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dilly-dahlia · 4 months ago

Text

ii. Stupid White Teeth

pairing: Gene x popular!Reader

content: pdh, drill team!reader, opposites attract, suggestive but not explicit, mentions of blackmail, reader is described as having straightened hair, images used are NOT an indication of the reader's appearance

summary: Sitting next to Gene in your physics class was definitely not on your agenda. Not to mention he’s so stupidly attractive.

word count: 7.3k

masterlist

The Problem With Popularity masterlist

previous part

No.

No no no no no no. No.

This could not be happening. Not only did your sophomore self stupidly sign up for AP Physics with the strictest teacher on the entire Phoenix Drop High campus, but he was your homeroom teacher, too. And on top of that, of the eighteen students in your fifth period AP Physics class, you were seated next to Gene Accardi.

There go your plans to not interact with him for the rest of the year. You could see them fluttering away out the window Mr. Vega had open.

Gene wasn’t in the classroom yet, but you saw on the board that Mr. Vega had seated the two of you together. With no one else, because Mr. Vega only believed in seats that faced the board and thus only had two people assigned to each lab table even though they could seat four. You hoped that Gene stayed true to his class skipping self and just didn’t show up.

But alas, it seemed as though the universe had it out for you because Gene walked through the door just as the tardy bell rang.

You noticed him come in but didn’t glance at him after that. You kept your head straight, focusing on Mr. Vega as he explained the curriculum, how rigorous of a class AP Physics was, and handed out the syllabus. You listened to him explain how your science journals were to be set up, and that everything was to be placed chronologically and stapled—not glued—into the composition notebook.

And you tried focusing on formatting the three pages of table of contents Mr. Vega said you needed at the front of your notebook, but Gene just kept talking to you.

“Good to see you again, Y/n.”

“Y’know, your hair looks really nice. Do you straighten it or something?”

“I like the way you did your makeup. Really makes your eyes pop.”

“Excited for the football game this Friday? Phoenix Drop vs. Scaleswind. Say, isn’t that where you’re from?”

“C’mon, bunny, I’m not so scary you don’t wanna talk to me, am I?”

Your brows furrowed at the pet name, and finally you turned to him. “Bunny?” you repeated, your voice soft as to not attract attention.

Gene’s lips curled up, and he held your gaze for a moment before replying. “Yes, bunny. Because you’re all soft and adorable like one.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and looking back down at your notebook. “That’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid is the fact that you won’t talk to me. Did Laurance really speak that badly of me?”

“Even if Laurance didn’t tell me about you, I know the reputation you have. I’m friends with Dante, too, you know.”

“C’mon. You’re not gonna let a couple silly rumors stop you from being friends with me, are you?” Gene leaned in closer to you, raising a brow.

“I’m not friends with people that blackmail other people for their own entertainment,” you snapped. You glanced back up at him, resting your pencil in the crease of your notebook. “I don’t like surrounding myself with those kinds of people.”

“You’re friends with Sasha, aren’t you?”

He got you there. “Well-“

“There’s no well. She’s practically as bad as me and you’re friends with her. That’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” Gene rested his weight against the table, crossing his arms and looking at you expectantly.

“Sasha’s not-“ you stuttered. “She isn’t rude like you are.”

Gene raised his eyebrows and huffed out a breath, amused. “I’m rude?” You nodded. “I thought you were a nice girl, and here you are going around calling me rude.”

“You are! I’m nice to people because that’s the right thing to do, but if the person is an ass then why would I be nice to them?”

Gene gasped dramatically, clutching his hand against his chest and looking at you in disbelief. “Oh, you think I’m an ass? What strong language for a sweet girl like you to use.”

You glared at him. “You’re being annoying.”

“I’m just trying to get to know my lab partner. Is there such a problem with that?”

“Gene,” Mr. Vega called. You looked up, finding that your middle aged teacher had stopped in front of your table and was leaning against the black surface. He was pinning Gene with a glare and didn’t look at you, but you were thankful for that. “Are you bothering Miss…” He looked back at the board. “Y/n?”

Gene flashed him a smile, pearly whites on display. They were stupidly straight and pretty for someone with a personality as rotten as his. And you hated to admit it, but he did have a nice smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Vega.”

Mr. Vega glanced between the two of you, softly exhaling as he pushed himself off the lab table. “I paired you two because I thought you’d work well together based on your scores in previous classes. If I was wrong, then-“

“Yes,” you immediately said, but Gene also cut in with a firm No that overpowered yours.

“No, sir, you were not wrong. Y/n and I won’t cause a problem.”

Gene kept smiling, and Mr. Vega walked away after flicking his gaze between the two of you.

You huffed, looking back over at Gene. He already had his eyes on you, and you noticed the color of his irises was close to sapphires. He had stupidly pretty eyes.

He noticed the expression of discontent on your face and mocked your pout. “Does the poor bunny wanna switch seats?”

You rolled your eyes, not even wanting to entertain where that topic would lead. You picked your pen back up and kept formatting your table of contents. “Mr. Vega already knows you?” you asked. Gene nodded. “What, did you fail this class last year and have to take it again? Physics is the only subject he teaches.”

Gene scoffed, almost appalled that you thought so little of his academic gifts. Though he shouldn’t have been surprised by that. “I’ll have you know I’m in the top five of the senior class.”

You scoffed that time. “Yeah right.”

Gene ignored you. “And I took normal Physics last year so I could pass AP Physics with a higher grade this year. You know, what most people do.”

Which was true. Looking around, you were fairly certain you were the only Junior in the room, though there was no way to be a hundred percent sure if it was because they took academic Physics previously or were only just now getting their Physics credit required to graduate.

“So you willingly decided to take the class again?” you asked, raising your brow. You’d heard about how vigorous the class was. You’d heard about how heavy the workload got and how the AP Physics test in April had the lowest passing rate of all AP tests.

Even knowing all that you still took the class.

Gene shrugged. “I need that GPA boost.”

“You skip ninety percent of your classes.”

“How do you know that?”

“Dante,” you replied, to which Gene rolled his eyes and softly groaned. “He came into my geometry class last year complaining about how he might have had to spend his Saturday at the courthouse because of how many absences you had.”

“That kid cannot keep his mouth shut,” Gene muttered, running a hand through his dark curls. “But anyways. I normally do skip most of my classes, but this year my mom’s forcing me to be better.”

You hummed. “So you’re a momma’s boy.”

Gene rolled his eyes. “And you said I’m annoying. At least I’m not trying to find out every little thing about you.”

You glared at him. “That’s because you probably already know everything about me. Where I was born, what school I went to before moving here, my entire dating and talking stage history. I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew my social security number.”

“I actually don’t. What is it?” Gene raised his eyebrows at you playfully, chuckling at the deadpan side eye you gave him. “C’mon, bunny, lighten up. I’m not the big, bad, scary senior everyone makes me out to be.”

“Maybe not but you’re still annoying,” you mumbled. “I’d much rather Sasha’s company than yours.”

Gene covered his heart with his hand, making a sound of pain so soft you weren’t even sure he’d made it. “You wound me, doll.”

“Oh, so I’m doll now?”

Gene flashed his pearly whites at you. His stupidly bright white and stupidly straight and perfect teeth. It was unfair. “You can be.”

You rolled your eyes again—any more and you were sure they’d fall out of your head. You could not stand this man. Instead of responding, you lowered your head again and went back to work on numbering the pages of your composition notebook and outlining the lines for the table of contents. You weren’t sure what changed in the atmosphere, but Gene had stopped trying to talk to you and you were extremely grateful.

Not another word left Gene’s mouth for the remainder of the class. It wasn’t until you were shoving your notebook into your bag and shouldering it, turning to walk out the door, that Gene spoke to you again.

“So since you have this class I assume you have B lunch?” You didn’t respond, hoping that ignoring him would make him leave you alone.

He fell into step beside you in less than a second. He even held the door open for you.

“Let me walk you,” he said, and you tried to protest, but Gene was persistent. Not to mention he was walking the same way as you anyways, so there really was no escape unless you decided to bolt. Which, in a school building, why would you waste your energy like that?

“I can walk myself,” you said.

“No, I insist. You never know what kind of weirdos might try to ask you out.”

“And you’re not a weirdo for following me around?” you asked, raising a brow and turning to him.

Gene laughed. “You and I are friends now, of course it’s not weird for me to walk with you.”

You side eyed him. “We are not friends. I told you I wasn’t friends with people like you.”

“And I called you a hypocrite because you’re friends with Sasha.” Gene flashed you another smile. “Any friend of Sasha’s is a friend of mine. Besides, I’ll be like a body guard for you. Nobody will talk to you if I’m by your side.”

“So what if you’re the person I want to leave me alone?”

“Then tough luck, bunny.”

You sighed, and didn’t entertain any further conversation with him. Gene tried to keep it going, saying the odd comment here and there on the walk to the cafeteria. It was longer than you remembered, but maybe your mind was prolonging it because Gene was with you.

As soon as you stepped onto the white tile floor, you beelined to where Katelyn stood at the end of the lunch line. Her brows furrowed when she noticed Gene behind you, staring as you walked away from him. He gave Katelyn a distant smile before he turned and walked out of her sight.

“You’re not going to believe this,” you said as soon as Katelyn was in ear shot. Your friend’s gaze flicked to yours, choosing to ignore the way Gene’s eyes had followed you.

“What? That Gene is stalking you?”

“What?” You blink at her for a moment. When she shrugged, you shook your head. “No. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised. But no. I mean he and I have the same damn Physics class.”

Despite herself, Katelyn laughed. She quickly covered her mouth in a sad attempt to stifle it, but once she met your disappointed glare she couldn’t help but burst into giggles.

“It is not that funny.”

“It kind of is,” she managed, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Your reaction is, at least.”

“Katelyn, this is serious.”

“Right.” Katelyn chuckled again. The two of you were slowly moving forward in the line, and had already made it to the first section where you chose the main course. The options today were orange chicken and fried rice or homemade pizza. Katelyn pointed to the chicken and fried rice, like you. “You’re making a big deal about having one class that’s the same as his.”

“Katelyn, you don’t get it!” You grabbed the plastic tongs in front of you and grabbed a roll of bread and a little plastic container of butter. “He’s just going to bother me the rest of the year. He sits next to me!”

Katelyn scrunched her nose in distaste, sparing you a pitying glance. “Sorry about that. But, you know how to handle bullying and blackmail. Whatever Gene does won’t be something you haven’t handled before. Knowing you, you’d report it before it got too serious,” she reasoned, nodding her head.

“I know that, but it was so exhausting last time.” You sighed. You grabbed a glass of apple juice and a snickerdoodle cookie from the line before punching your school ID into the little card reader at the end of the line. “Plus I fell into a really bad depression and almost got kicked out of the school . . . I don’t want that to happen again.”

“And it won’t, because you have me.” Katelyn smiled at you as she inserted her card into the reader, waiting for it to beep. “And Laurance, and Garroth, and Dante, and Nicole, and lots of other people willing to help if you get yourself in that situation again.”

Katelyn pulled her card out and shoved it back into her wallet, following you to the circular table Laurance and Aphmau were already seated at.

“I know you guys are willing to help, but it’s really my problem to solve and I feel bad-“

“Huh?” Laurance was always butting into conversations. His go to so he could be included was an obnoxiously loud huh? like he just did. “What’s your problem to solve?”

You shook your head, not wanting to bring it up to Laurance of all people, but Katelyn clearly didn’t have a filter like you did.

“Y/n’s stuck sitting next to Gene in Physics,” she mused, stuffing the roll into her mouth.

Worry danced across Laurance’s features as you lightly hit Katelyn’s shoulder. Aphmau’s eyebrows furrowed, and she leaned forward against the table.

“Who’s Gene?” she asked softly, treating it like a secret topic.

You shook your head again, hoping the dismissive action would downplay just how much you cared. “Just an asshole. He’s Dante’s brother.”

“Oh . . .” Aphmau’s face fell. If he was Dante’s brother . . .

You shook your head again, wanting to make what you were conveying extra clear. “He’s not flirty or perverted like Dante. Just . . .”

“Sadistic,” Laurance settled on, though you thought the word was a bit extreme. His eyes glazed over you, almost as if he were checking for any signs of harm. “He’s sick and twisted and a manipulative ass.”

“Laurance is just mad cause he fell for Gene’s antics last year,” Katelyn said, biting back a smile.

“No!”

“Yuh-huh.”

Laurance rolled his eyes. Not worth it, he practically said. “Putting that personal bias aside”—Laurance peeled his disdainful gaze away from Katelyn and turned to Aphmau with a softer one—“Gene is really a terrible person. He knows practically everything about everyone and uses it to his advantage.”

“Like . . . Blackmail?” Aphmau lowered her voice again to say it, and you nodded.

“Along with peer pressuring. He has this little wannabe gang he calls the Shadow Knights, but it’s really just him and two friends,” Laurance explained.

“I like Sasha, though,” you mused, biting into a piece of chicken from your tray. “She’s nice.”

“Yeah she is.” A new voice joined the conversation, one that you immediately recognized as Dante’s. He sat with Travis, leaving the empty seat open between you and him. “She’s real nice.”

“Dante, don’t be creepy,” you said.

“Jar,” Katelyn demanded, tapping her nail against the table in front of you. You playfully rolled your eyes, a smile pulling at your lips as you unzipped your bag and pulled the bedazzled jar out.

“I say five dollars,” Laurance said as you uncapped it.

“What?” Dante yelled. “Guys, it is day two of having the jar. I’ve already put in almost forty dollars!”

“Then stop being a creep,” Katelyn said, to which Aphmau and Travis both quietly giggled. Dante groaned, once again reluctantly pulling his wallet out.

“That comment wasn’t even that bad. I mean, Sasha is nice, to me at least.”

“The way you said it implied you were not talking about her personality.”

“C’mon, guys! Cut me some slack. One dollar in the jar.”

“Four.”

“Two?”

“We’ll settle on three.”

Dante silently cheered, shoving three crinkled ones into the jar.

“I’m gonna be broke by the end of the semester, guys. Quit calling the jar on me,” Dante said as you recapped the jar and set it to the side. Dante nodded to the empty seat beside Laurance. “Where’s Garroth?”

