#Question Papers and Answer Sheet

[sagarrachnagrp]

‘Together with’ Pre Board Paper Class 12 Mathematics for Board Exam 2024

Together with Pariksha-Best Pre Board Practice Paper Mathematics comes with 3 Practice Question Papers and Answer Sheet. CBSE Board Exam replicated Answer Sheet can be submitted at the nearest corporate office for grading. Best Pre Board Practice Paper Class 12 CBSE Answers and marks obtained by the student will be revealed on gowebrachnasagar.com on 8th February and 15th February respectively

[hardrockshrimp]

Snake age progression thing <3

[microwavepopcorn]

[fazcinatingblog]

i sent her an email today like "here's the information you wanted two days ago, also i assume it wasn't included in the individual because it'll be in the trust tax return" new year, same me telling sophia that she was wrong

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Anchor

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky is there for you when no-one else is.

Disclaimer: Hurt/comfort fic, little angst, little fluff, Bucky is there for the reader, mentions of missions going wrong and agents getting hurt, quiet comfort. Not Proof Read.

The waiting room was completely empty. Down the hallway, a nurse was signing something on a chart, a doctor was walking to another wing and in the other direction was the Shield agent you’d been assigned to rescue. 

The mission had been tough. Tougher than you’d had in a long time. But you survived. You both did. You got both you and the agent out. 

You’d been checked over three hours ago. Muddy, covered in ash, some dried blood. But no damage. Physically, at least. Meanwhile, the agent was still in surgery for internal bleeding. 

You were trying your best to take some deep breaths. Trying to keep your nerves calm and controlled. But the longer time went on, the harder it was getting. 

That was when he showed up. Bucky Barnes. The one man you’d barely spoken to despite working together for the last six years. It was like he had some kind of special ability to know when you needed someone and…you were always more than grateful that he was the one to show up. 

He didn’t say anything. He was still in his tactical gear so you could only guess he’d finished up mentoring the training module for the day. He just walked down the hallway quietly before sitting beside you. He looked at you. He’d known you for so long, he didn’t need to study you anymore. He didn’t need to read into the microexpressions you couldn’t hide. 

He just knew. 

You barely even looked at him before the tears started falling. 

If it had been anyone else, you would have been able to hold your nerve. You would have forced yourself to talk through it, to tell them what the doctors told you and hold onto the hope they’d tell you to have. 

But not with Bucky. 

With Bucky you were safe. Safe enough to let the walls come crashing down without panicking over how quickly you’d have to pick the bricks back up again. 

His arm wrapped around your back as he held you close to his chest, his hand in your hair. This thumb rubbed at your temple, like it usually would when he laid his cheek on the top of your head. 

He didn’t whisper comforting words. He didn’t tell you that you’d be okay or that you did a good job. He could tell you that later. Right then, you just needed to be held. To be shown you were safe. The world wasn’t ending…not in the hospital waiting room, at least. You’d held your own without even a small break for a long, long time. You didn’t need to hold it anymore. 

Bucky didn’t keep track of time or how long he held you. He would have held you till the end of time if it meant you’d be ten percent better than when he first walked in. 

He could remember the first time he’d held you. 

One of the agents you were close to in your division had been helping the team out for six months. On one of the missions, they’d gotten hurt. Their family had met you at the hospital with the rest of the team. 

Bucky had stayed in the back, watching as everything unfolded. How their mother asked the doctors ten different questions, waited for their answers and five minutes later asked you the same questions, along with, “Why didn’t you help them?”. 

Sam had stepped in, answering that particular question for you. You didn’t know how to answer it. But Bucky could see your mind answering it for you. But it was all a lie. They knew what they were getting themselves in for, and though Bucky hadn’t said too much to them, he knew they wouldn’t want you to be asked something like that; it wasn’t up to you to keep them safe. 

Bucky watched as nurses pulled you aside and told you things before they let everyone else know. He watched as you were asked to sign different sheets of paper and fill in far too much information. 

Eventually, all the questions and voices and tears got to be too much. Whilst everyone talked, you took an opportunity to step away for a moment. Bucky had followed after you. He wasn’t going to let you be alone when what you needed in that moment was the complete opposite. 

He’d found you down an empty corridor trying to force the overwhelming tears and sobs back into your body. 

Even then he didn’t say anything. He just walked towards you and held out his hand, touching your shoulder to turn you. You hugged him without thinking about it and he held you tight. His hand held the back of your head, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth. 

He could feel your fingers digging tightly into his skin, but it didn’t hurt. You were holding onto him like an anchor. 

It was still the same. 

With his arm around your back, your fingers held onto his bicep. Maybe you hadn’t talked much in the last six years. No more than standard co-workers who saw each other maybe once or twice a week. Maybe he wasn’t your best friend. 

But he was your Anchor. 

He was your safe space. 

He was the one person you could turn to and know…you didn’t need to be okay. You didn’t need to be strong and unemotional. 

With him, you could let your walls down. And he never judged. Not for a moment. 

A few hours passed before he eventually spoke. 

“Stay here. I’ll be back.”

He’d wiped away your tears and kissed the side of your head before standing, not letting go of your hand until he had to. He’d walked over to the nurses station and asked for a couple supplies before pulling out his phone as they walked away. They’d brought them almost instantly. He thanked them before walking back to you. 

That was when he crouched in front of you, his hand on your thigh. “I’m gonna clean you up a little. Is that okay?”

You nodded and he opened up the kit before wiping the tear, mud and blood stains away from your skin. He dabbed carefully as some smaller grazes that had been missed. 

“I’m gonna take you home.” He continued talking before you could speak after shaking your head. “I’ve already texted Sam. He’s gonna send one of Barton’s team down here. If anything happens, they can deal with it. You need to rest and get some decent sleep.”

When he’d finished up, he handed the spare supplies back, thanking the nurses once more before returning to you. He’d opened up the passenger side door to help you in. And by the time he got you home, you were already asleep. 

You only woke when you felt your head hit something soft. 

“Bucky?”

“I’m here,” he whispered, softly.

“Stay?”

“Okay.”

Taking off his boots, he climbed on top of the bed and laid beside you. You were asleep instantly. 

Neither of you talked about it in the morning. But Bucky stayed with you all day. When you went back to the hospital, when you handed your report back in and when you came back home. 

After dinner, you sat beside him and he lifted his arm, letting you settle beside him as he continued reading. Neither of you really had to talk. But you knew something for certain. 

For as much as you and Bucky rarely talked, you’d shared more conversations than you could count. 

He was your Anchor. And nothing would ever change that. 

[madebysoupy]

.

[rileyslibrary]

You burst into the office and slam the door behind you. Ghost jumps from his seat and looks up from the paperwork he’s been filling out. His eyes widen as you sprint towards him.

“What the f-”

“Just play along,” you interject, dragging a chair and plopping down. You grab two sheets of paper from the pile next to him and snatch the first pen within reach.

He keeps staring at you dumbfounded before managing to utter something.

“Can you at least-”

“Nope,” you cut him off while focusing on the papers and nibbling on the pen. “No, can’t do. You need to trust me on this one.”

“Define what ‘this one’ is.” He demands.

“Shhhh,” you hush him, waving your hand dismissively and glancing over your shoulder at the door. “He’s coming.”

“Who’s com-”

The door swings open, and footsteps approach. They settle beside you, and a hand slams on the desk. Ghost looks at the hand, then upward.

“Captain,” he says. “What brings you in-”

“For the love of everything you hold dear, Simon, you better not be involved in any of this,” Price warns. He slams his hand on the desk again and looks at you. “Why were you running away from me?” He asks.

You stare at him with furrowed eyebrows before removing the pen from your mouth.

