#i just don’t know when the right time to have a conversation like that is??

[sttoru]

outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

[izvmimi]

Katsuki handles you extremely gently for the most part, which is why when you find yourself at the tail end of play-wrestling in the midday on Saturday, wrists bound together in a firm, one-handed grasp and a leg locked against him at the hip, you’re a bit surprised. Your lips form into a soft ‘o’ as you let out a pant; conversely, his breathing is still, having not exerted very much effort, but you can practically feel his heart pound in his chest.

Or possibly it’s wishful thinking, given the way your own heart races.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, then dips in close, kissing your forehead.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“What if I said no?” you quip. In reply, his face buries in the crook of your neck and he snorts softly.

“Why don’t we make love, not war?” 

You’d admonish him on the cheesiness of the statement, but you don’t have the energy to. By now, Katsuki has relaxed his hold on your wrists and your leg, but you let your thighs and calves find new positioning wrapped around his waist as he lowers his weight onto you. He’s heavy, but it’s a familiar, comfortable heaviness that keeps you warm.

“Don’t like roughhousing with you,” he murmurs softly, still unmoving. Your bodies breathe in and out together, and you let yourself hold him even closer, hooking your left arm around his neck gently and running your right through his hair. 

Perhaps somewhere this is another form of a wrestling lock, but you’re decidedly loving, letting fingers trace between the blonde spikes to scratch his scalp.

Katsuki appreciates your softness just as much as your feistiness at times, and perhaps the former he needs a little more at this time.

You lay together for a moment, remembering when you sparred for real once years ago while at UA, and how quickly he folded.

Perhaps you cheated, you think as you conjure up the memory.

…

Paired together for sparring despite your friends’ apprehensive looks, you take up the challenge gladly. Light on your feet, the two of you move in concert towards and away from each other quickly as you trade blows - a narrow dodge of a punch with a sidestep. You grab his hand, and Katsuki’s surprise emboldens you as you plant your foot firmly on the ground and use your momentum to throw him over your shoulder.

Collective gasps abound from your watching classmates as Katsuki hits the ground, hard. You smile once he’s quick to jump back to his feet, wider still as he grumbles out loud.

“You’re so goddamn sneaky.”

He resumes a fighting stance. The ring is relatively small, a chalky circle about 8 bodies in diameter, but he still hasn’t fallen out of bounds. Red-faced, he’s lunged at you again (Izuku in the crowd comments that he must be more upset that he can’t use his quirk than the fight itself) and you sidestep him once more before tripping him. He loses his balance just for a moment, but jumps back into a back handstand then rights himself. 

He does look like he’s getting his ass kicked, but your friend heckles him first with the truth.

“He’s blinded by love, go easy on him!”

Aizawa shoots her a disapproving look, and your cheeks warm, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. You won’t know how right she is until later, anyway.

Time elapses - you block another heavy roundhouse kick that causes you to skid but you stay standing as you brace for impact, your heels digging into soft ground.

“I told you I won’t ever go easy on you,” Katsuki hisses. 

He follows this up with a leg sweep that has you tumble over him, and you somersault to regain control, but Katsuki has your leg by the ankle, pulling until you dangle for a moment, but you land a punch straight into his gut despite your upside down position.

Your friend screams again to ‘get his ass!’ amongst your classmates and gets another look from Aizawa. 

But Katsuki has let go with the force of the shock and you shoot backwards and prepare for an axe kick. He blocks, but for a split second he loses his resolve - the look on your face is fierce, and he remembers exactly why he has a crush on you.

The two of you jump back and separate to the opposite sides of the ring.

“If you don’t get serious, you’ll lose,” you tease.

“I’m going easy on you,” he finally claims, gruffly.

“You literally said otherwise 15 seconds ago.”

An ooooooo runs through the crowd that makes him scowl, and he takes off again with another lunge. You block, a move that makes Shoto shake his head at the bad choice, and you skid backwards from the sheer power behind the punch, making it almost closer to the borders of the ring. The subsequent onslaught is hard and you’re about to make it out of bounds.

Until you try a desperate move.

Leaning forward suddenly as if you were to kiss him, red blooms on his face, and he immediately backs off.

Izuku cups his face in his palms.

A leapfrog jump over him and a slight push, and he’s out of the ring, having fallen flat on his ass.

Denki, Sero and Kirishima don’t let him live it down for hours.

…

You definitely did cheat.

And perhaps in a way you are now, because he’s putty in your hands as he melts into you. 

But you’re no longer fighting, whether playful or not - teeth, tongue, lips don’t clash but rather dance and glide together; fingers and palms caress and worship each other in your joint embrace.

No power struggle between you two to be found anywhere - if anything perhaps in a way, you’ve always had the upper hand, being fully adored by him.

Regardless of how much stronger he is than you, whether it is in physical ability or will or resolve, he’d still very easily and consistently succumb to your love.

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNMATCHED II.

A/N: soooo you guys were just as horny for a part 2 to this story as i was so here we are, giving in to the temptation. disclaimer, i know their behavior is giving red flag energy but lets just put that aside for the sake of the story now lol

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNING: sexual content, age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry has been trying his best to forget what happened with Y/N, he is set on never making the same mistake, but it seems like fate has different plans for him.

PART 1 | MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

That skirt. That goddamned skirt. That’s gonna be the death of Harry. 

And also the fact that she went back to that asshole. 

Sitting in the busy school cafeteria Harry has zoned out of the conversation at the table a long time ago, precisely when he saw Y/N stroll in wearing that short skirt with that dickhead she should have ditched already or better, she shouldn’t have even dated him in the first place. But now they are moving in the line with their group of friends and he has his hand on her waist and it keeps inching lower, just a few more inches and his hand could be slipping under her skir–

“Harry? Hello?” 

Stella catches his attention and he is forced to move his focus back to his colleagues at the table. 

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” He clears his throat and keeps his eyes on his half-eaten sandwich in front of him. 

“What’s up with you? You haven’t been your usual self lately.”

“Just… tired. I’m behind with my research and have a bunch of papers to grade before winter break.”

“The joys of being a teacher,” Stella chuckles. “Don’t worry, it’ll get better with time.”

“Really?”

“No,” she smirks at him. “But you’ll care less.”

She soon returns to the conversation at the table and Harry finds himself looking for Y/N again. There’s no trace of her in the line, but he is quick to spot her at a table across the dining hall, sitting beside Dickhead who has an arm around her neck, keeping her close as he wants everyone to know that they are together.

And it irks Harry way more than it probably should. 

It’s been a little over a week since Stella’s Christmas party and also that very heated and very wrong kiss he shared with Y/N. That weekend was like hell, he kept beating himself over and over about it, cursing himself out for being so stupid and reckless. He still has no idea what came over him that let him make out with a student, but he knew one thing for sure: it couldn’t happen again. 

So when Y/N walked into the classroom before his first lecture early on monday he didn’t even let her speak before he got to the point. 

“It shouldn’t have happened. I’m so sorry for it, but I can’t undo it now. I suggest let’s pretend nothing happened, it’s for the absolute best. No one can know about it and it will never happen again.”

She seemed taken aback by his outburst, but after a bit of hesitation she nodded.

“Okay. Nothing happened. It must have been the wine.”

“Yes,” he agreed right away. “We both drank more than we should have and made a mistake.”

She flinched at his last word, but didn’t protest, only nodded, holding her textbooks tighter to her chest. She looked so sad, even disappointed that Harry almost wanted to take back what he just said, but he knew he couldn’t. 

“Are you… okay?” he dared to ask, but when she looked at him again, her eyes told nothing. 

“I’m fine. I’ll see you in class, professor.”

And she was out of the classroom before he could say another word. In class she sat in the back and not even once did she look at him. He knows, because he kept looking at her. 

He’s been trying his best to get her out of his head, but with not much luck. Not when all he can think about is how soft her lips felt against his, how insanely good she tasted mixed with the coldness of the night, how amazingly she fit into his palm, the curve of her neck, back, waist and hips… and how badly he wants to experience it again even though it’s the worst possible idea. 

Harry thinks he is going insane. Genuinely. 

He’s been burying himself into work, but his focus has been all over the place, so it’s been more like a waste of time. He is one of the last ones in the building today as well. Most professors left a long time ago, but the lights in Harry’s tiny office are still on as he is hunched over a stack of papers. When he has to read over the same line for the twentieth time he drops his pen with a tired groan and leans back in his chair. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes roughly, until he is practically seeing stars. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, staring at the papers that are still waiting to be graded. Checking the time on his phone he is surprised to see that it’s already past seven.

He stands from his chair and steps to the window. The campus looks quiet at this time, only a few students are walking towards the dorm that’s next to the literature department’s building. It’s a wednesday night, the semester ends next week so some lucky students who have no more exams left in the year have already left for the holidays. Harry will be going home right before Christmas, he plans to use those few days of the break to work on his research in peace. 

From his window he sees part of the parking lot next to the dorm, it’s quite dark there, he almost doesn’t notice the figures sitting in the car closest to him, but a few heartbeats later realization hits him.

It’s Y/N and the dickhead. 

They are pretty far, but Harry can tell that they are in a heated fight, judging from how Y/N is gesticulating. Obviously he can’t hear them, but if he had to guess he would say she is shouting, from what he can see. 

For a moment he tells him to just ignore the scene, it’s none of anyone else’s business, let alone his. But when he sees the asshole slap his hands against the wheel several times, making Y/N jump, Harry is moving before he could second guess his actions. 

He practically sprints down that stairs, already trying to figure out how he’ll interject without appearing like a creep, but he forgets all his plans when he is marching towards the parking lot and sees the scene unfold from up close. 

At some point they must have gotten out of the car, because Harry catches the dickhead getting back into the driving seat, Y/N is crying and tries to stop him from shutting the door, but he swings it with such force that she stumbles forward, holding onto the handle. When Harry sees her almost fall to the asphalt he starts running, just as the car comes to life and he drives away so fast, he almost runs over Y/N’s feet. 

“Fuck you, Charlie! Fuck you!” She screams after the car, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Harry rushes over to her, grabs her by her shoulders and turns her away from the direction of the car. “Hey, what happened?”

She is gasping for air from the crying as she wraps her arms around her, those beautiful eyes that are usually filled with curiosity are now full of confusion and hurt. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he begs and she hiccups a few times before she finally looks him in the eyes. 

“H-Harry?”

He ignores how good it feels to hear her call him by his first name again and tries to focus on the situation.

“Yeah. Let’s get inside, okay? It’s freezing cold.”

She nods and lets him steer her towards the building and up to his office. By the time she sits in the old armchair in the corner of his office she has stopped sobbing, but her expression looks just as miserable as before. 

“I’ll make you a tea. Do you like tea?” he asks, stepping over to the tiny side table where he keeps his kettle and tiny tea collection with two mugs. She nods and he is quick to turn on the kettle. He grabs a chamomile filter and drops it into one of the mugs and while the water boils he hands her a box of tissues that she accepts with a quietly murmured thank you. 