“Baseball meeting,” Laurance said. “Coach wants him to have a schedule before spring and decided it needed to happen now, basically.”

“Oh, my gosh, speaking of baseball,” you cut in, swallowing the food in your mouth before continuing. “Come to the football game tomorrow guys. It’ll be fun.”

“Baseball and football are not at all related-“

“They’re both sports with balls that get thrown around,” you retaliated, glaring at Dante. “But that’s irrelevant. Back to the game. It’s at six-thirty, and I expect to see all of you there.”

“You’re demanding us to give up a free day to come watch a football game?” Katelyn asked, raising her eyebrows at you in an exaggerated manner.

“If not for the football then come for me,” you said, laying your hands over each other on your heart. “Come support one of your best friends when she goes on the field for half time.”

Katelyn hummed, scrunching her nose like the idea disgusted her. You playfully smacked her, making her hit you back.

“C’mon. It’s not like you guys have anything better to do.”

“I’ll come,” Aphmau said, smiling at you. “I have to ask my mom, but she wants me to have ‘the high school experience’ so I’m sure she’ll let me.”

“If she doesn’t,” you began, pulling out a stray piece of notebook paper you had shoved into your pocket and quickly writing both your number and instagram handle on it, “give this to her and tell her to call me and I’ll hype you up as my best friend.”

“So am I just chopped liver or?” Katelyn asked, holding her hands out in a what the heck motion as you handed the piece of paper to Aphmau.

“You lost the best friend privilege when you acted like you have something better to do tomorrow.”

“What if I literally do?”

“Are you saying there are more important things than me?”

“The wives are fighting,” Laurance said, quickly snapping a photo of the two of you. It was probably blurry, since he moved his phone as the camera shutter was going. “What a tragedy. Please don’t divorce.”

“Laurance. Shut up.”

The group laughed, and fell into easy conversation about something else. The six of you bounced from topic to topic with ease, and it wasn’t until the end of lunch when you brought up the game again.

“Guys please! I need people to talk to while I wait to go on. All the other girls are always talking to their boyfriends or sitting with their own friends,” you pouted at them, exaggerating the expression by clasping your hands in front of you in a begging manner. “Please, at least come for me.”

“I’ll come for you,” Dante responded, to which he immediately covered his mouth and met your gaze. You didn’t say anything and just blinked at him, along with everyone else. “I’m sorry. It’s automatic at this point, I don’t-“

“Jar,” Travis said, pointing to where it sat.

“Okay.” Dante sighed, pulling his wallet out again. “But I did mean that I’ll be there. So. I’m not a completely terrible person.”

“That’s debatable,” you said, shoving the jar back into your backpack once Dante finished putting in five dollars. “Thank you for your contribution to the douchebag jar, Dante Lars Accardi, it is greatly appreciated.”

“Do not ever say my middle name again.”

“When you stop making that’s what she said jokes and saying dirty things then I’ll consider it.” You flashed him an overly happy smile before shouldering your backpack and standing up. You stroked Katelyn’s hair, pretending to be a creepy boyfriend. “I’ll see you later,” you said, deepening your voice and fighting the urge to laugh.

Katelyn swatted your hand off her head and pointed to the door. “Leave.”

You burst out laughing. Dante, however, said, “How come that doesn’t warrant the jar.”

“She likes it,” you teased, winking at Katelyn. She rolled her eyes, waving you away.

“We’re basically married so it’s fine,” Katelyn said. She stood as well, which caused a snowball effect in getting everyone else to stand and it wasn’t but a few seconds before the group of you were huddled around the trash station throwing away scraps and piling your trays on top of each other to be washed.

You all parted ways, and you walked with Aphmau and Laurance to your next period. On your way there, you saw Gene leaning back against the couch in the lounge. You meant to look away before you caught his gaze, but you lingered on him for too long and his eyes flicked to yours. He flashed you a smile, another one that showcased his stupidly perfect and straight and white teeth. You returned it with a tentative one of your own before peeling your gaze away from him, hoping Laurance hadn’t noticed. But of course, because nothing ever went the way you wanted, Laurance noticed.

“Has he been bothering you?” Laurance asked, his gaze full of worry. You shook your head.

“He’s just being nice,” you said. Even though that’s what you wanted to believe, you knew you were just saying to make yourself feel better. To try and . . . Humanize Gene, maybe, since everyone always painted him out to be a bad guy. But he was, so what were you defending? “We’re lab partners in Physics. Katelyn literally told you that.”

“I know, but . . .” Laurance bit his cheek, almost like he was holding back what he really wanted to say.

You rolled your eyes. Laurance was pointlessly protective like this last year, too. “But nothing. I’m fine, Laurance. I already told you I could handle myself.”

Laurance sighed. “Yes, you did. But Gene isn’t just a nice guy, his kindness always has a motive. He’s not nice because he’s a good person, Y/n.”

“You think I don’t know that? But I don’t think it matters because he’s being nice anyway. I’m not going to fall for his tricks.”

“You can’t know that. He-“

“Oh, my god.” You rolled your eyes and turned to Aphmau, who had been staring off to the side and pretending not to eavesdrop. “How’s your day been, Aph?”

Aphmau hummed and turned her head to face you, not expecting to have been asked a question. She looked at you for a moment, amber eyes wide as she thought about her answer.

“Pretty good,” she replied, shrugging. “I mean, I still feel kind of awkward since everyone here seems to know each other . . .”

“Right, you were homeschooled,” you mused, more so repeating the fact to yourself than calling her out. You gave her a kind smile. “It’s okay. I was in the same boat as you last year. I moved here from Scaleswind during the summer and knew no one. It was awkward as hell. It’s honestly because of Laurance that I have any friends.”

You turned to him, tapping the back of your hand against his arm to get his attention. He was still pouting because you weren’t hearing him out, but he managed to wipe it off his face.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m telling Aph about how you’re the reason I have friends,” you said.

“Oh, yeah.” You rolled your eyes at the cocky smirk that played at his lips. “Without me she’d be a weird, quiet kid.”

You scoffed. “Okay, that is not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You are so full of shit, Laurance.”

Aphmau giggled beside you, and the sound was so infectious it wasn’t long before you were laughing as well. You tried saying more, but any time you calmed down enough to form a coherent thought, you would make eye contact with Aphmau and the two of you would erupt into another fit of laughter.

It wasn’t until you settled into your seats at the tall table in Art that you finally took a deep breath and calmed down. Garroth was just entering the class as you turned to Aphmau.

“But seriously, don’t worry about not having friends, Aph. I’d say our group is a good one, so you’ll have plenty by the end of the school year. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up like me.” You smiled widely and framed your face with your hands, shaking your fingers to act as if sparkles were sparkling around your face.

“You do not want that,” Garroth said, which immediately made your expression fall as you pinned him with a dead stare.

“Better than being like you.”

Aphmau laughed again. You could tell she was slowly getting more comfortable from the way it sounded. It wouldn’t be long before she was throwing playful jabs at your friends like you did.

That’s what you hoped, at least.

—

God, why was it so hot.

The flimsy fan you’d made out of a short stack of papers Katelyn had given you from her bag did nothing to combat the heat. You still felt sticky and gross and wanted to pull your hair out. It was probably because of your drill outfit—with its long sleeves and sparkly tights and overall heaviness that came from all the gems and sequins attached to it, not to mention the white cowboy hat that was now practically glued to your forehead—but you wanted to pretend that wasn’t why.

“It’s too damn hot. I’m about to strip,” you complained, taking yet another drink from your water bottle. It was almost empty, nothing but the ice clinking inside.

Katelyn wiggled her eyebrows at you. “I’ll help you out, baby girl.”

You snorted, glaring at her. “Jar.”

“What? The jar doesn’t apply to me!”

“If Dante had said that everyone would’ve made him put like ten bucks in. I’ll only make you do five.”

Katelyn groaned, tilting her head back. “I don’t like this jar thing anymore.”

You laughed. “Only because I’m making you put money in.”

Katelyn rolled her eyes, looking around in her bag for her wallet. “Do you have it now.”

You shook your head. “It’s in my bag in the locker room,” you said, nodding to the other side of the field where two small buildings sat. Both football team boys would use one and both drill team girls (plus the stray player) would use the other to change after the game. “I’ll collect your payment later.”

Katelyn hummed, giving up on finding her wallet and letting her purse fall back to the ground. She looked back out at the field, trying to make sense of what was happening before turning to you.

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on,” she said.

You chuckled, looking behind you for Dante. He had an obsession with football but refused to actually play it because of asthma, or so he said. “Dante’s here somewhere, you could ask him. I saw him flirting with Lori earlier. Have you noticed he has a thing for redheads?”

Katelyn nodded with widened eyes, the jerky movements of her head making it look more exaggerated. “Yes. It weirds me out.”

“Are you against gingers, Katelyn?”

“Yes.”

You laughed. Her “hatred” for gingers was a running joke between the two of you since she had so many red headed friends, all of whom she loved dearly.

You huffed out a breath, both from feeling so hot but also from the fruitless effort you put into finding Dante. How did you not find him? His hair was the brightest blue you’d ever seen, for crying out loud.

Just as you were about to turn your head away from the audience and back to the game at play, your gaze caught on a head of silver hair. It was Sasha. She was looking out at the players but seemed bored.

You smiled, tapping Katelyn’s shoulder. “Hey, Sasha’s here. Sasha!” you called out to her, waving your arms. It took a couple more tries before she heard you and looked down, but when she caught your gaze she smiled. She stood from her seat and slowly made her way to where you sat.

“I know I told you this earlier but you look so pretty,” you said, smiling at her as she sat down beside you. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Sasha’s attire for the Friday Free Dress days Phoenix Drop High had was no different than last year. She always wore a pretty dress or fashionable pants, and today she had chosen a flowy piece the color of cherries that cut off above her knees. The sleeves of the dress were dramatic bells and beneath it she wore fleece tights and black lace stockings. She had layered a few silver necklaces and various rings on her fingers, the most prominent being one that had a ruby the same color as her dress. Her makeup was done as normal—smokey eyes with black lipstick—but it seemed more in place with the rest of her outfit.

Sasha returned your smile with a bright one of her own. “Thank you. It took me forever to get ready. I was not mentally prepared to wake up as early as I needed.”

“Me neither. I was a zombie this morning,” you said, sighing as you remembered the war you fought against yourself. “Anyways, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Sasha shrugged. “It’s not really my scene, but I figured why not. Gene and Zenix are here somewhere . . .” She looked behind her to try and find them, shrugging again when she didn’t. “Gene had to drive Dante so he offered to pick us up, too.”

“Have you ever been to a football game?” Katelyn asked, leaning against her knees to speak to Sasha better. Katelyn had told you earlier she was still hesitant around the silver haired girl, but she was starting to grow on her.

Sasha shook her head. “Not one that I remember, anyway. I never got the point. But Gene’s family is big on it.”

“Yeah, Dante’s obsessed,” you commented, trying to take another sip from your water bottle only to find that it was officially empty. There was nothing but the giant chunk of ice in there. “Guys I might die. My water ran out.”

“Just take mine,” Katelyn said, nudging her hardly touched plastic bottle towards you.

Immediately you poured it into your insulated bottle and took a large drink. “Thank you, my darling. I still think I’m going to die though because how have we been sitting here for days and it’s still not half time?”

“Y/n, it’s been less than an hour.”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back and faking a sob. “Why does the world hate me?”

“Isn’t this like your favorite thing?”

“It is but not when it’s a million jillion degrees out and this is what I’m wearing.” You vaguely motioned to yourself.

Sasha furrowed her brows. “You’re hot?”

You nodded. “Burning. I think I might have a stroke.”

Sasha blinked at you for a moment, trying to fathom how in the world you could be hot while everyone else had already started wearing early fall gear. Sweaters and jeans and cardigans, all the stereotypical chilly fall apparel.

Sasha shook her head and dismissed your statement before moving onto the books you were reading in English. You, Katelyn and Sasha had decided to become a little book club group and read the same books all year. Your current read was The Scarlet Letter, which after reading the first page you knew would take an eternity to get through. It was just so dense.

It seemed like another lifetime had passed before the referee finally called halftime and you, along with the other Silver Starlets, rushed on field. The music had already started, and the routine began with everyone practically hopping into their lines. Kicking the dirt up, is how Coach Geter had described it to you.

For some reason, being active didn’t make you feel nearly as hot as sitting and doing nothing did. You were finally in your element, doing what you knew how to do well and excelling at it. You spotted Katelyn recording your performance, probably to send to your parents later since they couldn’t make it to the game.

Your smile was wide and you were practically glowing. Now that you were out on the field looking into the stands, you could find your friends more easily. Laurance and Garroth sat together with Cadenza and their dad. A couple rows below them tou saw Aphmau sitting with an older woman (who you assumed to be her mom) and Julie. Katelyn and Sasha still sat together as close to the field as they could get, your spot preserved between them. You found Dante’s blue head of hair on the other side of the stands and saw him sitting with Travis.

Just a couple rows above Dante, though, in an emptier area of the bleachers, Gene sat with Zenix. He was leaning back against the fenced wall behind him, his arms crossed as he assessed the Silver Starlets. You weren’t sure where it was coming from, but you had a feeling he was watching you more closely than anyone else.

—

“Hey, do you want a ride home?” you asked Sasha as soon as you met her outside the locker room. Katelyn had already left (her dad wasn’t a fan of waiting around while she talked to friends). You readjusted the strap of your duffel bag on your shoulder, looking at Sasha curiously. Now that you weren’t wearing your Silver Starlet gear, the crisp chill in the air was getting to you. “I could totally give you a ride, if you want.”

Sasha’s purple eyes lit up, but she immediately suppressed it. “Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I just have to take Julie, too, but we’ll go by your house to drop you off first. I’m sure it’ll give you a break from being in Gene’s car with Zenix and Dante.”

Sasha laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, it would. If you really don’t mind giving me a ride, I’ll take you up on that offer, I just have to get some stuff from Gene’s car.”

You smiled at her and nodded. “Of course. Let’s go find Julie real quick and then we’ll go with you.”

Sasha nodded, a faint smile still present on her face as she fell into step beside you. You noticed she was chatty with you. You had seen her around Gene and Zenix on multiple occasions and hardly ever saw her talking with them. And, now that you were thinking about it, you had never really seen her interact with anyone else.