“I wasn’t running away from you, sir,” you reply, pointing the pen at Ghost. “I was late for my meeting with the lieutenant.”

Price turns towards Ghost, seeking for an appropriate answer. The lieutenant sits up straight on his chair, clasps his hands together and motions with his head towards you.

“Very punctual, this one.” He says.

“Cut the crap, Simon,” Price orders and turns to you. “What were you doing inside Bravo Unit’s barracks last night?”

“Bravo Unit has barracks?” You ask Ghost. He shoots you a side-eye and raises one eyebrow.

“Stop playing dump and answer the question,” Price warns and points at Ghost. “And don’t look at him—he’s not covering for you this time.”

“How about you start from the beginning, boss,” Ghost interjects. “What happened?”

“Someone broke into Bravo Unit’s barracks last night and stole every inch of toilet paper they had,” Price says, looking at you, then turning to Ghost. “And not just toilet paper, mind you! Kitchen rolls and tissues are gone as well.”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Ghost murmurs, shaking his head. “Such an inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience, Simon?” Price whispers, leaning on the desk. “The entirety of Bravo Unit had to wipe their ass with parchment paper this morning.”

Ghost brings his hand to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. He lowers his head and takes deep, laboured breaths. Price is already fuming, so you decide to intervene.

“I was never inside Bravo Unit’s barracks, sir,” You state. “I just happened to walk through it once.”

“Oh, I see, I see—you walked through it once,” Price repeats, nodding. He removes something from his pocket and slams it on the desk.

“The instigator left this behind,” he states, looking back and forth between the two of you.

You and Ghost look at the garment on the desk—it’s a skull balaclava that once belonged to the lieutenant. He gave it to you last Winter since your ears and nose tend to get cold during patrol.

“Now,” Price states, “would you care to brief me on who this belongs to?”

“Hm,” you murmur, setting the pen and papers on the desk. You pick up the mask and start examining it. You look at Ghost, who stares at the mask with his eyeballs threatening to pop out of his face. He shoots you a deathly stare, and you redirect your attention to Price.

“That looks like it must be the lieutenant’s,” you reply, lifting the balaclava next to Ghost’s masked face. “With the skull and all—it’s a perfect match, actually.”

You both turn to Ghost, whose expression has transformed from utter disbelief to an inexplicable calmness.

“Indeed, that looks exactly like the one I lost,” Ghost confirms, taking the mask from you.

“Is it now?” Price asks in a high-pitched voice, tilting his head to the side. “Do me a favour and smell it for me, Riley.”

Ghost does exactly as he’s told. He brings the mask close to his nose, sniffs it, and nods. “Yup,” he confirms. “Smells exactly like me, too.”

Price sighs, takes a bottle from the pocket of his cargo pants and slams it on the desk. “So you want me to believe you use ‘Magnolia Blossom with Moroccan oil’ as a shampoo?” he asks.

“I’ve got dry hair.” Ghost shrugs.

“You should try coconut oil instead,” you suggest to Ghost, “it’s cheaper.”

Price kicks the chair next to you, and you both turn to look at him. He presses his lips together, and a red flush creeps on his neck, threatening to reach his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him.

“Why did you go through peoples’ stuff without their permission, sir?”

“Oh, I wasn’t going through anyone’s stuff,” Price explains. “You just were dumb enough to ditch the balaclava right behind the barracks. The detection dog picked up on the smell and led us to your stuff—it was a perfect match, just like you said.”

“You had sniffer dogs involved in this?” Ghost asks.

“I had to.” Price replies. “Pair the parchment paper with a day full of training, and Bravo Unit developed the worst rash they had since wearing diapers.”

A chuckle escapes Ghost, and he tries to silence it with his hand. He takes quick gasps of air, and you try to retain your laughter, too.

“Please tell me you’re not laughing!” Price shouts.

“No, boss,” Ghost says and wipes his tears, “It’s just so-”

“-sad,” you say and wipe your eyes as well. “It’s so sad.”

Price looks at you, then at the lieutenant. Now defeated, he sighs and throws his head back, shutting his eyes.

“I’m done with both of you.” He says, lifting his arms and dropping them to his sides. “I expect all toilet papers to be returned today. And as for you, you are responsible for cleaning Bravo’s toilets for the entire month.”

“For the whole month?!” You shout and wince at the idea.

“Be glad I didn’t make you wipe their asses as well.” He shouts as he walks to the door and slams it behind him.

Ghost recovers from the laugh and directs his attention to you. He tries to be serious but his teary eyes betray him.

“That was a hazardous operation you did back there,” he says.

“I didn’t do anything.” You reply, still vouching for your innocence. “But whoever did it taught Bravo Unit not to mess with our thermostats again.”

Ghost shakes his head. “I just happened to walk through the barracks once,” he says, repeating your earlier statement. “What were you thinking? Who walks through barracks?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, shrugging. “Ghosts would be my guess.”

[multicohn]

summary: being an f1 driver and student really drives kimi insane. surely, his partner is willingly to do his homework for him... right?

warnings: cursing, short

pairing: gn! academically gifted! reader x kimi antonelli

genre: fluff

author note: i do admire kimi for still being in school. i would’ve quit

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

y/n understood that kimi is busy and can’t really do his homework or study for exams during the race weekend. he has so much going on and y/n always did their best to help him, but being in a top team in the top category for his sport changed things.

kimi has more media to do, meetings that required his attendance, longer warmups, and so many other things slotted in between. he was even busy during the weeks that didn’t have a race scheduled.

so, he relied on y/n to help with his studies. his partner is academically talented and is always gifted top marks in every subject they take. kimi didn’t care that much, but he still wanted to pass.

he normally called them at night or on the way to wherever he was going for help. however, kimi is currently stuck in the middle of a triple header and had forgotten all about the stacked emails sent from his teachers about what needed to be done until y/n came to watch him and asked about it.

“what homework?”

“have you not checked your emails?”

• • •

“shit”

y/n watched as kimi internally freaked out. maybe they shouldn’t have brought it up, but in their defence — he’s always remembered ( and then complained about it ).

“babe” he gripped their shoulders with an intense look in his eyes

“you have to do my homework”

silence.

the couple just stared at each other. kimi’s eyes were full of determination while y/n’s were blank.

“you’re not serious” his grip tightened slightly, but it was barley noticeable

“dead serious” y/n scoffed

kimi has never once asked them to do his homework. yes, there have been times where y/n did his homework, but it was only a few questions so they didn’t mind.

but this?

“kimi, you know i can’t”

“please! no one will know! i swear!” he clasped his hands together and put on his best “sad puppy dog” look, but y/n didn’t buy it

“like how no one would ever know that you and ollie committed credit card fraud?”

“that was one time!” kimi knew he was screwed when they raised an eyebrow

he was thankful they were in his hotel room since y/n started listing all the things ( that she knew of ) he had promised to keep quiet about, but either told his friends or the entire internet.

“okay! okay! i know i suck at secrets, but please!”

“kimi —“

“please! i'm an f1 driver now! i don't have time like in f2 or f3!”

y/n sighed.

“please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please —“ they quickly interrupted him

“i'm not doing it —“

kimi physically deflated at this.

“but, i'll tell you what the answers are”

he perked up and instantly wrapped them in a tight hug

“thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you —“

“yeah, yeah, you're welcome”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

extra scene:

it was the tuesday after his trple header when kimi handed in all his work. the teaches praised him, despite the few wrongs answers ( “it'll be suspicious if you get them all right” y/n had said and he felt very offended by their words ).

“and they said i couldn't keep a secret” he scoffed internally while waiting for one of his teachers to finish marking his homework

“excellent work, kimi. glad you could keep up” he smiled and grabbed the sheets of paper

“thanks! y/n told me!”

• • •

“shit”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night. 

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner. 

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry. 

