope Scott, dare I say a little bit of Miku?

He knows the FNAF lore

Secretly shops at Hot Topic from time to time. I'm seeing graphic tees, maybe a studded bracelet? He walks in and the employees are like, "Dude, nice cosplay."

CAFFEINE! Mostly relies on coffee, doesn't like Starbucks that much, and he has tried Monster before. Monster is like a last resort for him, like he's working on a project he MUST finish for his sanity.

Also, I feel like he has fucked up teeth idk. Like, how the hell would Splinter be able to afford dental care for not one, but four teens? Braces too, not only are they expensive, but inaccessible to mutants.

He needs glasses, just often refuses to wear them

Never, ever truly gets angry or mad. But when he does, its rare and it's kinda scary ngl

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt x reader #x reader #reader insert #donnie #donatello #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello x reader #random headcannons #fluff #seratopia writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

[ninmnoi]

— Stop, you’re losing me.

mingyu x reader || angst.

summary ; trying to save an already failing relationship is a lot harder when he forgets your birthday.

(not proof read lol)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Its your birthday, you’ve never made a big deal about it tell you met him. You still remember his shocked face and loud “WHAT” when you told him you dont found your birthday a big deal, its just another day. Ever since then, he always celebrated your birthday in fun surprises and dinners. He made it so important and meaningful for you, and the big part of that is because you know he’ll be there.

So your nothing short of despair when its past 5pm and he hasnt once messaged you. It’d be another thing if he just didnt message happy birthday, you wouldve been okay with goodmoring.

You sigh putting your phone down, bitting your lip as your eyes water. It shouldnt be this serious, you’ve never even cared about your birthday before, so why dose it hurt so bad now?

Mingyu

That god damn Mingyu.

He used to be such a soft spoken soul, aiding to your needs as you do with him, those first few years of your relationship. He confessed to you in your own backward, he put his effort and time into it. You can even smell the flowers that lead to Mingyu, see the lights that brightened his soft smile, that swift hair and tall figure standing nervously fiddling with the bouquet in his hands. And who could forget the blush that tainted his face and ears, tears threatening to jump out after you said “yes.”

Now, your even lucky if he stays with you a whole day. Its always this or that driving him away. When he left your sisters engagement dinner because a friend of his needed help moving in, or when he canceled a date because he forgot a “really super duper important project” as he said. The nights he wouldnt call, the empty king bed. The second toothbrush that hasnt been moved in 2 weeks.

It drove you insane, but you still gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Maybe he’s busy”

“Hes probably sleeping”

“God his phone must’ve died”

Your friends would yell at you over text, spamming you with the reality check you needed, but never could deposit. After pacing around the kitchen trying to ignore the cute cake you bought with a sad candle slowly sinking into it. You pick up your phone and call him.

Ring…

Ring…

Ring…

*click!*

Did he just hang up on you..?

No, he would have to be crazy.

You call again.

Same fucking thing, even quicker just 2 rings in.

You open his contact info, trying to see where his location would put him.

“No Location Found.” You curse, what is he hiding? Your mind leads to the one scenario you’ve been dreading, infidelity. The thought of him cheating makes you wanna throw up, but sadly its a most common event. You’re just so done with everything, putting the cake away into the fridge and changing clothes. Its now 6:42pm and with the major headache you have, you simply decided to sleep it off. Hugging the build-a-bear Mingyu bought you a year back, it muffles your sobs, soaking in the tears.

It’s cold and dark when your awaken by an extra weight adjusting it’s self onto the right side of the bed. You recognize it all to well. Mingyu pulls the covers over himself, giving you a small peck on the tip of your ear.

“You’re home” you say, your drowsy and hurt voice clear.

“Yeah- im sorry im so late” he whispers to you

“There's cake in the fridge”

“Cake? For what”

You sigh, “My birthday”

You can hear his breathe hitch.

“Fuck- Baby im so sorry. I didnt mean to forget. I was just so bus-.”

You sit up.

“Busy,? from what? So busy you couldnt even text? Because clearly it wouldnt have taken as much time as hanging up on me and turning off your location did. So if ‘busy’ is some new slang for ignoring then that makes way more sense.”

“I didnt even know you called, i swear. My location should be on babe.. I” He mumbles on

“Then whos hanging up on me? Making sure i dont know where your at? Is she fun?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen

“What are you talking about?”

“Her, you know.. Is she attractive? What is it huh? Skinner than me? Or maybe blonder? Or is because you dont need to be responsible for her?

“Baby no, its none of that.” He grabs your shoulders.

“I love you, calm down”

“How can i?” You exclaim, jumping off the bed.

“You missed my birthday! I waited for you like some stupid dog! I felt so stupid.”

“I dont understand, birthdays were never that big of a deal for you”

“They werent until you made it a problem! Now look at me” you say, the tear stained face and puffy cheeks evident.

Mingyu gets up, walking over to you.

“I know ive been distant, let me make it up to you”

“Where were you tonight?”

He stays quiet for a moment, taking a deep breathe

“My friend he uh… invited me to a club” he quietly says.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay..?”

“Mingyu, get out”

“What?” His heart drops.

“Get out! Did the club music deafen you?? I want you gone” You yell, tears streaming down your face as you push him out. Though you have little to no affect of moving his body, it makes it all the more depressing.

“Okay…Okay..” He quietly says, grabbing his phone off the dresser. Looking down at you with remorseful eyes. His heart aching at the messed up state your in. And its because of him, god.