Were Gene and Zenix her only friends?

It wasn’t long before you found Julie. She was talking animatedly with Aphmau, her expressions loud and the movement of her hands rapid. The two of them exchanged quick words you weren’t even sure were in English before Julie caught sight of you and quickly wrapped up the conversation. She waved to Aphmau and her mom before practically skipping over to you.

“Are you finally making friends?” you teased, hardly needing to stop before you turned the opposite direction and followed Sasha.

Julie nodded. “Aphmau’s in four or five of my classes.”

You hummed. “Now you can stop complaining about being so lonely.”

Julie playfully slapped your arm, making you laugh. It wasn’t long before Sasha came up to a black SUV. Gene and Dante were standing together by the driver’s side. Dante seemed to be making a sad attempt to engage Gene in conversation, but Gene was ignoring him and scrolling on his phone.

“Gene,” Sasha called. She nodded to the car when he looked up. “Is it unlocked?”

“Yeah.” Gene glanced behind her, his sapphire gaze meeting yours. You nervously smiled at him, which he returned with a more confident one. “Hey, bunny. Need a ride?”

“Uh, no.”

“Y/n’s taking me home,” Sasha said, opening one of the back seat doors and reaching in. She emerged seconds later with a deeply colored purse hanging from her fingers. Once she had straightened, she asked, “Where’s Zenix?”

“Fuck if I know,” Gene replied, shrugging. “Probably taking forever in the bathroom.”

Sasha sighed. “He owes me ten dollars . . .”

“I’ll get it for you.” Gene watched Sasha fall back to your side. You gave Dante a wave before turning on your heel. “Wait.”

Sasha turned. “What?”

“Not you.” Gene dismissed Sasha, to which she rolled her eyes, before pointing to you. “Not gonna say hi?”

“Hi, Gene,” you said, though your tone seemed somewhat questioning. Why did he want you to say hi so badly? “What, do you want like a kiss or something? I don’t . . .”

You trailed off, vaguely shrugging. He flashed another smile at you, his stupid white teeth practically sparkling in the parking lot lights. You could see them shimmering. “Y’know, a kiss wouldn’t be bad.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Maybe you are as creepy as Dante,” you mumbled.

“If you were in our friend group that would warrant the jar,” Dante cut in, patting Gene’s back. Gene swatted his brother’s hand away, glaring at the younger boy before asking, “What jar?”

“It’s nothing,” you said, shaking your head. You finally pivoted on your heel and began walking away, Julie and Sasha trailing behind you. As much as you wanted to just walk away and not think about Gene for the rest of the weekend, you remembered the damn physics project you needed to complete. You turned your head and called out, “Don’t forget to send the lab report to me!”

Gene smiled at you, his perfectly straight and perfectly white and stupidly perfect teeth practically mocking you. It was unfair. “You got it, bunny!”

You rolled your eyes and turned your head back around, practically dragging your feet along. You were exhausted.

“Who was that?” Julie asked, her chin resting against the shoulder of your car seat. Sasha sat beside you in the passenger seat, looking down at your phone as she input her address, and Julie sat behind you.

“An annoying ass kid,” you replied curtly. “I hate him.”

“Why?”

“It’s a crime for someone as crummy as him to be as attractive as he is.” Julie scrunched her nose and leaned back in the seat as you started the engine. Sasha furrowed her brows, looking up at you just as Julie’s seatbelt clicked.

“You hate Gene because you think he’s cute?” She shook her head, putting your phone in the cupholder. “Actually, scratch that. You think Gene is cute?”

“I mean, he’s attractive,” you corrected, though your voice had quieted. Maybe that was meant to stay an inside thought.

“Are you okay? Like, seriously.”

“So what’s the actual deal with him?” Julie piped up from the back seat. She wasn’t one for crush-driven conversations or anything having to do with someone thinking someone else was hot.

“He’s just a bad person,” you said, pulling out of the parking lot. “A lot of people don’t like him.”

“He’s really not that bad once you get to know him,” Sasha said from beside you, turning slightly so Julie could hear her properly. “He’s just . . .”

“He blackmails people,” you cut in.

Sasha cringed. “Well . . . I mean, yeah.”

“And you’re friends with him?” Julie asked, furrowing her brows and pointing to Sasha.

“Basically, yeah.” Sasha readjusted so she leaned more against the center console. “It’s a whole thing. I’ve been friends with him and Zenix since I was, like, six. It’d be weird if I wasn’t friends with them anymore, I feel like.”

“Y’know, you could come sit with me and my friends if you ever want,” you offered, but Sasha shook her head.

“Nah, none of them like me. It’d be awkward if I sat with you. Besides, I’m fine with Gene and Zenix. Sure, they have some . . . Issues, but they are decent people. We all sort of protect each other.”

You hummed, glancing over at Sasha from the corner of your eye. The more you talked to and learned about her the more interesting you thought her dynamic with Gene and Zenix was. From your perspective, it seemed almost transactional.

Julie kept asking Sasha questions about her classes. You would cut in every now and then with a comment of your own, which usually made Julie roll her eyes. It was like that the whole car ride, the three of you talking easily while Google gave you directions to Sasha’s house.

She lived in a nice neighborhood just on the outskirts of town. You weren’t even sure the area was still Phoenix Drop, but it was a beautiful neighborhood regardless. Every lawn was kept and all of the houses had a homey suburban feel to them. Sasha’s house was made of raw brick that was a soft yellow color and had slightly darker green accents. It reminded you of a little cottage in the woods, but much bigger, of course.

Sasha waved to you as she got out. “Thanks for the ride, Y/n. I’ll see you Monday.”

She gave you a smile wide enough that you could see the gap between her two top teeth. You stayed parked in the driveway until Sasha fully entered her house, and even then you waited a moment to make sure she wasn’t getting ax murdered. While you were waiting, Julie crawled over the center console and settled herself into the passenger seat.

“Why didn’t you just get out like a normal person? Freak,” you teased. Once you were positive Sasha wasn’t being mutilated in her own home, you began pulling out of the driveway and going back to your house. “Text Mom that we’re on the way we just had to drop off a friend.”

Julie hummed, her fingers flying across her phone keyboard and sending the brief text to your mom. The rest of the car ride was silent. Julie had turned on a soft jazz playlist and let it play quietly in the car. You were positive she fell asleep at some point, but when you asked her later she replied defensively with, “I was not asleep.”

Once you got home and changed out of your day clothes and removed your makeup and showered, you cozied yourself into your bed. You spent a minute scrolling through your phone, figuring out what to do to entertain yourself while you waited to get tired again. And then it occurred to you that Gene had no way to actually contact you and send you the lab write up you needed to do.

You searched for him on Instagram. There was no doubt he had already looked for you and was undoubtedly following you on a burner account, but that didn’t matter. You found his main easily (it was followed by both Dante and Sasha) and tried snooping before you actually clicked the blue button, but his account was private. There wasn’t even a profile picture to stalk. It was the same default little white head and shoulders against a light gray background.

You softly exhaled, requesting to follow him before immediately dropping your phone onto your bed and turning around. It was time for bed.

i'm so sorry guys i really cannot make chapters not long for the life of me

TAGGING: @garrothswiferealnotfake @wasting-away-on-the-internet @mellozhi @pushingdaisies1 @orinlin

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goosemixtapes · 1 month ago

Note

hi there, could i ask for recs for catholicism csa coverup? i saw you mention it in a tag

yes, absolutely! i took a class this semester on this exact thing, so most of these recs are directly from that syllabus:

books

Mortal Sins by Michael D'Antonio -- to my understanding this is kinda Thee book for an overview of the crisis; it goes over the broad strokes of the crisis becoming mainstream news + the major cases in the history of church coverups and d'antonio won a pulitzer for it

Split by Mary Dispenza -- a memoir; Dispenza is an ex-nun who is now (spoiler!) gay married and works with victim advocacy groups, so she's seen the whole system in all its ugliness from the inside-out and writes really well about the shame + guilt wrapped up in religious abuse and the length the church goes to to make victims shut up

Paper Cuts by Stephen Bernard -- this is also a memoir, but it focuses much less on the broader issue and more on Bernard's personal experience (in England, dealing with trauma as well as bipolar disorder later in his life); including it regardless because it's absolutely gorgeous

^ i have some of these as PDFs should anyone like them!

articles

Survivors of sex abuse by nuns suffer decades of delayed healing (abuse by nuns being sometimes distinct from, and less common than, abuse by priests, but still present)

Reproductive Abuse in the Context of Clergy Sexual Abuse in the Catholic Church (specifically when pregnancy + abortion come into the picture; a LOT of reproductive coercion happening)

Black Catholics, Racism, and the Sex Abuse Crisis: A Personal Reflection (written by a scholar of racism more than of the sex abuse crisis; cf. this AP article on one of the cases she discusses)

Colonialism and the Crisis Inside the Crisis of Catholic Sexual Abuse (on the intersection of colonialism and church CSA and the lack of visibility given to these cases)

Immigrant Communities Were The 'Geographic Solution' To Predator Priests (similar topic as the above, focused on Spanish-speaking communities in the United States)

Dozens of Catholic Priests Credibly Accused of Abuse Found Work Abroad, Some With the Church’s Blessing (they are genuinely offshoring pedophiles)

this report series is about evangelical/Baptist churches in USAmerica, not the Catholic church, but it offers a model of how coverups happen in non-Catholic churches on a less hierarchical and more decentralized level (which is to say, the coverups are still happening)

documentaries/videos

Deliver Us From Evil (2006) -- documentary interviews with the victims of one specific pedophile priest + with that priest himself; really highlights the systemic nature of the problem

this news report on nuns who were abused by priests

websites

SNAP (Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests) -- primarily resources for survivors, but they also collect news stories and have been lobbying the church to increase transparency for decades

BishopAccountability.Org -- archive of documents, news stories, legal cases, etc trying to create a public record of all accused and/or convicted priests + major legal landmarks. this website was started by one single dude and is run by volunteers which is crazy because it is extremely intensive

#max.txt #blanket csa cw for all of this although that is a given.#i hope this is helpful!#the bottom line i've come away with from the class is that however bad you think it is; it's much much worse and more widespread #so. um. yeah. this tag redacted for tumblr TOS reasons #readings #asks

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crsssie · 2 years ago

Text

saying we're just friends, thinking you're my man

word count: 11.3k

warnings: non-explicit smut, heavy making out

summary: Distance gives the soul time to think, and Tim thinks he's in love with you.

It's a textbook relationship.

Tim can't count the number of times he's read a fic like this.

In fact, he can already imagine the tags on your love story. Strangers to lovers, Friends to Lovers, Fateful Encounter, Alternate Universe - College, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn... the list goes on. You'd probably have a field day trying to finish the story inspired by the one the two of you experienced. Though, as he brushes his fingers through your hair in the kisses of the morning sun, he wouldn't have it any other way — even if he couldn't form a coherent thought when you were awake and talking to him. God, you make him weak.

In the blaring heat of August at orientation, you landed right at his feet after getting shoved around in the crowd of students.

"You good?" He holds his hand for you, and you take it, pulling yourself up.

"Sorry! They're quite a crowd." You laugh awkwardly. "I'm, uh—" Your name tumbled past your lips, an apologetic smile on your face, explaining to him that you were trying to get to the English building through the crowd of students. Tim told you his name (only first in fear you'd recognize his last) and showed you a shortcut to the building. You had taken the messily scribbled image, airdropped it onto your phone, and you had rushed off with a thank you yelled into the air. Tim hadn't thought much about you. It wasn't as if you'd be in the same department as him. He also had minimal GE classes, so—

Two days later, you sit next to him in his only GE class. He was required to take English regardless of his previous experience with it. His AP classes hadn't been kind enough to remove the requirement. Not even the fives on both of his English APs could have helped him avoid the expository hell all freshmen were required to take. So, he meets eyes with you as you apologize for sitting next to him, confessing that he was the only face you knew.

"So? What's your major?" You blink at him curiously as the class waits for the professor.

"I'm in Cybersecurity."

"Woah." You mumble. "Stem..."

"You?"

"Creative Writing." You grin. "Well, build your own major. But Creative Writing nonetheless."

"A writer?"

"Yeah."

Tim had watched as you played Minecraft the entirety of class, only skimming through the syllabus for his late work, absence, and attendance policies. He's not sure if you even caught the way the professor mentioned there was a syllabus quiz next class. Though it wasn't his job to tell you, but he still felt kind of bad if you were to fail it. He passes you a note, and you pause your game, glancing at the note. You grin at him, opening your phone and showing him your reminder. You go back to your Minecraft world for the rest of class, information going in one ear and out the other. (Tim found out later that you actually listen, and gaming was only a focus tactic you used.)

At the end of class, you save your world, push your chair in, and sprint for the door.

Tim shared no other classes with you. In fact, the two of you only had one class together for all four years of your college lives. Yet, there was something about you that had stuck with him. He didn't know what it was, but he hadn't felt that giddy over someone since his last relationship, his heart racing in his chest, his head spinning. He pushed everything down in favor of being able to pay attention in class. Though his coding skills were spectacular, his writing skills were less than stellar. He didn't understand how writing just came to you.

Especially not when you fell asleep halfway through your first monthly timed essay and still scored a 97. He could learn a thing or two from you, maybe. Were you doing memory consolidation in the middle of the exam? He has no idea how you did it.

Your name slips past his lips as you pack up after one class.

"Yeah?" You tilt your head at him.

"Are you," he pauses, (a little embarrassed. Tim Drake, son of Bruce Wayne, CEO of WE, was in need of help. Of course he was a little embarrassed.) "down to tutor me? My grade in this class is less than... acceptable." He grimaces at how his voice goes quiet.

You smile. "Yeah. I'm down. I'll give you my number and schedule and we can arrange a time. Expository writing isn't that bad. It's just the same sentence structure with some BS and then you're done."

"Easy for you to say," He hands you his phone.

"No. It's just like how you have structure when you code." You click your number in, texting yourself and saving his contact before you forget. "There is structure in everything you do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You beam at him.

Tim's next essay comes back with an 81. It's a big improvement from the 64 he scored the first time. You were right, the essays being the same thing over and over again. The structure is as easy as basic coding is to him. He understands you now.

He thanks you by taking you to the diner, paying for your meal.