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation. 

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year. 

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you. 

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in. 

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia. 

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact. 

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work. 

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it." 

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion. 

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial. 

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way." 

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly. 

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry. 

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon. 

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box." 

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub. 

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin. 

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words. 

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups. 

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou. 

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies." 

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

[sheepispink]

guess who’s back ;)

puppy hybrid! rookie reader x lt ghost, where you're considered a failure by your instructors and of course when one of them falls sick, the responsibility of training you lands on him

aka this is my apology for making so many of you cry.

cw: hurt/comfort, fluff, tf141 at the end :)

-----------

To be a hybrid handler was possibly one of the best qualifications a soldier could have, especially with the new rise in hybrid cross-breeds across the world’s military. Ghost had one, took the course when no one wanted to go near it, and now he was only one of the few fits on base to have one. So naturally, when one of the hybrids’ usual instructors had to take a sick leave, he was pressured to step in. The other hybrids had set schedules for their sessions but since you were from the facilities, you needed extra support; well, actually all your extra academic classes meant you didn't have the regular timetable. That’s where he stepped in, taking over the ill instructor’s sessions and training you privately.

That wasn't the issue though, no, it was your file; it was awful. Angry comments about being stubborn, large red crosses next to exercises and well, your behaviour report wasn’t exactly bright either—you just never seemed to get anything right. There weren't any specific notes as to why you failed, usually just a quick scribble mentioning the many mistakes you made. So, it was safe to say he was dreading having to train you himself. He was used to pre-trained hybrids, or at least ones with their head on their shoulders. In fact, he was surprised you’re even still here, but maybe they just thought they’d dump you on him to deal with for the few weeks.

“Um…. Stay back?” You question, your head tilted to the side and ears perking as you try your best to remember what field signal he just did. He stifles a sigh—another one wrong—but it’d only be worse to give up now, so instead he opts for a different approach. “What signals do you know?” 

You were terrified of him, that much was clear, but he felt a little reluctant to give you the same stern treatment as every other rookie. After all, you were bought from the facilities, and before that you would’ve been taken from your family at a relatively young age. That doesn't mean he’ll be lenient though, just a little more patient than most officers around here.

“Well.. Move forward, enemies ahead, don't move, and follow me. I know there’s more but not the signals..” Your ears flatten on your head, expecting some kind of blow, but his eyes just narrow behind the mask, looking back at the training mats in the corner of the room.

The next forty minutes he displays each sign back to you, making you repeat them back to him before ending that exercise. Only then does he gesture you to the training mats, seeing what you know in terms of defence and attack, but even that is weak, your form sloppy and reckless. There’s only ten minutes left of the session, so he seats you again, standing before you as he tests a signal.

“Uh…. Stay close?” He nods, affirming you’re correct and you perk up instantly, watching his signs intently as you continue to give a few more correct answers, only your ears drooping when you get a few more wrong. He corrects you each time, making sure you’re aware before testing you with another. At the end, he passes you a sheet from his bag, the signals printed on it. “Learn these by tomorrow.” And then he’s gone, disappeared out of the room while you’re left alone staring at the paper before you.

The next day you’re in the room early, like you had been yesterday as well; weirdly enough, you were surprisingly punctual, but he didn't have the time to question that. “Alright, ready for your test?”

He’s slightly sceptical when you actually get them all correct, save for a few, since it’s surprising progress with your track record. Plus, your form is improving too, especially when he corrects it as you go along; you manage to remember when he makes you do it again. He can’t even deny he likes the way your tail wags every single time he nods in approval.

So why was your file so bad? If you really were a failure, you would barely be improving but here you are at a steady pace. He supposes that compared to the others you’re probably at least two weeks behind in the exercises. Ideally he’d just catch you up to speed and call it a day. However, his current concern lies on why you haven't improved if you were brought here a month ago. Sure, maybe the future exercises were a lot more difficult than the basic hand signals, but something seems a little… off.

His next session with you is three days from now, so he can't just straight up ask you, especially with your current skittish behaviour regarding him. For now, he’d have to investigate himself. The best source of information is your other class and the easiest way to get that is via some cameras. It’s technically not a violation of privacy, considering there are plenty of cameras around base and the training rooms should have them anyway. The instructor can just consider it a surprise upgrade; if he even notices the change that is. 

Ghost watches as you walk in first, settling in the front corner—- perhaps the instructor does give you the extra help you need then? The other hybrids come a few moments later and then the instructor arrives right on time. “Alright, warm-ups.” He orders, and you all get to work, with you trying to copy what the other hybrids do to the best of your ability. They’re a lot stronger than you, that much is obvious, and most are some form of a dog or wolf hybrid as well—considering they’ve been proven to work well in military situations. They stretch their limbs out as you turn around and imitate the same, all of you strangely quiet, but Ghost supposes that’s just maintaining focus. The officer cuts the warm up after a few minutes, beginning his first session in ‘taking advantage’ of blind spots whilst also keeping an eye on your own. He gets one of the soldiers to come upfront and help demonstrate all while you watch, then he gestures towards the targets at the back of the room, offering you all to try it out before you go against each other.

Ghost is almost considering just turning off the cameras at this point, wondering if he should go grab lunch and then rewatch it in his spare time— or maybe he should just ditch this after all, you were just a hybrid anyway. 

You’ve gone up now, and he watches, but something’s not right as you get into position. Since you’re not that skilled in fighting just yet, your offensive posture isn’t the greatest and that’s visible to any eye, especially the instructor. He motions to the opposing hybrid to fix his, before walking around and motioning to begin. Of course, you fail, getting toppled over almost instantly if not for Ghost’s work on defensive moves. You’re pushed down against the mat, head turned forcefully against the floor, the hybrid’s hand’s on your throat almost a little too aggressively until a signal is given to stop.

The instructor only scoffs, pulling the other hybrid up and leaving you gasping for air. “I knew you’d fall over like that, your posture was awful.”

This becomes a pattern throughout the rest of the exercises, your wrong choices and how the instructor barely says a word until after the incident. But why? Ghost doesn't understand—if he knew it would happen, why wouldn’t he just at least correct you beforehand?

———

Your eyes flicker toward the others pouncing on a target, watching with intrigue how they position their feet and their arms. “Stop staring, creep!” One of the large hybrid taunts behind you, grabbing you by the neck of your shirt and shoving you back down to the floor. 

It’s becoming harder and harder to stay motivated at this point, especially with how much your back is hurting from being overpowered all week. At least the other hybrids didn't laugh this time, though you wonder if that’s really a good thing since it was only due to the fact everyone expects your incompetence now. Like a reused joke, you’re becoming a boring topic. That can only mean you’re closer to being returned to the facility again which is never a good thing. No one wants a used item.

The thought scares you into motivation; you stand, smoothening the ruffled fur of your tail with one hand before stepping up to one of the targets. You have to try; it’s the best thing you can do even if your feet are starting to ache terribly. Swallowing down your anxiety, you try to remember how their stance was. It was going well until you ended up banging your shoulder against the wood rather than pushing it down. You tumble down with a groan, landing right in front of your instructor. 

“Do you have two left feet or something? Your balance was completely off the entire time— anyone could see that.” He rolls his eyes up at you, watching as you rub your shoulder in clear pain. Your lips twist into a deep frown, confused to say the least, and you finally look up at him. “Why didn't you correct me beforehand?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t listen anyway; you never do.” He scoffs in response, annoyed that you even tried to talk back, before stepping away to fix another hybrid's posture. You don't know why you even bothered to ask; it would always be the same response. They all saw you fail, and yet they never made an effort to even try to help, like you weren’t even worth spending energy on. From the first day you were marked as the runt, even if you really weren’t in the slightest.