When the tea is done he hands her the mug and sits in his chair, unsure what to say. He definitely did not plan to have her in his office anytime soon and definitely not like this. 

“Go on, lecture me about being with him,” she says at last, staring into the mug in her hands. 

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“But you’d be right.” She looks up at him, eyes still red from the crying. 

“Why did you go back to him?” he softly asks, not wanting to make her feel even worse. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, looking away again. “He could be convincing, I guess.”

“Hope you won’t believe him after this.”

“No,” she chuckles bitterly before taking a sip from the tea, leaning back in the armchair. “Not even the sex will convince me to go back to him.”

Harry’s muscles jump at her words. Not because he is such a prude, but because instantly he is thinking about sex… and her… and his body reacts involuntarily. Clearing his throat he crosses his legs and looks anywhere but at her.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she chuckles softly, but she doesn’t seem sorry at all. 

“No, I… um…” Harry has no idea what to say. This feels like such an impossible situation, he is definitely walking on eggshells here and the fact that he is semi-hard does not help his case. 

While he is looking for the right words she places her mug to his desk and crosses her legs, a curious look playing in her eyes as she is looking at him. She appears calm and confident suddenly, like she wasn’t sobbing ten minutes ago. 

“I lied,” she then speaks up.

“About what?”

“I know why I went back to him.”

“Oh. Okay, why did you?”

She holds his gaze for one… two… three seconds before her lips part, then she hesitates for one more moment before answering. 

“Because I couldn’t go to you.”

A shiver runs down his spine at her words, his body is betraying him already, but he hangs onto the last bit of his rationality.

“Y/N, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell the truth?”

“We agreed that we are not talking about it again.”

“I’m not talking about that night. I’m talking about how badly I’ve been wanting you, but knowing I can’t have you I went back to Charlie even though I knew I shouldn’t have.” 

“Y/N…” His mouth is dry and he feels ridiculously hot even though the heating hasn’t been working too well lately in his office. He is clawing at the arms of his chair, trying to keep the remains of his cool, though it feels like he is hanging on a thread.

“I won’t do anything about it, don’t worry. And I won’t bring it up again.” She sounds different this time, the confidence has turned into what feels like disappointment and it lurches something in Harry’s gut. 

Standing she smoothes her clothes before looking at Harry, a tiny sliver of expectancy glistening in her eyes. 

“Thanks for the tea. I better get going.”

She is already moving towards the door when Harry jumps to his feet, entirely lost about what to think, do or say. He strides after her and just when she is about to reach for the knob, he grabs her other hand, stopping her mid action. 

But he has no idea why he just did that. His rationality is screaming at him, but with each passing moment he spends holding her hand, the noise gets farther and farther away until it’s lost somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Slowly, she turns her head, eyes taking in the sight of their touching hands before her gaze meets his. He instantly stumbles back, letting go of her like she was on fire, but she doesn’t seem surprised. Instead, she turns around and just stands there, with a calm, but determined look on her face. 

“Careful professor,” she then speaks up. “I might take your actions as a hint.”

“A hint…” he breathes out, almost mesmerized with her, he is convinced she’s put a spell on him, because he can’t move or think straight, he just keeps staring at her.

“Yes, a hint,” she nods shortly. “That you want me just as much as I want you.”

He swallows down a moan that almost slips through his lips at her words. His whole body is burning for her, palms sweating and itching to touch her and he can almost taste her on his tongue again, desperate to pick up from where they left off not long ago. 

The tiniest smirk tugs on the corners of her mouth when she sees just how much he is struggling and she takes it as her queue to push her luck just a bit further. She takes a step closer to him, but still leaves some space between them, wanting him to close those last inches. 

“You know you can have me.” She cocks her head to the side, blinking up at him innocently. “Right here, on your desk or in that armchair. I want to be your good girl and take whatever you give me.”

“Stop it,” he manages to breathe out, but all his strength is gone, it sounds more like a plea rather than an order. 

“What if I don’t?” she sassily questions. “Will you punish me?”

Harry whimpers. They both know he is close to breaking and she is not stepping down now and she’s determined to push him over the edge. Slowly she reaches up, drags a finger across her lips before moving then down, tugging at her shirt at her chest, revealing more of the exposed skin there, then she starts playing with the top button, all while keeping her eyes focused on him. He sucks on his breath, his gaze keeps switching between her eyes and what her fingers are doing. 

Then it pops open, revealing the delicious swell of her breasts and a bit of the lacy bra as well and he knows he is gone. 

“Close the curtain,” he simply orders and a sudden rush of excitement washes over her as she quickly moves across the room, drawing the curtains on the window and turning around she is expecting him to be in the same spot, but to her surprise he is right there and before she could say a word, his lips crash down on hers with such force she would have fallen back if he didn’t already have an arm around her waist. 

His other hand is quick to find its way to her throat first, then to her jaw, angling her head perfectly so he can devour her. 

He spins them around and she gasps when her ass meets the edge of his desk, still kissing her he pushes forward, blindly tossing everything on the desk aside to make room, something clatters as it falls to the ground but neither of them cares to even look. His hands are on the back of her legs and he helps her up until she is sitting on top of the desk. 

She eagerly opens her thighs and circles her legs around his hips, pulling him closer and when she feels just how hard he already is, pushing against her clothed center, she can’t help but moan at the sensation. 

“It’s a one time thing,” he pants when her fingers start to work on his shirt and his hands find the button of her jeans. 

“Sure,” she breathes out smiling.

“Just to get it out of our system.”

“Of course,” she nods eagerly, and a moment later she is tugging his shirt off his shoulders. 

Buttons come undone, clothes are thrown across the room and soon enough all of his focus is on her naked chest, his hands exploring the tender, heated skin before his head dips down and his mouth meets her hardened nipples. 

“Oh fuck,” she moans, head falling back as she has an arm around his shoulders, the other one planted behind her on the desk. All while his hands are tugging down her jeans, finally giving him the chance to touch her inner thighs, exploring the warmth and softness he’s been fantasizing about for so long. 

He gently bites on one of her nipples, making her back arch, burying his face between her breasts before he leans back to get rid of her jeans. She has a moment to admire his naked torso, all the tattoos he’s been hiding under his clothes, his pants are hanging around his knees and his erection is throbbing through the fabric of his underwear. She can’t help but smile at the sight, it’s surely one she’ll remember forever.

When her jeans are discarded on the floor he plants his hands on her thighs and pushes them wide open, revealing her drenched panties. He brings his thumb over the wet fabric, lazily drags it over her clit, making her tremble under his touch. Then keeping eye contact with her he pulls his chair under him, sits down and rolls closer so his face is perfectly lined up with her. With his eyes still locked on hers, he leans forward, moves her panties to the side and places a sloppy, open mouthed kiss to her throbbing clit, making her moan so loud, he digs his fingers into her thighs pulling back. 

“You need to be quiet,” he warns her and she just eagerly nods, watching him take her underwear off completely and go back to where he was a moment ago. 

Harry drinks up her taste, he licks, kisses and sucks on the right spots, making her see stars as her orgasm is building up. When she feels two of his fingers slip into her she grabs a handful of his hair, tugging on it. 

But right when she is about to tip over the edge he pulls back, leaving her in a heaving mess. Reaching into one of his drawers he grabs a condom and standing up he watches her lying on his desk, chest rapidly rising and falling while he rolls the condom on. 

To his surprise, she gets up and jumps off the desk, taking the initiative by pushing him down back into the chair and straddling his lap. His hands are quick to move to her ass as his cock wedges between her drenched folds. He hisses when she starts rolling her hips, making them both even more feral for what’s about to come. 

She leans forward and kisses him, her hand reaching down between them until it finds his cock. She gives him a few lazy strokes to which he hums lowly into her mouth. Then she stops her kisses, lips still brushing against his, eyes meeting again as she lifts herself up just enough to angle him underneath her and then slowly she eases down, letting him enter her inch by inch until she is filled entirely. She gasps at the feeling of her walls stretching around him and they both stop for a few moments, just savoring how perfectly they fit together. 

She plants both her hands to the base of his neck, kisses him again and starts moving her hips. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good,” he groans, locking his arms around her, fingers digging into her naked back and side as she starts to slowly pick up her pace, bouncing on him. 

When he starts thrusting upwards, meeting her movements, her head rolls back from how deep she feels him inside her, his tip reaching the perfect spot. 

“Yes, right there!” she gasps as he buries his head in her neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin while keeping his rhythm. “I’m so close,” she breathes out, her hands raking through his messy hair. 

Wanting even more friction she adjusts herself and then starts moving faster and rougher, aching for the release. She looks down, her eyes meet his gaze and she just knows he is as close as she is. 

“Harry,” she moans and hearing his name fall from her lips is what pushes him over the edge.

Grunting, his thrusts get rougher and fall out of their fast pace, he pushes into her over and over again as he fills the condom and watching him fall apart helps her let go as well. He feels her walls tighten around him while he is still riding out the afterwaves of his own orgasm, her mouth hangs open, nails digging into his shoulders so harshly they surely leave marks. 

Then they both slowly come off their high and she leans forward, capturing his lips in a much softer kiss than the ones they’ve shared just minutes ago. He gladly returns, their lips melt together and his fingers gently roam her naked back while he is still inside her. 

They’re quiet when she moves off him and grabs a few tissues to clean herself up while he discards the condom. The clothes are picked up from the floor one by one and a sense of unsureness settles between them as they both get dressed. 

She was the only thing on his mind just five minutes ago, but now that the sex haze is gone, his thoughts start racing. What did he do? What will happen now? This shouldn’t have happened but still, he wants to do it again and again and again. 

As if she knew he was panicking inside, she steps to him, takes his face in her hands and pulls him into a long, passionate kiss that instantly makes him forget about everything else. 

“Don’t overthink it,” she whispers against his lips. “We’re adults.”

“I’m your teacher,” he hums.

“The semester is almost over. Grade my last paper and we’re done,” she simply says with very little care about his current status. But he is not that sold on it just yet, hesitation and worry is all over his face. “Did you not want it?”

“You know how much I wanted it,” he admits defeatedly. 

“Great. I wanted it too. And I want it again. So I’ll come by tomorrow again. You’ll bend me over that desk after I had your cock in my mouth, then tell me what grade I’m getting for the semester and we do it again after that.”

He is already feeling himself getting hard again. Deep down he knows he should say no, but he has no will left to fight with himself anymore. So all he does is nod and then kiss her. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, professor.” She grabs her coat from the floor and then walks out of his office like nothing happened. 

Harry falls into his chair and assesses the mess on and around his desk, staring at the spot where she was sitting not long ago. He knows he is making his biggest mistake ever, but sinning has never felt this good.

And right now he is willing to take this risk.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[luveline]

Hii, Jade 🤍 please bring back singledad!spencer, reader and Amanda 🥹 they r so special

—Spencer experiences your first Spencer-brought-upon baby fever, to his shock. fem, 2k 

(cw: reader is written as enthusiastically wanting kids) 

Spencer’s been reading to Amanda since the moment she could open her eyes. By two months she was cooing in delight whenever he spoke, and that included during story time. He didn’t mind that she didn’t understand, he just loved being with her. He still does. 

