#I’m not like *confident* about my Spanish but I’m picking up more than what’s in English captions when i watch stuff which is neat

[redflannelsheets]

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[feyhunter78]

Fey's 2000 Follower Celebration!!!!

Description: It's Gabi's first day of first grade, and it gets Miguel thinking about when he first arrived in this universe. Pink Pastels Masterlist

“Papá, come on we’re going to be late.” Gabi pouts, tugging on the sleeve of his lab coat, her bright pink backpack sitting snuggly on her shoulders, her dark hair pulled up into a ponytail with a blue hair tie.

“I just want to make sure you have everything Mija.” Miguel says, going over his mental checklist. Lunch? Check. Pencil bag? Check. Name tag on her shirt with her name and classroom number? Check. Colorful tag shaped like a car that indicates she’s drop off and pick up only? Attached securely to her backpack. He knows she has everything; he packed her bag the night before, but he can’t stop himself from worrying.

“Come on, I want to get to school, I want to meet my new friends!” Gabi tugs harder, heading towards the door.

He chuckles. She’s so unlike him in this aspect, she isn’t afraid to put herself out there or go up to kids she doesn’t know and try to make friends. She relishes the challenge, and he almost envies her confidence.

“Okay, okay, we’ll go.” He says, ruffling her hair affectionately.

She smiles up at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him out the door.

He lets he chose the music on the drive there, sings along softly to the Spanish songs she’s chosen, glancing up at the rearview mirror every so often to look at her.

Gabi is staring out the window, memorizing the route—just in case I make new friends, and we want to walk to school together—she told him in a very matter of fact tone.

He can’t imagine ever letting her walk to school. Of course, the streets are safe, he’s made sure of that, and she’d be walking with other kids, and most likely a parent, but his stomach churns at the idea of anything ever happening to her.

“Gabi?” Miguel asks, struck by a sudden need to confirm that she knows just how loved she is.

“Yeah?” Gabi replies, looking away from the window and towards him.

“You know I love you, right?” He asks, a smile tugging at his lips when he sees her smile.

“Yep, more than the sun loves the sky.” She says cheerily, easily, without a single moment of hesitation.

He bites the inside of his cheek to keep the tears from welling in his eyes. He spent so long searching for her, so long trying his best to be a father worthy of her. To never doubt that he loves her, to never wonder and fear as he did growing up.

“And guess what, Papá?” She says in a singsong voice.

“What?”

“I love you more than the moon loves the sea.” She says, beaming at him, her tone filled with that pure honesty that you can only find in children.

And here comes the waterworks.

Miguel manages to stop himself from crying by the time they pull into her school’s parking lot, and Gabi is already unbuckling her seatbelt.

“We’re here! We’re here!” She’s jiggling the door handle, which he would usually ask her not to do, but she’s so excited he can’t bring himself to correct her.

He turns off the car and slides out, opening the door for her and helping her out.

Gabi hits the ground running, already seeing her friends from kindergarten. She bolts forward, the sound of his name being called by another parent taking his attention away for a split second.

It all happens so fast, he looks away then hears the sound of brakes squealing, and someone shouting. His heart races, all his senses going into overdrive. Gabi is wrapped in the arms of a woman in a pink dress, Gabi’s cries filling his ears.

Miguel is there by her side in a second, pulling her from the woman. “What happened?”

“I didn’t see the car, I forgot to look, Papá I’m sorry.” She clings to him, burying her face in his lab coat.

“My goodness, I’m so glad I grabbed her in time.” The woman says, one hand pressed to her heart.

Miguel looks up, for a moment. She’s shorter than him, most people are, with a lovely figure wrapped in soft-looking fabric, her hair styled in a way that frames her face but still keeps it from getting in her eyes.

“Thank you, Ms?” He realizes he doesn’t know her name, he meant to go to Meet the Teacher Night, but he was called away.

“Y/N, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N, I’m Gabi’s teacher.” You say, giving him a bright smile.

“Ms. Y/N, thank you, I’m glad Gabi has a teacher with quick reflexes.”

“Oh yeah, I’m like a cat.” You joke.

He smiles, and he feels Gabi giggle against his coat.

“Like a cat, that’s silly.” She says, pulling herself away from him to face you.

“Oh really? Well, I have a lot more silly sayings ready for the school year if you’d like to hear them?” You tell her, bending slightly at your knees to look her in the eyes.

“Yes, please.” Gabi says, sniffling.

“Okay, but have to hold my hand, and no more running in the street.” You warn playfully, holding your hand out to her.

“Okay!” Gabi says, grabbing your hand, her fear vanishing as she wipes away her tears, her smile back in full force.

But Miguel can’t brush off his fear that easily, and his fingers catch on Gabi’s backpack.

She turns to look at him. “Oh, Papá, I almost forgot.” She lunges at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Bye, I’ll see you later!”

He crushes her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. “Bye Mija, be good.”

She wriggles out of his grasp and grabs your hand again, before waving goodbye and letting you lead her inside the school.

Miguel remains on his knees for a second, watching as you both disappear inside the building, before he stands and brushes himself off, heading towards his car.

He drives to Alchemax in silence, pulls into the parking lot in silence, and walks to his office in silence. He sits at his desk, boots up his computer, and tries to force himself to concentrate. His desk saver is a picture of him and Gabi on her fourth birthday. She’s got icing all over her face and hands, and she’s reaching for him, one tiny hand covered in frosting finding its mark on his cheek. He’s smiling, she’s laughing, and he remembers how when that picture was taken, he was so afraid everything would disappear, and he’d be left with only photos, and videos once again.

 “Hey Miggy, just wanted to check on you.” Monica’s voice floats through the crack in the door she’s made by opening it without knocking, a terrible habit she has, but he finds it less annoying on days like this.

He gives her a weary smile. “It’s easier than last time, but still hard.”

She gives him a sympathetic grimace. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

He thanks her, and she closes his office door, her heels clicking on the tile of the hallway as she walks away.

Miguel smiles as the screen changes to a picture he took. Gabi is three, curled in his lap, head resting on his arm, Oso tucked underneath her arm.

He remembers the adrenaline that rushed through him when he got the alert. How he activated the program that transferred all commands to Jessica and Peter, and left them with a quick goodbye.

This universe’s Miguel was dead, Gabi would be placed in his mother’s care, unless Monica fought hard enough for custody, which he now had no doubt she would’ve done, no matter how chill she tried to portray herself as.

It was the perfect opportunity; one he would not waste. So, he left, took Lyla and his meager possessions, studied all he could about the old Miguel and became him—to an extent.

It was dark in his apartment, quiet, Gabi was asleep, Margo from next door asleep on the couch, some random telenovela playing at a low volume.

Miguel switched it off as he turned on one of the lamps, gently shaking her awake.

She jolted awake then relaxed, giving him a sleepy smile as she patted him on the shoulder and made her way down the hall.

He stood in Gabi’s doorway, almost afraid to go in. Would she recognize him, would she reject him? Somehow be able to tell he was not the father she knew, or would she love him as much as he loved her? They were blood, she was his daughter, and he was her father no matter what universes or canon events separated them.

Miguel gathered up his courage and stepped inside. Her room was different, a forest green instead of pink, with white accents, and glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. She’s still in a crib, she’s three now, soon he’ll need to transition her to a toddler bed, but when he leans against the railing, gazing down at her, he finds he wishes she would stay this little forever.

Her eyes slowly open, and she smiles at him, ever observant his daughter is.

“Hola Mija, lo siento, ¿te desperté?” He whispered, reaching into her crib and gently brushing her cheek with one bent finger. Trsl: Hello daughter, I’m sorry, did I wake you/wake you up?

She grabs it, then grabs more of his hand with surprising strength, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

That’s new.

“Papá’s back.” She said sleepily, cuddling Oso closer.

“Yes, I’m back.” He said softly. “And I’m never leaving you again.”

“Can I sleep with you?” She asked, letting go of his hand to reach out to him, silently asking to be picked up.

“Of course, Mija,” Miguel said, scooping her up and supporting her back with his hand.

“Yay, night Papá.” Gabi whispered, already falling back asleep.

He didn’t sleep that night, just stayed up watching her, marveling over the fact that he got another chance to be with his daughter. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, no matter what happened, he would not lose her.

Gabi is having a great first day at school. She got to pick the music on the way to school, survived running in the street, and her teacher is the nicest person ever.

Ms. Y/N is so beautiful, like a princess, Gabi thinks, and you answer everyone’s questions about yourself, even the silly ones like who your favorite Wild Kratt is and if you have a boyfriend.

She notices that you look a little sad when you answer that one, and it piques her interest. Gabi likes to think of herself as an amateur detective, her and Oso have solved many cases already. Like the case of the missing sock—the dryer ate it, or the case of the monster in the couch—her papa snores when he falls asleep watching TV.

She is also an expert in emotions and drama, Tia Margo says so herself when Gabi figures out the plot to their favorite shows before she does.

So once the school day is almost over, and you come around to her desk to collect her first day worksheet—really, it’s a few questions about her and some really fun things to color, not work at all, which she likes—she asks why you looked sad.

“Sad? Did I look sad? Oh, don't worry, I’m not.” You reassure her, taking her worksheet and adding it to the pile in your arms.

“My papá is single, if your boyfriend makes you sad again, you can marry him instead.” She says confidently, packing up her colored pencils and pens.

“Oh—that’s very nice of you to offer, sweetheart, but I think I’ll stick with my boyfriend.” You tell her, seeming a little bit embarrassed.

She likes when you call her sweetheart, and when you smile at her, and tell her how pretty her drawings are. She wishes you were her mom, not just her teacher.

“Okay…but if you change your mind! Let me know first because Ryan’s mom is single too, and I don’t want her to try and take my papá from you.”

You laugh at that and shake your head affectionately. “You have quite the mind, don’t you?”

“My papa says I’m very smart.” She says proudly.

“And he’s right.” You squeeze her shoulder then move onto her tablemates.

Maybe she’ll ask Lyla to help her come up with a way to get your boyfriend out of the picture? There are plenty of ways, she’s seen them on the telenovelas, but she doesn’t actually know how to find someone’s evil twin. She’ll definitely have to ask Lyla about that.

Gabi isn’t worried, though, the year has just started and there’s plenty of time for you and her papá to fall in love.

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars, @sxnasbitch, @111gltzpzy, @lucilavenxoxo, @ray-rook, @elizamelody, @soapbar99, @trashieboii, @erissco, @gardenof-venus, @vlads-dracula3

TL 2: @yaoisenpaiii, @the-occasional-artist1125, @polireader, @mvchmp, @shadowxfheaven, @hxlytrin, @melomichuwu, @weirdothatwritess, @ash-aragami, @deguzu, @angelarcheangel, @nekotaetae, @milohatesspit, @lollipop974, @miggyyyyohara, @itzsab, @namjooningera, @hana-1235, @amberpanda99, @joceymoo, @tfamidoingwithmylife, @itsashree, @battinsonwhore05, @namjooningera, @tortilla-chips-and-allioli, @fluffy-koalala, @fandom-ash, @angelarcheangel, @yuuotosaka3, @latersgaters-steven, @ariparri, @wanda-maximoff-enthusiast, @lycaninelizard, @angelarcheangel, @yuuotosaka3, @allysunny, @lollipopin, @allysunny, @loves0phelia, @caslistener

[hahaifolded]

HAPPY HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH! In honor of HHM and Día de la Independencia en Mexico (September 16th), here is a little thing I wrote in celebration. I tried finishing this in time for yesterday but alas, life happens. Hope y'all enjoy my weird thoughts!

141 x Mexican!Fem Reader - Al Pastor and Allies Summary: Soap really loves Mexico, especially its women. Tags/Warnings: MDNI, Some Spanish dialogue, SPANISH CURSING, and slight sexism Word Count: 1666

“Why is Alejandro making us pick up lunch? asks Ghost, which sounded more like a whine than a question. 

“He has some things he needs to handle and thought it would give us a chance to see more of Las Alamas,” informs Price who’s directing the boys to the place that Alejandro recommended. 

“Don’t be like that. Live a little. If you’re lucky, we might meet see cute on the way,” jokes Soap. He hits the moody lieutenant on his shoulder to further sell his point. Ghost glares at the Scotsman while Gaz laughs at his fellow sergeant’s antics. 

“Cute or not. I’m just happy we’re off base,” adds Gaz. Ghost just sighs heavily. He didn’t see why Alejandro couldn’t pick up lunch. He actually knows Spanish. Now they’re stuck with Soap’s way-too-confident Spanish. However he couldn’t complain too much as the smell of savory meats fill the air.

After turning the corner, the UK squad arrive to the renowned taqueria that Alejandro obsessed about, an open concrete structure that had a small counter, large grill, and tronco de al pastor towards the back. And it’s clear that Alejandro isn’t the only one who loves this place as the place is packed. All of the mismatched plastic chairs and tables are filled and the line to order is out the open entrance. 

“I guess we wait,” says Price as he goes to the end of the line. Gaz and Soap follow. Ghost grumbles but joins them. The four immediately jump into a lively conversation. Or more like Soap talks and the rest listen. As they moved up in the growing line, Soap went on and on about how beautiful Mexico is. 

“And the women,” he groans in approval, “Guys, if we’re lucky we might leave with some very fond memories of the place.” Gaz and Ghost groan while Price shakes his head. Price looks around the place, hoping that no one heard the crude remarks of his sergeant. Soap notices Price’s wandering eyes, but mistakes it for something else. 

“What is it cap’n? Something catch your eye,” he asks, curiosity dripping in his voice. He looks around too and stops when he notices the lone woman standing behind them. She’s too engrossed in her phone to notice the SAS team. Soap signals her out with a quick flick of his thumb. “This one catch your eye? She's a nice looking one. If you don't jump on that, I will."

Smack.

“That’ll do,” Ghost grunts out, smacking the back of Soap’s head. 