_________

“You’re failing all the exercises.” Ghost drops the file before you, letting you see all the red crosses against each lesson. He reminds himself that this is for a good cause when your face instantly drops, used to his praise for good progress. It was the only thing you looked forward to anymore, having long given up on the dream that you’d prove your instructor wrong by doing an exercise perfectly. It’d never happen. The thing is, he can help you, but you won't catch up anywhere near to the others on your current schedule; he just needs to push you to want more, to need more, and he’ll fulfil that for you. 

“I- I'm trying, I promise. I just- it’s not my fault—” You fumble with your words, convinced he’s giving up on you. He can see the bandages littering your hands, the wince when you try to move suddenly.

“It’s not enough.” His voice is stern, yet still he knows it’s the calmest you’d get in this new life you’ve been forced into. You have no choice now but to move forward, and he’d be damned if his own student ended up a failure. “You need to train harder and—”

“I’ll do that! We can start now, actually whenever you want. Please, Ghost— I’ll work as hard as I possibly can!” 

Oh. 

He thought it’d be harder than that.

You’ve stepped so close he’s almost positive you were going to grab his shirt and beg him for a second. Your tail swishes from side to side too, ears perked high on your head and your hands clasped together. Is he going crazy or did you just give him puppy dog eyes?  

“I’m supposed to be convincing you, idiot.”

 “Huh?”

“.. Nevermind.” He rolls his eyes up at you and shakes his head; well at least he didn’t have to start pointing out the incentives of working harder to you. Though he doubts you’ll be able to handle his intensive training program; at least you’re trying to start.

“So will you train me then?” 

“Yeah, yeah Pup. But I don't think you realise how tough it’s gonna be.” His arms cross firmly over his chest, looking down at you with narrowed eyes. “I want you up early at five am and do warm ups straight after breakfast. None of these bandages either, that’ll ruin your performance. You think you can do that?” He leans in, almost threatening but despite your initial stance towards him, you don't even flinch. “Yes sir!” 

You’re just excited that someone’s finally taking a chance on you.

—-

So, for the next week, you get up early every day, wait for him in the gym before beginning your two-hour training session. He has his own priorities during that time so you’re left with “homework”, as he likes to describe it, which is usually a bunch of tactical knowledge you have to learn. Sometimes it’s what to do in certain situations, other times it’s medical knowledge, hell he even made you disassemble and reassemble a gun once. That last one didn't work out too well since you accidentally swept a few screws away with your tail. Oops

It wasn’t for nothing though. You steadily began to improve; just his corrections had you catching up quickly and putting up a fair fight against the rookie he set up to spar with you. In fact, your sessions with the other instructor have been going well, even managing to beat a few hybrids there when you only had hoped to put up enough of a fight. If he was being really honest, you had actually shocked him at how strong you held up the entire week of intense training. You may be seen as a failure to your officer, but to him, you were nothing short of a real soldier.

Finally, it’s Friday, marking the end of all this training that he’s had you doing. It’s almost dinner, though you ate plenty for lunch anyway, and you both stand in the empty room, a few props littering the room. He wanted to have a look at your pouncing technique, since those attacks worked best for a hybrid like you, and your strong teeth do have a good advantage. The methods are a little feral, but hey, you technically are part animal.

“And.. Go!” He signals, and you lunge forward, grabbing at the fake man and digging your teeth through the side of his neck. You rip through the first layer with ease, legs locked around the dummy’s middle and claws sharp into the arms. “That’s it!” He calls it off after he watches, the time slowly ticking towards seven pm. You climb off, and he nods in approval, walking forward to offer you a hand which you take with another tail wag. “Good work. That’s all for this week.” He helps you shrug off the gear, tucking it under his arm as you take a seat at the nearby bench.

 There are only a few minutes till dinner, and you’re usually starving by this time so he decides to clear up the equipment today, placing it down into the small storage cupboard and packing it in its respective spots. 7pm. Only took him about seven minutes to clear the room up which has to be a new record by now.

Closing the closet door behind him, he pulls out his phone, ready to lay back for the day. He’s about to open the door when he hears a quiet noise, then another, followed by a soft thud. Confused, he looks back, surprised to find you slumped on the bench as you snore quietly, your arms hanging off the side as your tail hangs limply off the edge. You’re completely knocked out.

“Pup?” His boots echo against the hardwood floor, but you still remain asleep, cheek smushed into the bench as he crouches before you. A small smile creases the edge of his mask, a fond sigh leaving his lips. “Alright, let’s get you to bed.” He scoops you up easily, carrying you through the quieter corridors to your room, and gently settling you to sleep comfortably for the remainder of the night. You deserved it.

——

Your other instructor returned that Monday, and Ghost was removed from his responsibility for you. Whilst he was glad you had improved, he was just relieved to have his old life back, ready to focus on the 141 as it should have always been. “Ghost! I did it! I did it!!” You squeal, running up to him whilst he’s mid-workout, showing him the sheet that confirms your status as a proper soldier now. You’re brimming with joy, and he’s happy for you, one hand ruffling your hair. “Knew you could do it.”

And that was that. You got your job, he completed his temporary work. 

That’s what he assumed anyway..

“Ghost? Can you check my form?” He allowed it the first time, leaving his weights to correct you before continuing his workout again.

“Ghost— can you teach me how to play this?” It was a simple game of cards and your first pub outing after a long mission. Besides, the others were busy puking their guts out.

“Hi Ghost! Can I sit here?” Well, Soap and Gaz were on a mission anyway; it’s not like he would be having breakfast with anyone else. Maybe your friends were out of base too?

“Ghost..” Sleepy eyes stare up at him as you lazily stretch beside him, Soap on his right and Gaz on your left. The movie has only just started, and you’re already giving him that expectant look. “Fine, fine.” He clicks the recliner on the side of the couch, lifting his legs to lay flat and allow you to stretch yours too. 

“Ghost..” You mumble out again, and he chuckles, the movie not even halfway through, and he’s got you melting into the cushions just from his hands scratching the back of your fluffy ears. They twitch every now and then, reminding him that you’re still awake somehow.

“Pup down.” Soap whispers, and he nods in turn, looking at the bundle of fur laying over him, your thick tail trapping his legs like some sort of weighted blanket. His hand runs through the soft strands, content as the credits roll and your chest rises and falls slowly. Somehow, you had managed to manoeuvre yourself with your face squashed against his legs and your fingers clutching the fabric of his sweatpants, the 141’s symbol engraved in the cold metal hanging around your neck. Of course, they’d all tease you about it tomorrow during your outing down to the beach. That’s how it works, of course;  wherever your handler goes, you follow.

--------------

COD MASTERLIST

a/n: thank you all so much for 1000 followers! just a little psa that i probably wont be too active in the next two weeks. tumblr used to be my safe space and i used to be so excited to come on and scroll thru my dash for some good fics but i just feel so empty with it :(. i havent lost my passion for writing dont get me wrong, and i'm still very happy to chat with moots, just the whole aspect of tumblr is so exhausting for me along with other things in my life atm

anyway rant over thanks for reading bye bye

@mortem-writes @pythonmoth

buy me a ko-fi :)

[girllblogging777]

LATE NIGHT LOGIC 𝜗𝜚

husband!spencer reid x reader (fluff)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 2k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : after a leg injury, spencer has to stay home. you try to keep him occupied with games and enigmas, but your husband just happens to be smarter than einstein

click. click. click. the soft and repetitive sound of the your fingers on the keyboard was beginning to make you drowsy.

you couldn’t tell how long you’d been writing, but based on the way the moonlight was streaming through the curtains of you and spencer’s living room, it had been a while.

you looked up, blinking twice and slowly emerging from that article you had been assigned to redact. a soft smile creeped up your face at the sight of your favourite brunette in front of you.

today marked a week since spencer had come home injured. a week since the last case. a week since he hadn’t been able to work. and as much as you incredibly adored having your husband around, he was getting restless.

right now, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes narrowed as he focused on the jar he was holding like it was his personal nemesis. you didn’t have much time to question what exactly he was doing with it, before he met your gaze and spoke up.