You kick your legs at the booth, milkshake straw between your lips, lost in thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He raises a brow.

"Tim... what's your last name?" You frown. "It's fine if you don't tell me, but my friends have been asking who I've been tutoring and I realized I have no idea what your last name is."

"It's Drake." He scans your face for something when he tells you.

"Drake..." You pause, letting go of the milkshake straw. "huh. Like the CEO." You go back to your milkshake after the revelation.

"Not surprised?"

"I mean," You grimace at him. "You wear the down-low designer brands your adoptive father does, so not really. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to pry in case you didn't want to tell."

"Down-low designer brands?"

"Bruce Wayne has a specific way of dressing casual." You bite on your straw. "I know this sounds creepy but I've done more research on brands billionaires wear than I'd like to admit."

"Does it have to do with your writing?" Tim thanks the waiter as his order is brought.

"Yeah." You smile sheepishly. "Is that creepy? Sorry."

"No. I've been expecting the unexpected from you for a while now."

You laugh. "Yeah?"

"I have an older brother who writes in his free time and the amount of things he's done for research is crazy."

"Right? Reddit and Quora are my saviors." You mumble. "I obviously can't kill for research, so the internet is my best friend."

"Do you search on incognito?"

"No. I prefer being able to dig up my weird research from my search history." You shrug. "I bet the FBI has me on a watchlist."

"I could check if you'd like."

You feign a look of shock. "Really?"

He smiles at you, and the two of you burst into laughter.

"You going to Connor's Halloween party next week?" You finish the last of your milkshake.

"Of course not." He deadpans. "Must I remind you I hate going out?"

"Awh," You pout. "I wanted someone to match maid dresses with."

"Excuse me?"

"For research."

The smile on your face suggests anything but.

"You can consider it as payment for all the times I'm going to tutor you."

"I've been paying you."

"No." You shake your head. "You pay me each time we have a session. I'm letting you pay me for the rest of the lessons by showing up to the Halloween party in a maid dress with me."

Tim looks at you incredulously.

"Actually, I'll even draft a contract if you don't believe me." You smile.

"And if I turn you down?"

"I'll find one of my friends to do it with."

"Then why ask me?"

"The thrill of the unknown? The endless answers you could have chosen? A grasp on your character better? It could be anything." You smile sweetly at him. "It's fine. You can continue paying me like you normally do."

"Who would you match with if not me?"

"Well, I was thinking Sam or someone else," You shrug. "but Sam doesn't celebrate Halloween. I'd match with the other guy friend, but one of my friends is into him so I don't want to make it seem like I'm making a move on someone I know she likes."

"So you asked me?"

"I don't know, Tim." You shrug. "You tell me. I thought you were a genius."

He leans in to read your face better. "I'd say you asked me because you're interested in me."

"Bingo." You grin wider this time.

"It's been less than two months."

"And? Hasn't stopped people from already hooking up." You shrug. "You can say no."

"See, I'd say yes, but Connor would take a photo and it would end up in our groupchat's blackmail folder." Tim slides his fries to the middle when he catches you staring. "You can have one."

"I thought you were a master hacker?" You pick a fry from the carton.

"Yeah, but friend code."

"Ah." You nod slowly. "It's okay to say no. I won't get offended."

"Maybe next year." Tim shakes his head.

"No worries!"

Tim stalks your Instagram on the day of Halloween, staring at the post where you're matching maid dresses with your entire friend group. In the back of his mind, he wonders, for a brief moment, if it would have just been you and him if he had agreed. The thought disappears just as fast, sighing as he puts his phone down and domino mask on. He had patrol. He could think about his mess of emotions later. Gotham needs him.

Your breath hitches from the spiked punch, your friends long lost in the crowd, your head spinning as you stumble onto the balcony of the apartment, resting your head on the cool of the metal railing, trying to calm the thumping of your head. You hear something rustle in front of you, the sound of someone swinging, and you open an eye to get a look. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of Red Robin.

"Hey—"

"Dude... your costume looks way too realistic." You press your fingers to his armor, pulling him onto the balcony with you, mumbling under your breath as you feel him up through his costume. The smell of alcohol is apparent on your lips, the smell of your perfume flooding his senses — your cheeks are flushed beyond repair, and Tim finds himself frozen in place as you practically straddle him, fingers running to his face. His eyes dart to your cleavage unconsciously, staring back up to meet your eyes when he sees too much. You look sinful like this. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to loosen your grip on him without accidentally throwing you off, and he finally presses a hand of his to your stomach, successfully getting you to stop.

"Sorry." You mumble.

"No worries." He rasps, pushing you back onto your seat gently — heart drumming in his head.

"Ey, Red Robin!" Connor calls from inside the house. "You made it!"

"I'm not here to party. I was checking in on you to see if you were being responsible." He sighs.

You blink at him, doe-eyed, fascinated, drunken stupor all over your face.

"You're real?"

"Yes." He mumbles.

"Sorry for touching you."

"You're forgiven."

You lean back into your seat with an exhale, pulling out your phone as Connor leads Tim further into the party. He speaks to Oracle to let her know where he was, and he exhales when she tells him B says it's fine. He nods at the people who compliment his costume as he passes them, and he grabs himself a cup of punch, pausing when the alcohol stings his tongue. He dumps it in Connor's sink, eyes trailing to where you were sitting, breath catching in his throat at the sight of some sleaze slinging his arm around you. He rushes over to you, fingers smoothing down your neck to your shoulders, warning smile on his face.

"She has company for the night."

The man scrambles as you look up at him, beaming. His breath catches in his throat.

"Careful. I might just take you home."

"Don't you dorm?" He raises a brow in amusement.

"No one said my home." You turn around to reach for his jaw, fingers trailing down, breath fanning his. Tim would let you do this. He really would. He'd kiss you senseless on the balcony at Connor's house, yet he knows better than to do so. You're drunk from the punch. He'd be taking advantage of you no matter how much you want this when sober. So, he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, forehead meeting yours, every ounce of his willpower pulled into not just kissing you senseless here. If only you were sober. The things he would do.

"Where is she — babes! Time to go!" Your friend breaks the tension for him, pulling you away from him with a nod, alcohol riding off of her as well. He wonders if your driver is tipsy.

"I wanna go home with Red Robin..." You mumble, and your friend smacks you playfully. He notices one of you is sober, and he supposes that's enough. He heads back inside to find Connor.

Tim notices you miss class the next day. You text him to ask him to record the lecture for you, telling him the Halloween party was lit and you remember almost making out with a guy but your friend cockblocked you. Tim holds back a laugh in class, letting you know he'd email you his notes with the lecture recording. You thank him with an image, going offline immediately after. He clicks on his laptop, noting down whatever you might need. The recording would cover the rest. He sends everything at the end of class, your response instant. It wouldn't matter if you were absent from class. Your grade could take a hit.

He answers his phone when you dial him.

"Hey?"

"Timmers, you got Tylenol?"

"I can buy you some?" He offers. "I don't have class after this."

"Please? Oh, and throw in that one specific brand of bottled tea. I'll send you a photo." You grumble.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Like a dead girl walking."

"Taking that as a no. Want anything else?"

"I'll Venmo you the money. Bring me the receipt."

"You're sick. You can pay me back by actually being in class next lecture."

"Not hard. My head just hurts from the hangover."

"I'm guessing you got home safe?" Tim steps into the convenience store.

"Yeah. Our driver was sober. Thankfully."

Tim grabs the Tylenol and pauses. "I need the tea."

"Which convenience store are you in?"

"Metro."

"Aisle three by the American soda. It's green with white writing. You can read Chinese, right? It's Japanese but it says tea in Chinese."

"How'd you know?" Tim pauses. "Unsweetened green tea? The Japanese one?"

"Yeah. It helps a lot." You sniff. "Found out on google because someone made a compilation of you speaking foreign languages."

"So you assumed?"

"The part where you speak Cantonese, you were reading from a menu."

"Are you stalking me?"

"I'd prefer doing research."

"Stalking."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Tim checks out, tapping his phone to pay. He takes the bag and pauses at the sight of the instant noodles. "You sure you don't want anything else?"

"Nothing. Feel free to get what you need too."

Tim hears you drink something.

"I'll text you my dorm building and number. There's no pin to get in just let them know you're here to see me. I'm pretty close with the RA."

"Networking already, huh?"

"Whatever you want to call it."

You text him your dorm building and number, and he knocks on your door.

You open it with a weak push of your arm.

"Are you actually sick?"

"No." You thank him as he hands you the plastic bag. You pop two pills out, swallowing them with the tea. "I'm extremely hungover. I drank too much punch."

"And you didn't realize?"

"No. I was trying to drink my thoughts away." You sniff. "So? How'd you spend yesterday?"

"Handing out candy at the manor with Bruce." Which was a lie. He spent Halloween using every last drop of self-control to not kiss your drunk self senseless at Connor's place. He can still smell your perfume.

"Sounds boring."

"I do it every year." He shrugs. Also a lie. He spends every Halloween patrolling Gotham because it's the one night of the year where every single criminal decides it's alright to go apeshit.

"mm," You yawn. "I matched maid dresses with my friend group. I posted about it. Do you have insta?"

"No. I keep a low profile."

"So you don't have a private account?" You raise a brow.

"I do, but what makes you think we're close enough for it?" Tim mirrors your raise of brow.

You hold your hand to your mouth, pretending to be offended. "We're not close enough for it?"

"I'm kidding." He mumbles. "What's your handle? I'll follow you."

"You better not turn down my request." You reach for the green tea again, drinking it as you show him your account. He already knows your account. He figured he'd have to ask or else he'd be a hypocrite for calling you his stalker. Well, he's already a hypocrite.

"Ough!" You sit up straighter, reaching for your laptop. "Connor sent me these photos that the photographer caught of me and Red Robin" You swoon.

"You're into him?"

You blink at him. "Did I not tell you I run his stan account?"

"You do wHAT." He freezes. "Are you the girl who gets caught up on the news every other week because you accidentally fall while taking photos of him?"

"Yep." You grin. "He's my favorite Robin."

Tim was extremely conflicted at the discovery. In retrospect, he should have known from the way you seemed to climb all over him and pull him onto the balcony without second thought, but he's still embarrassed at the idea that you had fawned all over him. Yet he shakes his thoughts away as he peers over your shoulder to stare at the photos caught of the two of you — well, of you. You didn't know he was Red Robin.

There's a photo of you straddling him, feeling him up, and Tim's neck snaps to the side.

"Tim? You good? You don't need to look if you're uncomfortable, you know?" You remind.

"No," He swallows. "I wasn't expecting photos like this."

"Isn't the photographer good? I'd pay this guy to take photos of me at parties any day."

"Yeah?" Tim raises a brow as you show him the other two. One of him with his fingers on your collar, the other of his forehead pressed to yours, thumb between the two of you's lips. You explain to him in excitement that you would have kissed him had your friend not pulled you away because you needed to leave. Tim rests his back on your closet, nodding along slowly. He had homework to do. Yet he spent the rest of the afternoon in your room listening to you ramble about Red Robin, conspiracies reminding him of someone.

"So let me get this straight." Tim interrupts. "I'm on a time crunch. I have something for one of my compsci classes due soon and wanted to get the big picture."

"Oh. I'm sorry for—"

"Don't." He holds his hand out. "I stayed. You run the biggest Red Robin stan account on Twitter and you're planning on posting those photos like he's some kpop idol?"

"Yeah?" You tilt your head.

"Are the fans not going to get mad that he's making out with someone at a party?"

"No." You laugh. "His fans are used to him being in relationships. The most they'd do is figure out who that is, which is me, but that's it."

"You won't get death threats?"

"His fans aren't crazy."

"Yeah? You seem pretty mental to me."

You gasp. "Rude." You look to the side, sucking your cheeks in. "But not wrong."

"Yeah. If you denied it, I'd just pull up every single time you'd fallen while trying to get good photos of Red Robin."

You pout. "Shoo. You said you had something due soon."

"Last question."

"Shoot."

"You don't mind that he's never going to date you?"

"Timmers." You laugh. "He's a hero and I'm a fan. It's like asking me if I'm ever going to date a billionaire. It's impossible. Not written in the stars. It's a groundless dream."

"Yeah?" His own heart cracks a little when you mention a billionaire.

"Yeah." You smile. "Now do your work. You have a GPA to take care of."

"Got it."

Tim finds that nearing the end of the semester, you meet with him less and less, tutoring him on Zoom instead, apologizing, explaining that you had a ton of creative work due for your other classes. You had been planning on graduating early, he finds out. It was your freshman year, and you were trying to get your sophomore classes out of the way. He was bothered. It was incredible — the sheer amount of classes you took. It was more impressive that you had time to write your own creative works.

"So?"

"How did you score last time? I'm starting to think you have me tutor you still because you're into me." You joke.

"Ninety. All we have left is the stupid final."

"You're set then." You yawn. "Why still have me tutor you?"

Your mind wanders as you click on one of your assignments. "Oh, how about this, then? I have an interview I need to conduct for my journalism class, and you'd be the perfect candidate. I'm expected to record it in the building and it's due in three days."

"Three days?"

"I bet you have everything out of the way, huh?" You smile at him, batting your lashes. "Hm?"

Tim, does, in fact, have everything out of the way.

"And if I don't?" He likes teasing you.

"Then I'll ask one of my friends. The topic is the discussion of a topic you aren't familiar with. You're good with coding, something I can't do past basic HTML to edit how text looks." You hum. "I'm grappling at every excuse I can to hang out with you, if you can't tell."

"Oh, I definitely can."

"Great." You smile. "How does tomorrow at 8 in the morning sound?"

"So early?" Tim raises a brow.

"I'll bring us coffee. Give me your order."

"Sold."

Tim realizes at 3am that you never gave him a dress code. Should he show up in casual? Business casual? Semi-formal? Formal — no, formal attire seemed like too much. He grimaces as he's in the Batcave, irritation all over his face.

"Something wrong, Timmers?" Dick raises a brow.

"Yeah. What do you wear to an interview?"

"Depends what kind." Bruce answers, pulling the cowl from his head. "Who's the interviewer? Is it official?"

"A friend is interviewing me for a project."

"Final project or just a project?"

"Forgot to ask."