“Siguiente!” yells the woman running the counter. So engrossed in their conversation, the 141 did not realize it was their turn to order. Price ushers Soap forward. The Scotsman pulls out his phone and reads Alejandro’s order to the woman. The older woman reads back their order which Soap confirms. However, before she informs them of their total, a voice from behind speaks up.

“Cobra al güero doble!” The four men turn around to see the woman that Soap had pointed out talking. The woman at the counter asks why you wanted to charge them double.

“Porque este ojete anda hablando de las mujeres mexicanas como si fuéramos animales!” She’s clearly pissed. And she’s not the only one as many people start to boo at the UK boys. 

“What’s happening?” loudly whispers Gaz. Price and Ghost just shrug. 

“I think she’s mad,” informs Soap. He moves away from the counter. He walks towards the woman with his arms out. “Nena, por qué no nos calmamos y hablamos?” But instead of calming the woman down, Soap further infuriates. 

“Nena! Quién putas de crees?” She moved towards Soap but before she can put her hands on him, a booming voice stops her. 

— — — 

Before you can put your hands on the man with the Mohawk, you hear Alejandro’s voice. 

“What’s going on?” He rushes in and stands in between you and the Europeans. The place quiets down at his presence.

“Este hijo de su puta madre,” you began but Alejandro ignores you. 

“It’s been an hour. What happened? Qué fueron a matar el chivo?,” he asks the four men in front of you. You couldn’t believe it. He was checking on them, not you. 

“The line was long and Soap here made himself a friend,” the man in the mask informs. Alejandro looks to his side and finally notices you. 

“Eey, qué haces aquí?” He tries to pull you in for a hug but you push him off. 

“No mames Alejandro. No ves que voy a madrear a este güey y aquí andas saludándolo como si fuera un amigo,” you say. Alejandro looks at you then to the men. He smiles.

“Oh que bueno ya conociste nuestros aliados para este misión.” He pulls you to his side and faces the men. He introduces them as Taskforce 141 and you to them as lieutenant to the all-women squad here in Las Alamas. You’re aware of the 141 but you expected a much more respectable team. 

The 141 stare at you. This was such a horrible first impression on their part. Especially for Soap. “Alejandro, can you tell her that I didn’t—“

“You can tell me yourself!” you spit out. 

“Sorry, I just thought—“

“Yeah, you saw a brown face and fucking assumed, didn’t you? But guess what, some people bother to learn a second language unlike you, gringo?” Soap starts gasping for air, trying to talk his way out of this. Ghost and Price are embarrassed while Gaz just laughs at the whole situation. 

“Oiga, cálmate,” Alejandro adds. You just snap at him, informing the colonel of Soap’s crude remarks about the local women and you. Alejandro is fully aware that Soap was messed up, but tries defend him for the sake of the mission. 

“Look, kick his ass later but now they’re our allies so let’s just forget about it,” he begs. You scoff. You weren’t going to let this go. How could you work with someone who clearly doesn’t respect you or your team? But before you can rebuttal, the 141 captain butts in. 

He grabs Soap by his arm and pushes him towards you. “Apologize,” he commands. Soap spits out an apology, saying how he just wanted to express his deep admiration for this country and its people and meant no harm by his comments. Price pushes him back and adds, “Do forgive him. He’s just a dumbass at the end of the day.” Soap sheepishly smiles.

Price puts his hand out and continues, "Let's start over. I'm John Price, captain of the 141. And these are my men." He re-introduces the other three, Gaz, Ghost, and your favorite, Soap. "As captain, I am appalled by my soldier's actions and will punish him accordingly. But for now, let me pay for your meal. It's the least I can do for your troubles."

You take his hand. "Thank you, Captain. Real kind of you." He moves to the side and lets you walk towards the counter. You grin at Alejandro and begin to order.

All of their jaws drop to the floor as you begin to order. Despite the team having basic Spanish, they all understood that you had ordered 50 tacos de al pastor.

"Y una agua de jamaica por favor," you say, finishing of your order. As the woman sums up the total, you pull Price from his arm. "Cobrale a el, mi sugar daddy va pagar." You rest your head against his arm. The woman informs Price the total. He slowly pulls out his wallet, in disbelief. Lucky for him, he had enough pesos to cover your order.

The woman hands you your ticket. "Gracias," you say in a sing-song voice. You leave the men with a smirk on your face.

Alejandro laughs at them. "She was picking up lunch for her girls." he informs.

-- -- --

Alejandro and the 141 take a seat as they wait for their order. While they catch up, Ghost stares at you. You were talking to the man in charge of cutting the meat. The Lieutenant was impressed. It wasn't everyday that someone was able to get the upper hand over Price.

"Hey, eyes over here," Alejandro warns Ghost. He didn't like the eyes that Ghost was giving you. Ghost rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the table. Which ended up being futile as you join them, standing behind Price and Alejandro. You immediately engage in conversation with your colonel.

You're so lost in your conversation that you mindlessly start to play with the back of Price's head. So touch-starved, Price leans into your touch.

"Our cap'n is going to fall asleep if you keep doing that," Gaz jokes. You stop and look down to see Price's eyes closed.

You let out a soft laugh. "Let him. Poor man must be tired." You smile and take a sip out of your straw. Gaz couldn't help but stare at your smile. It was contagious.

"What're you drinking?" asks Gaz without thinking. He wasn't sure if he was on your good side.

You hand him your drink. "Try it." He hesitates but takes your wide smile as encouragement. He takes a sip and groans in enjoyment.

"Wow, this is good," he says. He couldn't help but admire your kindness. You just met him and were open to sharing your drink.

"Can I try?" asks Soap as he reaches for the cup.

"No." You grab your drink of Gaz. Gaz, Price, and Alejandro laugh while Soap just deflates. Ghost huffs out, not amused that you rejected one of his sergeants.

You glare at the Lieutenant. "Have something to say? Dilo, o qué, te falta huevos." Ghost's eyes widened, shocked that you called him out. Before he could say anything, your number is called.

"Pues, that's me. Thank you again for lunch. Real excited to work with you guys." You throw them a wink and leave to grab your food.

The 141 all stare at you. This mission might be more fun than they expected.

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

Author's Notes: I really hope my Spanish is correct here. I can speak it confidently, but when it comes to spelling, in any language really, I fumble. Also let me know if y'all want a completely English version. I did not provide translations cause I think you can still understand without it but I can if needed.

This was just some random thought that came to me so I said fuck it, why not share it! Very self-indulgent for me. Would love to yell at these guys just for fun!

Is Soap OC here? I don't know. But all I know is that he's a man and men tend to be stupid so that's my reasoning.

[thegirlamongthestars]

game for two - c. alcaraz

author's note: this fic is part of olympic love series and could be considered the continuation of work for it

summary: Along the olympic experience, Valeria and Carlos's flirtation turns into a thrilling game of wits, where each moment together pushes them closer to crossing the friendship line. Who will win this irresistible game?

wc: 1,1k

warnings: kind of suggestive language

This past two days were as busy as ever. Emma and I played our first match and fortunately, we won it comfortably. After that, the trainings haven’t stopped; demanding more physically every time. Another thing that hadn’t stopped were the meetings with other Spanish athletes with which we had formed a very united group.

“The Olympians” is how we named the group chat.

We really enjoyed our time together, hanging at night and playing cards or just talking. Carlos was part of that group and due to the forced proximity (that’s how I lied to myself) I haven’t been able to keep him of my mind. It’s been three days now since our first encounter and our relationship has obviously evolved into a friendship (with a lot of flirting included, according to Emma). In short, we weren’t strangers to each other anymore.

This morning was one of those where I just wanted to have breakfast by myself and get lost in my thoughts. So there I was, 7:30 in the morning, already at the dining hall. I was in front of the fruit bowls when someone placed his tray on the counter slightly hitting mine.

I didn’t need to look up to know it was Carlos—his energy (and the delicious smell of his cologne) was unmistakable.

He glued to my side pretending to ponder over the food options on the display cabinet “Is it a requirement for world champions to get up this early?”

“Some of us wake up with low social battery and like dodging unwanted attention in the early hours of the morning” a faked indifferent tone scaped my mouth. Mentally, I was celebrating his presence.

Carlos laughed and leaned even closer, lowering his voice just for me. I could feel his honey-colored eyes piercing me. “Unwanted? I’m starting to think you’re secretly enjoying this attention”

“Not even in your best dreams”

 I finally looked up, matching his gaze in intensity, to listen to his answer “You’ll be surprised”

His response was elegant, but I definitely knew what he meant by the look he was offering me. He surprisingly left me speachless. He headed to a table to start having breakfast and I was the one following him like a puppy now.

“Why do you think that?” I went back to his first statement. Was I that obvious about liking his attention?

Carlos leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a confident ease that almost made me choke on a strawberry. “Because you’re still here, and you haven’t told me to leave. You could’ve picked any table, Valeria, but you chose this one. I think that says more than you’re willing to admit”

“You’re getting bolder by the day, aren’t you?”

“Just trying to get the truth out of your mouth” he replied smoothly, leaning forward again and prompting himself with his elbows to get our faces closer.

I copied his action and our closeness allowed me to notice how his eyes were focusing on my lips. Inevitably, I did the same and it was the first time I realized how badly I wanted to kiss him. “What if I said you were right?”

Carlos’s playful grin softened slightly, his voice dropping as he replied. “Then I’d say I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

My heart quickened, but I wasn’t about to let him see how much his presence affected me—not yet. I leaned back in my chair, putting just enough distance between us to regain my composure, though I could still feel the heat from where our faces had been inches apart.

“Same page, huh?” I tilted my head, my voice teasing, daring him to keep going. “Maybe I’m just playing along to see how far you’ll go.”

Carlos’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the challenge. “If that’s the case, I’d say you’re enjoying the game a little too much. But don’t worry, I’m more than willing to keep playing until you show your hand.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his confidence, a sound that seemed to surprise even me. “You think I’m that easy to read?

His eyes gleamed with something that made my stomach flip. “Oh, I know you’re not easy. But that’s what makes this fun, Valeria.”

There was a charged silence between us, a tension crackling in the air that made my pulse race.

Carlos leaned forward again, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down my spine.  “How about this—we keep playing our little game, but with a twist. Every time one of us wins a challenge we impose, we get to make a demand of the other. Something that pushes the boundaries a little further each time.”

“Deal,” I said, my voice steady even though my heart was racing. “But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” his eyes flashed with something dark and tempting, and before I knew it, he was even closer, his breath warm against my cheek. “But just know, Valeria—I play to win.”

My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it, and I knew I was teetering on the edge of something big, something I couldn’t come back from. But damn it, I wanted to jump.

“Winning isn’t everything,” I said not backing even an inch, I could almost taste the anticipation hanging in the air. “Sometimes the fun is in the chase.”

Carlos’s hand moved to my cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. His thumb brushed lightly over my skin, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze as he studied my face, as if committing every detail to memory. “Careful what you wish for, Valeria,” he said softly, his voice dripping with desire.

The tingling in my belly intensified, spreading like wildfire through my veins. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out, how much longer I could keep pretending I didn’t want this as badly as he did. But I wasn’t ready to let him have all the control just yet.

“Why? Afraid you might like where this leads?” I teased, my voice shaky but bold.

Carlos’s eyes darkened with determination, and I knew I had pushed him just enough. “Not afraid,” he said, his voice firm and steady. “Excited.”

[1ivinqdeadqir1]

Headcanons for Lalo being his SO’s first please <3

Lalo being his SOs first:

A/N: I’m assuming you meant first time as in sex but I’m gonna list a few other first-times just in case you meant otherwise

Fem!reader (I can try to make a male! Version if you guys want? Lmk!)

WARNING(s): sexual stuff as well as just general Lalo shenanigans and my bad google translate/duolingo basic Spanish

First relationship:

I feel like Lalo would be very entertained by the fact that he’s your first ever experience in a relationship

I think maybe the more manipulative side of him would like that as it means he can sort of bend your interpretation of things

Though that’d hardly ever happen, only when he’s talking about business because other than that, he’s a really good boyfriend!

I can imagine him being very attentive, not in s submissive way but more in a ‘ I must protect you and look after you ‘ kind of way.

He probably worries a lot about you going out alone so he’d make sure to have guys nearby to where you are just to make sure you’re safe

‘Make sure they get home alright, hm?’

He probably also has a few of your friends on Facebook or has their numbers just in case he can’t get a hold of you ( I don’t imagine he’d talk to them otherwise, he likes to give you your own space)

A lot of teasing and kisses when you’re at home with him

“Eres tan suave, amor” he’d mutter whilst pressing his head into your hair or “¡Yo quiero comerte!”

Whether you understand Spanish or not, you certainly find his ramblings adorable

( if you don’t understand Spanish, and you ask him to teach you, he’d make a point of speaking Only in Spanish sometimes and not translating just to test your apprehension!!)

“Lo siento, amor, tienes que practicar, ¿no?”

It would sometimes get very annoying but as you understand more, you’d come to appreciate it greatly

I can imagine you picking up the swear words easily, and probably littering them around, to which he’d scold you for your language 🙄

Best believe he’s taking you on all the best dates, romantic and relaxing just for you both

First Kiss:

I think first kiss goes hand in hand with first relationship, so this would probably come more naturally

Say you’re about to leave after a date, and he leans in, you hesitate for a minute so he asks:

“You okay?”

To which you reply and explain that you haven’t kissed someone before,

He finds that really sweet, and also fuels his ego a bit knowing that he’s your first EVER kiss.

He’d probably leave you with a simple peck that night, and perhaps a few extra kisses on your cheeks and forehead.

like most I imagine he’s not fond of PDA, though can make an exception when dropping you off… is it really PDA if it’s at your doorstep or in his car?