So when Amy interrupts your conversation to beg for him to read her something, he gives you an apologetic look, asking, “Do you mind?” 

“Of course I don’t mind.” You wouldn’t, you’re like an angel, leaning back on the couch with little urgency as Amy climbs into Spencer’s lap.

“Thank you. Sorry for interrupting,” Amy says. 

“Gosh, you’re so smart,” Spencer says, tucking a curl of her hair behind her ear. “Interrupting, that’s a big word.” 

“Go ahead,” you say, getting comfortable in front of one of Spencer’s woven cushions. “I’ll listen too, if that’s okay.” 

Spencer opens the storybook to the first page. Amy likes this one. The corners of the pages are soft with use. “Cerys’ Brave Day,” he begins, grinning as Avery pushes herself up his chest to look down at the illustrations. “Cerys wakes up without mommy. Cerys makes her own way out of bed. There is no mommy to wipe her face or brush her hair. My mommy, she thinks, is not there.” 

Amy smiles into Spencer’s cheek. He wraps an arm around her, as if to say, I know, angel, it’s exciting. “Her mommy must be having a slow day. She doesn’t appear to give Cerys any help. And Cerys says–”

“No way!” Amy finishes, pointing at the drawing of a bathroom sink and toothbrush. “I don’t want to brush my teeth by myself!” 

It goes on like that for some time. Spencer notices you getting closer as he goes on, your arm pressing to his side. 

Cerys finds that her mommy is having a slow day. Cerys’ mommy is just as loving as the other mom’s, but sometimes she takes longer to help Cerys brush her hair, and get dressed. Cerys has to be a brave, smart girl, and help her mommy with the small things. Spencer enjoys it, and thought it was a great expression of empathy for Amy to one day understand.

“Later, when mommy feels better, she says I’m sorry for being so slow. Mommy didn’t mean to forget her, she just struggles to get up and go. 

“Cerys doesn't want her to be sorry. She loves helping her mommy out. Because mommy loves Cerys, and Cerys loves mommy, and that’s never been in any doubt.” 

Amy turns her face to Spencer with a huge smile, somehow bigger than when it started. “I love that story,” she says. 

Spencer lets the storybook fall closed in her lap. “It’s a good one, huh?” 

“What do you think, Y/N?” Amy asks. 

You’re delighted by Amy in a way Spencer’s used to seeing in the mirror. “I loved it. Daddy’s a good storyteller, and you’re such a good assistant. You know lots of the big words.” 

She preens. “Thanks.” 

You can’t resist her, pushing against the top of her head with a nice palm. “You’re welcome.” 

“Can we have another one?” she asks. 

Spencer checks the time on his watch. Amy realised it was bedtime before he did, it seems. “Come on, lovely girl. Let’s start getting ready for bed, and you can have any story you want.” 

He’s obviously not expecting you to leave, but at the same time, things are new enough between you that when he asks if you want to sleepover, your grinning “Yes, please,” throws him for a loop. 

You have spare clothes and toiletries in the bedroom. You ask to take a quick shower and get all smiley and shy when he says you never have to ask. 

“So dad,” Amy says. 

“So Amy,” he says, pulling down the blankets on her bed. She has five layers because suddenly November is cold. He wonders if she needs a sixth. 

“I can’t sleep in the big bed tonight.” 

“Well, that depends on how badly you want to.”

“Really?” 

“You’ve known Y/N for a long time, right? She’s been my friend for a long time, before she was my partner. I think she’d be okay with having you sleep in the big bed again if you need to. It was your place before it was her place, and she knows that.” 

“Well…” 

He grabs her under the arms and places her in bed. She could use her stepping stool, but he likes picking her up and putting her down. It makes him feel super paternal. “Just think about it, angel. If you change your mind, you can just come and knock the door. 

“Promise?” 

“Honey.” He kisses her forehead twice, before pulling the blankets up over her, and turning on her mushroom night light. “How’s that? Okay, I promise you can still come knock my door. Cross my heart.” 

“Can you stay for a little?” she asks. 

Spencer sits on her bed by her legs. They feel weirdly small under his hand despite the padding he’s given her. “Babe, are you sure you’re warm enough? This does not feel like enough blankets.” 

“It’s loads. Give me a hug.” 

Spencer lays down in her bed, almost falls off, and covers her with his arm. Their curls tangle together on the pillowcase. 

“Like this?” he asks. 

“Exactly.” 

“Amy, you’re using such big words, you’re so smart.” He’s gonna take her for an assessment at some point. He doesn’t care if she’s super intelligent or not, but lately it’s like she’s so much older than she is. A few days ago she said the word discombobulated. “My smarty-pants.” 

“I like big words,” she says. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Remember what Amanda means?” he asks. 

Amy giggles as he shakes her by the tummy. “She who must be loved.” 

“Exactly. Loved by everyone, deserving of love. Always, from the second you were born!” He leans down to kiss her cheek, meeting her eyes as he pulls back. “Okay?” 

She certainly feels loved, he’d wager. He loves her so much it’s like an extra part of his soul in another person. “Story?” she asks. 

“Yes, I did say we’d have one, didn’t I?” He’d almost forgotten. Spencer grabs a couple of her soft backs from the book stand and lets her choose. 

After he’s read a few books and given her a couple of cuddles, Amy begins to list. She presses her nose to his shoulder and mumbles something he doesn’t hear. 

“What did you say, sweetpea?” he mumbles. 

“Just goo’night.” 

“Goodnight. I’ll tuck you in, okay?” 

“Spence?” 

He’d almost forgot you were here. You’re standing in the doorway, arms still damp, pyjama pants stuck to your calves. “Where’s the fire?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“In a rush?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to hear story time. Did I miss it?” 

Spencer kisses Amy again. “I think so. I’m just saying goodnight.” 

You lean against the door. “Goodnight, then, lovely girl.” 

Spencer forces himself up to tuck her in. “Goodnight,” he says again, stroking the hair from her eyes, though they’re closed already. She doesn’t manage to say goodnight back, just touches his arm before he goes. 

You take his hand when he’s close enough. He follows, pressing his face to your shoulder from behind. 

“I like watching you be a dad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm, you’re good at it. It’s… I don’t know, I know Amy isn’t my baby, but I do love her, so it’s never not gonna be nice to watch you, and… I’m worried to say this.” 

“Just say it.” 

“Maybe one day, I…” You catch his eye and give him a panicked smile. 

You climb into bed together. He tries to get you to finish what you’d been saying but doesn’t succeed, no matter how nicely he draws that shape you love into your neck. It’s alright, though. It doesn’t matter. He nearly forgets you’ve brought it up at all until you’re lifting yourself up from your place on his chest. “Spence?” you ask, so close it makes him nervous, his stomach twitching of its own volition. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I know it’s soon. I know we’re not… locked in. I was just thinking about our future and our family, and I’m really happy. And– and if you did want to, I guess I wanna know if… would you ever have more?” 

“More kids?” he asks, dumbfounded. 

Your pupils are massive, staring down at him, giving your eyes this darkness so rare in your gaze. “Have you ever thought about it?” 

“Of course I have, especially with you.” 

You fluster but push through. Your laugh warms his lips as you lean down. “Don’t say that.” 

“Isn’t that what you just said?” 

You kiss him. He lifts his chin too fast to follow you and ends up pushing you away. His cheek is burning in your hand, your index finger to the corner of his eye and so, so tender where it touches an eyelash. “Amy’s so much like you, honey,” you say, tucking a long flyaway strand behind his ear. “And it’s all you.” 

Spencer wonders if you’re perhaps entering the ovulation stage of your period, but forbids himself from asking, should he sound like a freak. But surely you can’t be feeling as strongly as you are about this from story time alone. He’s not that good at telling them. 

“It’s not all me. Amy’s herself, and she’s parts of everyone she’s ever met. I think she’s been a lot braver since she met you,” Spencer says. 

He’s not sure what he said there, but you peer down at him like he’s entirely new. 

“Spencer,” you murmur, drawing a line across his cheek.

“I’d love to have a baby with you, I just thought saying that might be too much too soon.” 

“Well, it is,” you say, sounding insanely pleased, at odds with your words, “that’s so soon. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” 

He thinks he gets it. Spencer covers your hand where you’re been caressing his cheek and brings it to his mouth, giving your knuckles a kiss. “You’re already so caring, you’ll make an amazing mother.” 

“Not just if we have babies though.” 

“No, I know.” His hand acts for itself as he tucks your hand against his neck. “Amy loves you.”

“She’s brilliant, Spence.” And whatever adoring you’d been ladening on him comes to an end. “Her vocabulary is insane for her age, she really is her father’s daughter.” 

You lay yourself across his chest again for a hug. 

Spencer applauds himself for surviving whatever that was. You, eyes dark and imploring, asking him about babies and touching him like that. “Amy would love a baby sibling,” he says. 

“How many should we have?” 

He laughs loudly. The taboo of everything being too soon is forgotten as you and Spencer talk about babies, houses, what middle school Amy might go to, what daycare you could send your babies to. It’s so exciting it makes his chest pang, thinking about living with you, about marrying you. And your enthusiastic answers make it worse. It’s clear you’ve thought about some of this stuff at depth. 

You could really get married one day, Spencer thinks. There’s a real possibility you might say yes. 

“Do you really think Amy wouldn’t mind a sister?” you whisper. 

“She’s asked me a couple of times how she can get one, so yeah. I think we can safely assume she’d like that.” 

“She asked you that?” you coo. “Aw, lovely girl, what did you tell her?” 

“Well, I told her she came from a pumpkin.” 

“You did?” 

“Mm. It was my fault then when she got very excited at Halloween.” 

You giggle into his neck. “When we have a baby, we’ll buy her a pumpkin.” 

“Or a squash, but I don’t think we could fit a baby in a butternut.” 

You hug him nice and hard. Spencer isn’t sure, but he suspects this is the beginning of a very new, very enjoyable chapter of your lives. Even more so when you nose at his jaw and mumble something about his ‘kissability’. 

[alotofpockets]

Practice makes perfect | Leah Williamson x Reader

Where you and Leah practised kissing each other to prepare for kissing boys, but you quickly realise that after that you don't want to kiss anyone but her

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.5k

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As the only two girls on the boys' team growing up, you and Leah clicked right away. Football brought you together, but it was everything else about her that kept you close. Not many people had stuck around in your life the way Leah had. From meeting at six years old to now, a decade later, she was still your best friend.

The football dream was becoming reality for the both of you. The young Lionesses and Arsenal Academy were where you spend most of your time besides school or each other’s houses. The two of you were inseparable and everyone knew it. Where you went Leah went, and visa versa.

“Remember when we were like twelve and we practised kissing?” Leah asks you out of nowhere while you’re sitting in her bed and playing video games. You think back to the moment.