"You can't go wrong with semi-formal. Dress like old money." Dick hums. "Polo shirt and khakis. Throw in a sweater tied around your neck and you should be good to go."

"I agree." Bruce hums.

"Do you need to impress said friend?" Jason raises a brow from behind the two.

"Wh-what does that have to do with the interview?"

Jason smirks at the stutter. "Get Steph to dress you. She'd make you look good and dress for the occasion."

"I think I'll go with Dick's—"

"Half-buttoned dress shirt and dress pants." Steph cuts in, pausing. "No, that'll make you look desperate. Grey sweats, blazer, and a white tee. Dark colored blazer but NOT black."

"Why can't I just wear a polo shirt and just—"

"You want to look good, right? Roll the sleeves up to right before your elbows. Mess up your hair a little too."

Tim sighs. "It's winter."

"Drake. Do you want to look good for your crush?" Damian cuts in.

"She's not a crush-"

"Last time you said that you were still pining after your ex." Steph laughs. "If you really want to look casual just wear what you normally wear but add some perfume."

"She's interviewing me for my major." Tim finally gets to speak.

"Then just dress like you normally do." Dick pats him on the back with a laugh. "Hoodie and sweats. Wear a tee underneath if in case you get hot so you can pull it over your head and she can watch."

"Hey-"

"I agree with that." Steph smiles. "If you're lucky, your shirt will ride up a little and she'll get to see—"

"Got it!" Tim yells, groaning. "My usual clothing it is. I'll bring a blazer in case she does want me to dress semi formal."

"Attaboy." Bruce ruffles his hair as he makes his way up.

Tim groans. He's not going to get enough sleep for this.

You call him in the morning when the coffee shop you frequent isn't open.

"Mm?" Tim furrows his brows, morning voice evident.

"Coffee shop closed. You mind if I just make one at the convenience store for you?"

"Knock yourself out. You're early."

"I need to set up the equipment." You hum.

"What color should I wear?"

"Something not green. I'm in red. See you in an hour."

"See you." Tim mumbles back, ending the call. He sits up, bed hair evident, staring at himself in the mirror. The exhausted part of himself wants to go back to sleep, but the better part of him — the giddy, excited, coming-of-age-has-a-crush-on-someone part of him — has him sit up from sheer willpower. (something he finds he has a lot of when it comes to you) He gets out of bed, pulling for the clothes he prepped the night before, combing his hair for once. He'd like to look nice for the camera, for you, he thinks. It would be a little frustrating to see the stand-in CEO of WE dress so casually. He has some sort of reputation to hold up when he isn't a student. Though he supposes he's being interviewed as a student, so there's not much of a need to dress so well.

But he supposes he wants to impress you.

He arrives five minutes before 8, locking his car and knocking on the door to the room.

"Hey," You smile at him.

"You didn't lock the door." He locks it behind him. "In Gotham during winter?"

"I knew you'd be here early." You adjust the cameras. "Your coffee's on the table."

"Thank you," He takes off his coat, hanging it on the rack. "Can I know what questions you'll be asking me?"

"Next to your coffee." You yawn. "You're dressed nice."

"Is it too little?" He smiles at you apologetically.

"No. Not at all." You smile. "Not when I'm dressed like," You motion at yourself. "This."

"You look like a friend." He points.

"Honored." You laugh. "The cameras are set up. I rented the room until 11. Take your time with the coffee."

"You're asking about me?"

"Yeah." You laugh. "The goal is to gradually have you talk about why you chose your major so we can have a relatively deep conversation. It's an intro to interviewing course, but the professor's ultimate goal was to make sure we make at least one friend."

"Yeah?" Tim puts his coffee down, smile on his lips. "Am I that friend?"

"Yeah," You smile back at him. "You can ask me questions too. It's supposed to be a casual interview. I'll only ask you a question when we run out of things to talk about."

Tim discovers a symphony of information from you. You open your heart to him the same way he can to some extent, smile on his lips when he tells you about his days during high school and his earlier relationships, forgetting that this was an interview for your class and that you would probably have to go through hours of footage in response to this. The plush of the seat is warm underneath him, your voice is a melody to his ears, Tim nodding along as you tell him about the one time you snuck out of the house as a teenager and got your ass beat because you got caught. The smile on your lips is contagious, he finds. He hadn't fallen for someone this hard since his ex.

Tim took you to lunch that day, desperate to get to know more about you, desperate to know you. He would have called it a date if you had let him.

You had your laptop pulled up, sorting through the footage (the three hour long footage) of the two of you's conversation, nodding along and rambling casually, clicking through to cut more personal matters from the interview, only required to give your teacher a clip and the raw file's total length to prove that you two hadn't just staged a conversation. You take a fry from his plate, your sandwich finished on your plate, humming when you finish editing.

"Are you always this fast?"

"Depends on what context." You wink.

"You were pretty fast to upload those new Red Robin photos too." If he noticed the sexual connotation of your words, he didn't mention anything.

"Well, other than lighting, I don't really need to edit anything."

"Speaking of which, do you even pay tuition?"

"Martha Wayne Scholarship." You yawn. "Your dad is looaaaded."

You submit your assignment to Canva, yawning. "That was my last one."

"You finished all those writing assignments?"

"Writing comes to me like hacking does to you." You close your laptop, tucking it into your bag. "Thanks for lunch, by the way."

"Mhm." He smiles. "Glad you liked your sandwich."

"My favorite." You hum. "So? Any updates? New girl? New boy? Relationship? Your dad adopted a new sibling? What's new?"

"Siblings keep teasing me."

"Oh? For what? For me?" You press a hand to your chest, wiggling your brows at him. You burst into laughter when he turns red. "Yeah? Because of me?"

"I asked them what I should wear to an interview, and suddenly they were asking me if I had a girlfriend."

"Yeah? So what did you tell them?"

"Interview from a friend." His eyes meet yours, eerily sincere. "Why?"

(the use of friend leaves a pang in your chest)

"Curious." You shrug. "So? Going anywhere for vacation?"

"Just Christmas at the Wayne Manor. You know, the rich people gala?"

You shudder, laughing. "Good luck."

"I'll need it. God knows who else I have to network with that night."

"Well, my dorm's open if you want it." You shrug. "But I doubt Bruce would let you leave since you are the CEO."

"Stand-in." He corrects.

"CEO nonetheless." You hum. "Should I send you a Christmas present?"

"What would you even send me?"

"It would be a surprise."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tim finds a gift from you under the Christmas tree, presumably placed there by Alfred. He had missed when you dropped it off, knocked out in the warmth of his bed without the pressure of an exam for once, letting himself ignore the cases he promised himself he'd solve. He promised you he'd get one day of proper sleep. Your texts are the only ones that cause his phone to vibrate during break. (He's down horrendously bad for you, Jason had whispered to Dick while Tim had responded to your message, lovesick grin on his face.)

Distance gives the soul time to think, and Tim thinks he's in love with you.

It comes as a revelation on Christmas morning, coffee mug warm in his hand as he watches his siblings open their Christmas gifts, laughing at certain ones and holding back his face from a smile breaking past his lips at others. He's third on the list to open his gifts, third son and all, and Tim finishes the last of his coffee, fingers reaching for his presents, all wrapped in a shade of red different from Jason's blood red. He thanks everyone for their gifts, raising a brow in amusement when he pulls out Damian's, a genuine smile breaking on his smile at Bruce's. Finally, he finds himself reaching for the gift you had gotten him, his fingers shaking as he breaks open the wrapping paper, smile on his face at the camera you got him. There's even an SD card and a battery charger part of the box you had prepped him.

"Oooh, Timmers is that from your girlfriend?"

"She's not my—"

The family breaks into teasing remarks as Tim groans, blush fresh on his skin, heart racing in his ears — that's when he realizes, the painful realization, a realization that breaks him into silence — he's in love with you.

Bruce has everyone move on as Steph sits down to open her gifts, and Tim's throat dries at the epiphany. He's in love with you — and that same lovesick smile breaks on his face as he wonders if you got his Christmas present. It was as if the two of you synced with the gift. Maybe he'd catch you taking photos of him with your camera. This time, he should stare back at you, flash you a smile, strike a pose, something, anything to fluster you. He was already looking forward to patrol that night. He picks up his mug, excusing himself quietly to get another cup of coffee, pulling his blanket with him as he clicks on his phone, placing his cup under the machine as he thanks you for the gift.

You respond immediately, video-calling him on accident, flustered state caught on camera, hair still a mess from waking up.

"I'm so sorry—"

Tim laughs. "It's fine. Are you home?"

"No. I slept over at a friend's place since my mom and I don't celebrate Christmas." You smile at him fondly. "I brought the gift you mailed to me, though. I haven't opened it yet."

"Let's say it's for your bird watching."

"You did not." You gasp, looking over your phone. "I'll have my friend record a video when we rip open our presents. Have fun on Christmas, Tim. Love you lots—"

Tim's face turns utterly red at the words, blinking wide-eyed at the now-ended call. You just... wow. He takes his mug of coffee, sitting back at his old seat where his siblings were, in a half-blissed-out state at your words. (He's told later on by your friend that you had sobbed into her chest when you realized you told him you loved him on accident.)

You text him sometime during the afternoon with the video of you opening your present, thanking him for his generous gift. You let him know that you'd send him your new photos with his present first, letting him see how good the quality of his camera could be. He texts you to sit on your dorm roof instead, and you ask if he was planning on kidnapping you. Maybe you'd let him take you for a swing. Instead, he tells you it's a present for your fanpage. You ask him if he's going to call Red Robin himself. He leaves you on read.

Bruce notices the way Tim's eerily giddy for a Christmas patrol, but he doesn't comment on it.

You exhale into the winter air, the cold piercing your lungs as you hold the camera between your gloved fingers, kicking your legs as you sit on the edge of the building, strap hung around your neck. You hum quietly as you watch the snow start, and a shadow looms over your shoulder.

"Hey." Tim smiles at you, Red Robin outfit on.

"Woah. He wasn't lying." You gasp. Your name spills past your lips, rambling about how you were his biggest fan. He stares at you through the whites of his domino mask, smile breaking onto his face.

"I've seen your Twitter."

"Yeah?" You exhale, eyes sparkling. "Honored. I hope you aren't going out of your way to visit me or anything. Gotham needs their vigilantes."

"And if I am?"

"Then you should go." Your cheeks flush from the winter warmth, and he steps close to you, forehead pressed to yours.

"You remember me from Halloween?"

"We have a thing with meeting on holidays, hm?" You laugh gently, eyes crinkling, Tim's expression softening.

"Yeah, we do." He hums, leaning in further. "May I?"

"Yeah." You exhale, lips finally pressed to his under the winter snow, his hands warm on your face as you lean in closer to him, chest pressed to his, lips parted to give him access to your mouth. Your head spins deliciously from the taste of his lips, his perfume reminding you of someone you know all too well, your mind muddled with the fact that you're actually making out with Red Robin, your celebrity crush. You whimper against his lips when he nips at your bottom one, his breath catching in his throat.

"Fuck, pretty girl. You can't just do that." He heaves, resting his forehead on yours again.

"Wow." You breathe, starstruck, eyes staring up at his.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You laugh melodiously, and Tim feels his heart grow full. "Can I get a photo?"

"For you? Anything."

You make a Christmas post on your Twitter, photo of Red Robin with a Santa hat and white beard staying pinned for the Holiday season. (Tim wasn't allowed to live it down from his family, but he had gotten to kiss you stupid, so he was more than willing to take the jabs.)

He invites you to his place for New Year's Eve, invitation tumbling past his lips and nearly getting drowned out by his panicked rambling, cheeks red beyond repair and stutter catching in his throat, only for you to tell him that you'd "love to" and that you were "honored." You asked him if there was a dress code, and he told you it was fine. Even if the Wayne gala was that night, he would just sneak to his room when you arrived. He could finish socializing with the rich in a couple of minutes. Hell, he'd flirt his way out of it like Bruce did if it meant he could see you early. He tells you to arrive in a nice dress anyway, asking for your measurements so he could send you something. (You didn't want to give it to him, but he insisted.)

You pull up to the gala perfectly on time, ignoring the paparazzi asking you who invited you and making a beeline to who you assumed was Alfred and asking him if you could be taken to Tim's room. The gala wasn't somewhere you wanted to be, and Alfred had been more than welcoming, leading you and leaving you in Tim's room, telling you to make yourself comfortable since you were Tim's guest. You spent twenty minutes looking through his photobooks before he stumbled into his room, a little sweaty since he had been running.

"Hey." He smiles at you dorkily, smiling like a nerd in love.

"Wow. You're dressed nice." You mumble, staring him up and down.

"You don't look too bad yourself," He hums, locking his door behind himself. "Did you get to eat anything?"

"I ate before I came and made a beeline for Alfred when I came. Too many cameras."

"Sorry." He exhales. "Looking at my photos?"

"They're nice."

"They're from years ago." He hums. "Before my parents passed."

You mumble something under your breath, eyes meeting his in something akin to sadness.

"It's fine, now." Tim presses his thumb to the space between your brows, your expression relaxing immediately.

"Ah, right." You slip out the SD card from your purse, blinking at him. "You have a card reader?"

"Yeah." Tim sits in his chair, opening his laptop through some series of codes, holding his hand out for your SD card.

You drop it in his palm, his fingers drumming against the table as he opens the files.

"I got photos of Red Robin." You grin. "He was there on my dorm roof. Did you send him?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Did you like the gift?"

"My Twitter loved it." You smile. You neglect to tell him that you had kissed Red Robin breathless. (Tim doesn't notice the way you get embarrassed, trying to fight off the red on his own cheeks when he remembers the way the two of you had made out on the roof.)

Tim pauses at the photo of him swinging away.

"Why didn't you post this one?"

"I was actually planning on posting it today." You hum. "The ones of him in action."

"You have multiple?"

You click into a folder, enter your password, showing him the photos.

"The camera's great, by the way. Red Robin may not have an ass as impressive as Nightwing, but he still has a nice ass." You laugh, clicking open the photos. Tim chokes on the air at the photos, and he laughs.

"Oh, yeah, Twitter would love this."

You shrug playfully. "What can I say? It pays."

Tim glances at the clock on the wall. Two minutes from midnight.

"How'd you spend the morning?"