That brings me to /proper/ kisses and making out

Probably happens in his car to begin with, like you’re feeling kind of needy so you give him a peck on the lips

He’d be really surprised that you initiated it ( he usually does ) but would go in for another kiss

You’re not sure how to make-out so you just go along with what he’s doing,

He’s pretty slow at first, and gentle just easing you into it

When you both pull back he’d comment on how good you were, even if you were pretty shitty at kissing or shy- just to get your confidence up

“you sure you haven’t done this before?”

You’d huff a laugh and shake your head, cheeks all warm and flushed

To which he just pinches one of them gently with his finger and thumb

“Eres muy lindo”

First time having sex: (nsfw)

He’s really gentle with you, seeing as he’d probably initiated it after a make out session

‘Are you sure you’re ready? I don’t mind waiting until you are’

You’d tell him you’re ready, and if you’re feeling bold you’d touch him up a bit after saying that- just to get him a little riled up

He’d be really gentle with you, and try to give you the whole 5 star experience to begin with.

He’d start by eating you out, and you’d try not to focus on how good his stache’ feels between your legs

(I can imagine that being a whole turn on icl)

He’d be pressing really soft, gentle kisses along your thighs and chest, though I don’t imagine he’d leave hickeys on purpose (he thinks they’re kind of trashy, plus he doesn’t need to mark you to let people know that you’re his)

For your first time I don’t think he’d use a condom, just because he’s heard how some people find them uncomfortable, though his pull out game is strong so don’t worry about him getting you pregnant

Unless you’re into that kind of think, definitely let him know if you want him to cum inside because otherwise, yeah

He’d probably purchase your contraceptives, though don’t get this mixed up with him not wanting kids he definitely does, he just doesn’t want to be too hasty about it

Lalo puts the love in lovemaking, he’s really sensual and attentive to your needs the first few times you do it, though as you become more adhered and comfortable to him, he’d get a bit more bold

Think different positions and being rougher with you in bed, especially if he’s had a bad day and you let him know that you’re down (whether subtly or not)

Because I can imagine you teasing him on days where he has a lot of pent up anger and frustration, which leads to the most drawn out, rough sex you could ever imagine

Though yeah, Lalo is good, admittedly so. He’s confident in his ‘abilities’.

Aftercare, for your first time and in general is something he really likes, and sometimes maybe even gets off on?

Like just washing you or seeing you all tired out after sex can get him riled up on a bad day (or even a good day, depends on his mood and what’s happened etc)

He’d lay with you for a while after sex, toy with your hair and talk to you about nothin in particular, just general ramble of his inner thoughts

If he’s feeling romantic, whilst cuddling ( he’s the big spoon. No exceptions) he’d talk to you about how happy you make him, and how he’s going to marry you one day.

He’s very affectionate in general, though it probably comes out more post-nut. He’s a sentimental guy, okay!

“You make me so happy, amor…”

“I’m gonna marry you one day, when you least expect it I’ll propose and we’ll have the most amazing wedding...”

Kisses and cuddles with Lalo truly are the best

He may even sleep for a little while after!

With you in his arms, it’s tempting to just stay there all night/day long

Especially in the colder months!

A/N: ahhh that was so fun to do!! Please send me more hc requests for Lalo, he’s so bbg it kills me

[restforthe-burdenedsoul]

An update of everything

I did end up quitting my job and they did let me go that day. It has been exactly 10 days of both M and I being unemployed and it has felt like years. M had been offered a job and I quit the next day because he was supposed to start days ago. They kept stalling for unknown reasons and then he was offered a better job with better pay and a company vehicle! The day he was supposed to start the new job was the day he had the second interview. In retrospect, we both feel that God was throwing wrenches into the other company’s process (the background check had hang ups, they had scheduling conflicts etc). He starts this other job today! It sounds like a company he can grow in and they have multiple locations in various states, so if he sticks with it, it could be a really great job.

I have had a handful of interviews and one more upcoming. Getting a new job has felt like a bigger process than I thought, but I also just realized it’s only been 10 days and not weeks. I was offered a 1099 position, but they wanted me to drive the clients FOR FREE as I only got paid clinical time. I asked what the job would look like if I was not open to transport and they said it would limit me on group settings…which is where the bulk of the money is from. After talking to M and our roommates, I decided to pass on it. It didn’t make sense to take another job I was going to quit when the next best offer came up (and M was supposed to have started his job by then). I felt pressured to secure something asap so our roommates didn’t think we were mooching. They said they understood and know I am working hard to secure something that will be long term.

I was turned down by a juvenile correctional facility which I wasn’t upset about. It was doing what I’d like to do, but not in the setting I’d want. I am waiting to hear back from Goodwill as I think my interview went really well. They have a close knit team that I’d love to Be part of. It was a panel interview and I was NOT prepared for all those people, but I think I played it off well. My only concern is that they may pick someone who is bilingual over me. Language has been a big barrier for me in this area. There is a large Puerto Rican population and my Spanish is not strong enough at this moment.

Other than that, the jobs I’ve followed up with are still in the application process. I was told by multiple places to wait a couple more weeks, that my application has been passed on, but they are still accepting applications and have not gone through them yet.

I’m still confident I will get something soon. I signed up for Rover in the time being and hopefully that brings in some more money. I don’t like ubering on my own, but that’s what M and I have been doing the past week and a half.

Anyway. My to-do list for today

More job applications

Potentially follow up with more jobs

Wash the dogs’ bedding

Wash bedroom sheets

Remember to eat to take my meds

Put in a grocery order because M has my car

Meal prep?

Clean bathrooms

[honey-on-your-tongue]

u should tell us more about yourself and who’s behind these amazing fics bae, i’m curious !!! (only if ur comfy ofc)

Okok, I'm about to say whatever comes to mind, let's hope it makes sense 🤭🤭

Uh, my name's Ariella, but I go by Ari. I'm 19. I'm bi. I study journalism. My favorite colors are pink and dark teal. I love to read and write and smoke piña colada vapes. I talk in double negatives. I quote random movies or books or memes without realizing other people don't understand me. I make a funny face when I concentrate. I chew on my nails constantly. When I'm anxious, minutes turn into years. I dread picking up the phone. I hate going to sleep just as much as I hate waking up early. I spend hours debating whether or not I should shower and then I spend hours in the shower. I love cooking. I love feeding my food to others and hearing they like it. I fiddle with the edge of the pages of books as I read. I plan everything in advance and end up doing things in my own time anyway. I've noticed my pulse races and my I can see my heart beating when I'm nervous. I'm incapable of waiting for other people to do things for or with me, but sometimes I wish someone else could do everything for me. I have two different personalities: one when I speak Spanish and one when I speak English (the English one is cockier and confident and flirtatious, in Spanish I'm really shy and awkward 😭😭😭). I hate it when people don't let me sing my soul out in the car, and I hate it when people lower the volume of what I'm listening to. I don't like to cook around others because I feel like they're invading my safe space. I love dinosaurs, I've read all the Jurassic Park books and watched all the movies. If I could, I'd adopt every animal I see on the street. I can't stick to a routine, it feels boring, I need to be spontaneous and impulsive. I shop too much, spend too much. I love cacti, I have hundreds of them in my room. I love stuffed animals. My favorite animals are dolphins, and sharks terrify me. I love the ocean, the beach, and summer. For me, there's nothing better than late nights in the summer, smoking on the balcony and writing while listening to music. And speaking of music, I listen to almost everything, my favorite genre's rap, and even though he can be an asshole, my favorite artist is Eminem. My favorite authors are John Green and Gabriel García Márquez. My favorite books are Looking for Alaska, Crónica de una muerte anunciada, and Medea from Euripides. I am extremely persistent and stubborn. I've picked up the habit of calling out old yucky men who undress me with their eyes. I laugh when little kids fall even though I feel bad about it. I am incapable of keeping my bedroom organized, no matter how hard I try, it always ends up a mess. Andddd I think that's about it, cus I've talked way too much 🙃🙃🙃

Also, I'm listening to Drug Ballad from Eminem while I write this

[spoke-n-languish]

A hero’s journey…

…into town, to get some eggs and a carton of milk, and then back again to his abode to stow them safely in his refrigerator: mission accomplished.

I know that I’ve fucked this up for everybody, and I truly am sorry. It has become abundantly clear that the script was never intended to carry on this long. I have disappointed many people over the years, but never an entire community at once in addition to everyone that I love and care about. Even people that never liked me and were certain I would fail have become taciturn at the onus that maintaining this production has assayed on their erstwhile quotidian rut. I don’t think that the blame should fall entirely onto my shoulders as I never asked for this nor have I yet quit trying (I really just don’t know what to do), but as nobody has materialized from Narnia, or the Æther, or the shadow lands of Nod, or wherever it is that you have secreted yourselves away to, for everyone else affected - mine is the only face they can see to scowl at.

Initially I was consumed with grief and broken by betrayal… but I got better and formulated a plan (which I thought had reasonable odds of success), but then I discovered that the belaborments and woeful outcries of my ravaged heart and shattered soul had successfully provided more than adequate distraction to allow me to fall prey to an extraordinarily elaborate mash-up of the 3-card Moanaté Badger Game with a HoneyPotter Pig-in-a-Poke overshadowing a “South Park” Oculus Rift-‘Van Winkle’, all neatly tucked into one Dickens of “A Stargate Christmas Carol: Special Victims Unit” all for “A Fistful of Dollars” with the Spanish Prisoner left at the altar of ‘Affinity’. Needless to say. I did not pick the “lucky lady” out of the tertiantella Danse Machiavellian that I found mysclf all aswirl 1N. (In fact, I’m certain even this does not adequately enunciate the subtle variegated nuances, and delicately layered (as if a master baker’s baklava or tiramisu) and nimbly interwoven puppeteering of this magna opera which I praise optime cum laude!

But as fun as it is to masquerade and I can only imagine the rush of being included in the conspiratorial hoodwinking with a wink and a Nod to your Corner then Bow to your Beau, then Dosey-Do and Around we go; Promenate in the Gutter with a Beaver-Fur Cap, now 2 x 2 Through the Gate with the Clap; From our Cueric ETSRDA you’ll take your Cues, Tea Cup Chain or Chain-Gang Thru; Swing your Hoe-Down she’s an Arky Belle then Top the Coffee Kitty like a Faux Angel; Sashay the Phantom in the Swill; Yellow Rock, Red Rock, and the Star-Tips the Frill!

All quite synchronized and very exciting to be a part of, but you can only square dance for so long before it becomes wearying and eventually (despite the fervor of the foile à d’ville) being told exactly where, when, and what to do next at each ‘turn’ by the gent caller can lose a little luster. One may desire a return to a more familiar and comfortably secure routine, and so is the ambient temperature around the town. Certainly not a soul has betrayed the confidence of the games-master(s), and all facades have been dutifully maintained… all roles unequivocally performed, but to a trained eye (or to a wildly moonstruck third), the heart-force driving it isn’t as strong as it was in the onset.

I do not want anyone to misconstrue this very key point I am about to make here: I in no way, shape or form am belittling or diminishing in any way the communally singular and titanic efforts wrought by the amazingly generous, patient and hard-working people of this community as much to the contrary, I am awe-struck by how much you all have done and magnificently so… it is one of the reasons I am sometimes brought literally to tears being moved so by graces demonstrated by all for just one who has never been deserving of any of it and I know that I will never be able to repay this. I understand that many of you see these forays as a lesson to my laxitudinal nonchalance towards arrearages owed (which is understandable as that is how this particular backdrop has been painted), but that debt I was always aware of and it grew out of hand by my own decisions for it to do so… but the debt that has me hammered into place is the debt of kindness and gratitude I now owe to each and every one of you which I can devote a hundred lifetimes over and still not repay in full.

But, what I believe I am understanding in an emotional undercurrent sort of way, is the fatigue from attrition of performing at such a high demand for perfection for longer than was originally written in the playbill. And for this, I believe I do shoulder the yoke of responsibility. Not intentionally but rather by default as I too have been kept at a philharmonic emotional symphony and just beaten to and fro on a mental and spiritual level that I fear I missed key opportunities and just through the blindness of the damned did not see when I was to have performed my role, played my part, and delivered the quintessential metamorphosis and rebirth to deliver us all from this eternal winter. I am so sorry to everyone. You have all worked so diligently for so long and so hard for this and I wish that I could do that one thing required of me and provide that release everyone is so ready for… but I still don’t know what it is. I surely must have missed a critical clue or tip as I know it must have been given but I’m afraid I’m my distraught state I passed it or did not hear it correctly. You must all be tired of having to carry on for one who can’t even carry his own weight it would seem and I cannot blame you or fault you if you do. All I can offer is to redouble my efforts (which I believe I have said so much now that surely I am at a least 256x my original efforts) …which should put me somewhere around 176.64x full effort given {sorry, just a little math humor}. But if you don’t see me out and about and getting in the way, please understand that I am still trying, still doing what I can to solve this… for everyone’s sake.

I have been manipulated more so than anyone through these productions, but I am still determined as ever to bring this to a close regardless of personal cost because I cannot allow any of you to suffer excess burden any more than you already have for my expense. If you don’t know me yet, just please understand that while it may not seem like it, I really do sincerely want the best for everyone and humbly I thank you all for what you have already persevered on my behalf.

La storia di un burattino… for reals, yo!