It was a similar situation to this one, you were having a sleepover and had just finished watching a romcom. “How do you know if you’re gonna be a good kisser if you’ve never kissed someone before?” Leah asked with a voice filled with curiosity. 

“I have no clue. Why don’t they show those parts in the movies?” You turned off the tv and pulled the covers further over your body. “Exactly! Like when I kiss a guy for the first time, I want to make sure that like I can kiss him properly, you know?” 

You nodded, understanding her concerns. “What if we practised kissing together? Then we can tell each other if we’re any good.” Leah loved your idea and instantly sat up in bed again. “You are brilliant!” 

She made you sit up as well and once you did she double checked if it was okay. When you nodded in confirmation, she leaned in and pecked your lips. “How did I do?” She instantly asked. “Good I think, what about me?” She smiled proudly, “Nice, you as well.” 

You had practised a couple more times that night, and when you both liked boys, you had practised some more so that the first kisses you would have with them would be perfect.

“Yeah, I remember.” In the meantime Leah had paused the game to fully focus on the conversation she wanted to have. “I was wondering if maybe we could practise something again.”

“What do you want to practise?” You asked to urge her to go on. “Well, I heard from some girls in our class that they’ve been making out with their boyfriends, and they talked about how it goes and everything, but even with that information I don’t feel even remotely ready to just make out with a guy. So, I thought that maybe, if you’re up for it of course, we could practise like we did before?”

Even with the introduction Leah gave, her question still caught you off guard. Leah’s hopeful eyes were hard to ignore while you thought about her question. “Just so we don’t totally embarrass ourselves when the time comes.”

"Yeah, exactly! I don’t want to make things weird between us though, you can totally say no.” She quickly added.  “It’s not weird.” you said shifting to sitting cross-legged, facing Leah, on her bed. “We’re just practising.”

Leah’s face lit up with relief, “Exactly, Just practising.” She turned to sit cross-legged as well. She told you how your classmates had described making out, so you were both on the same page. 

“So, eh,” you cleared your throat, “do we just go for it?” Leah let out a nervous laugh, “I guess so?” You nodded, which Leah took as her sign to start leaning in. She inched closer slowly, until her lips brushed yours. 

At first she just pecked your lips like you had practised before. Your heart started beating faster, but you didn’t understand why. Her soft, warm lips on yours felt familiar, yet somehow different. “Still okay?” She asked to make sure you wanted to do this as well. “Yeah.”

You leaned in this time and let your lips move in sync with hers. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as Leah reached out her hand and cupped your cheek to pull you a little closer. 

When she pulled back after a few moments, her eyes searched yours. “How was that?” 

Your brain felt like it was running a million miles an hour, and you were scrambling to find words. “Good.” You managed finally. “What about me?” Leah’s lips quirked into that proud smile she had done last time, “Good too.” 

A feeling came over you that you had never felt before, you couldn’t quite place it, but before you could overthink it, Leah was leaning in again. “Practice makes perfect, right?” she said softly, and when you didn’t move away, her lips were on yours again.

That night while Leah slept soundly besides you, your mind wouldn’t stop racing. Trying to make sense of what you were feeling. 

It wasn’t until a few weeks later when you saw Leah kiss a boy in your class, that you realised what was happening. The moment you saw the two of them together, you felt a pang of jealousy. All you knew in that moment was that you weren’t jealous of Leah in that moment, but you were jealous of him. 

You turned on your heels and got away from the situation as quickly as possible. Of course, you headed straight over to the football field. The one place where everything felt right. You must’ve spent hours kicking a ball around until your parent’s called asking when you’d be home. “No Leah tonight?” Your mom had asked when you walked in, seemingly without the blonde by your side. You hadn’t even thought about it, but usually Leah would join you on Fridays. “Eh, no not tonight.” You say quickly. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” Your mom nodded and you rushed to your room. 

You checked your phone and sure enough you had a bunch of messages from Leah. The last one read I hope everything is alright. Couldn’t find you at school so I headed home. Please text me back!

You didn’t text Leah back that night, or the next morning. It wasn’t that you were mad at her, of course you weren’t, you didn’t think you ever could be, but you just didn’t know what to say. Every time you thought about her, you saw that boy’s lips on hers. Every time you saw it play back in your mind, it made your chest ache.

But Leah was Leah. Persistent, stubborn, and your best friend. So, it didn’t take her long to just show up at your house unannounced. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She stated from your doorframe, after your dad had let her in. She found you laying on the floor with one of your textbooks in front of you, trying to bury yourself into your homework. “What’s going on?” 

You glanced at her and then quickly focused back on your textbook. “Nothing.” Leah shook her head and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Liar.” She sighed, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You said a little too quickly and defensive for Leah to believe it. She crossed her arms and leaned against your door, studying you like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “I just need some space.” You said softly, unable to meet her eye.

“Since when do we do space?” Her voice softened. She walked further into your room and sat down on the edge of your bed. “Come on, talk to me.”

You wanted to. You wanted to tell her everything. You always told Leah everything, but how could you tell her about your feelings? How could you tell her that you were jealous of a guy she kissed? Talk about the way your heart raced when you made eye contact with her? 

“I’m fine, Lee.” You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes and Leah could tell. You saw that she was fighting her inner monologue to press further, her lips parting like she was about to. Before she could say anything, your mother yelled upstairs, “Leah, honey, are you staying for dinner?”

Leah turned to you, “Do you want me to go?” You shake your head, “No, it’s okay. You can stay.” She opened the door and told your mom she would love to before turning back to you. “I’m gonna help her with dinner, you know, so you can have some more space.” This time you noticed her smile not fully reaching her eyes, but before you could say anything, she had already closed the door behind herself.

You stopped ignoring Leah, because you knew she would just find a way in, but that didn’t mean that your interactions were any less awkward, well at least for you. From Leah’s side it seemed like nothing had happened, while you questioned every interaction you had with her.

When she laughed at your jokes, or let her hand linger on your arm or leg, everything made your skin feel like it was on fire.

A few weeks later Leah was picking out her prom outfit with her mom. She had tried on a bunch of dresses, but none of them seemed to be what she was looking for. Today was the last chance of finding something, since prom was literally tonight. So, Amanda was determined to spend the whole morning driving from store to store until they found something.

It was the third store of the morning where Leah’s eyes fell on a baby blue suit, and she knew instantly that that was going to be the one. Her mom encouraged her to put it on, and the smile on her daughter’s face was exactly the reason why she had.

“This is going to be the one!” Leah said as she admired the suit in the mirror. “It’s lovely Leah Cathrine.” Leah smiled big, “Thank you.” After paying for the clothes, the pair headed back to the car.

“Oh mom, I wanted to ask if you could drive y/n and me tonight.” Her mom’s brow furrowed. “Darling of course I would, but I thought y/n wasn’t going?” Leah looks at her mom as if she was crazy. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh well, because that’s what she said yesterday. She said she wasn’t really feeling up to going.” Leah didn’t understand, you hadn’t told her anything. “But she was so excited about it and had her outfit picked out like months ago already. Do you know why she isn’t going?”

Amanda shakes her head, “I don’t know.” Leah was quick to respond. “You didn’t push further?” Amanda chuckles lightly, “No, that’s more your thing, darling.”

Leah sat back in the seat and crossed her arm, going over what she could do. “Can you drive me to her place tonight?” She nodded, “Sure, darling.”

You were watching a movie in your sweats when you heard a knock on the door. When you opened the door, Leah stood in front of you with a small bouquet of flowers. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at prom?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Leah shoots back instantly. “I’m not going Lee, you should still go though. I’m sure your boyfriend would like you to be there.”

“Boyfriend?” Leah steps inside and closes the door behind her. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend.” You shrug your shoulders, “I saw you and Steve kiss, figured you two were together.”

“Oh no definitely not.” Leah said defensively, “He kissed me, and I told him that I wasn’t interested.” You searched her eyes for anything to prove what she was saying wrong, but she seemed sincere. “Oh.”

“So, come to prom with me?” Leah said, holding out the bouquet to you. “Sorry, Lee, I can’t.” She retracted the flowers reluctantly. “Why not?”

Her question hung in the air. Again you wanted to tell her, but you just couldn’t. “I just can’t, please drop it.” But Leah was Leah and there wasn’t any scenario in which she would drop this. “I won’t drop it. You’ve been excited about your outfit, the music, the pictures. You’ve been talking about prom non-stop for months and now you’re here in sweats not going. Please just tell me what’s going on. If I did something, let me in and let me fix it.” Her plea sounded desperate.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, and there is nothing you can fix.” You sighed in frustration, wishing she would just drop it. “Did someone else do something? Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine, okay, I’ll tell you.” Leah focussed on you instantly, not having expected you to break so soon. “I can’t go to prom with you because ever since we practised making out, all I can think about is wanting to kiss you again.” 

Your eyes were looking anywhere but Leah, not ready to see the way she would react to that confession. “Please look at me.” She slowly reached up her hand to your cheek to turn your head to face her. You expected anger, disgust, or even hurt in her eyes, but instead you were met with softness. 

“You know the reason I told Steve I wasn’t interested?” You shook your head. “It’s because after he kissed me, I felt nothing. Which was a stark opposite to how I felt when we kissed. I swear it was just practise when I asked you, but I think that was exactly what I needed to realise my feelings for you.” Leah confessed. 

You stare at her for a moment, taking in the confession. She liked you the same way that you liked her? The corners of your lips slowly rose as it was all coming together in your head. And then without hesitation, you lean in and kiss her for real this time. She kissed you back instantly, and pulled you closer like she had done last time. It felt even better than your time practising, now knowing your feelings for each other.

When Leah pulled away, she leaned her forehead against yours. “So, prom?” Your smile grew. “Yes, just let me get changed.” 

You rushed to your room and quickly got ready. “Wow, you look amazing!” Leah said as you walked back downstairs. “So do you!” You pecked her lips appreciatively. She took your hand and pulled you out the door where her mom was still waiting in the driveway. “Ready to go to prom, girls?” She knew by your happy faces that whatever was going on between the two of you these past weeks, was resolved. “Yeah, more than ready.” You said and Leah squeezed your hand. “Yeah, let’s go.”

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[razrbladekiss]

CRAVE | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: there’s only one thing that joel craves, and it isn’t the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him ‘til he’s blue in the face. and balls.

PAIRING: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. legal unspecified age gap.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT. alcohol consumption. pervy old man joel. reader’s dad (i’ve named him sorrrry) is there before joel gets pervy. some religious themes and also descriptions of religion in a negative light (this is MY experience with christianity, if you do not agree then please don’t read), no explicit smut but descriptions of what joel wants to do to youuuu so: mentions of piv, cock-riding, oral f!receiving, choking if you squint, dirty talk asf, joel being cocky which leads to his cock being sad and alone. reader is cunty. not proof-read ‘cus, once again, i’m a lazy bitch and i don’t have time for that. enjoy. 🫶🏻

An end to craving is an end to suffering.

Today’s last stream of sunlight fulgurates through the branches of your father’s prized Texas Ash, hitting perfectly the dime-sized crucifix situated comfortably between two pert tits sheathed in sheer black cotton.