"My friend came to pick me up so she could do my makeup." You laugh. "Then she brought me to the mall so we could get me some heels," You kick your legs to show him. "And then another friend, the one with a nice car, drove me here. My other friends insisted they watch me walk off to you. I forgot to tell them your last name after I asked for it, so they were quite surprised when they dropped me off her."

"Maybe I should thank your friends for helping you look so pretty."

"Yeah?" You smile, hopping to sit on his desk.

He stands up, pressing his forehead to yours, tucking your hair behind your ear, nose brushing yours.

"Yeah. What do they like?" Tim hums, your perfume flooding his senses again, his doing the same.

"Ever been told you share a perfume with Red Robin?" You whisper.

"No. You'd be the first."

"What's the brand?"

The brand falls onto silence as you press your lips to his, fireworks signaling the new year going off in the back. Tim's hands dig into your waist, eyes half-lidded, tongue pressing into yours with so much passion your knees might've gone weak had you not been already seated. Your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, pulling lightly when his hand finds itself on the zipper behind you. He pulls away for a moment, begging for your consent, asking if this was okay.

You had told him yes in a heartbeat.

Thus, Tim found himself enveloped with you, senses sent into overdrive, your skin pressed to his, sweat mixing with his, body tangled with his in his sheets — the same sheets he had thought about you so often in, the one where he had thought about you while he spilled into his hand, fingers pressed to your skin, mouth on your skin, sucking, biting, marking, doing whatever you would let him do to you. Your dress was long abandoned by his desk, his own suit leaving a trail toward the bed where he had you in his fingers.

He prayed this wouldn't be a foolish dream.

When he wakes in the morning, pulling you closer to his chest, your lashes fluttering against his skin, his heart warms. He should ask you to date him right now, he thinks. But his heart races in his chest, wondering if you would agree. Maybe the two of you had kissed in the heat of the moment, and you had let him have you because he had asked so nicely. He looks down at you as your eyes are completely open now, embarrassed smile on your face. He misses his chance.

"Good morning." He looks at you like you're his whole world.

"Good morning." You smile back at him like he's the universe.

The two of you fall back into the pace you had established the previous semester, this time without any classes together, only texting every now and then with updates. Tim hates this new life he lives. He misses seeing you during class and watching you play subway surfers on your phone or Bloons TD on your laptop. He opts for texting you during class instead, typing notes as he types responses to your messages. He wonders if you miss him the same way he misses you. He's too afraid to ask, still clinging onto the way your skin had felt on his during New Year's. It doesn't help that your department is halfway across the campus.

The next time he gets to see you, he's Red Robin, and he catches the familiar flash of your camera on the rooftop as he swerves into action. He finishes with the thugs easily, swinging back up to land next to you, your camera pressed to your chest, clicking capture as he raises a brow at you. You blink at him, smile on your lips. You don't look apologetic at all, almost cheekily. It was as if you knew he'd notice you.

"Hey."

"Hey." You beam at him. "Nice fight."

"Thank you. Care to tell me why you're out here during the February cold to get photos of me?"

"Because you're my favorite?" You blink at him, eyes wide.

"That's cute." He hums. "Shall I take you home?"

"Oh, if you could be so kind." You smile. "I had a friend drop me off nearby and I think he left already."

"Yeah?" Tim wraps an arm around your back, pressing you to him snugly, your arms wrapping around his neck. You close your eyes as the winter air hits your face, only for him to whisper into your ear. "Open your eyes."

Gotham looks breathless from wherever the hell Red Robin was in the air. Your breath catches in your throat, staring in awe as Tim swings from building to building, finally landing on the one where you dormed. You let go of him, cheeks warm from the air and the view, turning to look at him.

"Thank you. Thank you a lot." You smile at him, Tim mirroring your smile.

"Can I get a reward?" He had meant it as a joke, only for you to press your lips to his cheek, his eyes widening at the feeling.

"Is that good enough?"

"I was thinking something else, but that works too." He presses his lips to the corner of yours, smile on his face. "Stay safe."

"For you." You wave at him as he swings away from your building. You look through the photos you had gotten of him, going down the flight of stairs to the elevator. You had stuff to post for the rest of the month.

Tim finally bumps into you at the convenience store one fateful afternoon, reaching for your wrist before he could even register that he was scared you'd run off. He blinks at you as you blink back at him, tilting your head to offer him an awkward smile.

"Hey?"

"Hi. I'll pay, um, if you'll let me have a moment of your time."

"Yeah? Yeah." You nod dumbly. "That'd be fine. I don't have class right now."

"Yeah. I'll take your basket." He reaches for it naturally, swiping his card with ease. He hands you your stuff back, and you follow him, popping open your green tea.

"What'd you need me for?"

"Missed you."

"Yeah? I missed you too. It's weird not sharing a class anymore." You press the tea to your lips. "Missed me or the insanely good sex we had on New Year's—"

"You." Tim smiles. "Missed hearing your voice."

"Awh, what a cheeseball." You snicker, staring at the green start on the trees. "Cherry blossom season is approaching."

"Yeah. So are midterms." He shudders. "How's your classes?"

"You know, drowning in work in order to graduate early." You hum. "I'm writing something right now."

"For class?"

"Yeah. For fiction writing. The story has to be related to something you've experienced in college so far and I was wondering—" You inhale sharply through your teeth. "If I could write about us?"

"As your friend or as the guy you slept with on New Years?"

You open and close your mouth. "Both. Yeah. Both."

"May I read it after you finish?"

"I'll share the doc." You smile. "Thank you. I've been meaning to ask you."

"I'm honored that you'd write about me as a college experience."

"Yeah..." You trail off. "Oh, did you see my Twitter update? I got these super clear photos of Red Robin fighting thanks to the camera you gave me. Thank you, again."

"You're welcome." He hums. "Doing anything on Valentines?"

You puff out your cheeks. "Supposed to hang out with friends, but me and my other friend want to ditch so the two idiots would finally get to hang out without us third and fourth wheeling."

"So you're busy?"

"Not if you want to hang out." You tilt your head, capping your green tea.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah." You hum. "But you'd have to make it worth ditching for."

"Oh, then leave everything to me." He hums, fingers brushing yours. "I'll pick you up around nine in the morning."

"And what time will you have me back?" You tease, pressing yourself closer to him.

"What time do you want to be back?"

"Whatever time you want." You hum. "Please pick me up in a nice car your dad owns. I want to see the interior of one of them."

"Sure." Tim hums. "Any other requests?"

"How should I dress?"

"Casual." He hums. "Do you want to match?"

"We can color coordinate." You gasp. "What color do you own the most of?"

"Red." He hums.

"Owh! We can match red." You grin.

Tim walks you back to your dorm, staring as you enter the elevator and disappear from view. He thinks a little about where he should bring you, lips pulling up lightly when he remembers something you had mentioned off-handedly in your interview with him. He knew now.

Tim shows up at your door with roses, your friends peering from behind the door as you take the flowers with him with a light flush on your cheek. You're dressed completely casual, red sweatpants matching his red hoodie, grey hoodie matching his sweats. You smile at him sweetly as you take the flowers from him, and your friends pull you aside, staring him down. One of your friends, bless her, tells him to treat you properly. She jabs a finger into his chest, going off about how she didn't care if he was some rich dude — the same rules applied, especially when it was your first relationship. Tim's eyes widen at the fact, your eyes darting to the side, a little embarrassed. Your other friends drag her off of him.

"Why didn't you tell me I'm your first?" He whispers.

You pout. "Didn't want to come off as inexperienced."

"That's not something to be embarrassed about." He hums.

"You would've treated me differently if you knew."

Tim sucks in a breath. "Yeah. I would've."

"Point proven." You hum. "Thank you for the flowers. They're very pretty."

He opens your door for you, waving bye to your friends. You sit there, staring at him as he stares at you.

"Where are we going?"

"Remembered how you joked about being taken on a first date to Costco?"

"No." Your jaw drops.

"I have a membership." He pulls the card from his wallet, and you gasp.

"You spoil me."

"Save that for when you're actually inside."

You fake a swoon, smiling at him sweetly, lips curled upward and brows relaxed. Tim hums, pulling on his own seatbelt, handing you the aux to the car, and you put the flowers onto the backseat. You plug your phone in as he starts driving, and you blink at all the buttons on the car.

"What are these for?"

"One of them's for missiles."

"What." Your jaw drops.

"I'm kidding." He laughs. "Most of them are for defense. Bruce's very into cars."

"I can tell." You mumble. "What are we getting at Costco?"

"Your green tea," He stops at the light. "And whatever else intruiges you."

"Can I get a Costco hotdog?"

"Yeah." He laughs. "You want a slice of pizza too?"

"Maybe." You scrunch your nose. "Moreso a hotdog."

"We can get whatever you want." Tim hums.

"Wow, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to woo me." You laugh. (Tim hates the way he notices your eyes crinkle.)

"And if I am? It is Valentines."

"Woah." You mumble. "I didn't consider that."

"Yeah?" For someone so good at reading people, Tim sure struggled with reading you.

"I don't know." You frown. "Are you trying to swoon me? Or are you trying to get into my pants again?"

"Whichever one helps you sleep at night."

You laugh. "Using my own words?"

"You speak better than I do." He hums. "Do you want your hotdog first or later?"

"Later." You unlock your seatbelt, leaving the car. It looks awfully unassuming on the outside. Great for Gotham, you suppose.

"I'll push the cart." Tim holds his hand out for you and you take it, fingers wrapped in his. He lets go once he gets a cart, handing you his membership as you show the worker at the door. "Want a new iPad?"

"You know, I should make you buy Costco for me." You joke, patting his shoulder.

"Two hundred thirty two billion dollars? That's Bruce's money, not mine."

You snicker. "You have it memorized?"

"Stock trading for the company." He hums. "Stock is currently around five hundred dollars per stock."

"How the hell do you have time for schoolwork?"

"Coffee and an insane amount of self-discipline." He hums. "And revenge procrastination."

"At least you have some sort of weakness." You finally catch the drinks aisle, rushing in to find your green tea, Tim following behind you.

"I'll get it." He hums, reaching and pulling the green tea with ease, sliding it to the bottom of the cart. "Want anything else?"

"Can we browse?"

"Yeah."

You wander through the aisles, a comfortable silence washing over the two of you before you decide to speak up.

"Does Alfred need anything?"

"He's probably glad he has the house to himself for once." Tim hums. "Almost all of us are on a date."

You blink in surprise. "Even the youngest?"

"Except Damian." He hums. "Bruce is out too."

"Woah." You mumble. "The house must be quiet."

"Yeah." he hums.

"That did not answer my question." You pout.

"I texted. He sent a list." Tim mumbles, sharing the list. "You don't mind shopping for my family?"

"No." You smile. "I like grocery shopping with someone. It feels warm."

"Yeah? We're in the snacks aisle, so let's start there."

The two of you work your way through Costco, checking off Alfred's list of groceries, double-checking everything over when you finished. Tim grabs a rotisserie chicken for Alfred without it being on the list, and he grabs a tray of croissants, knowing Cass would probably want something sweet to snack on during the day. You text your friends to check if they want anything, and only one of them responds, telling you she's good. You have a feeling the other two are hooking up.

"Anything they want?"

"No." You smile.

"And you?"

"Just the green tea."

Tim raises a brow. "I'll feel bad if I only get stuff for my family while on a date with you."

"The tea is plenty." You beam. "I promise."

You help Tim unload the cart and then reload it, rocking on your feet as he swipes his card, not even checking the price twice, handing you the receipt as he pushes the cart out. The worker swipes the highlighter through the list, and Tim takes a right instead of a left.

"The car's—"

"Hotdog." He hums. "Can you get us two hotdogs? Card's in my wallet."

You take his card and get the hotdogs, tossing them into the cart as you hold the two paper cups.

"What do you want to drink?"

"What are you getting?"

"A little bit of everything."

"Then get me the same thing." He smiles.

You wonder if he's going to hate the flavor on his tongue. Though it's not your problem as you fill the cups, putting them in the holder as Tim pushes the cart back to his car, the two of you loading it into his trunk.

"We'll drop by my place first, and then we can drive to the next place I have planned." He takes the drink, straw in his lips. He blinks at the taste, eyes widening. "Wow. That's a flavor."

"Certainly is." You smile. "Like it?"

"Tastes like something Dick would have." He hums. "I'll push the cart. Get in the car."

You sit in the passenger's seat, opening your hot dog as Tim comes back.

"Ever had one before?" He opens his own, biting down.

"Yeah. My friends and I drop by pretty often." You hum. "Love the hotdogs."

"I should do that." He hums. "Alright. My house."

You chew on your hotdog as he heads toward his place, the music from your phone filling the car.

You wonder for a moment if Tim was actually into you. You have no doubt that you're important to him, but it was a little strange. You had slept with him before. What does that make you two? Friends with benefits? Friends who have slept together? Plain friends? A situationship? You chew on your bottom lip as he drives, mind elsewhere. Also, what were you with Red Robin? You can't call yourself a fan when you've had his tongue stuck down your throat before. There was too much to consider and ask. Maybe you should just ask Tim. (You don't, out of a fear of something. You're not too sure of what.)

When the two of you arrive, You help Tim sort the stuff into bags, carrying them to the front door as he unlocks it with ease, calling for Alfred and Damian to help with the groceries. Damian comes first, taking some of the bags from you, Alfred after him, showing you where the kitchen is.

"Thank you very much for running groceries for me, Master Tim." He nods. "You too, miss."

You smile. "No biggie. We were at Costco and I figured it'd be nice to do the groceries for you."

"It's very kind of you."

"Are you Drake's girlfriend?" Damian's next, eyeing you up and down, a scowl on his face.

"No?"

He frowns harder. "You deserve someone better."

"I really don't think—"

"Demon brat." Tim's voice comes out like a warning. "Don't tell my date to leave me."

"Is she not your girlfriend? I would have expected you to have already—"

"That's enough." Tim warns again, and Damian shuts up this time.

"Shall I prepare food for the two of you?"

"No need." Tim hums. "We have reservations."

"You made reservations? Do I need to change?" You follow after him, waving bye to Alfred and Damian.

"No. It's at the diner. It's Valentine's, which means there's twice as many couples there."

"Ohhh." You follow him into the car, sitting back down as he starts toward the diner again. "Is that all you had planned?"

"Also planned to take you home after this." He pauses. "My home. I was thinking we could use the movie room in the manor, granted none of my brothers get to it first. If that doesn't work, we can use the projector in my room."

"Are we gonna have sex?" You wiggle your brows playfully.

"If you want, I can have you screaming my name loud enough for Metropolis to hear."

You wince, looking to the side, embarrassed. "Holy shit."

"Expect the unexpected."

"I'm going to throw a milkshake at you for that."

"Cry about it."

The two of you get to the diner just in time for the reservation, your regular orders already memorized by the waiter. You're a little embarrassed, but you suppose it's not the worst thing ever. Tim finds the time asking if you enjoyed the day so far instead. You pull out your laptop as you wait for your order, continuing with the assignment due soon.

"Writing?"

"Yeah. Writing." You puff out your cheeks, fingers flying on the keyboard.

"What are you writing?"

You look up from your screen to stare at him. You don't say anything, but Tim gets the idea.

"Need a reference?"

"Actually," You lick your lips, scrolling up through the doc. "I'd like to meet Red Robin again."

"Your date's right here and you're talking about another man?"

"Writing fanfiction for him right now." You deadpan. "Need to know his kinks."

Tim coughs in embarrassment, forgetting how straightforward you could be.

"For a commission?"

"No. Out of curiosity." You pause. "I was curious to know what he would be into."

"Why not base him off of me?"

You raise a brow at Tim, swallowing thickly.

"Is this your way of telling me you don't want me writing fanfiction of other men?" You ask him one question, eyes asking another.

"Yeah." He smiles. "Yes to both questions."

You close your laptop when your milkshake and sandwich arrive, and Tim kicks you gently under the table.

"So what was the other question?" He raises a brow.

"I'll tell you in the car," You smile cheekily. Tim knows what the other question is. He just wanted to see if you were bold enough to ask him. The two of you continue with dinner, catching each other up with your friends' lives, smile on both of you's lips as the sun sets and the moon rises, Tim paying as he said he would. You take his hand into yours as the two of you walk to his car, and he opens the door for you, joining you on the other side.

"Before I ask," You lean over slightly, lips brushing his. "Can I have a kiss?"

"That's a question too, but I won't say no." He leans in for his lips to meet yours, hand moving to hold your face, tongue swiping on your bottom lip, darting into your mouth. You moan into the kiss as his other hand squeezes your waist, and you pull away from him suddenly, licking your lips for whatever taste of him was left. You grin at him cheekily, reaching to wipe the lipstick from around his lips, your voice lowering.

"The question I actually wanted to ask was if you were Red Robin." You grin, wiping the lipstick on a napkin leftover from Costco. "And I knew you'd read it off of me."

"How'd you guess?" He tilts his head at you, eyes still on your lips.

"First it was your perfume," You smile. "Then it was the way you kissed me." You pop the vanity mirror down, reaching into your hoodie for your lipstick. "Not to mention the way your forearms feel the same. Both of you have a specific way that you hold me when making out. I think that was the nail in the coffin."

You pucker your lips when you finish with the lipstick, tossing it back into your hoodie, closing the vanity mirror.

"So? Where are we headed now?"

"My place." He mumbles. "Have to have you."

"You could have me in the car."

"As much as I would like that," He exhales. "That would be very uncomfortable for you."

"Can I have you in the costume sometime later on?" You bat your lashes at him. "If you'd let me, of course."

"Yeah. Anything you want." His head thumps as he stops at the light.

There's a long, drawling silence before you speak up. You're scared, but you might as well ask.

"What are we, again?" You lean over slightly to stare at him. Tim notices you haven't put music on.

"If you'd let me," Tim licks his lips, "lovers."

"Then lovers we are."

The second time Tim gets to have you, he's so much gentler, fingers kneading the skin between them, curling them inside of you until you're a whimpering mess, worried that you'd wake someone in his family, his kisses assuring you that all of his brothers were out doing the same thing he was, wining and dining someone they loved, rooms also soundproof. Tim goes back to you after that, soaked fingers and sheets, licking your cum from his fingers, eyes locked with yours the entire time, pressing his lips to yours after he finishes. Your eyes roll back at how lewd he was being, but you suppose it's what the two of you deserve after flirting for so long.

Tim makes sure you're properly pampered in bed, your legs twitching after your third orgasm, begging for him to fuck you, tears in your eyes. How could he say no? Not when you looked so dazzling under him. He seems to understand something as he pushes into you this time, pausing to drink your form in, still as pretty as you had been before. This time, arguably prettier. You were so much prettier when you were crying about how you were his, cunt still oversensitive from your previous orgasms. Your face twists in pleasure, crying about how you were unable to take another release yet relenting as Tim drilled into you. You have no idea how he has the energy, and you're too tired to ask when he finishes.

You grimace as he peels you from the bed, setting you on the tile seat as he starts a shower for the two of you.

"I love you." You mumble. Not on accident or out of habit this time.

"How long?"

You exhale. "Don't remember."

"Approximation."

"Since I fell at your feet at orientation, maybe." You whisper into the mist as he helps you wash up.

"I love you too." Tim mumbles into your skin as he presses a kiss to where he had left hickeys.

"How long?" You repeat his question, staring at him as he stares down at you, moving the shower head to wash the bubbles from your skin.

"Since Christmas." He whispers back.

You smile at him.

"Since I told you I loved you on accident?"

"Yeah." He stops the water, wrapping you in a towel, drying you. You hum in satisfaction as he dries the two of you off, your fingers warm around his wrist when you grow tired.

"Can we sleep? I usually air dry my hair."

"Yeah." He presses a kiss to the crook of your neck, lifting you into his arms as he takes the two of you back to bed.

"What tag would you put on our story?"

"Idiots in love." You smile as you drift off, and Tim presses his lips to your forehead.

His tag would have been requited love.

#tim drake x reader #dc x reader #red robin x reader #☾.nsfw #guys this fic is everythign to me btw I like love this fic #easily top 5 fics I've ever written #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #☾.fics #☾.pretty bird

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j0eyj0rdis0n · 6 months ago

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RAMMSTEIN - Teacher AU: what subject they teach

Okay… I know some of this isn’t very realistic, especially as this takes an American perspective on school. But…

I do what I want lmao

BUT Rammstein as teachers has been infecting my brain for a fat minute now. Ever since I read this one fic on ao3 I’ve been dying. I needed to get this out. And lord knows I have more to say than just this one little imagine post. So if you’re interested, PLEASE let me know. I won’t shut up about it then.

TILL LINDEMANN - Vocational Education

Teaches woodworking, metals, and automotive technology. He does it all so classes are pretty sparse. And hard to get into…

He likes the idea that the kids who are seeking out his classes are the ones who are truly interested in the subject. Especially since his classes are decently difficult to get into.

And honestly being a more specialized teacher, he has more freedom to do as he wishes when it comes to the syllabus and activities done in the classroom.

I mean who else in the school is going to know what to teach in that position besides him?

No one.

So he does as he wants!

He definitely holds extra workshops during his free period or before/after school.

PAUL LANDERS - Band/ Orchestra

He has the degree to teach all sorts of performing arts but he really embraced teaching band and orchestra. He’s always been a music guy.

Very supportive to his students! Always making sure they find the right instrument to play if they’re just starting out.

Or showing them different pieces or artists to keep students engaged and exploring music!

One of the more eccentric teachers of the bunch.

But because of that the students absolutely LOVE him. Like they beg to sit in the band room to eat lunch. (Which is against the rules) but he agrees anyways.

Also sponsors the fall play and spring musical with Flake and Richard. Mainly in charge of the music and band, but definitely helps Richard with the casting and auditions.

CHRISTOPH SCHNEIDER - History/ Social Studies

Rigid exterior, soft when you get through to him. Students either love or hate him. NO in between.

He prefers to teach AP European history, AP World history, or AP Psychology. He likes it when the students are actually there because they’re interested, not because the class is required.

Like I said before, students either love or hate him. So they either avoid him like the plague or they follow him like a cult.

Honestly, he likes his alone time, so he’ll 100% lock his door during lunch time so none of the students who enjoy him will bother him.

Hands out a shit ton of homework.

Also has no patience or sympathy for troublemakers. He looks like he got two hours of sleep the night before, don’t test him.

FLAKE LORENZ - Visual Arts

Teaches basic arts classes like 2D arts, and 3D arts. But he also delves into the more complex classes like AP drawing/painting, advanced ceramics, and AP art history.

He likes each class for its own reasons, but his favorite is advanced ceramics. He loves the freedom and loves seeing all the interesting designs and pieces the students make.

Also, just like Schneider and Till, he likes that the classes besides basic 2D and 3D arts are sought after because the students actually take interest in the subject matter

Definitely the kind of teacher who fosters a calm environment. Students are allowed to wear headphones but no music playing out in the open.

More often than not sits beside his students and works on pieces of his own!

He also works closely with Paul and Richard when it comes to the school plays and musicals. He helps make backdrops and props. Definitely groans and moans about it, but in the end he loves seeing his work on the stage. Even if it’s on an incredibly amateur level.

RICHARD KRUSPE - Language arts and English

Teaches English language classes, advanced creative writing, speech, and AP literature and composition. Yeah he forced some other unlucky teacher to take on the basic creative writing classes.

He didn’t want to deal with the dumb brats who can’t write or spell. Fuck them kids.

He enjoys speech and English the most, he definitely likes the way the kids squirm when they’re forced to stand up front and speak.

Not a big fan of homework. He honestly neglects grading so he just makes it easy and gives out a one page worksheet, nothing crazy.

Helps with casting and oversight with the students in the plays and musicals. He enjoys helping with lines and memorization!

OLIVER RIEDEL - Buisness/ Computer classes

Teaches intro to business, personal finance, AP business management, and typing/basic computer applications.

He likes that it’s decently laid back. That if there’s a problem, there’s always an answer. Press the “A” key and “A” will appear. You know?

Questions in his class are pretty self explanatory and the guides he gives for the students to work through, aren’t too hard at all.

It’s decently hard to not pass his class.

I mean… shit… there’s no homework. None.

He’s pretty reserved, so it’s not often students talk to him for anything besides questions. Which for the most part he doesn’t mind. But when there’s that one rare student who actually gives a shit about how his day is going, it definitely makes him smile.

#rammstein #till lindemann #paul landers #christoph schneider #schneider #flake lorenz #christian lorenz #richard z kruspe #richard kruspe #oliver riedel #rammstein imagines #teacher au

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betterlivingindustriesss · 1 month ago

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[Image Description: a fuzzy photo of white daisies and other red flowers in a glass cup END ID]

Got my physics final back today, I scored 83% despite it being one of the worst tests i have ever taken in my life!

Stayed up till twelve last night finishing up (!) the syllabus review stuff so now i'm fully ready to go, i’ll take a mock this afternoon

After i get home: wash hands, watch an episode of the bear, make a fun drink, start on the mock

After i finish the mock: go downstairs and have a snack (noodles!!!) and then grade the test

After grading the test: clean room, finish upcoming homework, final review of any concepts that weren’t crystal clear and highlight them in my notes

This is my last day of skipping dance class, i need to start getting back on track with my extracurriculars making plans for the summer

Summer goals

10k on tiktok

Post regularly on tumblr as a journal

Start photography business

go mushroom foraging

geocache with four different people

go to at least three estate sales

Write a book

make a short film

start teaching art classes and coding classes

Win a hackathon

win an art competitions

finish summer courses with full understanding of materials

fix my weird hack job of a haircut

run a 5k or a marathon

read 100 books

stay on routine and find a well-paying job

start cooking regularly

start an Acapella group

Next year's goals

Concurrently enroll for multivar

Self study ap psych and apes

Apply for a summer program for next year before everything closes again TvT

qualify for TOC in Lincoln Douglas debate and start doing some speech events on the side

attend at least four dance competitions

5.0 GPA with all a's

make at least five new friends

create and maintain an official resume

alsooo does anyone have any recommendations on matcha kits I could buy for my matcha-obsessed friend's birthday? she loves it but she only has the powder right now and i'm not sure how she prepares it

#study #study motivation #studyblr #studyinspo #chaotic academia #honest academia #journal #realistic studyblr #student life #studyspo #I hate high school #girlblogging

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darwinquark · 18 days ago

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This might get lost in the many asks you receive but what was the moment in the show when you started shipping Jughead and Veronica?

aw, not at all! I saw that clearance Dair potential EARLY girl. episode one. she dropped her little Capote reference to a blankfaced Archie and Betty and I was like if this girl doesn't walk into AP English in her 'sorry you're poor' pearls and wrist-crooked Chanel bag and drag that contrarian beanie dude through the mud over Hemingway in a way that leaves him leveled and pissed off and a little horny then there's no god here

and it turns out there's no god here!

but it's fine bc I wrote it as a flashback while he was going down on her in tkof looooooool

in fact, happy jeronica as academic rivals day:

He pulled back and slid his mouth down the valley of her ribcage. Dragged it below the hollow of her abdomen. He caught her thighs in his hands and pushed them up, spreading her wide, and she arched at the sudden heat of his mouth between her legs. Her eyes fell shut in a rush of sensation. She moaned at the broad press of his tongue. Her hands snaked down toward his head, closing around fistfuls of his hair, and for some reason as she lay there beneath him, orgasm building under the hot cave of his mouth, she was struck by the memory of the first time she'd seen him. It was the day before they'd officially met at Pop's. She'd just walked into her first ever Riverdale class, an AP English course with a syllabus full of books she'd read in middle school, and when the teacher introduced her to everyone, she'd flashed her nuclear strike of a smile to a class that had zealously and unanimously smiled back. Everyone except for one person. A guy with kicked out legs and a mess of dark hair peaking out of a beanie. He'd just stayed slouched in his desk, arms crossed, expression rife with boredom and the barest hint of ridicule. Eying the bag hanging daintily from the crook of her arm. The glint of precious pearls around her neck. Blatantly stamping the label 'brainless Manhattan socialite' straight across her forehead. She remembered her eyes thinning at the corners. Her spine straightening just the slightest bit, humming with the familiar thrill of being underestimated. She'd taken a seat in the desk diagonally behind him, haloed in the deferential looks she was getting from the rest of the student body, and reminded herself that she didn't have to prove herself to anyone. Her hand nonetheless flew up at the first chance to answer a question. She made a point to use the words 'quixotic' and 'abstruse' in her response. He didn't turn back to look at her, but she noticed he threw the words 'recondite' and 'labyrinthine' into a different answer a few minutes later. She slipped in a casual 'imponderabilia' while discussing Kafka. He commented on the 'bovarism' of Pangloss in Candide. The words got progressively more esoteric as the class went on, bordering on ridiculous even to her, but she felt herself keep shifting the goalposts anyway, determined to get something out of him. Any sign of defeat. Even just a reconsidering glance. He kept his head doggedly angled forward the entire class, slumped in his seat like a bum on a park bench, complete with the ratty grey beanie to match. When the bell finally rang, she'd been swarmed by a hive of students—girls wondering where she'd gotten her dress from, guys more interested in what was underneath it—but he'd slinked off without a second glance, all cynicism and self-seclusion, an impassive gaggle of lank and flannel. That is, until right before he crossed the door, when just for the barest of seconds, his gaze cut back to hers. Grey-green. Sharp. She met it with something cool and perfunctory, and he held it for a silent beat before disappearing into the hallway. She remembered her gaze lingering on the door, wondering in equal measure if she'd just met her first Riverdale adversary, what it'd take to shut his smug mouth up, and what his hair looked like underneath that godawful beanie. And now here she was, hands tangled tightly in that very same hair. Falling apart under that very same mouth. Well-aware of what it took to shut it up. Make it groan. Make it beg.

#jeronica #riverdale #jughead jones #veronica lodge #good times #riverdale fic #reply

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boredcoldandhungry · 1 year ago

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If there was one thing Nico was grateful for, it was his planning period. Everyday between teaching second period AP US history and fourth period art history he could reply to angry emails, indulge into his candy stash, grade, write angry emails, refill his water, and go to the bathroom.

He had somehow ended up with the same exact schedule from one term to the next. He followed his second period out to run some arrends around the school and was scared shitless when his room was occupied with about 10 freshman. Two things were frightening about this, A: he didn't have a class third period, B: he didn't teach freshman at all this term (he could tell they were freshman, they had the scared look in their eyes).

"Woah you guys can't be in here, get to class!" He urged, slamming his stack of copies onto his desk.

"Uhm, this is our class," one of the braver ones said, " aren't you Mr. -" she knit her eyebrows together and glared at her schedule, "Di Angelo-Solace?"

Nico took a deep breath. "What class do you guys think you're in?"

The same girl, they're leader apparently, responded. "Honors English 9?"

It took all Nico had in him to not point at the various historical posters on his walls and the whiteboard dedicated to Italian verbs. He in no way taught English.

He took a deep breath (again). "There are two Mr. Di Angelo-Solaces in this school. I teach history and Italian, the other one teaches english. Go upstairs to room 302. I'll call him and let you know you're all coming."

The leader of the bunch seemed confused, but not confused enough to ask questions. She quickly gathered her things and walked out the door, causing everyone else to follow her.

Nico sighed and sat down at his desk. He knew Will had his cell off during work hours so he reached to the hardly used landline on his desk and dialed Will's classroom.

"Hel-lo" a sing-songy voice responded.

Nico smiled at the voice, "Hi love, it's me, sorry to bother I know it's syllabus day."

"It's no prob, what's up?"

"Missing half your class?"

"Yup. Got em?"

"Yup I just sent them up. Throw them a solid and don't mark them tarty. My fault I wasn't in the room when they first came in. I think I also generally scared them."

"Okay, will do, love you."

''Love you too, hun."

Nico put the phone back in it's holder and gave a soft sigh, turning to his desktop and opening his email.

next part

#this is a soft launch #This is just a sneak peak of whats after daydreaming.#solangelo #fanfic #pjo #will solace #nico di angelo #ao3 fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #solangelo fanfiction #the sun and the star #teacher au #teacher Nico #teacher will #teehee #I wrote this in half an hour so sorry if it's not the best #ik I should be working on the main fic ikik #if anyone remembers my ramble ab this au in one of my author notes on ao3 you're a real one #should I put this on ao3?

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my-castles-crumbling · 3 months ago

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Anon Advice Asks - March 23rd

midnights anon, remove anon (new-ish), uncle's birthday anon (new), midnights anon (again <3), the fifth one I answered privately

Midnights anon

Hello! It’s midnights anon! Incoming ramble/vent. Sorry!

My spring break isn’t even over and my school is already stressing me out.

Like, I got an email that I’m in danger of my grades not being released because i haven’t completed enough community service hours??? Like, it is MARCH??? School ends in June??? I have 2 and a half months to do some service??? I literally emailed yall that I’m completing them in early April??? Calm down????

Also my school says we can’t have any homework or studying over spring break. And 2 months ago my teacher said that we were gonna have a test on the 28th. So a week after school began again. But late Thursday (so basically today) she told us she made a mistake in organizing the test TWO MONTHS PRIOR so now we have to take the massive AP bio test the WEDNESDAY AFTER BREAK ENDS. And if we complain she’ll probably say “oh you had 2 months to prepare” even though we hadn’t completed the unit when she told us, she told us it was Friday, not Wednesday so a ton of people organized their study schedules around that, AND ALSO SHE HAD TWO MONTHS TO MAKE SURE THIS DIDN’T MESS WITH ANY OF THE SCHOOL’S SCHEDULING SO WHAT THE HECK???

So now I’m annoyed (by the community service email) and angry (at my test being 2 days early), I’m sore (because this entire break I’ve been physically EXHAUSTED (I wasn’t able to workout for like 2 weeks for some reason??? When I would try to do like a push up (which I’m usually good at) my muscles just said no and I just flopped on the floor??????), school starts soon and I have to study during the little amount of break I have left (even though that goes against the school handbook and there’s nothing I can do about it!??!?!)

I’m just so angry and upset

I just wanna be done with school, I want to be older and live on my own and schedule my own classes and have a syllabus that actually MEANS something instead of being moved around. I want to be away from my parents, I want to be done with school. Every little thing is bothering me now because of the bad mood I’m in. I just want peace, and quiet, and not to be at the whims of people who are so bad at scheduling that they break the student handbook, and email me and stress me out over break. I’m going CRAZY I swear

Thanks for reading, I’m just so done

Ugh that all sounds so frustrating. I hate when it all builds up like that- one thing after another. I forget, are you anywhere near graduation? Like is there a light at the end of the tunnel lol?

Either way, remember that it won't always be like this. I promise it'll get better <3 Good luck on your test, too!

___

Remove anon

to the person who asked me to remove some things- it should all be gone! if I missed anything, please message me with the link and I'll do it asap!

___

uncle's birthday anon

Hi!!

I've made a decision but I'm half thinking that it's the wrong decision based on the way my mum reacted?

Basically, my great uncle's birthday is very soon, so my nan has arranged a big dinner for him. She messaged asking me if I was free to go, and I've currently just said I'll check if I'm free.

I am free, I just REALLY don't want to go.

My great uncle is a massive reform supporter (I'm from the UK, reform is a party that's essentially as right wing as UK politics gets), told me to "watch out for the leftists" when I moved to Bristol, consistently makes misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic AND racist remarks, and I really struggle to want to be around him.

It's not just that, my entire extended family will be there and most of them are also very right wing.

I'm queer, trans and mixed race, so I'm essentially the one they all get to point and laugh at. I don't see a point in subjecting myself to that when I'm in university and not even close to being in the same city as them, but when I told my mum I wasn't going to go she started begging me to because "this could be his last birthday" and essentially said I need to be there, play nice and not talk back if ever he says anything that ruffles my feathers/is actively against a group that I'm part of.

I know it's only four-ish hours, but I always feel ten times worse leaving these events than I do going in. Would it be awful of me to tell my nan I'm not free because of uni stuff? I just don't want to have to put up with seeing all of them in a massively concentrated environment again.

I don't think it's awful at ALL. You absolutely should not be subjected to a person like that, whether they're family, old, or not. If he's actively against an inherent part of you, then you are allowed to not want to be near him. Good for you for creating boundaries.

I do the same thing with some family members and people get upset with me too. But you have to look out for your own mental health and your own wellbeing and there's nothing wrong with doing that. Do what's right for you.

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midnights anon

Hello! It’s midnights anon! Again 😅

I’m so so sorry for another vent and stuff but this day has just gotten worse and worse (TW: suicidal thoughts. I am not in danger though!!!!! Please do not feel obligated to worry or stress about me!!! I am okay!!!!)

My parents took me to the Nigerian embassy to renew my passport. They told me nothing expect I just had to bring my school ID. I get there and we sit in silence while waiting for our turns to renew our passports, I can’t ask questions about the government because it’ll around suspicion or whatever, and it’s just generally boring. I wore a pair dirtyish pants and a beat up cardigan since I figured I just had to answer some questions and we’d go home. My hair wasn’t to my liking, i was just feeling gross but lo and behold, I had to take an ID photo. My parents told me none of this (and my school ID didn’t even matter because it didn’t have my address on it!!!)

Then they asked me if I wanted to go to the vinyl store (they didn’t tell me we were going anywhere else other than the embassy). I was tired but said sure. Then they asked if I wanted to have them drive in the complete opposite direction to get pants since I needed more. I said “oh… uhm if you want to? I wanted to go to the vinyl store” and dad started getting mad because I didn’t want to go to the clothing store even though they offered to take me to a fun store where I get vinyl??? Why would you ask me and then be upset? The math isn’t mathing

So then we head to the vinyl store, while I’m looking and feeling awful, I’m overstimulated, I’m tired, and then lo and behold they decide to take me to a thrift store. I try to be excited about it but I’m just not feeling it. I told them that they didn’t tell me about how many places we were going to and they just brushed me off and ignored it. I thrifted, found some cool stuff (some REALLY cool funky stuff that feels more like the new me) and I showed my mom and she was so disapproving. Literally, she saw the funky jeans and said she wasn’t used to that “figure” and a cool sweater and said “hmmm. Well doesn’t that kinda make you look a LOT bigger????? Hmm???” And I brushed her off so I wouldn’t get more upset but she ranted about my tone and voice and then we finished thrifting.

Then we head to the vinyl store but nooooooe we just have to look at a mini Japanese supermarket. I understood that I was being kinda selfish by feeling so bitter about not being prepared to go out this much today so I’d been trying to suck it up but I was so so so tired. Then we found a cool lipstick/lipgloss thing and my dad was like “ha… it’s MAKEUP… but FINE I guess you can buy it, hahaha” (and I not fully sure why that bothers me so much, but it’s probably because over the past few years he’s kept talking about my body and being a girl and how I have to keep “lean” and wants to know if “other girls at school show more flesh than others” (his exact words” and talks about my “boobage” even when I tell him to stop, he asks about my armpits and if they’re hairy, and has put on a front that I typically associate with not liking girls’ autonomy (the “big bad dad” whose super against makeup and his “little precious girl daughter” growing up and talking to boys)).

But FINALLY we finish the super market (and I got the lipstick. It looks awesome so I’m happy about that) and we finally make it to the record store and then after I pick my records my parents say I have to pay for 100% of the records I’m getting. Which would be fine if I actually was allowed to leave the house more often and GET A JOB but because of how overprotective and insistent on staying home all the time, I CANT and therefore only have the pocket money they give me. I do some convincing and so now I only have to pay half the cost of the records. I ask my mom how much money I have and she says “360 dollars” so I get enough vinyl so I pay $50. After we buy the vinyl she looks at my bank account and says “oh sorry actually you only have 328.” Like??! THANKS??? I hate going below 300 so I literally did the math, I removed records that I was going to get, and you’re telling me I still went under because you didn’t even fact check your statement?? THANKS.

So FINALLY we go home, and I start making myself some boba tea that we got from the market and I try on the lipstick, then my mom tries it on, and then I say something that makes my mom furious. I say “I wonder if dad would try the lipstick” and she gets mad. She says “NO. YOUR FATHER WILL NOT BE WEARING MAKEUP.” And I politely ask why, even though I’m confused because we were talking normally and then she blows up at me. She then replies “I JUST DONT WANT HIM TO. I simply don’t want my HUSBAND to wear ANY LIPSTICK. OKAY???! THATS JUST MY PERSONAL LEVEL OF COMFORT!!!”. I say fine and I haven’t actually talked to my parents a lot for the evening. I unpacked my records and put them away (I got Hozier, Cigarettes after Sex, and Peach Pit which I’m happy about)

This whole day has SUCKED. And now I know my parents don’t see me as an equal. They see me as a dog. They parade me around, take me places that they think I’ll like to watch me run around in, even when I’m tired. And I can’t stay mad at them because “we’re doing so much for you!! We’re buying you things!!! We’re spending time with you” as they stand looming over me at the checkout counter, paying for me, while I’m embarrassed and feeling so small and stupid. They talk over me. The moment I say something the other interrupts me and they start talking about something “actually important”. They make plans of what to make me do in front of me, like “let’s make her listen to this music, and make her try wearing this, and make her do blah blah blah” (and hearing them call me her sucks even more since I’m not out to them). I’ll ask them things and they will not respond. I will talk to them and they will do nothing. I will walk away from them ignoring me and they don’t react. What the hell.

Really, what the hell did I do wrong to be treated as less than them? I thought I deserved an ounce of respect at least? Since I’m also a human being? But I guess not. I’m just a dog or a puppet or something they make do things.

I know it’s supposed to get better and stuff. I know being an adult is better than being a minor and in the school system as a student. I know that being an adult who’s done with schooling and can do whatever they want is even better than that but it’s hard :(

I’m sorry this is so long. I’m sorry I keep coming and venting here.

Thank you for reading

Hi! Please don't be sorry for inboxing me! I don't mind at all!

I don't think it's a bad thing to want to know what the schedule is. Being out all day can be overwhelming and it's nice to be able to mentally prepare. I also think what your mom said about the makeup was sad and what your dad said about your clothes was so awful.

I think a lot of parents forget that their kids are people and have feelings. Sure, parents are in charge, but they can still respect kids' needs. Have you asked your parents, at a time when you aren;t out and everyone is calm, to give you more notice of schedules and when things are happening? Do you think they'd be willing to do that?

Sending love!!

#midnights anon #remove anon #uncle's birthday anon #asks #ask #ask cas

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