You slam the door behind him, locking it. You sigh before faintly walking back to your bed.

And theres your build-a-bear, ready to be hugged and to soak all your tears again.

Atleast, that comforts you.

#xreader #mingyu #oneshot #angst #mingyu x reader #seventeen #seventeen x reader #mingyu smut

[inphront]

y’know i’m writing this fic and it’s making me think that maybe we don’t recognize enough as a fandom that a lot of harrow’s guilt and shame, which make her light years more sympathetic as a character, are a.) not actually that moral, b.) directly caused by the ninth, and c.) probably shared with her parents, the only characters in the whole series that i’ve never seen a single post trying to humanize/analyze as complex. like. harrow hates herself for what her parents did and honestly? the most likely reason for this is just that kids subconsciously recognize themselves as extensions of their parents, and *her parents probably hated themselves for what they did.* regularly explaining your crimes against humanity to your five-year-old but only being willing to discuss it in the terms of it being a horrible sin and having to take a ritual cleansing bath every single time is the action of a very guilty person. i have to imagine that those saltwater baths probably included some really intense self-flagellation on the part of harrow’s parents that she internalized. i’d venture so far as to say that their suicides were motivated by guilt over the massacre just as much as by shame over the opening of the tomb.

harrow’s sense of constant guilt is so often seen as proof of her having overcome the imperial morality pushed by the houses, and that makes sense given the fact that she *has* taken a viewpoint by the end of the series that opposes imperial morality, but also, guilt is like the main export of the ninth house. harrow’s relationship to it, even once it stops being something she projects onto gideon or otherwise externalizes, is fundamentally ninth and ties her to what she herself acknowledges as “the worst flaws of her house.” ultimately it is something she inherited just as much as the 200, which to me provokes a lot of questions about how her parents actually coped with the consequences of their own fucked-up actions. gideon experienced that coping as just straight cruelty, but we know that harrow got a much more complex window into their feelings and behaviors, and my guess is those behaviors bore distinct resemblance to hers.

i have to wonder what sorts of systemic pressures were falling on them and their house that led to them killing off a whole generation, and what sort of transformations they underwent. how *do* you live with yourself knowing that the blood of so many innocent people, people you were responsible for *protecting,* is on your hands? how could you possibly raise a well-adjusted child when she’s basically a mirror into an atrocity you could’ve hardly fathomed up till the day you committed it? do you think they tried to? i think they probably tried to, but ultimately being a good parent doesn’t change being a mass murderer, and it’s impossible to pull off at all when the mass murder is so directly tied to your hopes for your child. the ninth’s entire purpose within the empire is to carry the weight and memory of one of the most horrible things john ever did, to *inherit the mass death and necromantic subjugation of the earth.* in this capacity, harrow’s parents are *victims* of the empire and its doctrine around death who proceeded to perpetuate both the mass death and necromantic subjugation AND the task of bearing the burden of shame onto their next generation. i don’t really know where i’m going with this aside from “the ninth’s cycle of violence is based in shame and is an extension of john’s disbelief in forgiveness, which means harrow can’t break it without forgiving something unforgivable; it’ll be interesting to see how she manages such a difficult task,” and “i think we oughtta talk about the politics of guilt as it applies to the entire reverend family dynamic”

#tlt #harrowhark nonagesimus #priamhark noniusvianus #pelleamena novenarius #phron’s locked tomb essays

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Could you do some modern day Soda headcanons please? I love him so much and I love your blog so much soooooo….

Ok so soda is tricky for me to write but I tried my best!!!

Modern Au Sodapop Headcanons

-Drinks every single energy drink imaginable. Rockstar? Like its water. Prime? For the plot. 5 hour energy? He’ll down it in five seconds. Darry is HORRIFIED.

-Is pretty enough he’s one of those people who becomes moderately famous on TikTok without having to really do much. His followers notice he’s always talking to someone off camera, and they’re desperate to find out who it is, but Soda only ever responds to comments with ‘oh that’s just Stevie, he doesn’t like TikTok’.

-Soda’s followers have a lot of theories about this ‘Stevie’. Soda is weirdly tight lipped about him, despite the fact he often breaks off mid rant in videos to talk to him. There’s also the fact that the rest of the gang is often around/in the background of videos, but the mysterious ‘Stevie’ never appears. (okok I’ll stop here before this becomes a Stevepop social media au)

-Regularly forgets to take his ADHD meds and Darry often has to remind him

-Would either have a hockey flow or a mullet (whatever y’all think, personally I think modern Soda with a hockey flow tracks with his character)

-One of those people who loves horror movies but is also completely terrified of even the dumbest ones and has to sleep with the lights on for weeks afterwards. Steve makes fun of him for it, but will also stay up on the phone with him if Soda watches one by himself and freaks himself out

-Has a million fidget spinners because they actually help him focus on stuff when he needs to

-Soda in modern AU wouldn’t call Ponyboy ‘kid brother’ as a nickname (don’t get me wrong, I love it but Ive never heard it used irl). Instead, I think him and Darry (and thus the rest of the gang) refer to Pony as ‘shrimp’ and Ponyboy absolutely hates it  “where’s the shrimp” “he’s has track practice ‘till four, you of all people should know that Dar” (brought to you by me and my interactions with my own little brothers)

-The whole gang is super into video games, but Soda is kind of shit at them and lowkey grumpy about it