“did you know that the average american eats approximately 8.5 lbs of pickles a year ?”

you chuckled. of course, your husband would break a comfortable silence between the two of you with this sort of information

“seriously, babe ?”

he shrugged, shifting his weight to his left leg and trying to disguise a wince.

“i just happened to be reading the ingredients of your oh-so-lovely jar of pickles and-“

“woah, you’ve definitely reached peak boredom. this has gotta stop, spence.“

he sighed, leaning down to look back at the damn pickle jar, before putting it down.

“i know, i know. but i can’t help it, i’m going crazy. i’ve done everything i could, reorganised all your books on the shelf and re-read every single article you wrote since you started working. i need to do something with my brain or else i’ll go crazy-“

you cut him off gently, speaking in an understanding tone. anyone would enjoy a week off work, but rest was not a word in spencer reid’s vocabulary.

“put the jar down, you. come here”

he didn’t think twice, obeying you like he always did. in a couple of long strides, although he was still limping a bit, he sat down next to you on the couch, hands fiddling with the sleeves of his striped pj shirt.

you reached for your stack of documents, frantically searching through them. you knew exactly what you were looking for.

“hey, what are you doing ?” he asked curiously, shoulders sagged as if he was disappointed not to be getting your attention

“there it is.”

he looked at the sheet you’d just handed him.

“huh, eistein ? really ?”

you nodded, a playful glint in your eyes “yeah, the zebra puzzle. they passed it around at work, it’s a pretty difficult thing. you should give it a try”

and obviously, he wasn’t listening anymore. brows creased, nose scrunched, he was already back in working mode within seconds as his eyes scanned the enigma.

you couldn’t take your eyes off of him for a moment, a soft smile on your lips. he just looked so handsome like this, when he was so focused that you could practically hear the gears turning in his brain.

“see, this should keep you occupied for a while” you spoke, leaning back against the couch and shifting your attention back to your laptop.

he didn’t bother answering, way too concentrated to even be able to look up from the paper. soon enough, the comfortable silence between the two of you was back.

click. click. click.

for a moment, he seemed to have forgotten all about his injured leg and impracticality to work. no more reading off random ingredient lists or wandering mindlessly around the apartment.

just you and your wonderful genius sitting on the couch, keeping yourselves busy with your respective tasks.

“just so you know,” you said, glancing at what he’d began scribbling on the sheet, “it’s really complicated”

“no, there’s a pattern… it’s actually pretty simple to find out once i get the-“

“the color of the house. the pet. the drink. the brand of cigarettes.” you enumerated while you kept writing, picking up on something he mumbled incoherently under his breath.

his lips were shaped in that signature upturned smile you dreamt of kissing away, and you kept going. “i mean basically, it’s gonna take you a good thirty minutes before-“

“done.”

you looked up, your brows raising. “what ?”

“i’m done. first to fifth house, left to right. this one owns the zebra”

you couldn’t help but freeze for a second, before pinching the bridge of your nose. “are you kidding me ? it took me an hour to figure it out !”

he shrugged, head tilting to the side as he answered like it was the easiest thing in the world. “well, i wouldn’t deserve the title of genius if i hadn’t been able to do it.”

“yeah… you definitely are a genius. fine. and here i thought this would keep you occupied for more than a minute”

spencer leaned in, brushing a wild strand of hair behind your ear in the most casual way possible. instantly, the rhythm of your pulse accelerated, and you could simply hum when he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“thank you, though. for keeping up with me.”

you shook your head, reassuring him “it’s fine. should’ve known i wouldn’t be able to finish up that article before you’d drop another fun fact”

“oh, you love my knowledge about pickles.” he attempted in a flirty tone, but since it was spencer, it just sounded like he was actually expecting you to agree and ask more about it.

you simply giggled, nodding before he spoke up again “by the way, considering how many pickles i’ve seen you consume within the past week, you’re way above average”

yeah. it was definitely going to be something, having to keep your husband occupied for the rest of his sick leave.

and even though the constant rambling and attention he needed should annoy you, those brown eyes of his were enough for you to selfishly hope he’d stay around forever.

a/n : had to solve this enigma the other day and my first thought was “i bet spencer could do this within minutes”… anyways, hope y’all enjoy whatever this is !!

@gf2bellamy @iamgonnagetyouback @reidscherrylady @xervoxs @kaz-03

[probablybadrpgideas]

Bad Signs In A New RPG Rulebook

It quickly becomes clear the "What Is An RPG?" section at the front isn't intended as informative but is in fact a genuine question, complete with a number to call if you know the answer.

All the art is AI-Generated. You can tell this from subtle clues like the composition, blurry details and the fact that rather than anything to do with the game they're images of humans being shot with lasers labelled "DIE MEATBAGS DIE"

"What you need to play" is dice, paper, friends, imagination, cards, a roulette table, masks of your characters, desecrated holy objects from at least a dozen religions, a box full of nerdy snakes, a b-tier youtube celebrity and something they only refer to as "the tit-ripper 9000" .

The character creation section seems to be a guide on how to use the Pinkertons to enforce game copyright that was put in by accident.

The example play game session is a transcript of your last gaming session, word for word.

There is a section on avoiding outdated offensive stereotypes in gaming and instead using more modern offensive stereotypes that better resonate with a contemporary audience.

It has a sidebar titled "How to avoid scheduling errors" that just says ";)"

The sample starting adventure is a QR code. When you scan it it downloads Suicide Squad Kill The Justice League but with your party in the place of the main characters. It's actually really technically impressive, but you wish they'd chosen a better game.

Regardless of the genre or tone, It's using the fucking 5e D&D system again. It's not a generic system, guys! I can handle the character sheet being rigged to detonate if written on but this is where I draw the line!

[heeseungsbm]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ‪‪ꫂ ၴႅၴ‬་༘ ₜₑₐₛₑᵣ

𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨

❥ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : surprises. heeseung always had them up his sleeve. but this? this was something different—something he clearly fantasized about behind your back. he knew how tense you got over school. thought about it often, wished to ease it himself. you clearly needed relief, and he'd always been good at relieving stress. tonight, all you had to do was play along, and do what his little gift told you to. (๑>؂•̀

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆❥ : idol bf!heeseung x ♀college student reader

❥ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: smut with plot

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒♡: voyeurism, solo/mutual masturbation, explicit filthy nasty pornographic phone sex, usage of sex toys, squirting, overstimulation, ♂&♀orgasms, erm let me not spoil too much

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝♡

nothing makes you cry faster.

the equations, the formulas, the unnecessary mixing of letters with numbers. because seriously, who the fuck's idea was this? your memory span of a goldfish didn't make it any better.

so, why did you major in chemistry? good question.