[imagineyourworld]

Dress Up

Steven Grant x fem!Reader, Marc Spector x fem!Reader, Jake Lockley x fem!Reader

Request: Hi! Can you do one where the reader (female) has to go shopping for a dress for an event and the moon boys decide to tag along? I feel like at least one of them would get lost or wander off (maybe accident or on purpose) and where the reader would end up finding them. Thank you

Warnings: google translate Spanish (I speak two languages fluently and three others a bit, but Spanish is above my paygrade)

—----

Was there anything worse than a strict dress code? You enjoyed dressing up for occasions, liked picking out a dress, matching shoes and jewelry, and doing your makeup, having your boyfriends staring at you and telling you you looked “breathtaking” or “gorgeous” or “maravilloso”. But a dress code? What even was “black tie optional”? Did you have to wear a dress or would a smart jumpsuit do? What about jewelry? What sort of makeup were you supposed to put on? Did you have to buy new shoes to match your dress or would simple black pumps do? “You worry too much, love. I’m sure you’ll look great no matter what you wear,” Steven tried to reassure you as you shifted through the dresses on the rack. “Easy for you to say, you have like the perfect occasion outfit ready in the blink of an eye!” Would red be too bold? Is black too funeral-y? “That’s if I even go with you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, but it finally made you turn around, the three dresses already slung over your arm whooshing along. “I thought we’d agreed that you’d come with me. I need you at this, I’ll be on edge the entire time and you have such a way of calming me down.” You walked closer to where Steven was leaning against a pillar a couple of meters away and put a hand on his chest, looking up at him with huge eyes. “Stevie, you promised,” you said with a pout, slowly scratching your fingers right over where his heart was hidden underneath layers of clothes, flesh, and bone. He shrugged, though you could tell it was half-heartedly. “I said one of us would go. Think about it, honey, I’m not good with strangers, do you really want me around? Wouldn’t you rather have Marc in all his confident glory? Or Jake? Impress your family with a bilingual and worldly boyfriend? And neither of them have suits, at least not like the one I have.” You sighed. You knew full well that discussing this here and now, in the middle of a crowded department store amongst all those Saturday shoppers, would be pointless. “We can go look at suits once I’ve found a dress, okay?” He nodded, the relief obvious on his face. You knew that Steven loved you, and if you asked there was nothing he would deny you, but he wasn’t always the best in social situations and you could never bring yourself to force him to go if it made him feel uncomfortable, even though you couldn’t deny that bringing Steven in his white suit as your plus one made your mouth water ever so slightly. “How about you try on these pretty dresses now?” You didn’t need to be told twice. Usually you liked dressing up, feeling like a princess rather than your regular self, but trying on heavy dresses in a tiny changing room in a crowded department store wasn’t exactly your idea of fun. Maybe you should have tried online shopping instead, but it was too late for that now. With a glance over your shoulder you made sure that Steven was following you as you headed to the changing room, which for some reason was weirdly deserted, no other waiting customers or even an attendant in sight. “I’ll just be in there real quick and then we can go and get some lunch, deal?” You turned around to look at Steven, who had already found a comfortable seat in an armchair nearby and sent you a sweet smile from there. “Take your time, love, I’ll be here if you need anything.” With a final nod you disappeared into the changing room, hung up the three dresses on the little hook and closed the curtain with a loud swoosh. You peeled off your shirt and trousers, both of which were by now sticking uncomfortably to your skin in the London heat that even the air conditioning did little to soften it. Finally your clothes were off and the first dress was on. There was only one slight issue. “Steven, could you zip me up please?,” you called out to your boyfriend, who you were sure was still sitting where you had left him, probably on his phone by now. To your surprise it wasn’t Steven who arrived at the changing room, you could tell instantly by the way he held himself, the confidence in his eyes, and the slight twist of his mouth. “Te ves hermosa cariño.” You shook your head. Though you were thankful for his comment, you knew that Jake liked you no matter what you wore, and thought you most beautiful with no clothes at all, so it didn’t really count for much. “Thank you, but this just isn’t it.” You looked at Jake, who had stepped behind you and was now zipping you up through the mirror, sure that in the same reflective surface Jake could see Steven and Marc and how they felt about this dress. “It’s too long and I don’t have time to get it shortened, the sleeves are a bit tight and I’m not even sure if I want sleeves or should just go with something with simple straps or even strapless. And then there’s the waist, it just looks all wrong.” Jake shrugged. You knew that he was probably trying his best, but he simply wasn’t the best guy to go shopping with. “I think you look great.” He glanced at the mirror. “Marc wants you to try the short blue dress.” You followed his eyes to one of the other two dresses hanging up on the hook. It was by far prettier than the black dress you were wearing now, but maybe just a bit too short for the occasion. “I don’t know, don’t you think it’s a bit informal? Shouldn’t I rather go with floor length?” Jake’s eyes flitted from you to the dress and back again. Now Jake Lockely was usually a hard guy to read, but the single look told you exactly what was going through his mind right now: The shorter the dress, the better. “You’re terrible, has anyone ever told you that?,” you asked, though your laughter made it seem less serious than you had intended. Jake leaned closer to press a quick kiss to your lips, but before you could deepen it he pulled away again. “I know, cariño, that’s why you love me.” Now who were you to argue with that logic? You reached behind you for the short blue dress before handing it to Jake with your sweetest smile on your lips, the one you knew none of your boys could resist. “Would you mind looking for a dress like this for me? Same colour, similar cut, but preferably at least knee length?” It never crossed your mind that maybe this was a lot to ask of Jake, even his confused expression didn’t deter you from your idea. “Oh, and some shoes as well if you find any. Not too high and the heel not too thin, I don’t want sore feet the next day.” Jake just nodded. He took a step back, still looking at you in your once again unzipped dress. Finally, with one last dazzling smile from you, he turned around and went to find a dress. —---- It has been almost thirty minutes since you sent Jake away to find you another dress, even if he hadn’t found one he should have returned by now, empty handed and ensuring you that whatever dress you were wearing right now would be perfect. Only none of them were. In fact they only seemed to get worse, the last one only succeeded in highlighting all the areas you didn’t like and making your self-confidence disappear into thin air. You needed Jake, or one of the others, to reassure you, to hug you and kiss you and tell you that you would find a dress that you would look and feel beautiful in. With one last sigh you left the changing room, shouldered your purse, and went to find Jake. You checked the armchair you had left Steven in first, but it was occupied by an old man probably waiting for his wife or daughter. Next you searched the area where you had found the dresses you had just tried on. Nothing. Deserted. Not a single soul, not even a shop assistant you could ask whether they had seen a handsome man with dark curly hair. With drawn eyebrows you pulled your phone out of your purse, checking if you had any messages or missed calls. Nothing. You were starting to worry. The store really wasn’t that big, even if he had searched every corner he would have been back by now, and if he had left he surely would have at least texted. As quick as you could you dialled the number to the phone Jake, Steven, and Marc all shared. Once again, nothing. With a sigh you looked around again as if one of them would appear out of thin air. You even considered asking an employee to make an announcement that they were sure to hear. “Okay, relax, they’re grown men, they can take care of themselves. And they have each other. Steven wouldn’t let the others leave without telling me, Marc wouldn’t let them get into trouble, and if they did Jake would get them out,” you mumbled as you went around the area again, pulling dresses to the side to check if maybe they were playing a prank on you by hiding between them. But of course they weren’t. With a sigh you decided to look around the rest of the store. To your surprise it didn’t take long until you heard a familiar voice, followed by a lot of laughter. “Marc?,” you asked as you rounded a corner. The sight was unexpected. You found your boyfriend lounging in an armchair, his back turned to you, unharmed and as far away from trouble as he could be. A woman probably a couple of years younger than your grandmother sat in a matching armchair next to him, her hand on his arm, while another woman around her age stood on the other side, and yet another woman right in front of Marc. He turned around to face you, a bright smile on his face. “Ladies, this is my beautiful girlfriend I have told you about.” You could feel heat rising to your cheeks at his words, which only intensified once the old ladies began to coo at you, especially once Marc reached out a hand to you, which you instantly took, and he in turn used to pull you into his lap. “Marc!,” you shrieked, shocked and a tiny bit embarrassed by his behaviour. He was usually so reserved and now he was acting like a love struck teenager in front of these women he had just met. “Relax, baby,” he whispered in your ear, and against your better judgement you instantly did, there was just something about him, about his voice, that made you feel at peace. “You are such an adorable couple!,” the woman on Marc’s left exclaimed, hearts practically visible in her eyes. “I wish my husband was as romantic as yours, looking for a dress for you,” the one on his right added. Deciding that the safest thing would be to remove yourself from the situation you hid your face in Marc’s neck, breathing in his familiar and comforting scent. “Actually, we’re not married,” he told them as his hand began to stroke up and down your back. A round of shock gasps could be heard, whether they were shocked you were this close with someone who wasn’t your husband or if the two of you just seemed like a married couple you didn’t know. “Whyever not?” A nervous chuckle left Marc and all of the sudden you felt like it was your responsibility to take charge of the situation again. You lifted your head from where it was still buried in the side of his neck and looked at each of the women. “It was lovely chatting with you but I really do need to find a dress and we should probably check out some more shops.” You jumped off of Marc’s lap, holding your hand out for him to take, which he did while he bid the old ladies farewell and wished them happy shopping. As soon as you were out of earshot you couldn’t hold your laughter in anymore. “Who knew you were such a charmer?” Marc gasped, a playfully offended expression on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always charming.” You laughed again as you pressed a kiss to his cheek while pulling him out of the store at the same time. “Sure you are, handsome. But now how about you let me continue shopping with Steven, he’s the only one who’s actually helpful in situations like this. You chuckled as Marc and Jake began to fight for control, both of them telling you that they were exceptional shopping companions and that they could do much more than devour you with their eyes and chat up old ladies. Finally they relented and gave Steven control of the body. He looked at you with love in his gaze, he stroked a thumb across your hand, which he was still holding tight. “Now let’s finally find you a dress, love,” he said as he pulled you into the next store. Say what you will about dress shopping with your boyfriends, it certainly wasn’t boring.

[gonzo-rella]

Imagine: Reuniting With Izzy Hands On The Revenge (And The Crew Finding Out About Your Past)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): Izzy Hands x gn!reader (implied romantic; possibly platonic)

Warnings: References to (non-real) minor violence and vomiting, swearing. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: It took me way too long to get around to watching the gay pirate show (in full, at least). I watched the first four episodes ages ago, then spent ages avoiding the show for reasons I don’t really understand. I may or may not have spent a couple of months reading Izzy x reader stuff, which means that I may or may not have developed a fondness for this man prior to me fully watching the show. I had a semi-fleshed-out idea as to the reader and Iz’s backstory, but you can think of your own for this one (I’m trying to cut down on exposition in my reader-insert stuff, especially my imagines and ficlets, which I now realise is an ironic thing to say because of how long this A/N is). Feel free to ask me about said idea, though. [Insert obligatory begging for OFMD requests])

You’d (narrowly) managed to avoid him in Spanish Jackie’z. 

Only Lucius noticed that you’d seemingly returned from checking on the hostage, only back away from the bar with wide eyes. He just assumed you were avoiding the conflict between Izzy and Stede (after all, that’s what he was the most focused on).

It wasn’t until Izzy locked eyes with you for the first time that Lucius realised that something was up.

“L/N.” Izzy hesitated.

You wouldn’t have been surprised if only you had picked up on the fact that he was caught off guard. To anyone who didn’t know him like you did, one would have thought he had been expecting you.

You cleared your throat. Your heart hammered with every step he took towards you.

“Alright, Iz?”

Your voice still trembled.

Several confused stares heated up your face. Your eyes darted around to your crewmates until your gaze finally met Izzy’s once again.

“So, how’d you end up with this lot, then?” he sneered. He gestured vaguely to your crewmates.

If they weren’t so awestruck by the presence of Blackbeard and his first mate on board (and somewhat intimidated by them), you were certain they would have protested against the insult beyond muttering amongst themselves. You suspected some of them hadn’t realised they were being insulted.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” you argued. 

The confidence of your words was somewhat betrayed by the fact you looked a bit like you wanted nothing more than to lean over the side of the ship and empty the contents of your stomach into the ocean, or, at the very least, scurry below deck and quiver in one of the ship’s dark crevices.

A mocking laugh escaped him in the form of a hum and exhale. The corners of his lips almost twitched into a smirk.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d say going from Blackbeard’s crew to sailing with the fancy man who ran his own fucking ship aground’s a bit of a downgrade.”

You ignored Lucius’ incredulous whisper of, “You sailed with Blackbeard?”

The crew’s eyes were as wide as yours had been when you saw Izzy at the Republic of Pirates. It was a fair reaction, you supposed. You hadn’t protested against Black Pete’s tales of his days of sailing with Blackbeard, at least no more than the others had. For all you had revealed about your history and your past crews, the name ‘Blackbeard’ had never rolled off your tongue.

You took in a deep breath. Exhaling, you forced a smile. Your cheeks felt as if Izzy had just ran the blade of his sword along the contours of your face. He faltered in that moment, knitting his brows.

“It’s nice to see you too, Iz.”

[emwritesfootball]

Confessing Feelings | Kepa Arrizabalaga

Kepa fluff where he admits his feelings for you after you two being friends since school he's a bit nervous at first but you slowly have him warm up to you to admit xx

Warnings: none

- - -

There was something about you that always intimidated Kepa - maybe it was your confidence or your tell-it-like-it-is attitude, but every time he thought about confessing his feelings for you, he stopped. Of course he was naturally scared of the possibility of rejection, but more than that he didn’t want to ruin the friendship that the two of you had spent years cultivating. 

“So,” you started over breakfast one morning, “any new girls in your life?”

Kepa almost choked on his sip of espresso, your question seeming to come out of nowhere. “N-no. There’s been nobody since my ex - you know this.”

“Well, nobody except for that mysterious girl you’ve been going on about,” you teased, watching the shock cross his adorable features.

“How did you know about her?”

“You wouldn’t stop going on and on about her the last time we got drunk together - never gave me a name, though.”

Kepa internally breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m not even sure she’s into me like that.”