-Every teacher he’s ever had has done that thing where they expect him to be exactly like his older sibling, and therefore expect him to be a model student like Darry, and every time they are proven entirely wrong. By the time the same teachers see Ponyboy’s name on their class lists they’re terrified of what to expect

-He definitely had that horrible middle school boy stage where he just reeked of axe body spray and BO before he figured out proper hygiene

-Every two weeks him and Steve end up doing some sort of YouTube deep dive where they end up being convinced of some sort of wild conspiracy theory that Ponyboy and sometimes Darry have to spend three hours talking them out of

-Uses far too many emojis in texts

-He had a pet hamster once and you know that thing died in the most horrendous way imaginable. Two-bit probably farted into the cage at one point as a joke and the poor thing asphyxiated to death or some shit like that

-He’s that kid in group projects who does nothing and tanks the presentation for everyone by mispronouncing half the words on the slides some other group member made for him

-Him and Steve are so inseparable that when they’re not together people will be like ‘where’s your boyfriend’ and he just answers without thinking before flushing really hard and sputtering a bit. 

-One of those people that casually catches snakes with his bare hands. Steve HATES it and Ponyboy is TERRIFIED of snakes so he gets in trouble with Darry if he does it too often or brings them near the house

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #steve randle #darry curtis #two bit mathews #headcanon #stevepop #sodapop x steve

[girlfailure-smut-hour]

Simeon's Corruption

Characters: Simeon X Fem!Reader

CW: Nipple play, Oral (Receiving, giving) Penetration (Receiving.) Some gendered language and MC has breasts, but ambiguous genitals as always.

A/N: I've been wanting to do something with corrupting Simeon for a while. He's such a cutie. MC seduces Simeon by wearing revealing clothes then confronting him about his fantasies. ~2100 words.

Please check out my fic masterlist <3

From the moment you laid eyes on him you knew you had to have him. His beautiful soft skin, slightly tousled hair, and gentle eyes entranced you. The way his tight shirt clung to his chest and the spots where it was cut away so you could see his waist was almost too much to bear. But it wouldn't do for an angel to misbehave like that so you had to take matters into your own hands.

It wasn't easy to make an angel have indecent thoughts. You started simple at first. Innocent flirtation: genuine compliments and the stray touch on his bare shoulder, but he didn't notice a thing. He'd just return your compliments. You had to work for it, so you began to wear shorter skirts, bending down in front of him to show your panties. You wore lower cut tops and leaned over him "to get something," making sure he had a full view down your shirt. You could never catch him looking. It was almost like he was incapable of noticing; too pure, or perhaps too polite. But one day when you were sitting near him, leaning so he could catch a peek down your shirt, you glanced at him and saw him quickly look away, blushing like he'd just walked in on you changing or something.

"Is everything okay, Simeon?" You ask, hiding a smile.

"Y-yes!" He stammers, getting up. "Sorry! I just remembered I have something to take care of!"

He quickly runs off, but you can't help but notice his bulge. Though he tried to hide it, the tightening of his pants was obvious as he ran out of the room.

You smile to yourself. So he can have dirty thoughts, you think. It wouldn't be hard to push him much further. He's probably on his way to masturbate right now, but you decide to let him be, as exciting as it is. You picture him rushing off to his room and tearing away his tight pants exposing his hard cock. Maybe he's lying on his bed right now, pumping his length in his fist, a light wet slapping sound each time his hand reaches the base. Maybe he's moaning your name as he tries to imagine what's under your shirt thinking of all the times you gave him a view down your bra. As he cums, all he can think about is how badly he wishes it were inside of you. After he started to think about you in that way, it would be hard for him to put those feelings aside again.

Catching him the next day, he can hardly look at you. He used to look at you with such pure intentions, not seeing the dirty thoughts you wanted to project onto him. Today, he can't look at you without calling to mind the fantasies he probably pleasured himself to last night.

"Hey Simeon," you say, stepping close to him, and running a finger down his chest, feeling his tense muscles under his tight shirt.

He looks away, blushing with a shiver. "H-hey."

"Is everything okay? You seemed to run off in a hurry yesterday."

"Y-yeah," he stammers, blushing even harder. "I… left something in my room… that I needed."

Lying too now? He'd really come a long way. "You seem… flustered," you say.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean," he replies.

You turn his face with a gentle finger and he gulps as he meets your eyes. They flick down to your chest before he brings them back to your eyes. Your heart is pounding as he looks deep into your eyes with a complicated, unreadable expression. He almost looks as though he's going to cry.

"I… did something bad last night," he says. "And I feel very guilty about it."

"That's okay Simeon," you nearly whisper. "We all do bad things sometimes." You can feel excitement stirring down between your legs as a tingling warmth builds up within you. "Sometimes we feel guilty about things that are perfectly natural." You cup his cheek, and feel the warmth of his blush as he looks away again, only casting furtive glances at your lips and chest. "Can I tell you a secret?"

He perks up, ready to hear the deepest contents of your heart. "You can always share your secrets with me," he replies.

"Sometimes… When I'm all alone late at night, I touch myself while thinking about someone."

"Is it a particular someone?" He asks. Your heart is pounding now. His probably is too, but you only have to look at his flushed face to know he is nervous.

"Yes," you say, "but I don't know if he'd have me."

"I think he'd be quite lucky to have you," he replies.

For a moment, it is quiet between you two. You break the silence by saying, "Kiss me.”

And he does. A gentle, almost shy kiss at first, but it evolves into a passionate, yearning one as he pulls you close and runs his fingers through your hair. You put your hips against his to feel his erection already pulling his pants tight.