... no answer.

your knee bounced as you hunched over at your bedroom desk, having a staring contest with the paper below you. one you were losing terribly.

time for bed.

you peeled the moisturizing sheet mask off of your face, sighing as you tossed it in the mini trash to your left. somehow, standing up felt like sipping an overly carbonated sprite —sharp and chaotic, you nearly fell over feeling the sleep in your legs, a sting in your butt from sitting so long.

but, at least you were home. and even better, home alone for the entire week. your parents were away for their anniversary.

dorming was never a thought going into college. and frankly, you'd eat a jean jacket before doing so. you loved your room. the peace and quiet, your own space and privacy. all the little things in it that reflected your mind.

plus, you can't exactly flick the bean with a roommate always around.

unless you're both, like... really horny lesbians.

ask anyone. chem homework will put you to sleep faster than melatonin, you knew to pamper up before your study session. showered and shaved, dressed in silk sleepwear, your hair pulled back by a plush spa headband. you were all set for a long awaited good night's rest.

you began tidying up on your desk, neatly stacking textbooks, stuffing your papers back in their folders, squeezing highlighters and pens back into their pouch. but few items remained, and they made your busy hands become still.

a half-eaten bar of korean chocolate, van cleef bracelets still in their boxes, a glass vase of pink and white lego flowers next to your new macbook.

heeseung's valentine's day gifts.

there were more that'd been camping in your room for a while, untouched and neglected, still wrapped in their pink ribbons. the pressure of upcoming finals was swallowing you whole, and somewhere in the blur of all-nighters and deadlines, you completely forgot you had a boyfriend 5,000 miles away.

you wondered what heeseung was up to. maybe asleep, whatever time it was in korea. and if not, on his 4th pack of nongshim.

you couldn't help but smile, picking up the vase and admiring the toy bouquet, all of its complex miniature pieces. cherry blossoms and lotuses—your favorite flowers. your boyfriend was so thoughtful.

so sweet.

you thought back to the sweetness of his cherry chapstick. the warmth of his skilled tongue, the way it swirled in your mouth and all the other places that 14th of february.

heeseung was the best kisser, god did it make you so wet. it was so easy to get lost in him, to kiss and kiss until your head spun—until you were dazed and dizzy, drunk off the taste of his lips.

he liked to take his time with you. to tease, to savor the heat of the moment until you whimpered and begged for more.

you didn't realize how much you missed it until now.

he was yours in real life, not some parasocial fairytale that his fans dwelled in. it ate you alive— not being able to show and tell, and it was bittersweet how little you got to see him. heeseung always found small ways to show that he cared, to show how much he missed you, and you clung to them tight. but the space between visits still stung.

you tried not to think about it as much. it was almost like a trauma response—purposely keeping yourself busy so you didn't drown in the heartache. deep down inside, you really missed him.

you set the vase down, turning your head to all the gift bags and boxes by your bedroom door. a wave of guilt crept into your stomach.

you didn't have to open them to know that heeseung put his unwavering love for you into each and every one. he'd probably been waiting to hear what you thought, to hear a thank you. you were curious as to why he hasn't asked, how the two of you had been talking without a mention of them.

it almost felt like there was a reason for his silence. like there was something you had to do first, something you were supposed to uncover on your own.

you tip-toed over quietly, picking up the topmost box. it was noticeably smaller than the others—about the size of a shoebox, but heavier than it looked. you chuckled at the rushed cursive of your name in the corner of the matte white paper.

with a gentle plop onto your bed, you pulled the box into your lap. it was cutely tied with a perfect bow, just like all the others. so heeseung—his little attempts to make all things girly just the way you liked them.

you untied it, and slowly tore apart its wrapping. the top lifted off easily, revealing layers of crinkled pink tissue paper.

you removed them.

and when you did, your breath had never caught so hard in your throat at what lay beneath. like air had been yanked clean out of your lungs.

whatever you'd expected, it wasn't this.

clear and glossy, the most bright neon pink.

a fake penis.

a dildo.

this had to be some fucking joke.

you'd never used a sex toy before, nor had heeseung ever brought up the idea. it wasn't like you were completely closed off to the thought, it just seemed unnecessary. with the stress of work and school, there wasn't a horny bone in your body by the end of the night. not a spare second for you to crave anything other than sleep.

you picked up the dildo, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of it.

a chronic masturbater would've loved it. gummy-like to the feel, textured with scarily realistic veins. even the balls looked real.

it was so... big. and heavy.

you had to admit, it was a nice looking dick. but what made your stomach whirl the most —it was oddly similar to heeseung's length and girth, almost like he'd gotten it made custom to replicate himself. your two hands barely fit around it as you analyzed it in your grip.

you looked around your room—as if someone could've been watching—and quickly tucked it back safe, covering it with tissue. but when you did a double take into the box, there was more.

there it was. delicate, deceiving in its soft appearance.

another toy. a rose toy.

you'd heard about this one before, just never felt the urge to try it out yourself.

well... until now.

maybe it was just the curiosity, but excitement began to flicker within you. you picked it up, studying its petal-like designs. it was portable, and pretty. girls seemed to adore this rose—how it made them see stars, left their legs shaking like never before, how it sucked so much better than a man.

but it seemed impossible. no way could it beat your man.

not with the mouth he has.

you were still trying to make sense of heeseung's intentions. because... why? it wasn't like you'd asked for these, or ever complained about the lack of sex. if anything, waiting for him only made it better, more intense, more worth it.

what on gods green earth was he thinking?

and just when you thought the surprise was over, you spotted it. tucked beneath a final layer of tissue at the very bottom of the box was a single folded piece of paper. two words screamed at you on the front: read me.

your fingers hesitated, almost shy. your heart raced with anticipation as you opened it. your eyes skimmed over what was obviously heeseung's handwriting, except this time it was small and neat—more thoughtful in pink ink.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘦 ᥫ᭡

𝘐 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦. 𝘚𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴. 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵. 𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘎𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘏𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 ꨄ

𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘏𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 ༝༚༝༚

like ❤︎ reblog ❤︎ comment ❤︎ masterlist ❤︎ 💌me

[taamlok]

Veilguard Tumblr Stats: The Results

In December I ran a Google Form looking to compare the official Bioware player statistics to those of the tumblr fandom. I received 3031 unique responses, and am now making the results available to you! This was a solo endeavor and I'm so grateful to every single one of you for your participation! All I ask in return is that we keep it positive: this was a fun project, let's keep it that way!

The results are in graphic form under the cut (alt text is available for every graphic). I have also captioned them with the official Bioware stats for comparison purposes where applicable. You can view the raw data in the form of a Google Sheet here. Please note that these results contain major endgame spoilers.

Thank you again, please reblog for reach!

Bioware did not provide hard numbers, but their ranking is: Neve, Lucanis, Taash, Harding, Bellara, Davrin, Emmrich

Bioware stats: 44% freed the archive spirit, 56% kept the archive spirit; 54% had Emmrich become a lich, 46% saved Manfred

Bioware stats: 33% sent the griffons to the Wardens, 67% sent the griffons to Arlathan

Bioware stats: 22% forgave Illario, 78% sent Illario to jail; 21% had Taash embrace Qunari culture, 79% had Taash embrace Rivaini culture

Bioware stats: 39% had Neve become an inspiration, 61% had Neve become a protector; 16% had Harding embrace anger, 84% had Harding embrace calm

Bioware stats: 22% banished the mayor to the Grey Wardens, 36% saved him, 42% left him for dead; 64% punched the First Warden, 36% reasoned with him

Bioware stats: 49% saved Minrathous, 51% saved Treviso

Bioware stats: 46% for Davrin as the distraction team leader, 54% for Harding as the distraction team leader; 58% had Bellara shut down the wards, 42% had Neve shut down the wards

Bioware only provided top 3 picks for each: Emmrich, Neve and Bellara are top 3 for unravelling the wards and Lucanis, Taash and Emmrich are top 3 for going after the Venatori. Please also note that these questions were optional on the Google Form and was not answered by all respondents.

Bioware only provided top 3 picks for each: Taash, Davrin, and Emmrich are top 3 for fighting the Juggernaut and Taash, Davrin, and Harding are top 3 for the counter-attack. Please also note that these questions were optional on the Google Form and was not answered by all respondents.