Joel tries not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s been watching you all fucking night. Every time you get up, he’s been glued to your ass. Whenever you lean over, Joel can’t seem to pry his eyes away from your cleavage. The more he’s been drinking, the more brazen he’s been with his stolen glances.

When your father rambles about some work-related spiel—and you’re sitting so innocently across the way—he can’t help affixing his eyes to the swell of your breasts. Wondering what it’d be like to touch, and grope, and suck on them.

Your mother was right about him. For all of the years that she knew Joel while your parents were together, she’d always say that he was trouble. A good-for-nothing, splenetic, perverted old-man who was but a bad influence. And you never noticed, never cared. You always thought that he was a great friend, and a stand-up guy.

Until today. Until you saw him scrutinizing your form—in front of your dad—you had a lot more respect for Joel. But now you realize that your mother was right. He is a perv. But—fuck—do you love that.

You’re not sure what you enjoy more—disrespecting your insane Catholic mother, or knowing that Joel is undressing you with his eyes—but you can’t help yourself feeding into his fantasy.

“Daddy?” Your father hums, not entirely bothered by the fact that you’ve just interrupted his conversation. He smiles. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please, hon.” He hands you his empty bottle, mumbling something about how he was going to get himself one and that you don’t need to. But you insist.

The blanket over your thighs is being discarded, hiking your dress up with it. Joel gets a glimpse of your lace panties that he likes to imagine you wore just for him, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Bare, supple skin is on display as you get up from the deck chair. You turn to him with a prurient twinkle in your eye, and ask if he wants a drink too. “Yeah, another won’t hurt. I’m already pretty—“ he hiccups, “pretty far gone, anyway.”

Dad laughs while you saunter to the cooler and make a big show of bending over, completely unaware of the way Joel is trying to conjure up a plan to get you alone tonight. But then…

“Same ‘ere, bud.” He laughs before he’s nodding toward Joel. “Stay the night, if ‘ya wanna. I mean, you’re in no fit state to drive—none of us are—and I got a spare bedroom.”

His nose scrunches up, as if to decline, before you’re turning around with two unopened beers and a small bottle of wine. Your hand wraps around the neck almost romantically, leaving very little to his imagination.

“Yeah, you might as well stay, Miller.” You put down the beers on the table, still holding firmly the Merlot. “I’m stayin’. I got nowhere to be in the mornin’, and dad bought breakfast stuff.”

Two brown eyes are latched to each of yours, and you feel beads of perspiration roll through the valley of your breasts. Despite the evening cooling down, you’re stifling beneath his unyielding gaze.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” Joel concedes. He takes his can and cracks it open, lifting it up to cheers your father. “S’long as you’re makin’ me breakfast, Gary.”

Dad salutes and you smile, sinking into the purple cushion with a satisfied hum. You ogle Joel, biting fiercely the skin of your bottom lip. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel swigs his beer—letting your dad drunkenly ramble—and doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Wondering how he’s going to make you pay for torturing him like this.

But this hadn’t been your intention when Joel showed up to watch the Cowboys v Browns game this afternoon. In fact, him staying past nine o’clock was completely unintentional and if it weren’t for your dad pumping him full of Coors and Old Milwaukee, he’d be fast asleep at this very moment.

He supposes that he doesn’t mind, being here. Especially because he’s buzzed—still able to speak and think coherently, which is surprising—and gets to spend some rare time with you. Even if it is with your dad.

You watch them converse—the way that friends do—admiring how patient Joel is with him despite him being a little bit too inebriated for his own good. He’s the kind of friend that your old man needs; understanding, forbearing. And it baffles you that they’ve not known one another for longer than seven years, but surmise that they’d definitely be best friends in every other timeline because they just work so well.

But it’s the thought of them being friends—brothers—that urges feelings of unease. Trepidation. Gary’ll have a cow if he finds out the way that his so called buddy has been making googly eyes at his little girl’s titties for the last eight hours.

Joel senses the shift in attitude—you’re not teasing him now—and turns the topic of conversation to you. Dad doesn’t mind, though. Never minds talking to—or about—his kid.

“What made you stay in with us oldies tonight, huh?”

Wine is being swiveled around the glass before you take it back in one swig. A grimace flits over your features, but they both catch it.

“Didn’t feel like hittin’ the bars.” Candidly, you say. It’s refreshing. “Can’t be dealin’ with pervy old men tryna touch me.”

Less refreshing.

Joel’s blood runs cold, and you smirk. He swallows thickly the liquid acrimony bubbling from the chasms of his throat. He wants to screw that stupid grin off of your face—stuff his cock straight between those plush lips and throat fuck you ‘til you’re crying and gasping for air.

He just nods instead of saying anything.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you.” Dad says, not sensing Joel’s sudden frigid state. “Seriously. ‘Specially if it’s an old fuckin’ degenerate asshole—“

“Alright, Gary.” You halt the hate train, pouring the last few dregs of wine into your glass. “No need to get all protective. No old coot is comin’ anywhere near me.”

You look directly at Joel when you say; “old men can’t do what guys my age can, anyway.”

Dad grimaces. Joel scoffs. You can’t help smiling, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Y’know, you’re still my kid? And hearing this shit is nasty.” Your father tells you around a burp, and realizes that this might be the time to call it a night.

He’s never been able to handle his alcohol, especially after being married to your psychotic beer-loathing, hymn-signing, prayer-group-leading, holier-than-though moronic fucking mother.

He lets himself get too drunk too fast, now. Ever since she went back to Kansas—which was totally code for I fucked the priest and got extradited from the church—he’s really let his hair down, and you’d be lying if you said this version of your old man wasn’t the very best. Because he’s living his life the way that he wants to, now.

It’s nice.

“It might be nasty, but ‘least you don’t have to worry about me bringing home a man your age. Or even worse; older.”

Gary gets to his feet—knees clicking and cracking as he does so—and nods. “‘Spose that’s true, kid.”

Joel. Is. So. Fucking. Pissed.

As you say your goodnights—and put on a few lights so that your dad doesn’t trip over his own feet—Joel is mentally counting down the minutes until he gets you alone on this damn patio. He’s determined to make you regret the few little comments that you’ve made tonight.

“Don’t stay up too late. Y’know how cranky ‘ya get with no sleep.” Dad reminds you. “You too, Miller.”

You hum your response, lifting your empty glass and indicating that you’ll be retiring to your room soon, too.

“Night dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” He turns to Joel. “Make sure she ain’t up too late.”

He nods and shifts his gaze to you, eyes darkening. “Yessir. I’ll put her to sleep.”

Your father grunts and slides the patio door to close. Leaving his daughter and best friend alone together might be the biggest mistake that he’s ever going to make.

Joel watches him intently behind the glass door, heeding him stumble across the tile. He might be about to rearrange your guts, but he at least wants to be courteous.

Your legs squeeze together, for the only sound you hear is the reverberation of Joel’s I’ll put her to sleep in that sexy, beer-slick tone.

He sees it.

“She makin’ ‘ya squirm?”

You blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pussy.” Joel—as candid as ever—elaborates. “Is she flutterin’ ‘cus ‘a me?”

The fallout of a chemical bomb would be much more appealing than having to look Joel in the eye after such a lewd statement.

“Don’t worry if so. I have that effect on the ladies.”

“Makin’ yourself sound like a slut, Miller.” Coolly, you respond. Your hand is reaching for a can of beer, twining fingertips around the base while another pulls the tab.

Two eyes screw shut when a spritz of alcohol is flushing over your face, neck and chest. Droplets of Bud trickle between those perfect tits that Joel’s eyes have almost burned fucking holes into; forcing even the horniest man on planet earth to render himself utterly speechless.

You trail a finger through the valley of your breasts, collecting the sticky liquid before you’re putting it straight into your mouth; sucking it clean. Your eyes are locked on Joel’s.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. The sight before him is truly one to behold; his friend’s sweet daughter with her fingers between her tits out in the patio. Nobody’d ever believe him if he told them this. Joel probably wouldn’t even fucking believe himself.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ’ya?” Is what he says in response. He’s quick witted, you’ll give him that. “My tongue stuck in your pretty little pussy—“

Heat flashes over you.

“You’re fucking vile.”

“Ain’t that the way it’s meant’a be?” He lurches forward, and your eyes travel to the small opening of his shirt’s midsection that highlights perfectly the fact that he hasn’t a base layer beneath the flannel.

You see a small patch of hair; brown, and gray and seems a little fuzzy. It’s a sudden reminder that this man is a smidge too old for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.

“Don’t think so.” Trying to out-douche him, you respond. Joel’s thick fingers are twined together, hands resting over the peaks of his knees. “Think youre meant’a have some kinda respect for me. Y’know, as my dad’s buddy, ‘n all.”

Joel snorts a laugh.

“I’d have respect for ‘ya, but the way that peachy fuckin’ ass was in the air when ‘ya bent over the cooler tells me that daddy’s ’lil girl is more of a slut than me.”

Your jaw rolls. Reaction: gauged.

He inches nearer to you; slimy grin plastered across rough, rugged features. “Only pullin’ your leg, hon. I know you’re no slut. Too much of a prissy bitch—“

“Oh, really?” Irked, you spit.

Joel nods. Pushing at your buttons has never been much of a difficult feat. It’s something that he quite enjoys, actually.

“Mhm, yeah.” The man is leaning backwards in his chair, now. Arms folded behind his head; hands pressed against his dark curls. “Gonna have to prove that you ain’t like your mama.”

Your blood boils. And then it runs cold.

“Don’t gotta prove shit to you.” You defend. Very defensively.

“No, that’s right. Don’t gotta do nothin’, kiddo.”

You see the outline of his dick as it stiffens within the confines of his dark, navy-denim jeans. He’s actually getting off on this.

“Unless you want to—“

“Nah, I’m good.” You’re leaning back, now, lifting your legs to sit criss cross applesauce. The barely-covering-your-crotch sheer fabric of your thong catches his eye; a glint of something wicked flickers through them as he clears his throat.

If you’re playing the long game, then so is he. He can out-stubborn anybody.

“So I’ve heard.” He jabs, insinuating that you’re a prude. Again. “Can prove ‘em all wrong, if ‘ya wanna.”

It’s killing him, this. It’s torture. But he’s strong. Ish.

You shake your head, reaching for your almost-empty can of beer. You’re taking another long pull, making a dramatic show of tilting your head back and puffing out your chest as you do so. His lips purse.

“I’m good.” You tell him again with a syrupy smile. “Rather we just talk. Y’know—be civilized, ‘n all.”

His arms are moving to the sides of his deck chair, now. Joel’s tongue runs along his bottom lip. He gives a quick bob of his head.

“Yeah, we can talk.” His eyes zone in on your pussy; the engorged wet patch situated on the part of fabric that kind-of clothes your cunt. His mouth waters. “But what’ll we talk about, baby girl?”

Another surge of pleasure oozes out from between your thighs, turning what was once a purple thong into a jet-black one. Joel doesn’t mind, though. The sight is sweet; it’s prurient, in some sick way.