As you pull away he says, "I have a confession too. I touched myself while I thought of you yesterday. That was the something bad I did."

"I know,” You laugh. “Did you enjoy it?"

"Aside from the guilt," he says, "very much so."

You get closer and whisper in his ear, "how about we try some of those fantasies then?"

Shivering, he replies, "I'd like that very much."

"Come on," you say, taking his hands and giggling.

"R-right now!?" He asks.

"Yeah!" You laugh as you drag him to your room.

His eyes are darting around and beads of sweat form at his brow as you both enter your room together. You touch his chest and bring your lips close to his.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," you whisper against his lips before kissing him again. He's stiff at first, but as he relaxes, he lets his tongue out a little, wrapping his arms around you. You grab the back of his head, running your hands through his beautiful hair. He pulls you tighter, pressing his hard cock against you.

You push his shawl over his shoulders and run your fingers against his skin. He shivers and you can feel his cock twitch through his tight pants. He pulls away and starts to undress you. His fingers rub the hem of your top nervously, before he lifts it up over your head. Reaching around you, he fumbles with your bra strap before it gives and falls away. He then kneels in front of you, kissing you a few times on your stomach and hips before pulling your skirt and panties down. He runs his hands up and down your legs, soaking you in.

As he steps away, there is a look of awe in the angel's eyes as though you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He breathes deeply, drinking the moment in. You can't even feel nervous around him, the way he regards you.

He pulls you back into a kiss, running his strong, warm hands over your skin. He feels every inch of your body as he kisses you deeply. Gentle, but passionate, you can feel the aching desire in his touch, even though his hands feel light as air.

You undo his belt, then button and zipper, before ripping his pants and underwear down. His cock bounces slightly as the fabric is pulled away. You caress it and can feel his body move against his will, convulsing at the slightest touch. You wrap your hand around him and start to stroke it, gently rubbing it as he struggles to keep his lips locked to yours through the gyrations of his hips.

You guide him to the bed pressing a hand against his shoulder without dropping the kiss or stopping stroking his cock. As his heels knock against the bed, his knees buckle and he falls backward onto the bed, giggling. He looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with adoration for you. You cup his cheek and lean over to kiss him. Slowly you lower yourself onto your knees, until your mouth is inches from his cock. He bites his lip anxiously as your hot breath bears down on his length. He would be fun to toy with if you had the patience to tease him more, but the tension is unbearable already.

You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and he moans your name, leaning his head back in pleasure. You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock and he thrusts his hips involuntarily, pushing a little further into your mouth. You start to press your head down, taking more of his length in, feeling it fill your mouth as you get closer to the base. He moans and brushes your hair out of your face. You look up at him, his cock nearly all in your mouth and he quickly looks away, blushing.

You pull up and start to move up and down, feeling his shaft with your tongue. As hard as he tries, he can't seem to keep from thrusting his hips, pushing his cock against the back of your throat.

“That feels so good,” He moans, nearly whimpering.

His sweet moans are a good reward, but you can tell from his voice and the tightness of his skin that he's getting close so you pull away.

“It’s your turn now,” He says, smiling.

You climb up on the bed, and hang your legs off like he did. As he gets down on his knees between your legs Simeon flashes you a sweet smile. He kisses you gently on the soft skin between your legs; sweet little kisses that send shivers all up and down your spine. His soft hands caress your legs and dance around your dirty parts, teasing out moans and getting you ready for him.

As his tongue finally touches down, your back arches in pleasure. He swirls his tongue around and runs it all over you, moaning as he does so you can feel his excitement vibrating through you. For an angel he’s incredibly talented,  using his mouth in ways you couldn’t have imagined. You run your fingers through his soft, messy hair, and he looks up at you from between your legs with a gentle, but somehow dirty look. You  blush, suddenly feeling flustered.

He guides you to an orgasm unexpectedly quickly. You start to moan louder and higher, so he keeps up his pace, causing you to moan even louder, nearly screaming now. Gyrating your hips, you can feel a warmth building up in your groin. You grip his hair as you buck your hips, shuddering and convulsing.

He stands and positions his cock at your entrance, leaning over you for a kiss. He cups your cheek and asks, “Are you ready?”

You nod and he gently presses in. You moan, feeling his hard cock against your walls. As he starts to thrust, you clutch the sheets. He maintains his angelic composure, even as he thrusts into you, running his hands up and down your body, cupping your cheeks and rubbing your nipples.“Simeon, you feel so good,” You say. He smiles and runs a hand up to your face.

His sweet moans fill the room, contrasting the sound of slapping skin as he starts to fuck you harder. In his excitement, he grabs you by the hips for better leverage, pulling you onto his cock so he can get deeper and go faster. You’re practically shrieking in pleasure now as he thrusts his length into you repeatedly.

When you start to get close, you say “I think I’m going to cum.” He says “Me too,” thrusting even faster until he slows down and rams his cock into you hard a few more times before stopping entirely. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside you pushes you over the edge. You moan and clutch him as his hot cum fills you. Simeon cups your face as you convulse in pleasure, smiling as a single bead of sweat drips onto your lips.

You stay like that for a while, his cock still inside you. When he starts to pull out, it brings new waves of pleasure, almost overstimulating. He does it slowly, but when he’s done you can already feel his hot cum dripping down.

He picks your legs up and gently places them on the bed. Kissing your forehead, he says, “I’m going to get you a towel.” You try to reply but just mumble something incoherent, having been made pleasure-dumb. He giggles and kisses you again before leaving.

#obey me smut #obey me Simeon X Reader #obey me Simeon smut #Simeon smut #obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me x reader #om! Simeon #obey me Simeon #Simeon x reader #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Spencer's Choice

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: angst, reuniting long lost love, heartbreak, impossible choice to make

Summary: Breaking up with Spencer is the hardest thing you've ever had to do. You left and returned years later, only to run into him again. Feelings return that you thought were gone. Spencer has a choice to make: you or his family.

Square Filled: goodbye letter (2021) for @cmbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Ah, back in your hometown. You miss the way the sunshine feels on your skin even when the wind blowing is almost at freezing temperatures. You miss the way the cars sound as they’re rushing down the road as a reminder that people need to leave earlier when it comes to this town. You miss the small-town feeling of everyone being so close-knit that you can check up on your neighbors and see how they’re doing every day.

You miss home.

You haven’t been back in the United States in a little over a year, and back in this town for much longer. Ever since you left after you graduated, you really haven’t looked back. It killed you to do so but you were on a mission to better people’s lives with your degree and experience. You’re a very skilled architect who has been involved in many unique projects all over the world. It’s been one big adventure that you love having. You’ve met genuinely good people, tried amazing and unique food, delved into different cultures, and got to experience what others only dream about.

Now you’re just glad to be back in your hometown, relax, and spend the money you’ve been saving for years.

You walk down the familiar road next to the park you used to go to after school every day with your friends. There is something brown in the middle of the sidewalk but upon closer examination, you see it’s a child’s teddy bear. You pick it up in hopes there is a name or a number you can call, but the only thing you can find is an address. Weird. Most people don’t put their addresses on kids’ toys but who are you to judge?

With a quick Google search, you find the address is only two blocks from where you’re at. This is your chance to be a good samaritan and return the bear to a child who is probably missing it. You find the house easily and walk up the porch steps. You knock on the door and wait only ten seconds before it opens. A young girl about the age of seven is standing there with sad eyes.

“Hi, does he belong to you?” you ask and produce the bear.

Her eyes light up happily when she sees the toy. 

“Thank you so much!” she squeals and grabs it from you.

“Marissa, what did I tell you about answering the door without your mother or me?” you hear her dad say.

You look up and lock eyes with the only person you’ve ever been in love with: Spencer Reid. You two were high school sweethearts back then, and it was clear to everyone at that school that you two were going to end up together for life. You were in love with him so much and wished you could have stayed, but it broke your heart to break up with him.

You have always wanted to be an architect even when you were younger. Your parents got you Legos that you could build houses from, and you’d build all sorts of different houses with different rooms for everything a person could need. When you got to your junior year, you applied to different colleges for architecture which also included colleges outside of the United States. Never in a million years did you think you’d ever get into those colleges but your mother encouraged you to apply.

Four months before graduation, you got an amazing offer to study at UCL in London with the opportunity to be an intern side by side with one of the most famous architects at that time. What an amazing opportunity, your mother told you. Yes, it was but there was one thing holding you back: Spencer.

It started one of the biggest arguments between you two. It lasted for months leading up to graduation. He obviously didn’t want you to go since you’d be in a different country, but he didn’t want to be the only reason why you’d stay. You wanted to go because this would be an amazing opportunity for you, but you didn't want to go because you didn’t want to leave him.

It took months to come to a decision but Spencer convinced you to go. Long-distance relationships never work out for anyone, and you didn't want to put Spencer through the pain of not seeing you every day or being with you. Breaking up with him was and still is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

You’ve had a few flings over the years that never meant anything because none of them were him. It took a really long time to stop crying over him. Now, seeing him right in front of you is bringing all those fights, that love, and every conversation you’ve ever had with him back. It’s a bit overwhelming, to be honest, and you step back to ground yourself.

Marissa looks up to see her dad looking at you with the same look you’re giving him.

“You don’t look at Mommy like that,” she observes.

“Why don’t you go inside and play? I’ll be right there,” Spencer says distractedly.

Marissa looks at you and goes inside to play with her teddy bear. Spencer steps outside and closes the front door for some privacy.

“I can’t believe you’re standing in front of me right now.”

This isn’t a good idea. You’re going to start crying because the truth is, and you’ve tried so hard to bury it, you’re still in love with him. If you don’t get out of here quickly, the patch over your heart is going to tear and you’re going to start bleeding all over again.

“I’m sorry. I can’t be here right now. I have to go.”

You turn around and walk down the porch steps, but Spencer jumps toward you.

“Wait.” You turn to face him and he sighs in frustration. “I have to get Marissa to the doctor. How long are you in town for?”

“As long as I want. I’m in between projects right now.”

Maybe the reason why you told him this is for the false hope that you two can resume right where you left off.

“Please don’t leave. Please meet with me for coffee tomorrow morning. You remember Jack’s Cafe, right?” How could you not? It’s the place where you and Spencer had your first date and first kiss. “My number hasn’t changed if you still have it.”

“I do,” you whisper.

He never changed it in hopes that you’d call it. You got home after parting ways with him and cried yourself to sleep. Seeing him again after all these years is reverting your mind back to high school graduation. You’re not much better the next day. When you wake up, you decide you’re not going to meet Spencer and just leave. However, when you look at past messages between the two of you on your phone, he deserves this meeting. You deserve to catch up with him.

You rush into the coffee shop knowing you’re late. Spencer is sitting at the table you two used to sit in every single time you went here.

“I thought you weren't going to show,” he says when you sit across from him.

“Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

Spencer slides a coffee over to you and you catch it to prevent it from falling. Just based on the smell alone, you know he still remembers your coffee order.

“How have you been? Any interesting projects you’ve been on?”

You don’t know if the small talk is good or not. It’s to distract you from the real issue but you welcome the distraction.

“Yeah, I’ve done some work in third-world countries with nonprofit organizations. We’ve built homes for people, homeless shelters, and enclosures for animals who are suffering and endangered.”

“That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you.”

“What about you?”

“I pursued my career in the FBI. I have been a profiler for many years. I’m retired now and get to teach others before they go into the academy.”

“Retired? You’re still so young. What happened?” you ask and sip your coffee.

“I went to prison for a couple of months for a crime I didn’t do. It messed with me mentally so I decided to take a different approach. I’m still involved with the FBI just as a teacher.”

Once you two get into the groove of talking, it’s like no time has passed. You’re laughing and having a good time with him as if you didn’t break his heart all those years ago. You’re falling in love with him all over again.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Just like that, you’re back to how you were feeling before. The laughter dies off and you pick at the ends of your sweater.

“No. I haven’t had a steady relationship since--” You stop yourself from saying it out loud. He understands what you’re trying to say. He reaches over and grabs your hand. As soon as he makes contact with your skin, you quickly pull away from him. “You have a family.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You look happy.”

“Yeah, I am.”

His words tell you one thing but his tone tells you something completely different. There is a longing in his eyes that suggests he would drop everything in his life if it meant he got to be with you.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N…”

“I shouldn’t have come here. You have a wife and daughter now.” You drop your voice to a whisper. “I’m too late.”

You’re already out the door before Spencer can process your words. Not only was coming to this coffee date a bad idea, but coming back to your hometown where Spencer also lives was an even worse idea. The projects waiting for your involvement will have to come a little earlier than planned.

You hate doing this to Spencer but you write a letter explaining how you feel about him and this whole situation. Once you’re done, you head to his house hoping he isn’t going to be there. You walk up the steps and notice something in the window next to the door. Spencer is sitting on the couch next to his wife and she’s comforting her. About the botched date? About you? About something else?

Damn it. Why did she have to be gorgeous?

You stick the note in the door and swiftly turn to leave. Spencer sniffles and looks up to see your long hair flowing in the wind. At first, he thought he was seeing things but then his brain caught up to the rest of him. By the time he walks out there, you’re already gone. Your note sways to the ground so he picks it up and starts reading it.

Spencer, 

I am so sorry for the way we left things all those years ago. Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and hurting you was never my intention. I love you with all my heart and wish things had ended differently between us. You have a family now that I never wanted to disturb. I kind of thought by coming back here, I’d be reminded of what’s really important. Seeing you after all these years did just that. I don’t want to hurt you now, but I’m leaving. I’ll be accepting other projects that need me, and you can continue to be with your family. I wish you the very best.

Y/N

Spencer can’t let you go this easily without letting you know how he feels. He tells his wife he’s going over to Derek’s house but ends up going to the biggest airport in the state. It’s the airport that has the most flights coming and going so you have to be here. He doesn’t know which flight you’re going to get on so he buys a ticket for one of them and hope for the best.

He rushes through the entire airport in search of you, wishing you hadn’t gotten on one of the airplanes yet. He’s sweaty and disheveled but determined to find you before you board. He runs around the corner and scans the many gates with people boarding their planes. There at the far end of the building is you. You’re in line to get on the plane.

“Y/N!” Spencer yells.

You don’t hear him and move up in the line. Spencer breaks out in a run in hopes of getting to you in time. You hand the attendant your ticket so she can check you in. She doesn’t question the dried tears on your cheeks as she does. Once finished, you grab your ticket and walk onto the bridge.

“Y/N! Wait!”

Spencer runs past everyone and tries to get onto the bridge but the two attendants posted there prevent him from going in.

“Sir, you need to wait in line like everyone else.”

“Please, I just have to talk to her.”

“Sir, I can’t let you on there without a proper ticket.”

“Y/N!!!” Spencer screams to get your attention, hoping you’re not too far away. He waits agonizingly for you to show up. He’s about to yell again when you come around the corner with tears in your eyes. “Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

“Spencer,” you gasp. You leave the bridge and take him off to the side. People stare but go about their business to give you two some privacy. “What are you doing here?”

“Please don’t leave.”

“But your family--”

“Please don’t leave. I can’t bear to watch you walk away again. I let you go once. I can’t--refuse--to let you walk away again.”

Spencer grabs your face and kisses you like he should have done all those years ago. You get lost in the way he’s making you feel so you kiss him back. It feels so good to feel his lips on yours again. He feels like home. The image of him and his wife pops up in your head, and you pull away from him with tears streaming down your face.

“What about your wife? Your daughter?”

“I don’t know but please don’t leave. I love you.”

He’s only here because of the feelings you drudged up. He was happy before you came back into his life.

“I can’t do this right now. I have to get on the plane.”

“Please don’t get on that plane,” he begs.

“Miss? Are you getting on? We’re taking the last call,” the attendant asks.

“Spencer, I have to get on the plane. They’re waiting for me.” You step away from him even though it kills you to. “You have a family now. Maybe if I never left before, things might have been different. I can’t do that to them.”

You hand your ticket to the attendant even though she allows you to go through. Spencer watches you get on the plane, and the attendant shuts and locks the door behind you. Spencer has a very important choice to make:

Does he go back to his family and pretend this never happened or follow you? Stay with what’s comfortable or follow the one woman who has always made him feel alive? Her or you?

x

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[heliads]

Back again!!

This time, could I pretty please request by most beloved pilot Natasha Trace with a female reader? The reader is also a pilot with the Dagger Squad, and she and Phoenix are already dating. Reader is always super sweet and cheerful and friendly, so her callsign is Sunshine, and nobody in the Dagger Squad including Nat has ever seen her get angry, but one night when the Squad’s at the Hard Deck, Sunshine hears some guys talking crap about her friends and goes off on them, shouting and cursing them out in front of everyone, while the Daggers just watched with dropped jaws and Phoenix has the world’s biggest gear eyes and gives her girlfriend a big kiss once Penny throws the guys out.

Hopefully this wasn’t too much, I kind of went on a ramble (😅). Thanks so much in advance, and I hope you’re doing well, my beloved!! 🖤

'sunshine storms over' - natasha 'phoenix' trace

masterlist

According to the well-known and well-cursed laws of physics, an object, once in motion, will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. Similarly, in the hallowed halls of Top Gun, a pilot will remain in their plane or briefings unless they receive a suitably alluring reason to leave. The reason doesn’t even have to be good half the time. Sometimes, the reason can be something as simple as drinks half price at the Hard Deck, and then every damn pilot in the whole place will suddenly find themselves leaving as quickly as they can.

Natasha Trace enjoys physics a normal amount, but she can certainly attest to its relations to drinks-happy fighter pilots. It’s been a long week, as most at Top Gun often are, so everyone’s more than eager to leave. She swears she’s caught Rooster falling asleep during long meetings at least twice already, even despite him pledging early this Monday morning that he’d be totally focused from then on out.

In his defense, the warm rooms of the lecture halls combined with the lights off is an equation for disaster. The projected flight plans aren’t quite bright enough to keep the pilots awake, and when they’ve been locked in one of those rooms for a couple of hours into the late afternoon– well, Natasha herself has been at risk for nodding off, so maybe she can’t judge too harshly, either.

Unlike Rooster, though, Natasha’s got a pretty good reason to stay awake. Pretty and good are also two remarkable attributes of this lovely, lovely distraction that Natasha is fortunate enough to call her girlfriend. When Nat was called back to Top Gun for the first of many top secret missions, she expected to find herself subjected to difficult flight conditions, extreme danger, and plenty of risky maneuvers. She certainly didn’t expect to get a girlfriend out of the bargain a month or two later, but she’s not going to complain.

Certainly not when her girlfriend is Y/N L/N. Nat has felt the blow of being a female pilot in a room of men far too many times to count, so when she walked in on her first day and saw Y/N already there, Nat had known that she was going to be alright. As time went on, Y/N had steadily grown on her, and then Natasha had come to realize that she wasn’t just grateful for the other woman’s friendship, she wanted something more, something like love, which Y/N was all too happy to give.

It’s a little self-serving to call your current relationship a power couple, but for once, Nat is pretty sure that the other pilots would agree with her. She and Y/N are the top scorers on the various training scenarios every single time. If you’re going to check a results sheet, odds are you’ll see Phoenix and Sunshine in the best slots. Rooster and Hangman always say that they’re the best, but the names never lie.

Usually, that kind of relentless domination would irk the other pilots, but Natasha and Y/N are friends with all of them, so that takes the edge off a little. Besides, it’s basically impossible to hate Y/N. Her callsign, Sunshine, is probably the most deserved nickname a pilot has ever been given in Top Gun history. Y/N’s all smiles even on the longest and most tedious days. She’ll be beaming ear to ear when she shoots you out of the sky, or when you play the piano for her at the Hard Deck. Both are fine by her.

During the first few hours of Natasha’s return to Top Gun, she was disheartened to see so many of the other pilots brushing off Y/N’s skills due to her bubbly personality. It’s not as if every great pilot has to be completely coldhearted, but apparently it was just too much to comprehend that someone could be nice and capable at the same time. Certainly Hangman seems to believe it still, but that’s beside the point.

Natasha had been ready to defend Y/N from the very first moment, but, as it turned out, she hadn’t needed to. Y/N got in her plane and outstripped all of them by a long shot. She even had Maverick complimenting her when she touched down. After that, no one said a word, and it became universally acknowledged that if you were planning on facing Sunshine in a dogfight, you’d be walking out with a new loss under your belt. So it goes.

Nat’s come to love that about Y/N, the sharp contrast between her cheerful personality and her cutthroat fighting style, how she’d been able to prove everyone wrong without losing her cool. To this day, Natasha has never seen Y/N get angry. She’s been decidedly neutral when she thinks someone is wrong, but she’s never been truly irate.

Certainly never with Natasha, at least. When Top Gun’s usual slew of meetings is over for the day, Y/N finds her way over to Nat, smiling delightedly at her girlfriend. “Are you up for drinks later?”

Natasha laughs. “Oh, you have no idea. I think this is the longest week of my entire life.”

Y/N grins. “What, you don’t like being stuck in sweltering rooms until you pass out? I can’t believe it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Easy there, Captain Sarcasm. I know you were nodding off too, don’t try to pass this off like it’s just me.”

“I would never dream of it,” Y/N promises solemnly, then giggles again.

Rooster comes up behind the two of them, slinging arms around both of their shoulders. “Did I hear someone offer to get drinks?”

“You did,” Y/N says in a sing-song voice, “I won’t force you to come if you don’t want to, though. I’m sure Cyclone would be delighted if you stuck around a little longer to go over the flight plans a few more times.”

Rooster groans loudly. “I’ve heard more about flight plans than I ever want to again. No thanks.”

“You’re a professional pilot,” Natasha points out. “What else would you hear about?”

“Friends who are nice to me?” Rooster offers.

Natasha chuckles. “You ask for too much. See you at sundown?”

“Count on it,” Rooster promises. “I’ll rally the Dagger Squad. Be there or pay for everybody.”

Natasha waves him off, leaving the two women alone again. She sighs contentedly at the thought of the night ahead. After all the work they’ve been subjected to over the past five days, the thought of an easy weekend with friends sounds sublime.

And, arriving at the Hard Deck just as golden hour turns into blissful twilight, Natasha thinks she couldn’t be more right about that. Y/N’s a perfect picture as always, not a hair out of place, her off-duty uniform crisply ironed. She smiles when Natasha twirls her, and allows her girlfriend to lead her inside where the rest of their friends await.

The Dagger Squadron has sunk many a night into the Hard Deck’s cheery warmth, and by all accounts, this evening is shaping up to be another lovely endeavor. Bob and Payback have started up a round of pool, and Rooster’s already eyeing the piano. He might be held back from bursting into song by Hangman, though, who’s just getting started on his usual blow-by-blow of the day’s dogfights. Coyote is listening in, looking ready to rescue Rooster should the situation get urgent.

After stopping by Penny at the bar to grab some drinks, Y/N and Natasha make their way over to their friends. Natasha is just starting to lose herself in the usual blur of singing along to the music piping through the fading speakers, laughing at Fanboy’s increasingly dramatic pool trick shots, and dancing with Y/N, when something just has to go wrong.

It feels unfair on a night like this. However, that doesn’t stop the fact that some ass from across from the bar feels the overwhelming need to pause by their happy group on the way to get another round of drinks for the rest of his douchey friends, eye all of them with obvious disdain, and say loudly, “Gee, they let anyone in here, don’t they?”

Dead silence from the Dagger Squad. By Natasha’s side, Y/N arches a brow at the guy and asks slowly, “What do you mean by that?”

Natasha exchanges a panicked glance with Rooster behind Y/N’s back. Y/N’s grin hasn’t slipped, but it’s gained an unsettling edge that Natasha has never seen before.

The guy, however, doesn’t know Sunshine as well as the rest of them, so he has no idea that he’s headed into dangerous territory. Instead, he just guffaws. “God. Navy. None of you get sick of keeping your heads up your own asses, do you?”

Y/N’s eyes flash. It occurs to Natasha that for once, the other woman isn’t happy anymore. More than that, she’s angry. She’s furious.

“I know some pathetic excuse for a man didn’t just try to insult us,” Y/N begins, voice like a razor. “I know you wouldn’t do that. Were you dropped on the head as a child? I mean, it would make a lot of sense, but it still doesn’t excuse how unbelievably stupid you’d have to be to say that.”

The man stares at her. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

Y/N folds her arms across her chest. “Would you prefer that I be nicer? Funny, because I’d much rather call you out for being a fucking asshole with shitty fashion sense and even worse taste in drinks. I’ve seen high school recruits with more muscle mass. If you’re going to be a douche, do it in the privacy of your own home so the rest of us aren’t fucking bothered by a waste of space like you. You make me want to get blackout drunk just so I forget that creeps like you exist.”

The guy is gaping at her now, but Y/N’s on a roll. “Get the hell out of here or I’ll kick your ass. I’d ask if you thought two black eyes would fix your face, but I think that’s a mess nothing could improve.”

The guy looks like he wants to say something back, but Y/N takes a threatening step for him and he practically runs to settle his bill and head out. Y/N watches him like a hawk until the guy heads out the door again, leaving the rest of the Dagger Squad to look around at each other in complete and utter shock as if they’d seen something impossible. Which, up until less than five minutes ago, they had.

Y/N glances back at Natasha and begins to look a little chagrined. “Was it too much? I just got so mad hearing him talk about the rest of us like that, is all.”

Nat shakes her head frantically. “No. No, it was– it was great. I think you should do it all the time.”

Y/N cracks a grin at that. “That might be a little extreme, but I have to say, it felt good. I like scaring men.”

“I like it too,” Natasha breathes, and swoops Y/N into a kiss that lasts several heartbeats.

Friendly chatter returns to the Hard Deck by the time they break away, but for once, Natasha couldn’t care less what everyone else is doing. All that matters is the woman in front of her, Nat’s girl. She’s always known that Y/N was intimidating, especially in a jet, but this is something altogether different. Judging by the way Natasha’s heart keeps tripping over itself whenever she thinks about the incident, she’d have to admit that it’s a good sort of difference, too.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

top gun tag list: @luckyladycreator2, @atarmychick007, @ramenyul, @mayfieldss, @nonsensical-nonce

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#phoenix #phoenix imagines #phoenix x reader #phoenix oneshot #natasha trace #natasha trace imagines #natasha trace x reader #natasha trace oneshot #top gun #top gun imagines #top gun x reader #top gun oneshot #tgm #tgm imagines #tgm x reader #tgm oneshot #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick oneshot #top gun phoenix #top gun phoenix imagines #top gun phoenix x reader #top gun phoenix oneshot