Bioware stats: 3% sacrificed Rook, 8% fought Solas, 17% outsmarted Solas, and 72% redeemed Solas; 43% of those who redeemed Solas had the inquisitor join him in the Fade

Bioware stats: 31% played rock, paper, scissors with Manfred; 50% petted Assan

Bioware stats: Human at 43%, Elf at 40%, Qunari at 11%, Dwarf at 6%

Bioware stats: Grey Wardens at 24%, Shadow Dragons at 24%, Antivan Crows at 16%, Veil Jumpers at 15%, Lords of Fortune at 11%, Mourn Watch at 10%

Bioware only provided stats for the three core classes: Mage at 40%, Rogue at 30%, and Warrior at 30%

[yasministration]

sev's essay - harry potter

summary: maybe you shouldn't have left your summer homework for the last minute. at least you're not the only one though... wc: 0.6k+ this is also platonic!golden trio, established relationship with harry and reader. part of my wolfstar!daughter au :)

With a loud groan, you sunk into the chair you were sitting on in the middle of your living room, dragging the sheets of parchment underneath the table with you. You should have done the homework sooner. You should have done it sooner and should have probably listened in class when Snape told you where you could find the notes for this chapter. He was going to kill you if you came empty handed. Worse, he would humiliate you if you turned in a rubbish essay.

“You alright, love?” You perked up at the sound of your dad’s voice, briefly forgetting that your parents were sat just a couple of meters away from you, cuddled up on a couch while having a cup of tea. Kicking at the floor underneath you, you pushed yourself back up on the chair, nodding. Remus had sensed your irritation a long time ago, but he didn’t want to comment, didn’t want to make you feel worse.

Sirius shrugged into Remus’s arms, muttering “Probably Snape’s essay.” “It is Snape’s essay! It makes no sense! I- I’m going to ask help from Harry.” As you shoved your feet into your slippers, carrying your essay in one hand and quill and ink in the other, you made your way to the back door, missing Remus’s comment of “He probably didn’t know there was homework!” But Sirius slapped his arm lightly. “Let her. He’ll make her feel better about herself.”

You walked down the couple of meters down the open field to the Potters’ back door, knocking softly on the glass window to alert anyone inside before letting yourself in. James and Lily were in a similar position to your parents, sat on their couch whilst playing a game of chess. “Knight to E5.” Lily muttered, watching triumphantly as her knight knocked James’s horse.

“Hiya sweetheart!” She greeted, turning her attention to you. “Hi! Is Harry here?” And as though you summoned him, Harry came skipping down the stairs, a pencil and parchment in his hand. “I was just coming to find you.” He admitted, raising his parchment up to grab your attention.

“Did you do Sev’s essay?” You asked as a greeting, and Harry threw his head back in defeat. “I’ll give you one chance to guess what I was coming to ask you about.” James laughed from his place on the couch, extending an arm towards you at the hopeless sigh you let out. “Let me take a look, I might be able to help.” You and Harry shot each other a look, but trudged over to his dad either way, holding out the paper with the essay question on it.

Lily peeked over the piece of parchment, furrowing her eyebrows as she read the question. The couple was silent, confused looks over taking their features. You stifled a laugh, watching as James ran a hand through his wild hair, lips moving silently as he read over the question again. “This is N.E.W.T level, right?” Asked Lily for clarification. You and Harry nodded in unison.

“If aunt Lily doesn’t understand, who will?” You pondered in exasperation, but a silent answer floated in the air. You and Harry turned to look at each other in synchrony, and you grimaced at the boy.

“She’s gonna kill us if we come asking her.”

“Not if Ron got to her first.”

Snatching the parchment back from James’s hands, you ran towards the fireplace with Harry, yelling out a “Thanks!” as he tugged you into the fireplace along with him. He released a handful of floo underneath your squeezed bodies, announcing Hermione’s address so that a cage of green smoke surrounded you.

When your feet reconnecting to ground underneath you, you dusted yourself off before stepping into the living room of the Granger household. A laugh immediately escaped you as you spotted Hermione and Ron sitting at her dinner table, stationary scattered on the wooden surface in front of them. Well, at least you and Harry weren’t the only ones who waited until the end of summer to complete your assignments. Hermione barely glanced up before she sighed.

“You too?”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

[jungwnies]

f1 rookies | finals season

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, isack hadjar, jack doohan, gabriel bortoleto, and liam lawson ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : the 2025 f1 rookies try to help their high school senior girlfriends with essays in subjects they’re terrible at...except for one smarty-pants.

୨ৎ : genre : comedy & fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 2061

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : no race this weekend ... unfortunate.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you sighed dramatically, forehead pressed against the cool surface of your desk, your statistics textbook open to a page that looked more like ancient runes than math.

kimi peeked into your room, hair still damp from his post-training shower. “you okay?”

“no,” you groaned. “i have to write a proof essay for stats and i don't even know what the question is asking. like. what even is a chi-square test? is it edible?”

kimi padded over, curious despite the visible fear creeping into his eyes the closer he got to the math. “show me.”

you pushed the textbook toward him like it was radioactive.

he sat beside you, peering at the assignment sheet, lips moving silently as he tried to read it.

“…it’s just numbers,” he said finally, like he was offering wisdom from the gods.

“not just numbers!” you cried. “it’s probabilities. it's… math with extra steps and suffering.”

he frowned, tilting his head. “okay. maybe… we do it like a race.”

you blinked. “a race?”

he nodded, warming up to the idea. “look — the data points are like racers. the chi-square thingy tells you if they finished where they were supposed to finish or if something weird happened. like… if max verstappen somehow finished last.”

you stared at him.

“that’s actually—” you blinked. “that’s… kind of good.”

kimi perked up immediately, straightening in his chair. “yeah?”

“yeah! like expected vs. observed outcomes.”

he grinned, proud like he just set a world record. “see? i’m a genius.”

you giggled, reaching out to ruffle his damp curls. “you’re a genius and my emotional support calculator.”

he flushed slightly, smiling as he leaned over your notes. “okay, now write that down. but make it sound smarter.”

together, you cobbled together a rough outline — him offering racing analogies every five minutes, you translating them into statistics lingo — and slowly, your essay started to take shape.

by the end of the night, you were half asleep on his shoulder, your laptop still open, and kimi was scrolling through chi-square memes on his phone like he was actually invested.

“next time,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead, “pick an easier subject. like, uh… tire pressure.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

you flopped onto your bed dramatically, clutching your crumpled list of socratic seminar questions to your chest.

ollie sat at your desk, spinning lazily in your chair, sneakers kicking the floor. "alright, hit me," he said confidently. "what’s the topic?"

"free will versus determinism," you mumbled.

the spinning stopped. "versus… what now?"

"basically if we’re actually making our own choices or if everything’s already determined by fate or whatever."

he blinked. "that’s—" he paused. spun half a turn. "that’s horrible."

"right?"

you sat up, tossing the paper at him. he caught it clumsily, holding it like it was evidence in a murder trial.

"okay," he said bravely. "let's prepare. like sparring. you ask the question. i'll answer. we'll crush it."

you grinned, feeling slightly more hopeful. "alright. first question: do humans have free will?"

he sat up straighter, nodded like a professor. "yes. obviously. i chose to have cereal for breakfast instead of toast."

you stared.

he stared back.

"expand on that," you said, trying not to laugh.

"i… woke up. thought about toast. but then thought about cereal. then chose cereal. therefore: free will," he said, counting on his fingers like he was delivering the sermon on the mount.

"that’s not exactly the level they’re expecting," you said gently.

he looked personally offended. "what do they want from me? a thesis?"

you giggled, crawling over and tapping his forehead. "less toast. more philosophy."

he groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward into the chair. "you know what? tell them life is like… racing."

you blinked. "go on."

"you think you're choosing everything — when to brake, when to turn — but a lot of it’s already decided by where you start, how good the car is, who’s around you." he shrugged. "you're choosing. but also, you’re not."

you stared at him, jaw dropping slightly.