“Hm.” You pretend to think, all the while spreading your legs a little bit more. He sees perfectly the outline of your folds as fabric hugs and highlights the inner workings of your beautiful anatomy. “Why don’t we start with what you’re thinkin’ about, Mr. Miller?”

A weakness of his, that is. You referring to him as Mr. Miller has always gotten him hot. It’s innocent, almost. It’s like that’d been engrained into your brain by the god-fearing fruit-loop that brought you up, and you can’t quit saying it in these situations.

“Oh, doll. Not sure you’ll wanna hear what I’m thinkin’ of.” His tone is rough, now. Like 180 grit sandpaper against the wooden walls inside of your fucking brain. You hum.

Mentally, Joel’s cock is spearing open the tight hole between your legs; making you scream his name. He’s thrusting his prick up into your cervix while you ride him like he’s the last cowboy on earth, desperate to feel a kind of pleasure that no man your age could ever bestow upon you.

In his head, he’s picturing your crucifix dangling in his face while you’re pleasuring yourself on his length; glistening with sweat, and cum, and Sierra Nevada. Howling at his girth, speechless at the size of him.

He wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around the base of your throat and fuck you into next week; feeling damp walls contract and seize around his cock—

“No.” You snap him back to reality; halting his train of thought. “No, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure she can.

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ of stufin’ that warm ‘lil cunt with my big ‘ol cock, ‘s’all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Your tone is teasing.

Joel does not like to be teased.

“If you’d shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’d be able to finish.”

In a moment of pure, unapologetic submission, you nod. The skin of your bottom lip is getting fucking gnawed at by your teeth in an attempt to conceal a moan.

It works. Kind of.

“What was I sayin’…” He strives to recall his last few words; and then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Stretchin’ out that cute pussy ‘a yours.”

That cute pussy ‘a yours, is twitching. Fuck that, it’s pulsating.

“And you’re so sure of that? You being able to stretch me out, I mean.”

“Dead sure, angel face.” He quips. “I know for a damn fact that you’d be havin’ trouble takin’ my fat cock all in one go; be cryin’ for everyone to hear.”

Through long, thick lashes, you stare at him.

“You’d be seein’ stars; and not just the ones above us right now.”

You look up to the sky and hope to alleviate some of the mental pain being bestowed upon you right now. Which is entirely your own doing, of course.

Joel shifts in his seat so that he’s a little bit more sunken, able to heed clearly the sickly sweetness blanketing the chair you’re on.

“I’ll eat your pussy, too.”

Your attention is snapped back down to Joel, now. Your brows raise.

“Suck your soul right out from between your legs.”

“Oh, Joel.” You moan, a little. He lets his eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them again to find you taking off your panties.

It’s like Christmas fucking day, this.

“I’d love for you to take me right here; fill me up on one ‘a the sunloungers.” You’re getting off your chair, and Joel’s heart is starting to pound within the chasms of his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You’re walking toward him; thong in hand. Fingers wreathed through soaked purple cotton.

“Can’t think of anything that’ll bring me more pleasure than you fuckin’ me ‘til I’m crying. Or gasping for air.”

“You ‘n me both, beautiful.”

You smile. You give Joel your underwear, before you’re running your fingers through his hair and he’s letting a hand glide up the meat of your thigh and beneath your skirt.

“Just a shame, ain’t it.”

“What’s a shame, sugar?”

The feeling of his fingertips—calloused and covered in rough skin—is almost orgasmic. But you’re stronger than what he is. So you pull yourself away from his hold, and begin to feel an unwavering sense of need. You shirk it, though.

You’re leaning into him now, breasts pressed against his shoulder, lips touching the shell of his ear. Goosebumps prickle over his neck and you assume that they’re making their way down south, too.

“Huh?” He says to get your attention, for you still haven’t answered. “What’s a shame?”

Fingertips trace over broad shoulders enveloped in soft, warm flannel. You’re leaning closer; hot breath on his skin. Your lips part to whisper:

“If daddy ever found out about this, he’d kill ‘ya.”

“Baby—“

You’re taking the panties from his hand, and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. Fighting a blush—feeling very proud of yourself—your face remains straight.

You tap at his chest and walk away, but not before throwing a “night, Miller” over your shoulder.

Joel looks down at the ground, presently wallowing in some sort of self-pity. But then remembers the visible effect that his words had—and the way he looked at—you, and he can’t fight the stupid fucking grin pushing its way onto his face.

He might’ve just experienced blue-balls at his big age, but to see you submit to his gaze was absolutely worth it.

He just hopes you’ll never tell a soul about his dirty-talk. He has a reputation to uphold, these days.

[mwuaferrari]

I REALLY WANT TO KISS YOU - LANDO NORRIS

The paddock was nearly empty. Only faint lights illuminated a few tents, and a handful of mechanics were packing up the last tools of the night. Just two races left, and the season would be over. Although the championship hadn’t gone Lando’s way, the atmosphere wasn’t melancholy—it felt nostalgic. A blend of exhaustion, pride, and the inevitable “what ifs.”

You leaned against a metal railing, watching as Lando, a few meters away, chatted distractedly with one of his engineers. He was smiling, but you could sense there was something deeper beneath the surface, something he was working through quietly. When he finished the conversation, his eyes searched for you in the shadows. The moment he spotted you, he walked over with a half-smile that sent your heart racing.

Lando stopped a few steps away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and studying you intently.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice light but tinged with nervousness.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone playful, that familiar teasing lilt he used to deflect anything serious.

“I wanted to check on you, to make sure you were okay,” you admitted, glancing at him sideways.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

“I know,” you said, taking a breath as you carefully chose your words. “But… Lando, you did something incredible this year, you know that? Everyone expected big things from the others, but you—you surprised everyone. You fought until the very end, and that’s what matters.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge whether you really meant it. When he found no hesitation in your expression, he sighed softly and smiled—this time, with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“Thank you. Really. I think I needed that.”

You looked at him, and despite his words, something in his demeanor made you want to comfort him. Without thinking too much, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Lando stiffened for a moment, surprised, but then let out a small laugh as he hugged you back, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder.

“This helps more than words,” he murmured against your hair.

When you finally pulled away, he didn’t move far. His gaze lingered on yours, and something in his eyes had shifted—something warm that made your cheeks heat up.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, letting out a nervous laugh.

Lando blinked, then leaned against the railing beside you, a genuine, low laugh escaping his lips.

“I was just thinking about something really stupid.”

“What?” you pressed, curiosity evident in your voice.

He looked at you, biting his bottom lip as if debating whether to say it. Finally, with a shrug and a soft chuckle, he confessed, “I was thinking that I really want to kiss you right now.”

Your eyes widened as your heart sped up, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“And that seems stupid to you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

“A little,” he admitted, “but it’s also true.”

The air between you seemed to grow heavier, charged with a new kind of energy. You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or just teasing.

“So, what’s stopping you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Lando’s expression softened, his usual playful demeanor melting into something more serious as he leaned closer.

“Nothing, I guess,” he murmured.

And before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment, ensuring this was exactly what he wanted. When he felt you respond, his grip on your waist tightened slightly, the kiss deepening into something that felt like it had been building for a long time.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were slightly out of breath, wearing matching smiles that neither could suppress.

“Well,” he said, his voice soft and tinged with humor, “that felt a lot less stupid than I thought it would.”

You laughed, giving him a playful shove. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he replied, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “But I’m also the guy who just kissed you, so I must be doing something right.”

[philosophicalparadox]

Got a Japanese grocery store near me. It IS kept very meticulously neat and orderly, but in a completely different way than what we usually see in the US — the “flow” of foods breaks up differently I guess.

Even so, despite now living on the East coast where literally anything from Japan is easily three to six times the cost as it was in California, many foods are still much cheaper.

And there’s WAY more variety. If you ever wanted to know about 21 different types of edible seaweed, and how to use them, that’s the place to go, and they WONT bankrupt you like a health food store.

The exception is some snack foods and other imports — but largely, the produce in that store actually comes from California; it often says so right on the boxes.

You see, the US has very weird food standards aesthetically, so we import a huge quantity of produce, and export the stuff that’s Ugly or that we just aren’t interested in.

But some of it stays here — and goes principally to markets aimed at minorities.

SO if you actually want to support US agriculture AND get cheap groceries, do absolutely find an Asian or even Hispanic / pretty much any minority market/store. I grew up next to the latter, with a similar butcher shop across the street. It was often times the only way we even could afford produce and meat; neither store was pretty by US standards, but it was INFINITELY better than relying on the quite literally rotten food that came in the food boxes. At some point FREE just gets used as a convenient excuse to dump waste somewhere and make it someone else’s problem; and while we did need to rely on those boxes at times, you bet your ass we nickel and dimed our way into those produce markets and learned to make preserves, because nobody should have to eat f-ing rotting food. But that is another story for another day.

Point is you are doing a lot more good for a lot more people shopping in a store like that than feeding the corporate overlords.

(And for the record, when I say cheaper, which is not a term most Americans associate with Japanese anything, I mean it — a bushel - that is about two pounds- of apples at Acme/safeway is like 4-6 bucks, so 2-3$ a pound. At this particular Japanese and sometimes Korean market, THE SAME APPLES are like 50c- 1.00 a pound, because They’re From The US and often are just not as pretty as ones you’d buy elsewhere. Yeah, you’ll have to cut around some nicks and bruises on that pear (and OMG do they have pears! Like 6 varieties!) but it’s perfectly edible and delicious.

Same goes for herbs. Whole Foods is a freaking rip off selling fresh mint for 2 dollars for like 12 stems. The Japanese market? You can get an entire damn mint plant for that price. Dried spices are sold in bulk like at Winco, from hoppers with bags. You pay by weight, not brand. So you can in fact get more than 6 stamens of Saffron for the 9$ that freakin’ McCormic sells that stuff. (You pay for the glass bottle more than anything).

The ONLY thing that makes this market unappealing to people: They put just about everything they can in Metric. Weights are sold by mg and kilo first; there are numbers that correlate to the respective pound /ounce on some things, and others are just in US imperial like the apples. But if you weigh the spices or pasta or anything like that, you’ll be charged for the metric conversion. Which apparently upsets dumb people who don’t understand that a gram is far more precise than an ounce, and that it keeps them from losing stock too fast since they’re pretty small fish — it’s owned by two people, and staffed by maybe 7 at a time. They don’t get priority on restock.

Anyway, small business grocery = best place to buy food

How to Shop at an Asian (or other ethnic) Grocery Store

Do you live in or near a city in the US?

Need to save some money on groceries?

Might I introduce you to... shopping at the local Asian grocery?

Asian grocery stores aimed at an Asian-American customer base almost always beat the prices of their western (or for-western) counterparts. Often by a significant amount, especially in categories like produce, meat, rice, and spices. Plus in addition to lower prices, you get the satisfaction of supporting a small, local business instead of a larger chain store.