“Just show her the Kepa you show me and I’m sure she’ll change her mind.” The smile you flash him has Kepa’s heartbeat picking up, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up - not yet.

~~~

It takes him a few more months to work up the courage to tell you how he feels, and even once he’s decided, he’s hesitant even though the two of you have spent practically every free moment of his off-season together. 

“Any updates on that girl from a few months ago?” You try to ask as casually as possible. The truth is, you’ve been curious about the mysterious girl who’s caught Kepa’s eye since he mentioned it to you but you haven’t pushed it since breakfast a few months ago. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he hasn’t been out on dates and has spent almost all of his time with you, though. Some of your old mutual friends have noticed, the crazier ones going so far as to speculate that there could be something more than friendship between the two of you. In the beginning you’d brushed it off, but now you were starting to wonder if your crazier friends weren’t all that crazy…

“Uh, n-nothing. She’s still single and I’m still single and-”

“What are you waiting for?! Ask her out! Tell her how you feel!” Your smile widened as an idea formed. “Practice on me - that way I can help you get it right.”

“Oh, no - I’m okay.”

“Please?”

Kepa rolled his eyes, blowing out a breath. “Fine.” He stared at you, a bored look on his face. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Oh, my god, Kepa! Say it like you mean it!” You took his face in your hands, trying to ignore the way his skin felt under your fingertips. “Just…close your eyes and pretend I’m the girl you have feelings for.”

Kepa tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured in Spanish, his gaze raking down your body before he switched back to English. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. You’re my whole world, my best friend, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I want you by my side for every victory and every loss; I want your face to be the first one I see in the morning and the last one I see before I go to sleep. Will you go out with me?”

“Kepa,” you murmured, your heart racing. “I-”

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it, okay?”

“Kepa…”

“It’s you.” The words are spoken so softly you aren’t ‘sure you’ve heard him correctly until he whispers your name. “It’s always been you. I don’t want anyone else - I want you.”

“If this is a joke, Kepa, I’m gonna need you to stop.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“Prove it. Kiss me.”

Kepa doesn’t need to be told twice, claiming your lips in a heated kiss that leaves both of you breathless. 

“So,” he starts after the kiss ends, “when can I take you out for our first date?”

[eloves-writes]

a failed attempt to hate you

(tristan dugray)

a/n: i can only apologise if this writing is terrible, i wrote most of this in the middle of the night hopped up on medication for my disgusting cold. i hope it makes sense. anywho thanks for reading, enjoy, mwah <3

screw mr medina for making you help tristan study. you knew he knew from rory your inherent disdain for him, and it wasn’t your fault he was falling behind therefore not your responsibility to help him (as you had told mr medina last tuesday, with no effect). it was now sunday morning and you held little hope he would actually show up this time; he had somehow managed to cancel on your little study date 6 times already and it had only been 5 days since you were handed this apparently mammoth task. honestly, you didn’t expect him to show up at all, especially not anytime before noon- for which reasons you had made the decision put on your usual lazy sunday morning reading in bed get-up, which included (but was not limited to) an oversized rock concert shirt rory’s friend lane had given you in an attempt to clear her closet of non-christian attire, nothing but underwear underneath since you wouldn’t plan on leaving the comfort of your bedsheets for many hours, and a loose silk scrunchie you accidentally stole from rory keeping your hair out of your eyes. 

your book of choice today was ‘harry potter and the goblet of fire’ , the most recently released chapter of the boy wizard’s adventures at hogwarts. the clock beside you read 9:15 as you comfied yourself for a morning of magic and adventure, which naturally was ended a mere 8 minutes later at 9:23 when the doorbell rang downstairs. you assumed your mother would answer it, but when it rang a second time you remembered your parents had both gone out to watch your sibling’s soccer match and you’d have to get it yourself.

it didn’t even cross your mind to put pants on, or that it may not be the postman at the door, until you opened it to see your very favourite chilton student whose eyes had hastily wandered to your bare legs. typical high school boy, you thought to yourself before your brain actually grasped the situation and kick started into action.

‘tristan. hi.’ you said with a slight shock in your voice.

‘erm, hi. i hope i’m not interrupting anything,’ he smirked, glancing down at your thighs again.

you rolled your eyes so aggressively you hoped mr medina could hear it from wherever he was spending his day, irritating boy-less and free to do whatever he wanted with his time.

‘you’re not,’ you quipped. ‘i just didn’t expect you to actually show up this time. and early may i add, i’m sure we said 11.’

‘we did, but i’ve got plans later so i thought i’d come by earlier and get this over with.’

‘how did you know i didn’t have plans? i might have been busy before 11.’

he pulled a face of amusement and you could swear you saw a hint of sarcasm shining through his eyes too. ‘right. are you done talking now or can i come in?’

‘you can come in, i guess,’ you sighed, closing the door behind him and showing him to the kitchen table. ‘wait here, i’ll go and get my books.’

‘grab some pants whilst you’re at it.’

‘stop talking,’ you called as you walked upstairs.

you came back downstairs a few minutes later fully-clothed and carrying your english notes to see that tristan had wandered from the chair you specifically remembered telling him to sit in, and was instead tracing a finger along the bookcase that stretched across the far wall of your living room. for a moment you just watched him nosey into your life; the framed certificates, the family photos, the 5 tapes of ‘beauty and the beast’ stacked atop of each other because it was your favourite film when you were 9 and practically every living relative had bought you a copy. beside those was a picture of you dressed as princess belle at disneyworld with chocolate ice cream smeared from cheek to cheek, a huge smile plastered between. tristan picked it up and turned to face you.

‘thoroughly adorable. seriously, you should go for this look more often.’

‘ha ha,’ you grimaced, snatching it off him and placing it back on the shelf. ‘are we studying or reminiscing on my past fashion choices?’ 

‘oo, someone’s in a good mood this morning huh,’ he teased. you pulled another face, once again silently cursing mr medina for completely ruining not just your day, but in fact your whole week. by god this boy got more irritating the more time you spent with him- it had only been 10 minutes, but it was 10 minutes longer than you ever previously had or ever wanted to.

 ‘can i get a drink before we start?’ he asked, redirecting the conversation and walking past you back into the kitchen. he began opening various cupboards, searching for a glass. ‘where’s the-’

‘why yes, tristan. you can have a drink,’ you snarked, opening the cupboard behind him with a dramatic flourish. he raised his eyebrows at you and reached forward to grab a glass, leaning over you as he did so. you caught a whiff of his cologne and almost forgot to dislike him for a moment.

‘there’s, um, soda in the ... fridge,’ you told him, voice unwillingly faltering as he looked down to meet your eyes. he had pretty eyes. pretty, blue, sparkling, stupid, annoying, asshole eyes. 

you found the thick tension sickening. you refused to be another girl at school who simply swooned over him when he walked past your locker. you didn't like him. you were here to teach him english. because he was dumb. and actually, his eyes weren’t that nice.

he grabbed a soda out of the fridge and you both sat down at the table and began reading through your analysis of ‘to kill a mockingbird’, adamantly pretending not to see him staring at you the whole time. 

why? he had had every popular and pretty girl in the whole of chilton, how was he ever so starved of female attention that he would look at you so admirably when you liked to make it clear you despised him? in fact, you enjoyed making a special effort to flip him off, or pull a face at him when he walked by, or kick his chair extra hard in spanish, or... oh shit. you had seen it from an outside point of view now, and it was glaringly obvious; maybe you did like him, just a little bit. shit. rory owed lorelai 10$ and a cheeseburger from luke’s, though you didn’t want to have to admit she was right when she’d said you were like a kindergarten boy pulling a girl’s ponytails because he thought she was pretty.

‘hey tristan,’ you started, breaking the comfortable silence between his questions and suddenly nervous to talk to him. stupid, it was still the exact same boy you’d been complaining about all week, nothing new. 

he looked up from your notes. ‘what’s up princess?’ 

that was definitely new.

‘don’t call me princess’ -he smirked irritatingly- ‘do you need to stay much longer? i mean, is there anything else you want help with?’

‘trying to get rid of me?’

‘no! no. i just thought that you’d only stay and pretend to listen to me for like, half an hour then vanish. it’s 11:30 and you’ve been through my whole binder.’

‘it is? time flies.’

‘tristan.’

‘i do care about my grades, you know. and you’re a good teacher, i might have a chance at an A.’

‘why didn't you show up the last 6 times we planned then?’

he put down his pen- your pen, actually. it had pink sparkles on the lid. ‘got to keep up my street cred.’

‘ha ha. funny,’ you replied as blankly as possible, pulling back a smile you could feel in your stomach. you made eye contact again and, like every other time since you’d sat down and started studying, you held each other’s gaze for longer than necessary. funny how realising you like someone makes you suddenly act like it.

‘i should get going then right,’ he said, picking his jacket from the back of his chair.

you felt weird, almost as if you didn't want him to leave after praying earlier he wouldn't show up. alas, your parents would be home soon and you would be willing to bet money that tristan would have some interesting jokes about your being home alone that would not slide with your dad.

‘yeah. i hope you get that A,’ you said, accidentally smiling as you walked him to the door.

tristan turned to lean on the frame of the now-open door and put on a face of mock surprise. ‘my, my, y/n. was that a kind comment and a smile? you’re spoiling me.’

‘shut up, i hope you fail.’

he smiled back. ‘you really mean that?’

‘i guess not.’

there was yet another beat of heavy silence.

‘see you monday.’

‘see you monday.’

you closed the front door as he walked down the drive, but noticed tristan’s car keys still sat on the kitchen table. a porsche, of course. you picked them up and reopened the door to his fist poised to knock. the two of you laughed awkwardly for a second.

‘i forgot my-’

‘you forgot your-’

another awkward laugh. jesus christ this was uncomfortable. you passed him the keys, and with absolutely no warning at all, your lips were suddenly met with his. they were soft and confident, and his free hand held your face as you tried to process the new situation. you quickly melted into the kiss, letting him take control until he pulled away and smiled that sparkly smile you didn't hate as much as you tried to.

‘didn't see that one coming,’ you said breathily, brushing some loose hairs off of your face.

‘i knew you didn’t hate me.’

‘ever the arrogant twat.’

‘hey, does this mean you’ll stop kicking my chair in spanish?’

‘absolutely not. in fact, i think i’ll kick it harder.’

‘as long as you let me do that again.’

tags: @leossmoonn for inspiring me to start writing again, @account123445 & @lmaoidekanymore6 for asking me to post tristan fics! (couldn’t figure out how to make the tags work but if you read this, you know ✨)

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?��

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[ptergwen]

only you and me

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: angst, mentions of weed, and some swearing

summary: whenever peter tries to tell you how he feels, harry gets in the way

a/n: ahhhh hi my loves! my mini writing break is over :,) life has been just a mess for me and i’ve been way more critical than usual about my work but i’m doing a little better and ready to get back into everything! this helped me a lot so i’m excited to share it with y’all <3 it’s also my first time writing harry osborn so lmk how i did lmaooofwfjj but yeah pls enjoy

-

“dude, she’s right there! just tell her!” ned whisper yells to peter, elbowing him for emphasis. they’re hidden behind a wall to watch you at your locker. you’re grabbing books while betty rants to you and mj rolls her eyes. “not now. she looks... busy,” peter gulps, gaze trailing down your body. he always finds excuses to put off telling you how he feels.

or rather, excuses find him. something comes up every time he gets the courage to do it. he has no idea why he’s so scared because he’s pretty sure you like him back. pretty sure. there are a few reasons why you might not. also, plenty why you might. you stay up late texting most nights, and you’ve even flirted a couple of times. it never fails to make peter blush. he trips over his words whenever he tries to flirt back.

he’s had feelings for you since the first time you two hung out alone. none of your other friends could make it, but you happily took him up on his offer to come over. you grinned through his whole apartment tour, asked about may and what she does. when peter showed you his room, you even complimented his movie posters, much to his surprise.

“really? you don’t think they’re, like, dorky?”

“no, peter. your interests aren’t dorky. everyone likes what they like.”

and, he liked you. he knew it from that point on. you’d know it too if the universe wouldn’t keep stopping him from saying that.

“she’s so...” peter pauses for a second. him and ned watch you pull betty in by her shoulders as if you’re going to kiss her. she dodges you, mj pushing her back, all three of you giggling about it before you grab betty’s hands and give her words of encouragement. “cool,” peter finishes, turning back to ned. “i mean, how she puts herself out there like that.”

“what’s stopping you from doing the same thing?” ned points out with a knowing smile that peter returns. you make it look so easy. whenever you’re comfortable around people, you can let go of any doubts you have. you stop worrying about what they might think and instead do what you want. it’s inspiring to peter, and heart warming getting to be one of the people you’re fully you with.

he wishes he could apply your wisdom himself.

peter shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “oh, you know. anxiety, fear of rejection. that fun stuff.” “so, yourself,” ned concludes, clapping peter’s backpack so hard it makes him stumble forward. betty and mj wave goodbye to you before heading to their first class. you’re still getting your things together at your locker. this is peter’s moment.

“come on, dude! y/n’s not busy anymore. you got this.” ned keeps his hand on peter’s back, adding on, “it’s been a year already.” “half a year,” peter corrects him in a mumble. he’s liked you for a really long time. “ok, i’m going. wish me luck.” he takes a deep breath and focuses in on you. “aw, dude. you don’t need it.” ned gives him one last pat on the back. “good luck, though.” “thanks, man. see you in trig.”

right as peter starts heading over, harry comes up behind you and covers your eyes. you squeal, jumping up and turning to him, laughing as you playfully hit at his chest. he brings you into a hug where your face is buried in his sweater and probably inhaling his super strong, super expensive cologne.

that’s what’s stopping peter, harry freaking osborn. his own friend.

peter quickly loses the tiny bit of confidence ned gave him. he figures it might be better to hold off on his confession and get an early start to class. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. harry has already spotted him and calls him over.