"wait. that’s… actually brilliant."

he looked smug. "yeah. i have like… two brain cells. but they’re powerful."

you burst out laughing, shoving his chair lightly. "you're my philosophical weapon, bearman."

he grinned, reaching out to boop your nose. "go in there, say something about cereal and racing, and you’ll win life."

ʚ・isack hadjar

you sighed dramatically, slumping over your laptop. “isack. i’m going to fail biology.”

he flopped onto your bed like a ragdoll, arms spread wide. “what’s the topic?”

you pointed to your screen. “i have to write a research paper on parasitic mind control.”

he sat up immediately, looking way too excited. “like zombies?”

you nodded grimly. “fungus that takes over ants' brains. worms that control fish. it’s horrific.”

isack beamed like you just told him christmas came early. “that’s so sick.”

you gave him a look. “yeah. sick. and confusing. and complicated. and i have no idea where to start.”

he scooted closer, peering at your half-typed notes. "okay okay okay. listen. this is easy."

you raised an eyebrow. "you failed high school biology."

"details," he said, waving a hand. "first, write something dramatic. grab their attention."

you frowned. “like what?”

he grinned. "start it like: 'imagine you're walking through the jungle… and a fungus eats your brain from the inside out.'”

you blinked. "that's… actually kind of good?"

"i'm french," he said smugly. "we know drama."

you laughed, slumping against him. "okay, what about the actual science part?"

he shrugged. "google it?"

you gave him another look.

he grinned wider. "or we make it up."

"isack."

"kidding! kidding!" he said, throwing his hands up. "we'll be semi accurate."

you sighed, grabbing your textbook again. "alright, fine. help me brainstorm."

two hours later, your "brainstorm" session had devolved into him pitching increasingly insane theories about zombie ants building secret underground cities and whether or not humans were already infected without knowing it.

(you were 60% sure he wasn’t joking.)

by the end of the night, your essay actually had a strong intro, a rough outline, and a lot of isack’s terrible but weirdly inspiring ideas scribbled in the margins.

he flopped onto the bed dramatically as you typed. "you're welcome for the nobel prize."

you laughed. "you’re lucky you’re cute."

"obviously," he said, already dozing off beside you.

ʚ・jack doohan

you groaned, flopping onto your desk dramatically, your french textbook sliding dangerously close to the edge.

jack leaned over your shoulder, chewing gum casually like he wasn’t about to experience a full-blown existential crisis. "what's wrong?"

"i have to write a whole essay in french," you moaned. "about my childhood memories. and i can barely even say bonjour without crying."

he grinned. "alright, alright. let’s do it together. how hard can it be?"

you gave him a flat look. "do you even speak french?"

jack paused.

then, without missing a beat: "no. but i know how to say croissant."

you buried your face in your arms.

"okay, okay," he said, standing up dramatically. "don’t panic. i have resources."

you peeked up at him. "resources?"

he pulled out his phone, typing aggressively. "pierre gasly. we’re calling for backup."

you stared at him. "jack. you can’t just facetime pierre for my homework."

"watch me."

three rings later, pierre’s blurry, confused face appeared on screen. "mate? everything okay?"

jack grinned, tilting the phone so pierre could see you buried under a pile of french worksheets. "yeah bro, can you help my girl with her french essay? she's suffering."

pierre blinked. smirked. "of course. what’s the topic?"

"childhood memories," you mumbled from under your arm.

pierre laughed. "easy. start with quand j'étais petit(e), je… then you just lie for the next five sentences."

jack nodded like he was absorbing ancient wisdom. "got it. lie. good plan."

you giggled despite yourself, sitting up. pierre rattled off a few starter phrases, jack repeating them horribly with a thick aussie accent that made you laugh so hard you almost fell off your chair.

thirty minutes later, you had the rough beginnings of an essay — half of it thanks to pierre, half of it thanks to jack’s chaotic moral support.

when you finally hung up, jack grinned, ruffling your hair.

"see? teamwork."

you beamed at him. "you’re ridiculous."

"and you’re gonna ace it," he said confidently. "just… maybe don’t pronounce anything the way i did."

ʚ・gabriel bortoleto

you slumped dramatically against the back of your chair, spinning aimlessly as your world history textbook lay open on your desk.

gabriel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling knowingly. “homework?”

"yeah," you groaned. "i have to write a five-page essay about how the roman empire influenced modern society."

he perked up instantly. "i love the roman empire."

you blinked. "of course you do."

he jogged over, pulling up a chair like he was about to host a ted talk. "okay, first of all — aqueducts. engineering marvels. you have to mention aqueducts."

you scribbled it down obediently. "aqueducts. got it."

"and roads," he added, already starting to gesture with his hands. "they basically invented the highway system. you ever think about that? roman highways."

you nodded, typing faster.

"and then there’s the legal system!" he continued, eyes sparkling. "so much of what we use today — courts, contracts, property laws — came from roman principles."

you stared at him, slightly overwhelmed. "how do you know all this?"

he shrugged, grinning. "i read. also, tiktok sometimes. but mostly reading."

you giggled, glancing at the growing list of topics he was rattling off. "okay, but i need, like, structure."

"structure!" he clapped his hands dramatically. "introduction: why the roman empire mattered. body paragraphs: engineering, law, military, politics. conclusion: the vibes are still alive today."

you snorted. "did you just say vibes in an academic plan?"

he winked. "scholarly vibes."

you tried to focus, typing as he ranted — but soon enough he was deep-diving into random side topics like roman concrete, weird emperors, and the fact that vending machines were technically invented by ancient engineers (somehow???).

“gabriel!” you finally laughed, cutting him off mid-rant about julius caesar's calendar reforms. “stay on topic!”

he blinked innocently. “i am on topic.”

you giggled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “you're my favorite chaotic historian.”

“and you're welcome for the best essay of your life,” he said, proudly tossing your pen onto the bed.

ʚ・liam lawson

you groaned, dramatically sliding down the couch until you were nearly horizontal, a stack of history books balancing dangerously on your stomach.

liam glanced over from where he was gaming on the floor. "what's wrong now, princess?"

"i have to write an essay about the economic effects of the industrial revolution," you mumbled. "for advanced history."

he paused his game.

turned.

and gave you the most falsely confident smile you’d ever seen.

"easy," he said, tossing his controller aside. "i know all about that."

you blinked. "you do?"

"yeah," he said, nodding seriously. "the industrial revolution… that’s when people invented factories. and, uh… steam. steam was big."

you stared.

"lots of steam," he added, deadpan.

"liam."

he grinned. "okay, fine, i don’t know shit. but i am great at making things sound convincing."

you laughed, tossing a pillow at him.

he crawled over, plopping next to you, skimming your textbook like it was written in alien language. "alright, so… just say that people started making stuff faster. like, mass production. and the economy got booming. profit. money. cha-ching."

you scribbled a few notes, giggling. "you’re literally just saying capitalism noises."

"exactly!" he said proudly. "that's history, babe."

you groaned, but couldn't stop smiling. he peeked over your shoulder at your half-written paragraph.

"also mention… pollution," he said, squinting at a random heading in your book. "people were coughing and stuff. very historical."

you laughed harder, shoulders shaking. "you're the worst tutor."

"and yet, you're smiling," he teased, bumping your shoulder.

you shook your head, finishing your messy draft while he threw in random "facts" like, "probably some guy tried to steam-power a horse" and "definitely child labor, don't forget that."

when you finally set your pen down, exhausted but a little triumphant, liam wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"see? history made easy. just add steam, money, and mild suffering."

you leaned back into him, laughing. "remind me to never let you help me again."

he smirked against your hair. "you’ll come back. i’m irresistible."

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate