#learning math through stories

[theimaginationstationpodcast]

The Number Knights: A Math Adventure for Kids! 🦁🐰🦓🐒 | Fun Learning Story for Ages 4-8

Join Leo the Lion, Luna the Rabbit, Zara the Zebra, and Monty the Monkey—the brave Number Knights—on an epic quest to save their magical kingdom, Calculasia! When the evil Lord Oblivion steals the Golden Equation, the source of all math magic, the friends must solve puzzles, crack codes, and use their math skills to restore balance. From counting rivers to shape-swamp rescues, this adventure is…

[tj-crochets]

So you know how sometimes you do something as a kid or a teenager and you think it's totally normal and then the memory pops into your head as an adult and it suddenly recontextualizes the whole thing? Anyway shout out to my super nice high school math teacher, who also had the misfortune of being A. the first teacher to give me a syllabus that (crucially) included point totals and how grades were calculated B. scored tests as like 75% of the grade and C. allowed us to take tests as a group All those factors combined into two incidents that, in retrospect, he was in no way expecting to deal with but teenage me thought were totally normal (behind a read more because it got long)

The first was when I stopped doing math homework not long into the school year and he stopped me after class to (very kindly, very gently) ask me if I was okay and if everything was okay at home, because I'd stopped doing my homework but he knew I knew the material. I said "I stopped doing the homework because I crossed the threshold on the point totals on the rubric where I no longer need to turn in any homework to get an A." He paused, kinda blinked at me, and said "That only works if you get 100% on every test" I kind of stared back at him in blank incomprehension, and was like "Yes????" "What happens if you don't get 100% on a test?" "Well. I do get 100% on every test, but if I ever miss a question, you offer extra credit questions on every test" He didn't know what to say to that lol The other time was when he announced future tests would be allowed to be worked on in groups of three or four, and I walked up to him after class and said "Any group I am in will be getting 100% on the tests. That is unfair to the other groups, and unfair to the people in my group, who will not get a chance to test their skills because I am not risking my grade on their math abilities. Can I take the tests solo?" Again, teenage me thought this was a perfectly normal, logical thing to do, but looking back as an adult like oh my gosh there is no way my poor math teacher was expecting to have to deal with that. He did let me take math tests solo I tried the "calculate points then stop doing the homework" thing in my English class the next year and it did not work because that teacher had an "extra credit doesn't count if you haven't done all your assignments" policy :(

[ask-tay-relic]

Guess who's already diagnosed with an inability to do math and then did math 6 years ago and is only now realizing he was REALLY REALLY wrong. Anyway Mourn's age has been updated/fixed.

[pickaropoprocks]

Day 41!! Mafukasa Yapper × Listener realness

[pocket-lint]

Ok I finished writing my little code. I love having silly little coding projects to do for brain enrichment and life task improvement.

anyway it’s a pomodoro timer that goes off in whatever intervals I set. Could be 3 repeats of 30 mins and then 5 mins. Or whatever I want. And it says something at me at the start of each timer, whatever I tell it to. Right now it says “work bitch” then 30 mins later tells me to “take a walk” then 5 mins later it’s “work bitch” again.

[presswoodterryryan]

Diving Deep with Mr. Fluffernutter: An Ocean Adventure! 🌊🐰🐠📝 By Alice

By Alice Today, my big sister Ariel was hard at work on her ocean animals homework. She had her serious thinking face on, which meant I had to be extra quiet. (I lasted about ten seconds.) Mr. Fluffernutter, my fluffy white bunny and expert adventurer, peeked over my shoulder, his nose twitching wildly. “Ocean animals? Oh no. That means sharks, giant squids, and _things with way too many legs!…

[exopelagic]

talking to him more very much achieved. we just talked for like 4 hours in the kitchen holy shit I need to sleep

[ruins-of-gods]

Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.

Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.

Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.

Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.

[teaboot]

On a tangent from the abusive parent stories, but am genuinely curious if you dont mind explaining: in your experience of living it, what does "good student" ADHD look like?

I was constantly scribbling pictures in my notebooks and most teachers didn’t bother stopping me because my grades were fine. I did my homework but never turned it in because there was always just a bit missing and I couldn’t make myself give it to the teacher unfinished. It was really, really hard to START big assignments, but I was really good at doing research and pulling essays out of my butt so 90% of it was done last-minute. Anything that involved art or something I was interested in I aced 100%. I could sit still for HOURS reading or drawing by myself but my reading comprehension on emails is still terrible. I had a bad habit of skimming instructions and it felt like I couldn’t retain any of it but straightforwards questions I could answer off the top of my head. I failed SO MANY pop quizzes and tests but got great grades on my provincial exams. I wasn’t fidgety or flighty or loud but I had a real hard time shutting up and staying on task. I can still do a lot of work very quickly and efficiently but without my meds that could be a year’s worth of work in a weekend or absolutely nothing for weeks. I used to skip math class to do math in the library because in 1 period I could do 4 days of assignments when left alone. Sometimes I’d go on a power bender and slam through so much stuff at once that teachers would force me to slow down or I’d be too far ahead of everyone else.

Just constantly either 1000 miles per hour or 0, only sitting still and following etiquette all the while, and nobody figured anything was wrong because I wasn’t disruptive to anyone else.

As a result I’m kind of only now as an adult learning to self-regulate, not overwork myself, and force myself to switch tasks and start tasks when needed- and as a kid all I ever heard was that I was “highly intelligent, independent, and motivated” or that I was “uncooperative, delayed, and hard to keep focused”. Constant whiplash.

This sorta-kinda led a lot of people to believe I was “gifted but lazy”, of which I was neither

Just normal and bad at keeping steady pace

[mariasont]

Lipstick Smudges - A.H

sweetheart!reader isn't sure what's worse, being caught applying lipstick in his office, or the way he watches you as he wipes the smudge from your cheek. either way, you've lost this round

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: pre-relationship pining, power imbalance, suggestive ish content, accidental touches, dbf!hotch, implied age gap wc: 2.1k

He’s everywhere in this room, even when he’s not. Leather, paper, power, and that impossibly clean, expensive, sophisticated cologne that somehow feels too refined to be squandered on rash inhales. You take too much anyway, far too greedy, let it fill your lungs until there’s no room for anything else. 

You shouldn’t loiter. Shouldn’t stand here like this is your space, like you have any claim beyond the slip of a paper waiting for his signature. 

But your gaze snags on the framed diplomas, and it’s hard to look away.

Harvard law.

Georgetown.

It’s not that you forgot how much older he is. You didn’t. You couldn’t. It’s a number that has always been tucked into the recesses of your mind, harmless in theory. Just a fact, static and absolute. You could recite the exact statistic if asked.

But knowing isn’t the same as feeling it. Feeling it is standing in front of signed, sealed degrees, reading the dates and doing the math, realizing that while you were mastering basic addition, learning to carry the one, he was outmaneuvering seasoned prosecutors.

Maybe that should’ve been obvious. You’d heard the stories growing up, heard it in passing at dinner tables, in the offhanded way your father spoke about him, the one who always had his head buried in a casebook, the one who could dismantle an argument with nothing more than a well-placed pause.

He is untouchable incarnate, and you are standing here, staring at his old life like you have any right at all.

You need to stop.

This is just stress. Just a long week, a long day, a long minute spent in the wrong place at the wrong time, thinking the wrong things. That’s all this is. That’s what stress does, right? It makes your hands fidget and your heart race and your brain pick apart things that don’t need dissecting. It makes something out of nothing. And that’s what this is. Nothing.

You steal one last breath before your better judgment can catch up – one last inhale, ripping off a scab just to let it bleed.

But this time, you don’t let it slip away so easily. You hold it captive in your lungs, let it smolder, let it sear through you like punishment. And when you finally exhale, you force it out like an exorcism, as if you can purge him from your bloodstream.

He’s your boss. You’re a professional. Not some starry-eyed girl mistaking admiration for something hazardous.

You shift, weight rolling from foot to foot, as if your body is trying to find a version of stillness that fits. It doesn't. Something is agitated beneath your skin, an itch you can’t scratch.

The glass panel on the cabinet across from you catches your attention. Light bends strangely around your reflection. You don’t recognize yourself, at first. You look distant. Lips parted like you were about to speak and forgot what words were, brows pinched like you’re thinking something, except your mind is empty, a hollow shell where a thought should be.

Your mother's voice pushes through like a bad habit, a woman should never look unfinished.

A small sigh escapes, barely audible, as your fingers close around the tube in your pocket, rolling it absently between them. It’s not a perfect mirror – certainly not meant for this – but you angle your head anyway.

The cap clicks off, and with it, the scent rises, vanilla, waxy, something faintly synthetic. The first pass is light, feathering across your bottom lip, then another, building the color, deepening the shade. The way fruit darkens on the vine. The way bruises bloom. Your upper lip demands more care, a steady hand tracing the curves of your cupid’s bow, shaping pigment into symmetry. 

You blur the edges with your pinky, press your lips together, then part them again. 

Your mother would call this finishing.

You aren't sure what you would call it.

“Do you need something?”

Oh, hell.

Your heart misfires, a violent percussion that boomerangs up into your throat. Your fingers spasm, useless, the lipstick slipping past them, a graceless fumble, smacking the desk before rolling to the floor.

You scramble for it on instinct, but stop yourself halfway, suddenly hyper-aware of Hotch standing behind you.

You whip around so fast it’s a wonder you don’t send yourself sprawling. 

“Oh – um, hi, sir.” It comes out shaky, bolstered only by a laugh so weak it could be hospice care. Your hands hover, indecisive, as if touching anything – papers, lipstick, oxygen – might somehow make this moment less humiliating. You opt for nothing. “Sorry, no – I mean – yes?” A grimace tightens your features before you can stop it, and then, because commitment is important, you force the word again. “Yes.”

You lift the papers between you like a white flag, the edges crumpled from where you crushed them in your palm. The ink smudges in places, a casualty of your grip, but it’s all you have to offer. A flimsy excuse.

“I just – I needed your signature.” Your voice does not inspire confidence.

His gaze dips, tracking your mouth, but the glance is pointed, like it wasn’t entirely unconscious. It’s there just long enough to leave an afterimage in your mind, stamped there for proof.

You don’t have the luxury of descending into your usual spiral of overanalysis because he’s stepped forward and swallowing the air between you, dissolving everything into white noise. 

You stand impossibly still, like even the flutter of an eyelash might tip the balance of something unsure. And he, blissfully oblivious – or worse, fully aware and delighting into your sudden paralysis, simply drops down, reaching for the lipstick where it sits beside the leg of his desk.

You should step back, gods, should you ever. You ought to wiggle, shuffle awkwardly, or maybe just pretend you’ve spotted something fascinating on the ceiling tiles, anything other than standing here frozen, suspended in a glitchy buffering video type way as he crouches before you.

He’s so close you can count every near-invisible stitchwork on his cuff, see the way his suit catches the light in muted glints of charcoal and shadow. Close enough that one false move – just a tremble of your restless fingers or a breath taken too deeply – could collapse the gap between you, your knee brushing his shoulder, your calf dragging along his slacked thigh.

The moment he looks up is infinitely worse than you anticipate. 

Your thoughts trip, tumble, faceplant into explicitly, never-before-seen territory, like it’s decided to speed-run the transition from oh, he’s your boss to oh, I wonder how his mouth would feel branding you with invisible kisses hot enough to blister.

You shouldn’t even entertain the fantasy of how minimal the effort would be. Shouldn’t consider how it would feel. How his breath could ripple across your skin, drifting upward – first thigh, then hip, then everywhere else.

You’re fairly sure you’ve stumbled into the single most dangerous thing you’ve ever experienced because your brain is recklessly inventing scenarios, running wild with possibilities you’d never dared allow past mental customs before this. Thoughts you’ve dutifully kept locked behind layers of decorum, rules, and years of well-behaved caution are suddenly crashing through the gates, loud and messy and painfully exciting. 

None of these possibilities were remotely realistic – weren’t even conceivable, not until he waltzed into your carefully ordered life and promptly shattered your sense of self-preservation.

He doesn’t rise all at once, doesn’t offer the mercy of a quick retreat. Instead, he rises in increments, slowly, forces your eyes to shamelessly follow the gradual climb of his frame. The distance between you dwindles, so little space, but so vast because he still isn’t touching you. Who knew your own boss could weaponize space itself. 

He dangles your lipstick between you. It’s extended just far enough to force your compliance – forcing your hand, quite literally.  “I’m assuming this is yours?”

“Yeah, that’s mine. Definitely mine.” You nod too many times, like doubling down will make you sound less ridiculous and not, in fact, like a guilty party caught red-handed.

Your fingertips graze his, something that shouldn’t feel as noticeable as it does.

You fidget awkwardly, wishing you could physically move away from the glaringly obvious streak of lipstick you spot on his desk. The exact shade currently clutched between your fingers. The exact shade still warm on your lips.

“Oh,” you say quickly, voice thinner than you’d like. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to, you know… vandalize your office.”

Hotch follows your eyes, registers the mess, and barely gives it half a second of consideration before dismissing it entirely. “It’s fine.”

Then he looks at you again, sharper now.

“You, however, are not.” A slight pause. “It’s on your face, too.”

You blink at him, your brain still a half-step behind.  “I mean… yeah? That’s kind of the whole point.”

In the most absurdly on-brand move imaginable, he pulls a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket, because why wouldn’t he have one? You don’t even get the chance to react before he’s pressing the material to your cheek, thumb gliding lightly over the smudge.

“Oh. You mean like… on my face face?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his almost-smile – so understated and arrogantly smug – answers you perfectly. It’s worse than a laugh, a laugh might let you feel indignant, even justified, but his silent smirk leaves you with nothing but a raw, simmering embarrassment.

His touch stays light, impersonal – at least in theory. You should be grateful for his efficiency, for the fact that this is clearly nothing more than a practiced, thoughtless gesture. Your body rebels, refusing to interpret his touch as merely an exercise in routine.

Up close, you’re able to catch details you’ve never had the privilege of seeing before – the beauty mark under his left eye, the fine crease at the bridge of his nose, the way his lashes are dark at the base and fan out in soft, feathered arcs.

It would be so easy to kiss him. Exactly why your mind warns against the temptation. But thoughts like these have a stubborn way of sticking – once they arrive, they refuse to vanish without a trace. A single step forward, a subtle lift of your chin, just —

The cloth drags too close to your mouth. 

You feel it first, him first, his thumb pressing through the fabric, catching at the corner of your bottom lip. You really shouldn’t be able to feel it, the rough pad of his finger, not with the barrier between you, but you do. 

Your lips part instinctively and everything slows.

You were so careful putting this lipstick on. But now you wouldn’t mind if he wiped it away. You’d let him ruin it. Let him press too hard, let his thumb drag the color down your chin, let his tongue take what was left until there was nothing but him. Until the only thing staining your lips was the taste of him.

The moment stretches so tight it must snap, so he steps back.

“Your technique could use some work.”

And yet, he won’t look at it. Won’t meet your eyes either.

You huff out a small, awkward laugh, pressing your lips together in a vain attempt to not think about them. His lips. Your lips. “Well, I wasn’t exactly planning for an audience.”

“Generally speaking, applying lipstick in someone else’s office does tend to come with an audience.”

“Right. Good point. I’ll be sure to coordinate my poor decisions more efficiently next time.” You clear your throat, taking a step back. “I should – um – get back to work.”

Hotch glances at you, then to your hands. “Don’t you have something for me to sign?”

You glance at the documents still crumpled in your hands, then back at him, then back down. You could give them to him. The kind of thing a well-adjusted, serious, responsible adult would do.

That, however, would require standing here while he reads them. That would mean watching him purse his lips in concentration, maybe even bite his bottom lip, which for reasons that absolutely should not be examined, has become your Achilles’ heel.

And then you’d panic. And say something dumb. And ruin your life.

And then again, you could pay Reid twenty bucks to do it himself and never speak of it again. Twenty-five if he asks questions. Thirty if he tells you to unpack your weird workplace behavior. Fifty if he looks at you with those big, perceptive, judgmental eyes and mutters something about Freudian repression.

With a nonchalant hum that hopefully doesn’t sound too forced, you slip the papers behind your back. “Nope.”

Hotch lifts a brow. “No?”

“Nope.”

You’re out the door before he can say anything else. You don’t look back. You can’t. Not when you know he’s probably still standing there, still watching, still processing your terrible, terrible decision in real time.

And somewhere across the bullpen, Reid is about to make the easiest twenty bucks of his life.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[voitier]

Blame Morpheus for your sins - 01

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... you and jungkook had been attached by the hip since you were little toddlers learning how to live in your own bodies, which led you two to spend most (if not all) of your life together. one weird dream makes your whole view about your best friend change. how will you live with that?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [mini-series!] friends to lovers, college au, jungkook is whipped for reader but she's oblivious to it all, descriptions of wet dreams, second-hand embarrassment, learning how to deal with new found feelings, sex and all the good stuff, HEA.

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔... mentions of sex once but nothing graphic, mentions of alcohol and being drunk, reader is dumb, apparently, and jk is whipped.

▸ 𝓔𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

▸ 𝔀.𝓬. : 2𝓴

index / next

Panta Rei.

The philosopher Heraclitus believed that you cannot step twice into the same river: the waters might look the same, but they are not.

Everything in life is constantly changing, nothing is constant, except for one thing: change itself.

Change is the perfect noun to describe you and Jungkook’s relationship: having known each other since you were toddlers - thanks to your mothers, who were long time friends - you saw each other through all life stages up to this moment. You stuck to each other’s hip through good and bad, ups and downs, never once thinking or trying to leave the other. 

You were there when your moms brought you to the park after kindergarten to let you have play dates, chatting happily while you and Jungkook tried to grab the little ants that climbed your shoes to shoo them away, and running after butterflies hoping to catch one, occasionally stumbling on your own feet and rolling to the ground. Somewhere, in the piles and piles of printed pictures that your mom - a photographer - stores with care, there’s a photograph of little you and Jungkook dressed in overalls and yellow rain boots in the park. In the picture you’re sitting on the soft, green grass while Junkook stands next to you, and your mom managed to capture the exact moment a sneeze almost took your best friend out, his four years-old body folded in half right before falling face-first on the grass while you laughed heartily. 

Obviously, you don’t have any memories of the toddler stage, and the stories you know were narrated either by your mom or his, accompanied by some pictures. However, you have a ton of memories of your childhood and teen years spent together. 

For example, you remember almost like it happened yesterday, the years when you two went to elementary school and you spent too many evenings to even recount at his place doing homework, sat at the table with him and his mom who tried to help you since you had problems understanding math and no one could assist you at home since everyone worked till late at night. His mom was not only a precious help to pass math, but also a second mom to you. She let you stay at hers when your mom had to leave early for work, tucking you in Jungkook’s bed even though you were already dressed for school and he was still snoozing comfortably in the comfort of his pajamas and warm sheets; she braided your hair whenever you asked, but in return you had to be Jungkook’s little mannequin, trying to stay as still as possible as his mom taught him how to braid your hair; she listened to your frustrated rambles about Jungkook’s childish teasing, always trying to act so tough but ending up crying each time cause his words hurt more than you cared to admit. He never apologised for it, but he would always show up at school the next day with your favorite snack, a silent plea of forgiveness for his behaviour. 

Then, the teen years came, and your relationship changed once again: your playful banter was still there, but it was more careful, each word almost tentative. You didn’t share a bed anymore, both of your minds already too corrupted by society and the implications it would take to sleep in your best friend’s bed at your “grown age”. Your careless glances turned into sneaky peeks, trying to understand how both of your appearances were changing, with you admiring how his little stubble adorned his pretty face whenever he let it grow out and him observing discreetly how your body was morphing into one of a woman. He started to hang out with boys of his age more, the same way you started to hang out with your girl friends, and soon it was clear to you both that, even if done in different ways, the topics of your chattings weren’t so different, with the main focus being the other sex and the many changes your bodies went through. 

Luckily, the awkward phase lasted until you were sixteen, then things went back to normal and you didn’t feel like you had to tiptoe around each other anymore. But sometimes, life gives you something and asks for a payment: so yes, you and Jungkook went back to the “regular you’s”, but you weren’t ten anymore and it showed. Particularly, your life changed according to your ages and not your wants, and soon you had to come to terms with newcome feelings you never felt before. 

For example, you had to learn how to deal with this weird, twisting sensation in your gut each time your best friend stopped at your place to talk about the new girl he was seeing, rambling on and on about how cool she was and how good he felt when he opened a can of pepsi for her, all while basking in the sun that seeped through your windows. You associated that weird feeling to your envy, wanting to feel desired like he felt, too, pushing further thoughts down. 

“Oh, and she stroked my beard. Do you think I should grow it out?” he asked one day, laying on the ground of your room with a dreamy look in his eyes. You huffed, slapping your laptop closed as your patience finally snapped: you had been sitting on your bed with a blank document in front of your eyes for the past two hours, your mood already cranky since you had spent the first half of the day folded in half because of your period, then he came, all jumpy and happy as if he could shit rainbows and life was worth living, slammed your door open without even knocking and started yapping his ass off about some random girl you couldn’t care about less. Oh, seventeen year old you was pissed, to say the least. 

And that’s why you let yourself fall to your knees, next to Jungkook. You grabbed his chin with a death grip, just to make a point clear, and acted like you were thoroughly inspecting his “beard”. In the end, you just shrugged. “Dude, if this is a beard for you then I’m so sorry for your little girlfriend once you’ll do more since, apparently, you over exaggerate things this much. This is barely a stubble, get a grip”. And with that you got up again, acting like you didn’t notice how embarrassed Jungkook got at the insinuation of him having sex, rubbing his jaw to feel his skin. 

Then, life changed again: contrary to what the both of you thought, he wasn’t the one to lose his virginity first. He wasn’t, because the same night he was breaking up with his girlfriend - and he insisted on never telling you the reason - approximately six months after getting together, you were busy spreading your legs for a cute boy you shared literature with, hidden in the parking lot of a desert supermarket. It wasn’t exactly a memorable experience,nor was it that comfortable, but you were so happy to take your well deserved revenge, finally flipping the tables. Jungkook didn’t speak to you for a week after that, disappearing from your radar completely, missing classes and ignoring your calls and messages. When he returned he acted like nothing had happened, blamed his absence on his “heartbreak”, and said that now he was feeling a lot better. He got way clingier to you after that, always on edge when a boy would get close to you, always so protective and jealous of you, acting both like your bodyguard and boyfriend. This time, it was you that blamed it on his heartbreak, assuming that he just needed someone to fill the empty slot left by his ex, looking for that connection in someone else just until he got back to normal. Except, he never went back “to normal” and his behaviour became the normality pretty soon. 

Then, adulthood came, and with it the new phase of your life: college. It was pretty clear to the both of you which major to choose: you went with Philosophy, he went for Classics. “You two are literally complimentary,” had commented your mom once, shrugging her shoulders once you glared at her. “What? It’s true, you can’t study philosophy without knowing anything from the Classic Age and you can’t study the Classics without knowing philosophy. What have I said wrong?”

You chose a college that had both so that you could attend it together, and it wasn’t too far from home so you didn’t need to move out. Jungkook also didn’t need to, but he felt like it would benefit him to move into the dorm, and so he did. Truth to be told, you would have also enjoyed it, but while your best friend had the economical means to pay for both tuition and rent, you could only afford one of the two. Either way, you spent most of the times in uni, whether it was to attend classes or to study at the library, and when you weren’t busy you hanged out in Jungkook’s dorm the same way he did in your room back in the days, so either way you were almost never at home. 

It got to a point where Jungkook’s dorm slowly turned into yours, too. It started small: forgetting your charger plugged in his room, leaving a mascara there “just in case”, dropping your gym bag since you didn’t want to walk around campus all day with another heavy thing on your shoulder. Then, it became sleeping there for the night when you had too much to drink to drive home safely. He would take care of you so lovingly, carefully taking your makeup off with the wipes he had bought - specifically for you -, handing you a spare change of his most comfortable clothes to sleep in - which soon became your designed set of clothes for when you spent the nights - hoping you didn’t trip while changing, locked in the bathroom half naked; braiding your hair out of your face just like his mama had taught him years prior. Then, and he never told you this, he would tuck you in his bed, getting up to go sleep on the couch just to be stopped by you who, half-drunk half-asleep, whined until he finally gave in, scooting in beside you.

“Why do you never hold me?” you had asked that time, your words undefined and messy. Your hands grabbed fistfuls of the soft fabric of his hoodie, dipping your nose into it to inhale his scent. Jungkook’s heart had skipped a beat at your question, not expecting for you to become this affectionate and clingy all of a sudden. “Do you want me to hold you?” he had whispered, almost too scared to push you into sudden soberness with his question. You had hummed, nodding your head while mumbling something before sleep took the better of you. Nonetheless, he spent the night hugging you close to his body, his eyes tearing up as overwhelming feelings clouded his mind. He never told you this story, though, treasuring it jealously in his mind. 

In a way or another, Jungkook fit perfectly in your life. And he wasn’t a filler piece, no, he had his own space perfectly cut out for him in your everyday life. You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him, the mere thought of spending time away from him immediately put you in a mood. Someway, somehow along the road, Jungkook became part of your own soul, a vital piece for your own existence. If it wasn’t for Jungkook, you would have never become who you are today. And as for Jungkook… he physically ached when he wasn’t close to you, but he would never admit it. It wasn’t needed, though. You felt it, felt how you moods changed when you were with each other, felt how your chest tightened in pain when you weren’t close, almost as if your souls longed for each other. 

And that’s why you love him. He’s your best friend and you love each other exactly how best friends should, nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

© voitier 2025

next part

taglist: @mia7732 @tastykookoonut @koooobi

[rcmclachlan]

I love how it appears that Tommy is the grounded, well-adjusted foil to Buck's devil-may-care adrenaline junkie, but I also have to remind myself that Tommy was the guy who was asked to steal a helicopter and fly it into a category 5 hurricane on a hunch, and he was like, "yeah, cool, let's go."

Buck probably thinks Tommy's a rational, responsible adult, because he's so considerate and he owns a house and he's so methodical when he takes Buck apart in bed and he's got a 401k and a Roth IRA account. The helicopter heist flight was definitely an outlier.

But eventually he learns the truth: Tommy's batshit insane.

Like, they're hanging in bed one morning and Buck's on his phone trying to solve the math riddle Hen sent him, and he laments the loss of his lightning-enhanced skills. And Tommy, turning the page on the WWI biography he's reading, absently says, "At least you got them. All I got was 30% hearing loss in my left ear."

Buck slowly lowers his phone and demands an explanation, and Tommy, still focused on his book, tells him about when he was struck by lightning. Both times. The second time he was in the middle of a hoist and winch rescue trying to get to the captain of a sunk fishing boat in the middle of open ocean during a storm. Tommy holds his place in his book with his thumb and shows Buck the picture Lucy took of his Lichtenberg burn—it spans the entirety of his back and goes halfway down his arms. Buck stares at it, stunned, then takes the phone and book out of Tommy's hands, tosses them on the floor, and proceeds to suck Tommy's brain out through his dick.

The first time Buck goes to see Tommy at Harbor, Tommy is still en route back from a call, so Buck gets to talking to two people named Nico and Dana who've worked with Tommy since he arrived. Buck sheepishly apologizes for putting Tommy in such a dangerous position with the hurricane.

Nico and Dana look at each other and snort. Nico puts his hand on Buck's shoulder and is like, "Dude, that is not the craziest thing Kinard's ever done. That's not the craziest thing he's done this year."

They tell him about his legendary but batshit NATOPS check maneuvers and how no one's ever been able to figure out how he can do a barrel roll in low altitude in a transport bird.

They tell him about the time he and Donato were called to a high-rise gas explosion, and they casevac'd an unconscious, pregnant woman who ended up going into labor. Tommy got back there and, with the power of WikiHow on his side, delivered a healthy baby girl halfway to LA General.

They tell him about the time he sustained a concussion while landing a malfunctioning helicopter in the baseball field of a middle school, and yet somehow found the strength to host an impromptu AMA to three hundred kids about what being a pilot's like while he munched on tater tots and waited for a rescue.

They tell him about the time he was flying with a probie at night in an area with uncharted power lines that got tangled in the rotor, and how he slung the probie under his arm like a tote bag and dove out of the helicopter right before it exploded.

They tell him about the time Tommy and Nico were called to a cliffside mansion where some foreign dignitary's daughter was being held hostage. Tommy ended up HRSTing out of the helicopter and onto the scene, and then proceeded to beat the hell out of the guy, get himself stabbed, and give the SWAT team so much shit when they arrived that the 217 has an honorary table every year at the Backdraft Ball.

When Tommy finally shows up and disembarks, Dana's halfway through a story about the time they were all called to Shasta County to help with the Carr Fire in 2018, and as soon as Buck sees him over Dana's shoulder, he shouts, "You flew into a fire tornado?!"

Tommy's expression goes a little hunted and he holds up his hands placatingly, like, "In my defense, I tried to find another way around it—"

And Dana's like, "The fuck you did. You looked me dead in the eye and said, 'You know what would be funny?' And then you banked right into the whirl."

"It's not like you tried to stop me," Tommy says accusingly, ignoring the way the side of his head is starting to smoke from the intensity of Buck's stare.

"Well, no, you were right: it was funny," Dana says with a shrug.

That night, Buck rides Tommy slow and vicious and makes him recount every detail of the fire whirl flight before he'll let Tommy come, and the entire time he grips Tommy's head and forces him to hold Buck's gaze and thinks, I can't believe I ever thought you were normal. You're insane, you're out of your mind, you're perfect, you're perfect, you're perfect for me.

In the afterglow, practically humming with satisfaction, Buck bites playfully at Tommy's chest and says, "So this is what Lucy meant when she texted me that you and I match each other's crazy. Hell, after everything you've done, I think the only thing left to check off your list is, like, aliens."

And Tommy's entire body freezes and he falls very silent very suddenly. Buck lifts his head to stare at him, like, "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Evan, for legal reasons, I need you to change the subject."

[xavistarlight]

Late night projects

Pairing: Caleb x fem!reader

“ so basically I go to drop willow off and this random lady is like, “ well nice to see you finally, isn’t her dad usually the one to drop her off”

Caleb lays next to you in the bed completely enthralled in the story.

Basically trying to say I’m like too caught up with work or whatever , I mean Caleb she should be so glad I have a kid now because If this was me like a couple years ago I would’ve beat her a-

Suddenly you hear rustling coming from the closet

You and Caleb both look at each other confused

And then out from the top of the shelf she had climbed comes your daughter willow.

Caleb quickly uses his evol to stop her mid air from falling to the ground.

“ munchkin?! Baby what are you doing climbing in the closet you could’ve gotten hurt”

And at that she bursts in to tears

from behind her back she pulls out the kindergarten family tree project she had spent all weekend working on, covered in glue and glitter. And probably another layer of glue and glitter where she had seemingly tried to fix it.

“ I’m … sorry … mama and papa I didn’t mean to mess it up” she can barely catch her words in between

“ oh honey” you give her a sympathetic look it always hurt to see your baby cry even if it was over seemingly trival things it’s what is important to her right now. Which in turn meant it was important to you and Caleb.

And that’s how your little family ended up here.

Walking hand in hand, willow in the middle. Into the linkon city craft and supply store.

Caleb grabbed the poster board , while you and willow grabbed the glue and some fancy stickers

Finally meeting back in line to check out Caleb notices willow still looks disappointed in herself

“ you know little one , mama had this sameee exact thing happen to her when she was around your age”

Willow looked up at Caleb big round lavender eyes ready to listen to every word.

A mirror image of what Caleb looked like listening to your story earlier in bed.

“ except , guess what mama didn’t think to tell anyone and dada found her project crumpled up in her backpack , dada had to spend all night redoing it while mama slept peacefully in bed “

Willow gasps

“ MAMA that’s so bad” she looks at you giggling

You finally see her sparkle come back to her eyes so you let Caleb telling the embarrassing story slide, you’d let him tell it a thousand times if it meant seeing that smile and giggle from your baby girl .

“ don’t let dada fool you, he skipped a couple classes just to bring me lunch “

Caleb pokes your cheek

“And who’s fault is that hm, a pipsqueak I know who never keeps track of her meals”

The family giggles the whole way out of the store and on the car ride home.

Caleb was a firm believer that helping someone with there school work was not equal to doing it for them

This totally used tick you off when you were little stubborn math equations you know he knew the answer too but used them as a learning lesson.

But as you’ve gotten older you completely understand why he did that, and that’s why you sit here now with Caleb and willow.

Caleb helping her glue pieces here and there when her fingers get sticky, or helping her sound out words to figure out how to spell them but never influencing her ideas. This project is all your baby girl.

“ here’s the photo tin you were trying to reach earlier munchkin” you come over to the table placing down a tin full of photos over the years.

This tin mostly holds photos of you and Caleb growing up , while the pink photo book next to it is willows baby book with all her pictures.

You look through some of the countless photos feelings stirring in your mind.

Her family tree would always be incomplete, she just had you and Caleb.

While she would have to watch other children with there full family trees, grandmas that spoiled them , cousins and aunts and uncles all willow had was her parents.

Later that night after you had put willow to bed Caleb notices your mind spinning circles.

“ whats goin on up there in that pretty head pip”

“ Caleb.. do you ever think we’re selfish for having willow, we’re all she has. You don’t come from a family I don’t either she’ll never know what thats like”

Caleb caresses your face before replying

“ no baby , never we’re giving her what we never had, do you see her baby album down there it’s bursting full of memories even before she was born, she’s so loved and so wanted and it shows in the girl she’s becoming”

Your eyes tear up at his response he’s right.

“ I love this little family we’ve created” you say sleepily

“ me too pip , me too” Caleb kisses your nose softly.

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[presswoodterryryan]

Math Made Fun: Join the Floating Carnival Adventure!

By Alice It was a normal afternoon, and I was staring at my math homework like it was a grumpy old toad. “Why do numbers have to be so boring?” I groaned, tapping my pencil against my notebook, wishing for a bit of excitement to break the monotony of equations and integers. Mr. Fluffernutter, my fluffy white bunny and expert adventurer, wiggled his nose suspiciously. “Hmm… numbers and fun?…

[sturnslutz]

introducing... teenagedirtbag!matt and innocent!reader

use of y/n a couple times.

matt had always been one to ignore girls. not that he didn’t like them, but because he truly just didn’t want them. his “bad boy” persona really lures girls in, and he’s learned that over the years.

his bad rep started off when he was only a young boy, not paying attention in class, and snapping back at teachers which caused multiple suspensions, detentions, and even one expulsion.

him getting expelled from full circle high school in somerville really turned his family’s life around. his brothers, chris and nick, were the complete opposite of him, but because he got switched, they had to too.

you weren't a very social person, but you weren't super shy. you could go and ask someone a question if you were lost, but you couldn't tell someone what they did wrong, even if it hurts you.

that's what some people adored about you, that you're so innocent. so pure. that's what people base you off of, and build on it.

"oh yeah, angel? she's so nice!" the amount of times you have heard that about you. people even named you angel, which you weren't mad about, but no one really called you by your actual name anymore.

somerville high was a dreading place for you. toxic jocks, wannabe pick me girls who bully the quiet kids when no doubt, they're 10x smarter. who even cares about grades anymore? high school social pyramids are based on how much you sleep with people and if you take drugs, which automatically puts you at a "higher level."

unfortunately, you were right in the middle. you smoked a couple times, but it wasn't a big thing. and obviously, you haven't hooked up with anyone, not even holding hands.

it was like sexual experiences were resistant to you no matter how much you craved it. you were literally the face of the quote, "perverted bitch with an angelic face."

others have told you that you had a sort of, "angelic presence" about you. like you were this breath of fresh air everyone desperately craved for, and it came naturally to you.

you were in math class, sitting in the back of the class with your tight clothes that hugged your curves perfectly, with an airpod in. you still paid attention to whatever the teacher was talking about, but she was currently at her desk allowing you guys to have a little break, or so she calls it. a certain announcement makes you take your headphone out.

"next class we're having a new student come into our class by the name of matthew sturniolo. i expect you all to treat him with kindness and respect."

matthew sturniolo? that sounded super familiar.

you looked down at your phone, opening up instagram and searching through your followers.

@matthew.sturniolo

he followed you already. and you followed him back.

he had liked a couple of your posts and stories, but you guys have never talked. he was so fine, and he had this dark vibe about him that had you soaked.

you would never admit it, but your thighs clenched a couple times when looking at his pics. you can't be thinking like this. you turn off your phone, putting your airpod in, blasting your music, rubbing your eyes to get those thoughts out of head.

you didn't even know what "thoughts" they actually were. you've never watched porn or anything, or even actually touched yourself properly. you just knew that you had a growing ache in between your legs.

the next day came faster than you had thought. upon remembering that matt would be arriving, you dressed in one of your best outfits, that was simple but showed everything that needed to be shown, perfectly.

you had sat in your seat, feet tapping against the ground repeatedly as you fiddled your thumbs in your lap. you turned around everytime someone walked in, and finally he walked in.

he walked so calmly and you both made eye contact immediately to which you turned around and acted cool. or so you thought.

you hadn't seen, but matt smirked softly as he took a seat a couple rows up next to some guy named jack who you've talked to a couple times. they immediately spark up a conversation, probably having met earlier and already became friends.

class had started, and your teacher kept talking. you had forgot a vital rule in her class, assigned seats. "hello matthew, welcome to the class. i hope everyone treats you with kindness and you make your time here productive. unfortunately, we do have assigned seats, and i have you seated next to, y/n. she's in the back over there."

she points to you and you don't necessarily notice as you're looking down at your phone. "y/n." you look up to the sound of your name being called a bit sternly, and see your teacher and a couple pairs of eyes looking at you, and a certain matt who was grabbing his bag.

"yes?" "matthew is coming to sit next to you." your eyes widen a bit as you make eye contact with him again as he walks towards you, smirking at you softly. you nod to the teacher and pull your eyes away from matt, who's now sitting next to you.

"sup." he slumps down next to you, your knees hitting each other. "hi." you respond, no more than a whisper. he nods and goes on his phone, the both of your guys' knees still rested on each other.

"we follow each other on insta right?" he says as he pulls your profile up, a sudden wave of embarrassment flowing through you as he clicks through your highlight of yourself, lingering a bit too long on the few bikini pics or pajama pics.

"mhm." you hum. he chuckles softly, nodding again. "nice." he puts his phone away, and his eyes rake over your body. you pay no attention to it as you tap on your computer a couple times to start working on the assignment.

"wanna hangout later?" you almost thought you were dreaming. "w-what?" you look over at him, your eyes meeting. "hangout. later. i'll pick you up and we can jus' go to the park or somethin'. whatever you wanna do. not a date though. jus' wan' a pretty girl to show me her favorite spots."

he had a certain tone to his last words, "favorite spots" which gave you a hint of something else besides what he was saying, a hidden intent in his words. this caused a shiver through you before you nod. "um, yeah sure. here." you hand him your phone for him to put his number in, and he does, quickly texting himself before taking his phone out, texting you back and saving your contact.

"'ight. i'll pick you up later, yeah?" "yeah, sure."

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @angeliijay12-blog @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 comment to be added or removed.