“hey, pete! come give us some love, eh?” harry beams, an arm slung around your shoulders and you smiling up at him. you direct your smile to peter when he slumps his way to your locker. his lips pull into a barely noticeable frown. you notice. “there’s my guy. why so down, sunshine?” harry offers his fist for a fist bump. peter gives it to him, eyes staying on you.

harry osborn. where to begin with such a specimen? he’s the perfect combination of everything you’d want in a guy. he gets good grades, he’s a star player on on the basketball team, nice to everyone and makes you laugh, popular yet fits right into your small group.

he was friends with you before the popular thing. what kicked it off was him making varsity basketball while only being a sophomore. yep, he’s unreal. since then, he’s been balancing his cool life and also hanging with “the nerds,” as he likes to call you. he got his own feelings for you along the way. peter can tell.

he’ll give you rides home, compliment how you look, basically act like your boyfriend without really being it. it absolutely infuriates peter because he doesn’t compare to harry in the slightest. if he were you and had the choice between himself or harry, he would pick harry.

it’s been a factor in why he hasn’t come clean about how he feels yet. he’s not trying to create a love triangle that he doesn’t stand a chance surviving in.

“for real, peter. you good?” you ask him, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “fine,” peter lies and musters up a smile. “i’m just tired. didn’t sleep too good last night.” you’re only more concerned now. this has been happening to him a lot lately. you search for his eyes. “again?”

“aw, man. you need something for it?” harry punches peter’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “i know this kid who-“ “harry, stop.” your words are serious, tone lighthearted. you throw your head back on his arm. “do you really know a kid?” “i’m not telling you,” he says in an overly happy voice, you humming the same way. peter feels like he’s third wheeling.

“i was telling pete.” harry looks at him expectantly, peter’s mouth dropping open while he thinks of what to say. harry likes to mess around. this is a different level, though. “no thanks. i- i shouldn’t. i’m-“ “relax, i don’t know a kid,” harry chuckles and points at peter. “your face right now.” it’s completely flushed. you knock into harry’s side.

“ok, well literally no one laughed. you’re scaring him,” you tell harry sternly. peter tugs tight on one of his backpack straps. he doesn’t feel like he’s third wheeling you two now. he feels like your kid. he’ll never let ned mettle in his love life ever again if this is where it gets him. “he knows i’m kidding, y/n/n. right?” harry checks with peter. you make a face at him that says you aren’t convinced.

he switches his arm from you to peter, drawing him into his side. “look, pete. i’m sorry. the only kid i know who’s selling is chocolates for his band trip.” you’re satisfied with that, grinning at both of them. peter forces a laugh and nods. “no worries, man. i gotta get to class.” “good boy,” harry lets him go. “bye, pete. we’ll see you at lunch,” you remind him. he gives you a tight lipped smile. “see you, y/n/n.”

you and harry continue practically spooning each other as soon as peter is out of sight.

what the hell is going on?

peter is back to being grumpy, plopping down in his seat next to ned. their teacher has the lesson plan pulled up on the smart board. ned looks from it to peter, almost jumping in his seat. “oh, you’re back already? how’d it go?” “it didn’t go,” peter huffs, copying down the aim. he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to look ned in the eyes while telling him he bailed. again.

“you didn’t do it?” ned repeats, peter writing something about pi and a unit circle in his notebook. he bites the inside of his cheek. “you have to do it at some point,” ned sighs out and picks up his pencil. even he’s getting tired of this, and ned never gets tired of a good friends to lovers moment. “i think she likes harry,” peter says under his breath. “huh?” ned gasps.

peter doesn’t feel like explaining the extremely awkward moment he just finished living. although, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. “y/n. he came over, and they kept hugging and whatever.” “they always do that,” ned almost scoffs, their trigonometry teacher moving to stand in front of the class. “yeah, but he had his arm around her the whole time we-“

the bell rings and cuts their conversation short. peter struggles to label the unit circle they learn about when his mind is filled to its capacity with images of you and harry all over each other. it’s not daydreaming. this is a nightmare. maybe, he actually will be having sleep problems.

peter’s morning is relatively decent after that. he gets to do an experiment with mj in chemistry, and she lets him take the lead for once. spanish is easy, health is okay, then he has a free period, then it’s lunch. things can only go downhill from here.

he thinks about hiding in the library until it’s over, but it’s the thought of harry eating your face that gets him to drag himself to the cafeteria.

flash is at the head of your table talking to harry when peter gets there. great, now he can’t eat his soggy chicken fingers in peace. “sounds dope. let’s go on the-“ flash stops saying what he was saying and nods at peter. “penis parker, you’re late.” peter takes his seat on your left, harry on your right. you glance over at him to make sure he’s okay. he acts like he doesn’t care, peeling open his milk carton.

“just text me later, man. get outta here,” harry dismisses flash, the two of them doing a bro handshake before he leaves. he’s well aware of his and peter’s history. he keeps them separate for the obvious reasons. peter appreciates it because saying no to flash is nearly impossible. he shouldn’t be so mad at harry, should he? he’s a good friend.

harry’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you closer to him. never mind.

“who’s up for sushi later?” he asks the table, everyone agreeing and saying how awesome that sounds. everyone except peter. you tap his shoulder with a small smile. “what about you, peter? you coming?” he realizes you’re all waiting for him to respond and puts down his milk. “uh, i can’t. homework,” he lamely answers.

“dude, we have homework, too. just do it a little later,” ned suggests, betty laying her head on his shoulder. you share a look with her, your eyes wide and a grin on your lips. that must have been what you were talking about this morning. she asked for boy advice. ned advice. why can’t this crap work out for peter?

“i really can’t. sorry, guys,” peter half heartedly apologizes.

he misses the disappointment that crosses your features because he’s pouting at his lunch again.

“homework, huh?” mj tests him, squinting as she takes a sip of apple juice. harry nudges peter’s side with two fingers. “you still mad about the sleeping thing?” “sleeping thing? what sleeping thing?” betty wonders while ned rests his head against hers. a quiet laugh slips out of you as you lean in to tell her.

“peter said he couldn’t sleep last night, so harry offered him...” you mime rolling a joint. “i said no,” peter clarifies, rolling his eyes at the inevitable teasing he’s about to get. none of you have even smoked besides harry. you’re being annoying about it. “of course you did,” mj sighs and kicks her feet up on the table. “unrelated to what y/n just said... harry, i have insomnia.”

everyone bursts into laughter at that, betty shoving her side and you pulling harry by his torso as he pretends to go into his backpack. peter wants nothing to do with any of this. he usually enjoys joking around with the group, even if it’s at his expense because it’s from a place of love.

today feels like you’re straight up making fun of him. harry might as well invite flash to join in.

“alright, alright, alright. enough of the weed talk,” harry decides, you removing your arms from him and grabbing your coffee. “you’re such a bad influence.” your voice drips with sarcasm. you bend the straw and take a sip while scooting closer to peter. “you really can’t come later? i feel like i’ve barely seen you today.” that’s on harry. “i wish i could, y/n/n,” peter exhales. “i’ll text you later, okay?”

you don’t get to answer because mj tugs on your arm, distracting you from peter. she explains how she has to do an art project on what it means to be a woman and needs help brainstorming ideas. you’re full of them, offering up an interesting perspective for her to use. peter smiles to himself as he listens in. you find a new way to impress him every day.

he should tell you that.

“hey, y/n?” “listen to her! you’re seriously my idol,” betty gushes, so loudly you don’t hear peter. not a single thing has gone in his favor at this table. he gives up.

peter locks himself in his room when he gets home from his overall terrible day. he does homework like he said he would, only taking a break for dinner, giving one word replies to may’s questions about school. he’d much rather be having sushi with you. he would’ve gone if the others didn’t.

after dinner, it’s back to grumbling and scribbling down answers. there’s a knock at peter’s door around ten o’clock, which he assumes is may saying goodnight. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, may! love you.” “it’s y/n,” you reply, the smile clear in your voice. his eyes go comically wide. that’s the last thing he expected to hear. “oh. uh, come in.”

you’re holding a small takeout bag, shutting the door behind you and walking over to his desk. you meet his twinkling eyes in the dim light that hits off his walls. from his open window, you faintly hear cars as they rush by and honk their horns in the distance, accompanied by a fresh breeze. it’s cozy, safe. it’s peter.

“hey. what’re you doing here?” peter questions, leaving his pencil in his binder and shutting it. you shake around the plastic bag. “i saved you a roll.” he bites back a smile, getting up from his chair. “may let me in. she was really chill about it,” you continue and hold out the sushi for him. “it’s a california roll. i wasn’t sure what you wanted, and everyone likes those.”

peter lets his smile spread out and takes the bag from you. “thanks, y/n/n. i was honestly hoping one of you would have leftovers.” you laugh softly, peter setting the bag down on his desk. he scratches the back of his neck. “did you guys have fun?” “yeah. i missed you, though.” you clasp your hands behind your back. “everyone did.”

“i feel bad i didn’t go. just... things felt off today,” peter admits the real reason he stayed home, you letting out a breath. “it was harry, wasn’t it? god, he was being so weird.” your arms drop back to your sides. “there’s a difference between playing around and actually upsetting people.” by people, you mean peter. no one else seemed too bothered by him. “i’m sorry, peter. i tried to make him stop.”

“no, you don’t have to apologize,” peter assures you sweetly, grabbing one of your hands. “it’s not your fault, okay? he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. the jokes landed.” he’s referring to ned, mj, and betty finding harry’s comments hilarious. you lace your fingers with peter’s and frown. “this isn’t like him. maybe he’s stressed about a game.” your gaze drifts off to the side, what you see getting you to perk up.

“is that new?” you ask peter, leading him by his hand over to a poster he put up recently. it’s for 13 going on 30. you showed it to him a couple of weeks ago, and he clearly liked it a lot. any movie that makes it to peter’s wall is a special one. “mhm. i got it literally right after you went home the night we watched,” he chuckles and looks over at you while you study the poster.

you turn to face peter again, keeping your hand tight in his. “were you gonna tell me something earlier? at lunch?” he’s confused for a second, then he remembers your ideas for mj’s art project. the fact that you cared enough to bring it up after all these hours makes his stomach do summersaults in the best way. he shrugs and gives you a smile.

“the stuff you were saying about femininity and how there are so many ways to define it,” peter starts, you grinning back at him, at how he took an interest in what you were saying. “you’re so smart, y/n. you make me wanna be better.” a light pink dusts his cheeks. “peter, you’re a feminist?” you coo, joking but genuinely wondering at the same time. he squeezes your hand. “duh.”

“i thought so,” you nod, taking in the rest of what he said. “you think i’m smart? i trust you because you’re way smarter.” peter pffts in response. “i’m only good at, like, physics. you’re good at things that really matter. smart in that way.” you’re feeling your own face get hot. you swing yours and peter’s hands back and forth. “why are you the nicest person ever?”

the answer to that, may, peeks her head into the room. “hey, kids. it’s getting late.” she notices your intertwined hands and shoots peter a smirk. “i thought you were a cool aunt,” he teases, you sadly letting go of him. “she is. thanks for having me over so late,” you tell may on your way to the door. “oh, stop it. you can come over any time.” she puts a hand on your arm. “thank you so much,” you murmur back.

you walk backwards to the doorway, may leaving you two to say your goodbyes. “wanna hang out only you and me? on friday maybe?” that should make up for everything earlier. “yeah, of course. friday is perfect,” peter agrees and bounces on his feet as excitement takes over him. “thanks again for the sushi.”

“no problem. goodnight.” it’s taking every last bit of power in you to not freak out. “night. text me when you get home.” he presses his tongue into his cheek. you slowly pull the door shut. “ok, i will. bye!” it closes, leaving peter skipping across his room to his bed on one side and you doing a little happy dance on the other.

the next day at school, everything is back to normal. honestly, better than normal. your hangout with peter is tomorrow, and he’s planning on telling he likes you then. he already talked it over with ned. he’s relieved it’s finally happening, especially since him and betty have their own thing. she’ll be taking up most of his free time from here.

your group is spending lunch outside today, lounging across a picnic table, surrounded by trees and the shining sun in a bright blue sky. mj sits on the table and has her feet on the bench, which would usually bug peter to no end. he doesn’t mind this time because it takes up enough room that harry has to sit with ned and betty instead of you. you lean into peter’s side and stab a piece of lettuce from your salad.

“it’s so nice out,” betty sighs, ripping off half her cookie and giving it to ned. “we should ditch.” “oh my god, you sound like harry,” you groan between bites of salad. peter lets out a breathy laugh, you looping your arm through his. he grins down at where you’re linked. harry crosses his own arms over his chest. “she wishes.” betty only nods because her mouth is full of m&m’s.

“nah, seriously. i’d take us out somewhere, but i have practice after school.” he speaks quieter than he normally does, less confident. your theory about him having basketball drama was right. “what did we tell you? talk about the sports shit with your sports friends,” mj complains, sitting back on her hands. she glances at harry over her shoulder and catches ned mouthing you can’t say that.

sitting criss cross, she spins around to face harry, unenthusiastically saying, “what i meant was, you sound upset. what’s wrong?” harry gets into it right away, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “coach says there might be a scout at the next game. it’s a really good opportunity even though i don’t have to worry about... college yet.” the word makes him cringe.

“oh, damn. that’s a big deal. scary,” mj snorts, turning back to you and peter. her behavior makes ned internally face palm. “that’s awesome, dude. you’re gonna play amazing like always.” he gives harry a high five, who smiles nervously in response. he’s never nervous. “thanks, bro. you guys wanna come and watch?” he’s never invited you to one of his games before either.

this isn’t a group of friends that likes to spend their weekends in bleachers while angry teens shout around them.

“definitely. we’ll be there to support you, harry,” betty answers for everyone, ned pecking her cheek in satisfaction. mj cusses to herself before replying. “if i absolutely must, sure.” only you and peter haven’t said anything yet. he’s been chewing his lower lip, and you your salad. harry looks between you two hopefully. it’s more so at you, which peter doesn’t like.

“y/n? pete? it would help a lot, i’m serious.” he taps his fingers on the table until one of you speaks up. you’re the one who does. “i’ll go. this is pretty huge, right? congrats.” you reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder while simultaneously tightening your arm around peter’s. he takes that as a cue. “i’ll go, too. happy for you, man.”

though peter isn’t currently in the best place with harry, he should show his support by showing up. it can’t be too bad since the rest of you will be there.

a loud, long chuckle leaves harry as he hops up from his bench and comes to yours and peter’s. he bends over and wraps both of you in a hug from behind at the same time. his arms are around each of your shoulders, holding you so close his cheeks are squished against either of your heads. you giggle at that, peter finding himself laughing along and reaching back to ruffle harry’s hair.

staying mad at him is one of the world’s greatest challenges.

“you’re saints, both of you. my angels.” he kisses the back of your head, then lays one right on peter’s cheek, leaving him blushing red and grinning. “what about the rest of us? i never go to shit like this,” mj huffs and seems genuinely offended. harry wiggles his eyebrows. “you want a kiss?” his offer gets her flustered, which she can’t manage to hide. that’s a first.

“shut up. i’m just saying... never mind.” mj glares at you and peter, ned and betty making kissing noises behind her. “someone change the subject.” peter steps in. “when’s the game, harry?” he asks, harry snapping and waving his finger. “tomorrow! cancel your plans, kiddos.” “like we had any,” betty retorts.

some of you did. that was going to be peter’s hangout with you.

ned smiles sympathetically at peter before betty is getting his attention. you‘re unfazed and rambling to harry how proud you are of him.

did last night mean nothing? was it an empty gesture? were you only doing it out of guilt? peter must have read your visit wrong. he’s been wrong the whole time he’s liked you. you don’t like him back, you pity him. harry is who you’re really interested in.

may always says he should trust his instincts.

peter pulls his arm from yours suddenly, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. you’re taken back because it’s so out of no where. you stop talking to harry so you can figure out his deal. “where are you going?” “bell’s gonna ring,” peter mumbles and picks up his lunch tray. he heads to the garbage can without another word or goodbye to anyone.

“i’m gonna go check on him,” you tell harry, already getting up from the bench. “you do that,” he acknowledges and calls mj’s name again.

peter tosses his mostly untouched food in the trash, seeing you make your way over from the corner of his eye. he tries to speed walk inside so he doesn’t have to talk to you. you’re too quick, cornering him between the door and brick wall.

“we still have ten minutes,” you state, worry flashing across your face. he’s avoiding you. well, attempting to. “what’s wrong?” peter gulps before saying anything. “my next class is on the other side of the-“ “no,” you cut him off. “what’s really wrong?”

he doesn’t feel like having this discussion. it’s bad enough he came to the realization his feelings are one sided. must he break that down for you so soon?

you toy with your sleeve while you speak because peter doesn’t. “i thought you and harry were fine again. i mean, he kissed you.” peter clenches his jaw so hard he can imagine the sound of it cracking. “it’s not about harry.” “what, then? what the fuck happened?” your sleeves are now balled in your fists. you hate it when peter does this angsty routine.

he keeps his voice low and calm so he doesn’t come off as jealous or hurt. he’s both of those things. “the game is tomorrow. friday. when we were supposed to hang out.” you meet peter’s eyes with nothing but remorse in yours. “i... i forgot,” is all you have to say.

you feel awful. he’s had a tough couple of days, and you fell through on your promise to cheer him up.

“clearly,” peter remarks, voice sharp. the way you’re looking at him makes him think he won’t like what’s coming. “peter, we have to go,” you almost whine. “i’m really sorry, i am, but this is a big night for harry. he needs us there.” peter stays silent. you’re twisting the knife deeper into him with every word. “i wouldn’t be cancelling if this wasn’t important.”

now you’re cancelling?

you reach for peter’s hand, but he shoves it into his pocket. that stings for you and him. “please, peter. we’ll hang out at the game, i swear.” this is the last chance you’ve got, so you pile it on. “harry won’t even be there, technically. he’ll... he’ll be on the court.” peter hadn’t thought about that. he lets himself unclench, starting to see the appeal. you add one more thing to lighten the mood and persuade him.

“i’ll buy you popcorn, all you can eat.” it’s that easy. cracking a smile, peter accepts. he’ll deal with his unresolved, unreciprocated feelings after he stuffs his face, courtesy of you. “you better. i’m gonna need it for this long ass game.” your face lights up, grabbing his wrist in both hands.

“so, you’ll come?” “i’ll be there,” he confirms. you throw your arms around his neck. he laughs into the hug and holds you by your middle. “i promise this’ll be the first and last game we ever go to,” you say and mean it. harry is lucky you’re even suffering through this a first time. “thank god,” peter exhales, resting his chin on your head.

that interaction leaves peter confused as hell. you’re crushing his mind and soul one minute, then hugging him the next. you were making him feel so special lasts night, and treating harry the same way today. it’s so jumbled that he isn’t sure if he’s in the friend zone or something more zone.

there are a ton of mixed signals coming his way, and he sucks at reading people as is.

he can’t take another second of this. he’d rather you come out and say you like harry already because it’s torture. knowing you don’t want him in that way would at least eliminate the possibility of anything happening between you two, and allow him to stop driving himself insane.

he’d be able to stop taking it out on harry, too.

the hold you have on peter, that you’re oblivious to, rules his every thought and decision. he’s constantly analyzing what you say to him, debating whether or not your affection is simply platonic. it’s been half a year of this madness, the night of harry’s game blurring every line so much more.

your group arrives a bit early to find seats and hype harry up before he plays. peter gets there after all of you because he’s not exactly in a rush to watch sweaty guys be aggressive. there’s only one upside, which is spending the night with you... and everyone else.

he steps into the gym that’s filling up fast with family members, friends, and the college scout harry was talking about. midtown has a different feeling to it at night. the smell of pencils is oddly stronger, and it’s a lot less intimidating.

cheerleaders are huddled in a circle while the team supervisor has them run their chants. the “leading official,” who peter thought was called a referee, takes his place off to the side. coaches give their players last minute instructions, players fool around with each other, a lot is going on.

peter scans the room for you, and grins a toothy grin when you catch his eyes. you’re sitting by yourself in one of the middle bleachers, only a bag of skinny pop in your lap. you return the smile once you spot him and wave him over.

“i don’t know why, but i thought they’d have an actual concession stand,” you explain the lack of fresh, buttery popcorn as peter takes a seat next to you. he catches the prepackaged bag you toss him. “it’s just a snack table.” “works either way,” peter hums and pokes the bag. “i’m not sure skinny pop is all i can eat, though.” “it’s good!” you defend the snack you chose for him.

“i’m kidding! you’re right, it’s kind of addicting.” he puts it by his feet for now and gives you a half smile. “you’re welcome,” you deadpan in a playful tone. “thanks.” he narrows his eyes. “where’s everyone else?” “right,” you twist around and gesture to the bleacher above you. mj is gloomily seated near the back. ned and betty are a few behind you.

“i told them to find their own seats so we can sit together, alone.” you look over at peter and move ever so slightly closer. “welcome to our friday hangout. just the two of us.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that,” peter laughs out, his knee bumping yours. “but, i’m happy you did.” he goes to put an arm around you, then harry comes racing up the stairs.

just the two of you didn’t last so long.

“y/n, i’m freaking out,” harry announces, zooming through your row to get over to you. he stops once he’s standing in front of peter and shakes him by his shoulder. “hey, pete. you made it.” “yup,” peter replies, pressing his lips together. you wince at his reaction, then quirk an eyebrow at harry. “you’re freaking out? why?”

harry sits down between you and peter, blissfully unaware of the moment he interrupted.

“i found the scout. he’s fucking terrifying as fuck. this super ripped guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” he talks quietly, like the man will hear him. “he’s not the only one,” peter says to himself, kicking around his bag of popcorn to pass time. you ignore him and grimace.

“shit. wait, how do you know it’s him? did they tell you?” you’re not sure how these things go. harry casually shrugs a shoulder. “dude has a clipboard. seems legit to me.” he gives you a cocky smile. “he’s also in the row before mj. that’s how i noticed. um...” his back now facing peter, he whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle.

peter’s face scrunches up as the spark of anger the past few days have lit reignites itself.

when harry pulls away, you motion for him to come closer with your index finger, cupping your hand around his ear and speaking into it.

nope, no more. peter is entirely about to explode. you cancelled your plans so you can force him to watch basketball, you sweet talk him so he’ll let it go, and you’re running right back to harry after all of that? what the hell does that mean?

peter stands up from his seat. “y/n, we need to talk,” he demands, you moving away from harry to respond. “ok, gimme a minute. we’re-“ “no, we need to talk now.” you don’t have time to refute because he’s taking your arm and dragging you away. harry squints at you in utter confusion.

“um, have a good game! we’ll talk later,” you call back to him, walking with peter even though you have no idea what his issue is and aren’t a fan of how he’s acting.

he releases you once you’re in the hallway. you make a point of harshly yanking your arm back, a scowl painting your lips. “jesus, peter. i was having a conversation.” “do you like harry?” peter blurts out. you’re so shocked at his abruptness that you don’t give him much to work with, only, “what?” “do you like harry?” he asks you again, this time less accusing and more curious.

“do i like...” you’re too aware of the seemingly hundreds of people surrounding you to answer comfortably. “can we talk about this somewhere else?” “sure,” peter nods, letting you lead the way since he did to get out here. you two go down the hall and choose the first room you see, which happens to be the custodian’s closet. it’s thankfully unlocked.

things were tense between you and peter on the way over, and it’s physically mirrored when you step into the room, air thick and smelling of lemon cleaning supplies. you tug on the string hanging down to turn on the light. it casts a faded glow, leaving you in mostly darkness. you sort of like it. this feels more intimate, which is fitting for what you’re both about to say.

neither one of you knows where to begin. peter’s question is ringing in the back of your mind, and you could touch on that, but there’s more to it than a simple yes or no. you don’t have to worry about it because peter gets his words out first.

“i think harry likes you, and i think you like him back,” peter restarts, already sounding deflated by what he came up with. “he doesn’t, and i don’t.” you take a step towards him. “he likes mj.” it’s peter’s turn to be shocked. the hint of a smile sets on your lips. “that’s what we were talking about. harry asked if he should take her to dinner after the game, and i said yes.”

this is going better than he expected.

“mj is the one who likes him, not me,” you reiterate and watch some life enter peter again, a tiny bit. he’s coming around, and he wants to believe you. his trust issues don’t. “but, you’re so... touchy with each other. the hugging the other day?” he mentions. you tilt your head to the side in amusement. “friends can’t hug?”

to be fair, you hugged peter yesterday. that’s a point rightfully shut down.

“he calls you pretty,” peter tries, raising both eyebrows. you have to laugh at this one. “you call may pretty.”

obviously, peter’s analysis skills could use some serious improvements. it sounds like he had the right idea, wrong person. your relationship with harry is platonic. hell, he’s crushing on a whole different person. this actually opens up the possibility of you liking peter in the romantic way, of him being in the something more zone. he had it backwards.

in case peter isn’t convinced yet, and because you really want to, you use one more trick to prove to him you don’t like harry.

“do me and harry do this?” your lips speak for you, colliding with peter’s unexpectedly yet easily. he feels like he’s floating, like he’s in some sort of magical wonderland until it hits him that this is real, and he should probably kiss you back. he does so softly and tangles his fingers in your locks. his hand supports the back of your head as the kiss goes on.

you push forward so your bodies are almost fused together, the closest you can be while you hold his jaw. peter breaks the kiss for a short breather, going back in without more than a moment passing. this one is feverish, his free arm looping around your lower back, hand resting on the small of it. you let out a giggle against his swollen lips and stroke your thumb over his jawline.

he’s been waiting to do this for the longest time, but he doesn’t have to tell you that. it shows in how eager he was to reciprocate, his shyness blossoming into passion. you feel yourself melting under his touch, the kiss eventually becoming a series of short pecks. peter gives you the final one. his pink lips form a grin when you pull apart. your hands stay on each other, not in a rush to go anywhere.

“woah, i like you so much,” peter laughs out. the words roll off his tongue naturally. “you know i like you,” you drawl, smiling at him, a full body smile while you caress his skin. he winds both arms around you and dips his head down to steal another kiss. you’re loving what’s happening. however, you don’t feel like making out while dirty brooms stare at you. you should take this back home.

“wanna get out of here? i do,” you suggest, voice muffled from his lips. they detach from yours and brush your cheek gently. peter makes a funny face. “hm, i thought we had to come. harry needs us,” he says what you did yesterday, earning a groan back. “you’re joking.” “i’m not. what kind of friends would we be, ditching him like that?”

he’s going to end you one day.

“yeah, no. i have no idea how basketball works, and i’d like to keep it that way,” peter drops the act, pressing his fingers into your sides. “i’ve been so mean to harry. i was...” “a dick?” you finish for him. it’s more of a statement than a question. to soften the blow, you rub his cheek with the tips of your fingers. “yup. he’s gonna think i hate him or something if we don’t stay.” his formerly smiley face is frowning.

“harry of all people will understand after we tell him our reasons,” you reassure him, nudging under his chin with your nose. “besides, he has other things to worry about. mj, the scout. it’s fine.” peter considers it, ultimately giving in to you like he always does, resting his forehead on yours. “i guess so. less distractions for him, yeah.” “exactly. that’s what i wanna hear.”

having his approval, you unwind yourself from him and head to the door. his fingers wrap around your wrist gently. “what about my popcorn?” a giggle escapes your lips. “you’re still on that?” “you said all i can eat!” his voice comes out high pitched, adorably high pitched.

“fine. i might have those bags you put in the microwave.” you smile when his fingers lock with yours, peter kissing the side of your head.

“even better. let’s go home.”

[blackwoolncrown]

”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

[what-i-call-men]

Jiggle physics

Jeff Pfister x female!reader

Warnings: SMUT, dominant reader, sub Jeff, some degradation towards Jeff, a bit of voyeurism at the end (reader finds out mutt saw the whole thing)

Request: My fic thought for the night (up for grabs) but it’s Jeff pfister. Reader is a dancer/instructor and Jeff studies her for “jiggle physics”. Thought is definitely a smut

One again I am stealing a picture from @copy-of-a-cheeto because I love the icons they make. Thank you!!

Also thank you to @divineruler for proof reading

It was another day for you to begin with. You were working at a small gym in town after your other job hadn't really worked out. You were freshly graduated from college and needed somewhere to work while you looked for other opportunities, a gym was your best option. Now you weren't an avid gym person, but you did enjoy dancing so you ended up instructing a Zumba class. It was more of a hip hop class because your gym was right near a college town, and early 00s Spanish didn't reach college kids as much as hip hop and rap music.

This week you had specifically scheduled a dirty Thursday class, uncensored music and a lot of confidence boosting music. You were doing your last few songs, pushing everyone to their "sexy limits" as you put it. You had stripped off your tank top, now just in your sports bra and leggings. When you were stripping off your top, you had a few of your regulars whistle or cheer, some even joining you as they knew the choreography. You ended your last high energy song and started your cool downs, opting to leave the shirt off as you were definitely sweating right now.

The slow sounds of Just the two of Us by Grover Washington jr played through the speakers as you instructed your class to stretch out. As you faced them, you couldn't help but catch a glance of blonde hair from outside the glass doors to the room. It looked familiar but you couldn't put your finger on it as you continued your instruction. After you finished your cool down, you moved to gather your things as some of the students chatted with you. One of your best friends had walked out to run to the locker room and came back, running up to you and pinching your arm a bit. "You'll never guess who is outside looking for you." She whispered so others wouldn't hear.

Turning to her you rubbed the now pained part of your arm and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Um I don't know, Ryan Reynolds ready to sweep me off my feet?" You asked and reached down to pick up your gym bag and tank top, choosing to toss it in the bag rather than putting it on. Your friend followed you out of the classroom with the rest of the remaining class. "No, it's fucking Jeff and Mutt from high school." She whispered and nodded to the front desk where they stood, talking to a receptionist. You looked at them for a second.

"And they have those same dumb haircuts from when they were 12." You choked back a quiet laugh as you approached the front desk. Mutt saw you first and then elbowed Jeff to look up at you. "Hey boys, long time no see." You said and walked up to the pair, holding out your membership card to the front desk people to clock you out. "What warrants such an abrupt visit from the resident horny weeb club." You said and led the boys out, your friend keeping a close distance behind the group.

"Hey y/n, can we talk to you alone? We have a job offer for you?" Mutt said and glanced at your friend. You stopped outside the gym and nodded to your friend to go to the car you shared. "What job could you two possibly have for me? Last I heard you guys were just trolling random people online and spam liking my Instagram pictures." You said and crossed your arms. You weren't really friends with the two in high school, but you did have a friendly teasing relationship with them, rather than really making fun of them like others did. You were really only nice because you never knew who'd end up going crazy, and you'd rather not be on someone's shit list.

"We recently ran into... a lot of money. And we wanted to hire you at our robotics company." Jeff said and gestured excitedly at you. He definitely was on something from the way he had a shake to his hands. "Uh... you two know I majored in archeology? I don't know the first thing past how to google." You said and looked mainly at Jeff. God if he didn't have that stupid haircut still, you'd be tempted to say he got hot. He's got a pretty good body and he looked pretty good in comparison to Mutt. It would help him a lot if he didn't still dress and look like he was 12.

"We're aware. It has nothing to do with your degree. Here, this is what you'd make if you come to work for us." Mutt grabbed a card from his pocket and a pen that hung from your bag pocket. When he handed you the paper you had to blink at the numbers for a second. "Annually?" "Weekly" Jeff corrected your question. You stared at the paper for a second. "How do I know you guys aren't just high or something? How'd you even find me?" You asked and Mutt and Jeff looked at each other before Jeff grabbed his keys from his pocket. He clicked the unlock button and a Rolls Royce beeped from where it was parked only a few spots away from where you stood. "If you're interested come pay us a visit." Mutt pointed at the business card he had handed you and the two walked to the car before you could say anything.

When you got home of course you researched the company name on the card. Kineros Robotics had made actual headlines and pictures of the men were on different sites about their sudden influx of money to their company from a generous anonymous donation. You glanced at the card and pursed your lips before pulling up Instagram, going to Jeff's page, glancing at the pictures he's posted and biting your lip. God you could really tell he was either still a virgin or very submissive in some sense. He wasn't like any of the gym bros that hit on you or messaged you. With a small surge of courage, you hit the 'message' button and typed out a quick text.

After messaging back and forth about the job opportunity for about two days, you found yourself standing outside the main entrance to the robotics lab. You walked down the hall to see glass doors and just a buzzer. You buzzed and were quickly let in. "You guys should get a receptionist or someth-" your words were cut off when you saw what was really in the room. There were humanoid robot figures and a lot of latex parts just laying around. A lot of these parts were tits or asses, all different shapes and sizes but there seemed to be something off with all of them.

"Hey I'm glad you made it. You can set yourself up in the room over there." Mutt said as he stared down at his computer. The room was all white, some windows around but pretty much all of them had shade covering them with little to no light peeking through. There was a pile of white powder sitting at each desk. Oh so they were coked out and making sex dolls. What the actual fuck did this have to do with you? "Set my stuff up...?" You asked softly and Jeff stood from his desk to lead you to the room.

"I didn't tell you what you were here for?" He asked as he opened the door to the next room. You shook your head and looked at the hardwood floor and speaker set up. "We need you to be a model. See... our last few latex prints came out... less than desirable- jiggle wise. Our math was way off and we need these to be as real as possible." Jeff said and walked to a small cabinet in the corner of the room. "I need you to put this on so we can monitor your motions to make our robots more realistic." He said and handed you what was barely any cloth. It looked like those dotted suits superheroes wore so their suits could be cgi but instead of a suit it was a bikini top and what is pretty much a skimpy pair of bottoms that were basically bathing suit bottoms with how little they covered.

"Jeff, you didn't mention this." You said and took the clothes slowly as he headed back out to the door. "Just put those on and I'll be back in a few." He said and glanced over your body again quickly before closing the door. You decided to send a quick text to your best friend- just a "here's what I'm doing in case I get murdered" text. After that you slipped the clothes on and stared at yourself in the mirror beside the little cabinet. You could tell this was a makeshift dance room. That was probably what they were looking for. Good thing jiggle physics was your thing in class.

Jeff came back a couple minutes later with a laptop in his hands. He stopped and gulped when he looked over your body in the skimpy outfit, quickly opting to sit on the ground as he monitored the points on the laptop. "Go ahead." He said and positioned the laptop on his lap, having to adjust himself a bit a couple of times. "Jeff... I need music." You said and moved to grab your phone, nodding to the speaker system, him shrugging and letting you do so. As you leaned over the speaker you glanced in the mirror beside you and he was very much staring right at your ass. God if he wasn't such a virgin you'd probably be disgusted. That was probably why they didn't know the right jiggle physics for a woman's body.

You started playing some of your best twerk music, trying to shake off how weird it was to have just Jeff staring at his computer then back to you as you danced. You tried to just close your eyes and get into the choreography as you ignored the awkwardness of Jeff obviously having a boner and you just twerking for him to collect data. You did a few hip swirls and then some quick shakes, glancing at yourself in the mirror. Honestly as you looked you didn't realize you had given Jeff a perfect look of your ass. He ran a hand through his hair as the song began to wrap up. You went to your phone to change the song and decided to strike up a small conversation.

"So… are you getting good data?" You asked and just got a simple nod from Jeff, his stupidly cute bowl cut bobbing back and forth as he nodded. "So you're making sex robots huh?" You asked as you looked through your playlist nonchalantly bending over a bit to give Jeff a good view of your chest. He once again responded with a nod as you started the next song. It was a bit more sexy than the last one. "Why don't you monitor the jiggle physics of sex then?" You asked as you lowered the volume of the song, starting your choreography, which included some moves where you're on the ground, shaking and bouncing as if you were riding someone. "I'm sure they are more accurate than me dancing." You said as you pushed yourself down to the ground chest first with your ass up and facing Jeff.

He adjusted a bit and you moved yourself a bit closer to where he was seated as he chose not to answer you. "If you want more accurate results Jeff, you need the jiggle physics of sex." You stated and gently moved the computer off his lap, placing it on the ground as you gently moved to straddle his legs. "The reason you and Mutt can't get the math right is because you need to really experience a woman's body during sex and neither of you could rope in a girl to fuck you for science. Am I right?" You asked Jeff as you leaned into him, settling yourself on his lap. His face was so red as his eyes kept flicking from your chest to your face. He just nodded silently to your question.

"Jeff, I'm gonna need you to verbally respond to me. I want to hear you say it." You said and ran your hands from his shoulders and down his chest. He took a deep shaky breath. "Fu- I need you to fuck me for science." He said softly and looked up to you as you tutted at him.

"No honey, the other thing." You said and pushed your fingers under the hem of his shirt. He gulped and took in another breath. "I can't get anyone to fuck me. Please y/n I need you." He pretty much whimpered under you as you pushed up to the balls of your feet, leaning forward and beginning to shake your ass a bit from where you sat on his lap. You rolled your hips slowly forwards and pushed your chest against his, leaning up next to his ear. "That's better." You whispered and then left a small wet kiss under his ear. Slowly working down his neck in small wet kisses and sucks.

You could feel his body tense as you reached down between you and gently palmed at him. God you could tell how hard he was without looking. You smirked a bit and continued to suck small hickies on his neck and under his ear as you quickly undid his button and fly, grabbing his dick from his boxers. Wow if you would've known he was packing you probably would've slept with him in high school, but everyone just assumed he wasn't and that was why he didn't get girls. You pumped him slowly and you could hear him let out small moans and whimpers, wanting to stay quiet on the off chance Mutt heard over the music.

As you pumped him you gently bit his earlobe to get his attention. "If you wanna get inside me baby, you gotta help me out." You said quietly and he nodded and willingly let you take his hands and place them on your ass. He gave a small gentle squeeze and you smirked as you felt him twitch in your hand. "God... fuck... holy shit..." he muttered as you rolled your hips against his thighs, wanting to at least stimulate yourself a little bit.

"You wanna make sure my monitoring is ok baby?" You whispered and he glanced over at the laptop, still reading the outfit you wore. You grabbed his cock again, now moving yourself to push your bottoms to the side. Slowly sinking down on to him, you could've sworn Jeff came right then. And he did. But that wasn't going to stop you from helping him out for the 'sake of science'. You grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist so as to not interfere with his readings. Slowly you began to bounce on him, feeling all parts of your body begin to bounce. Jeff was letting out the most sinful noises. Honestly it sounded like he only knew what moaning was from women in porn, but you didn't mind- honestly it was hot to have him be so responsive.

"Oh baby you're gonna be too loud, Mutt might interrupt us and you wouldn't want that would you? Don't want him to find you moaning like a whore for me." You said lowly as you reached up to gently squeeze his throat. He closed his mouth and nodded at you as you continued to bounce on him. God you could tell how close he was to coming again, but lord knows you weren't done with him. His moans got quieter but he still let out small whines from below you. You reached down to rub your own clit as you bounced on top of him. "Fuck baby, you wanna fuck me so bad? How about you get that data you need by pounding me from behind?" You muttered and climbed off of him.

He barely questioned you when you did so, only whining a little at the loss of contact. As you turned around and got on your knees, pushing your ass up in the air, he quickly moved to his own knees, pushing into you and beginning to thrust at a rapid pace. You could definitely tell his knowledge of sex is from video games and porn because he kinda went wild. He pounded hard and you couldn't help but moan out as he grabbed your waist with a tight grip. After he got a hang on his speed, he reached forwards and pulled you up, pushing you against the mirrored wall he had been leaning against, he paused momentarily to undo the bikini top, and as soon as it dropped to the ground he was grabbing your tits from behind.

You pushed back against him, your face now pushed against the foggy mirror as he thrusted into you hard. "Fuck.... fuck y/n." He grunted out quietly as his thrust became more sporadic and sloppy. You could tell he was gonna come again, so you reached behind your head and grabbed his hair firmly. "You're not coming again until I cum. You fucking hear me?" You groaned as he continued to thrust into you. He nodded and reached around in front of you, fumbling for your clit for a moment before you corrected his hand placement and showed him the correct movement. He rubbed quickly and in pace with his thrusts, you could tell from his look in the mirror that he was trying so hard not to cum.

As soon as you finally reached the edge, you let out a loud and pretty pornographic moan of his name mixed with some swearing and praises. "God... fuck Jeff you feel so good in me. I want you to cum baby. I want you to cum in me baby." You thrusted back on him and kept your hand firmly tugging at his hair. It was only seconds before he was coming in you, his own face twisted in pleasure as you looked at him through the mirror. He slowed to a stop and slowly removed himself from you. You only caught your breath for a couple moments before there was a knock on the door.

"Hey those were good readings, we're gonna need you here again tomorrow so we can get some other position readings." Mutt called through the door. You looked at Jeff. "Could he see the reading the whole time?" You asked Jeff quietly. He bit his lips and nodded. "I assumed you knew because you saw this room through the glass when you walked in." Jeff said and pointed to the mirror which was in fact a one way mirror you had seen walking in from the lab, which you falsely assumed was a window because of the shade. "So mutt saw the whole thing?" You asked softly, slowly piecing everything together. Jeff nodded, scared you were gonna be upset. You only shrugged and reached over to gently grab his throat again. "Guess now he knows how good of a whore you are for me then." And god if he hadn't just come, Jeff probably would've come again from that action alone. Damn you were gonna have fun working here.