(Note that a lot of this information applies to other ethnic grocery stores as well, but we're using Asian because they're common in many cities, and have particularly good prices on produce.)

But it can be a little bit of a learning curve when you first start to shop at them. This post will give you the information you need to navigate them.

So how do you find a good Asian grocery store?

First, go on google maps and search "grocery".

Note that you are NOT googling "Asian Grocery" or "Cheap Grocery". If you search "Asian Grocery" you will get results for Asian stores marketing toward a western audience, and because of this, will be neat, shiny, and very pricey. If you search "Cheap Grocery" you will get stores marketing themselves as cheap, which generally are only slightly less expensive than their "expensive" counterparts (think Aldi). Okay in a pinch, but you can do better.

Second, look at the pictures of all the stores you can easily get to.

Here's what you want: not a lot of printed ads, pictures of hand-written signs (especially in languages other than English), food in cardboard bins, and you want it to look kind of "junky". Bonus points if you can see prices listed in the pictures or the people shopping there are mostly older, ethnic women.

Third, If you couldn't find anything like this, go on your city's subreddit.

Search "cheap", "cheap grocery" and "expensive grocery". Why "expensive grocery"? Because you want to find people complaining about grocery prices, and you want to see the advice they get. Many times, that advice is Asian or ethnic grocery stores.

If you're still not getting anything, google "[city name] cheap grocery" and "[city name] expensive grocery" (see above). Scroll until you get to FORUMS discussing groceries in your city. You DO NOT want blogs or articles. Again, you're looking at the advice people are given when they complain about grocery prices.

One of the first questions people ask upon walking into an Asian grocery store of the type discussed in this post is:

"Is the food I'm getting here safe to eat?"

The answer is just as safe as anywhere else you might shop.

You're probably used to very clean, pretty, well-lit, well-organized stores. This will probably not be that, but it will be regulated by the same health department that regulates those stores. They are held to the same standards.

It's a lot of work to keep a store looking like a western consumer expects. It's a lot less work (and thus less money) to keep a store looking like an ethnic career housewife or grandmother expects. That is largely where the savings comes from.

What's a good deal at an Asian grocery?

Produce. You're probably used to things like onions and carrots being the cheapest per pound. Here it's going to be greens, apples, pears, radish, cabbage and maybe squash and sweet potatoes. Check unit prices and prepare to try some new things. Also a pound of greens is a LOT of greens. Keep that in mind. Also keep in mind that you might see a few pieces of produce that are bruised or have mold on them. That's okay. Just don't buy those pieces. The rest of the batch is probably fine. Wash produce when you get home if you're concerned, though you should be doing that anyway.

Rice and dry beans. If you like to buy in bulk, you're in luck. Don't expect to walk away with a pound or two of these. They come in 40lb packages. But if you tailor most of your meals around them, those meals will be cheap af. There are also lots of different types of specialty rice if you want to make your own sushi or mochi. Learn how to soak and sprout beans.

Tofu. Tofu is expensive when you buy it at a health food store. It is not when you buy it at an Asian grocery. It probably won't be in pretty packages, but again, cheap is not going to be super pretty.

Meat and fish. Meat is generally going to be cheaper here, though maybe not by as much as the produce is. Pork will probably be your cheapest option. You may also see cuts you don't normally see, like tongue, intestine, liver, kidneys, blood, etc... "Weird," however, does not automatically mean cheap in this context. Check unit prices and prepare to be adventurous. If you don't know what else to do with them, dried fish and animal organs make fantastic stock when boiled.

Spices. Again with the extremely large quantities here. But very inexpensive compared with their western counterparts.

Candy. This makes a great inexpensive gift if you need one, since the candy sold at these stores is fairly exotic for a western audience.

What isn't a good deal at an Asian grocery?

Dairy. This includes fresh milk, butter, cheese, etc... If they have it, it will be very expensive. Consider buying elsewhere.

Eggs. Again, this will probably be as expensive or more than the eggs you could get at a western supermarket.

Snacks. Pre-made items will be expensive in general, even though they may be tempting because they are different from what you are used to and you don't need to learn to cook a new thing. Do your best to avoid these and make your own if you can. If you can't, frozen pork or vegetable dumplings are probably your best bet for a quick meal.

Bread. It's pricey. A lot of Asian cuisines use rice, noodles, or buns for their starch instead of western-style bread. So if you can find it it will often be a novelty item.

What else do I need to know?

It's okay to be overwhelmed by new ingredients. Look up some YouTube videos on how to cook certain ingredients if you're not familiar with them.

These are not supermarkets. They sell food and sometimes the kitchenware (steamers, woks, chopsticks, etc...) needed to cook it. You will probably need to get your soap and household items somewhere else.

Pay in cash if you can. Most of these are very small businesses and paying them cash makes it so they don't need to pay credit card fees. At the very least, make the minimum purchase before paying with a card.

[luvmanifesting]

“But Nothing’s working!!”

LOA explained

Pure consciousness explained

Well duh you made that assumption so now nothing is going to work for you. The sad part about this community is most of you are searching for the same thing over and over and over when creators are literally giving you the answers IN their blogs. like what more do you want? Do you want someone to say you need to listen to 432HZ to manifest your goals? that you need to dance in circle and chant 999 times for your desires? No. The Law of assumption is literally always active. like ALWAYS. Everything you assume is going to be put out there because its an assumption.

What really irks me is when people say you have to “gaslight” yourself into thinking you have your desire, which kind of contradicts the whole point of law of assumption, why would you need to gas light yourself if you know you already have it..? yeah.. those two things don’t mix. Let me go over what an assumption is.. which clearly seems so hard for this community to understand.

The Law of Assumption is when you assume something to be true without needing proof.. Why do you lack critical thinking skills when the whole law basically explains what it is.

You don’t get what you want. You get what you decide. Why is the law of assumption being so overly complicated for no reason. None of yall did this with the Law of Attraction so why are you doing this with the Law of Assumption?? This also goes with inducing pure consciousness.. i hate bringing this topic up so much because people will take my words and make it into the world’s hardest problem in history. Imagine one day you DECIDE to induce pure consciousness and you say “hmm okay today i induced pure consciousness instantly! :D” And then imagine you get comfy and just breathe and then you suddenly induce the pure consciousness. wow so easy right? because you didn’t say “i want to induce pure consciousness” instead you said it like it ALREADY happened. Wants and Decisions are very different so keep that in mind.

What is pure consciousness? basically just a state detached from the physical world NO you’re not leaving the physical world, no you’re not teleporting, you’re basically in like a state of where worries don’t exist and you’re your “highest” self.

Clearing up misinformation.

No you don’t have to be in a deep relaxation

No you don’t need subliminals

No you don’t need a “void” routine

No you don’t need sats

No you don’t need to affirm mindlessly throughout the day

No you don’t need to meditate

No you don’t need frequencies

No you don’t need to be lucky

Yes you can swallow

Yes you can move

Yes you can breathe

Yes you can have inner conversations

Yes you can count to 2 billion

No it won’t start over if you sneeze

You’re literally human doing any of these things won’t affect your outcome when inducing pure consciousness. Whoever said you need to be lucky is beyond stupid btw. Whoever said you need symptoms to induce it, is… WRONG!! you are taking pure consciousness and seeing it as the most hardest thing in the world when its not, you literally induce pure consciousness when you’re asleep you’re just unaware because you’re sleeping.

Example putting the sleep state and pure consciousness (they are not the same thing but do have similar remedies). Imagine you’re getting ready to sleep after showering and doing your nightly routine if you have one. Your main goal after all of that is to just basically GO to sleep right? you’re not even worried about how you’re going to go to sleep you’re just going to do it. Now imagine you’re going and inducing pure consciousness what you should mainly be focused on is NOTHING, not time, not what, if, how, it, so, why, then, where. NO! just let go guys..

Just Breathe, its okay you will (WRONG WORD) you already have it all, just live. its okay reminder the 4D is the true reality and the 3D has no choice but to reflect to what is shown in the 4D or what is SAID by you.

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader

summary: what if optimus' obsession bypassed his memory loss? what if he was so infatuated that even his past self yearned for you?

cw: fluff, pinch of angst, canon divergence: orion is taken by the autobots, obsessive thoughts, clinginess, orion literally cannot be left alone for one(1) second, tbh nothing happens in this, i just wanted to write obsessed!orion interacting with you, bad writing, silliness

an: i wanted to implement more ideas, but it came out as it did. i will definitely write some more fics with orion, maybe some smut??? ;)) who knows

word count: 4700

"Come to the base. It's urgent."

As you stare at the terse message from Ratchet, your chewing slows and stops. A storm of questions whirls in your mind, panic creeping into your body. Before you can even type a single letter, your phone rings. The caller is none other than the Autobot medic himself. You answer in less than a second.

"Hello? Ratchet, please don't scare me—what exactly happened?"

"It's about Optimus." Your heart skips a beat. "During the last mission, he was... injured. Or, to be precise, damaged."

"Is it serious?" you ask, pacing nervously around the break room. Lunch now long forgotten. "Will he be all right?"

"Physically—he's never looked or felt better. Mentally, however... that's a different story. I'll explain the details when you get here. And make it quick."

"Hold on, wait—I can't just leave work early like that. There's a whole procedure for this. I can't just waltz out, even though I’d love to leave right now."

"...In an hour and a half, I expect to see you here at the base. See you then."

He hangs up. You stare at your phone screen for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head. Something serious must have happened—Ratchet wouldn’t disturb you at work otherwise. And it involved Optimus... You bite your lip, torn by indecision. You need to at least make sure he's okay, to see with your own eyes what Ratchet was talking about. Otherwise, you'll regret your negligence and spend the rest of the day worrying.

Shoving the half-eaten sandwich into your bag, you rush to your computer to draft a request for early leave, praying fervently that your boss will grant it.

You kept pressing the gas, speeding toward the base, trying to balance obeying traffic laws with worrying about the Autobot. You knew he had been preparing for a mission recently, he had told you about it during a ride you shared, but you didn’t expect it to end like this. Maybe you should have, considering you were associated with a race of aliens deeply embroiled in a centuries-long war, but you always pushed such unpleasant thoughts to the back of your mind, wishing your friends the best. Now, though, all the worst scenarios were coming to the surface. Had he fallen into a coma? Was his processor damaged? Had he died? You didn’t want to think about such an ending. Optimus was alive. You were sure of that.

Seeing the familiar red rock, a tight knot of anxiety gripped your throat. In a few moments, you were about to drive into what was practically your second home, not knowing what awaited you. You glanced at the clock. You were half an hour late—well beyond the time Ratchet had given you.

As if on cue, the medic called you again.

“Don’t enter the hangar. Leave the vehicle at the entrance.”

He hung up before you could say a word, and you sighed. The situation had grown even more worrying.

Before you could say a word, he hung up, leaving you to sigh in frustration.

Following his instructions, you parked at the main entrance and made the rest of the journey on foot. The lights seemed especially harsh, glaring into your eyes as the tunnel stretched endlessly ahead of you, as if warning you, giving you one last chance to turn back. But no force on Earth could stop you now. Determined, you marched forward, needing to know what had happened to your friend.

The hangar was full of Autobots, their sheer presence intimidating. You had thought you were over the feeling of smallness that came with being one of the humans among them, but now it hit you again, hard, dredging up memories of when humans in their midst were still a novelty. You froze for a moment, your courage momentarily disappearing in the shadows of giants.

It wasn’t until your eyes landed on the reason you had left work early that you began to breathe again. Optimus stood there, seemingly whole and healthy, facing the platform where the kids likely were. Relief washed over you. He was alive. Your heart was still racing, but the weight of dread lifted slightly, leaving you braced for the next wave of bad news.

"Hey, sorry I’m late. Work took longer than I expected," you called out.

Your voice immediately caught his attention. Optimus turned to you so abruptly that it shocked everyone present, abandoning the conversation he had been engaged in. Tilting your head back to meet his gaze, you were surprised when he knelt down on one knee, making himself more accessible. You still had to look up, but now his face wasn’t obscured by his… windshields.

The first hint that something was off was his smile—wide, cheerful, and curious. Optimus didn’t smile like that, not even when something genuinely delighted him. Worry started gnawing at you again. Something was wrong.

"Greetings. You must be our next human ally, correct?"

At first, you were at a loss for words. Of all the scenarios you had imagined, memory loss hadn’t even crossed your mind. But before the conversation could veer into awkward territory or panic could take hold, you managed to reply, mirroring his smile.

"That’s right."

"You seem… familiar. As though we have met before."

The hangar fell silent, the atmosphere thickening.

"Of course he would remember her," Ratchet hissed under his breath. You shot him a glare filled with venom.

Focusing back on the mech before you, you forced a calm smile, masking the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You felt like you were on the verge of exploding—uncertain whether to jog his memories or pretend this was truly your first meeting. Why hadn’t anyone given you guidance on how to handle this?

"Erm, well…" you began, only for Ratchet to step in and spare you.

"Humans can look quite similar at first glance," the medic interjected. "Orion, this is [Name], the last human who should know of our existence."

A flicker of something lit up in his cyan optics—something indefinable, known only to him.

"Greetings, [Name]. It is a great pleasure to meet you."

He extended a servo toward you. Tentatively, you clasped one of his digits, ignoring the ache in your heart. This shouldn’t have been happening. You shouldn’t have to forge a new relationship with someone so dear to you. It felt uncanny—like he was wearing Optimus’s skin but was someone entirely different inside. It was unnerving, disorienting. Yet this stranger had knelt before you, reduced himself to your scale to show respect, just as Optimus always had. It was a glimpse of his alternate self, a sign of the inherent honor and kindness he still carried.

"Hello, Orion. The pleasure is all mine."

Letting go of his servo, you gave him an apologetic smile, signaling the end of the conversation. You needed answers, clarity about the situation, before you could decide how to proceed. As Orion straightened up, you stepped past him toward the platform. You could feel curious optics on you, particularly his, as you fist-bumped the kids. Unbeknownst to you, Orion clenched his servo in the same way you had during your handshake.

"So," you said to Ratchet, "what happened?"

The medic sighed, clearly weary of recounting the story yet again. But you had to know. You listened intently, the details unsettling and at times horrifying, but you felt a growing sense of calm. At least now you knew what you were dealing with—what topics to avoid, how to act. The relief faded, however, when you learned that the first attempt to restore Optimus’s memories had failed, and no date had been set for the next.

As Ratchet spoke, most of the team dispersed, leaving only you, the medic, and Orion in the hangar. Taking a moment to process everything, you glanced at Orion, catching his curious gaze.

This was your new reality. Optimus was gone, yet not entirely, standing just a few meters away, watching you intently. It was too much to dwell on. You needed something to distract yourself.

Standing from the couch, you headed down the stairs. You figured you’d be here for the rest of the evening, so you might as well find something productive to do.

"[Name]?" Orion’s voice stopped you in your tracks. He looked genuinely concerned. "Are you leaving already?"

His behavior puzzled you.

"I’m just going to grab my things. I’ll be right back."

"I see. May I accompany you?"

Oh, that was adorable—especially with the hopeful tone in his voice.

"I’m not sure you’ll fit in the tunnel in your current form," you teased with a laugh. "It won’t take long. I’ll be back in a minute."

This time, you quickened your pace.

For several hours, Orion's life had been filled with uncertainty. He didn’t know how he had ended up on this planet, who the Autobots around him were, or why they called him "Prime" when he felt he was unworthy of the title. And now, another enigma had appeared—you. Orion could not rationalize the overwhelming need to be near you. He had felt it the moment he laid his optics on you. The need to stay close, to converse, to observe. The need to know you better. Never before had such intense emotions stirred within him for anyone, let alone a stranger. But you weren’t a stranger. This may have been your first meeting, and he may have spoken to you for the first time, but you were not unfamiliar. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into hours since you had disappeared into the tunnel. He regretted not following you, even if it meant transforming into his alt-form. At least he would have kept an optic on you, preventing the gnawing feelings of confusion and longing from devouring him from inside.

Ratchet watched his friend closely. He recognized that look, that body language. He knew what it signified, what storm was brewing in Orion’s processor. Optimus had been the same when it came to you. For a brief moment, his friend was back. Too bad it was under such circumstances.

"Do you really remember that woman?" he asked.

"I am not certain," Orion replied, still gazing toward the tunnel. "I feel like she is not a stranger, even though I know this was our first encounter. And as… Prime, if I indeed held that title, was she close to me?"

Primus.

"Perhaps closer than any human, but only Optimus knew to what extent. That might explain why you recognized her."

"Then she is special."

"Everything points to that."

Orion glanced at him, offering a faint smile. For reasons Ratchet couldn’t quite explain, the gesture was hard to look at. Fortunately, you emerged from the tunnel, giving him an excuse to start working again.

"See? I told you it’d only take a minute," you laughed, a black backpack slung over your shoulder.

Orion didn’t confess the truth—that by his reckoning, you had been gone an eternity. He watched intently as you climbed the stairs and took a seat on the couch.

"So, Orion," you began, "what did you do on Cybertron?"

Oh. You were curious about him? Truly? He had never thought of himself as particularly interesting.

It was fortunate that you were not looking at him because his body language betrayed his embarrassment.

"I was an archivist. Do humans on Earth have similar professions?"

"Of course. You know, I’ve always admired archivists. It’s meticulous work, requiring patience and nerves of steel—if you know what I mean. Anyway, it’s an important job, and anyone who takes it up is very cool in my book."

"Cool?"

"You know, fascinating, impressive, admirable."

"Does that mean that... in your optics, I am… cool?"

He asked without thinking and immediately regretted it when you gave him an amused look. Embarrassed, he tilted his helm downward. For such a towering and formidable being, he was also astonishingly skittish. It was peculiar to see a former Prime in such a light, but it made him more relatable, more emotionally accessible. Even so, you couldn’t deny that you missed Optimus.

"Of course, you’re cool to me."

That answer brightened him. A spectacle of stars dances in his optics.

You returned to typing on your laptop, but Orion had other plans for you.

"It seems I still have much to learn about this planet."

"I think you’ll catch on quickly. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, the other bots don’t know everything either. If you’re ever unsure, just ask. I’ll do my best to help."

"Thank you, [Name]. Your kindness is very important to me."

"Anytime. If you’d like, you could also explore our literature—it’ll give you a good insight into what humanity is all about. That sounds like a fitting activity for an archivist, doesn’t it?"

He would much rather have you as his sole source of knowledge about your species, as it meant spending more time with you. He wanted to know not just what you were but who you were—your interests, where you worked, how you spent your free time, your philosophy, beliefs, and hobbies. Everything you were willing to share. He wanted to know you inside and out, to solidify this sense of connection and make it real. And if you wished, he would bare his own secrets, reveal his spark, and show you every part of himself. Perhaps then you might look at him just for a second longer.

"Yes, I believe that would be an enjoyable activity. And what is it that you do?"

He asked question after question, each answer adding a new layer of understanding about you. He shared a little in return, preferring listening to you—your opinions, your perspective.

Time passed swiftly in your company. Relentless and unforgiving, it waited for no one. Orion realized this when you set aside your device and began stretching. It was a mesmerizing sight—your movements were so different from those of Cybertronians, fluid, and light. That was until the air was pierced by the loud crack coming from your back.

Energon froze in his fuel lines, and his spark leaped to his intake.

"[Name]? Are you alright? Are you harmed?"

"Hm?" you hummed, confused. He looked as though calamity had befallen him, as though you’d been beheaded. Then you remembered—it was Orion, not Optimus, and the human body was weird. "Oh, that. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s perfectly normal." To prove your point, you began cracking your knuckles, stopping quickly when you saw his horrified expression. "Okay, sorry about that. But really, I’m fine. I just need to stretch."

"Alright…" he replied, though he didn’t seem convinced. You couldn’t blame him.

You rose from the couch and stepped down from the platform, intending to take a short walk. Panic erupted in his spark. Oh no. No, no, no. He didn’t want to be left alone, not after such a jarring experience. He wouldn’t let you out of his optics now—not even for a moment.

"May I accompany you?"

"Of course!" you replied without hesitation, smiling—a gesture he immediately mirrored. "It won’t be very exciting, though."

"On the contrary, I find you to be a most intriguing individual."

"Oh, thank you," you said, clearing your throat, embarrassed. Compliments delivered in that baritone still flustered you.

Together, you ventured deeper into the base, bypassing various sections. In the training room, Arcee worked on her speed, while Bulkhead struck a makeshift punching bag fashioned from an old car. The children watched the spectacle, occasionally entertaining themselves. You both quickly slipped past the always-open entryway and continued on your way.

“[Name]?” Orion inquires. You turn into an empty hangar with a high platform, starting to ascend the stairs.

“Hm?”

“How do humans attempt to court their partners?”

You hadn't expected that kind of question. You stop mid-step, pondering your answer. When you look at him, his expression is dead serious, though his optics betray a determination. Why would he want to know this? You decide it’s probably mere curiosity.

“It depends on the person.” You continue climbing the stairs until you finally reach the top, now level with his faceplate. “Some buy gifts like flowers, others go on elaborate dates. But the common factor is spending time together, and getting to know one another. Feelings tend to develop naturally that way,” you explain. “Actually, that’s an interesting topic. How did it work on Cybertron?”

“Similarly. However, instead of exchanging ‘flowers,’ we presented rare metals or crystals to leave the best impression. To demonstrate strength and potential as a partner.”

“I know a few people who would totally fall for that approach. Heh, I’d be thrilled to get a geode myself.”

Orion suddenly lights up. Were you suggesting something or just sharing an opinion? Whatever it was, he felt compelled to try. To prove himself worthy. Perhaps he could even find the ‘flowers’ you mentioned.

“I see. Thank you for enlightening me.”

“You’re welcome?” you reply, unsure exactly how you’ve helped, but the sight of his broad smile and bright optics makes it all worthwhile. He was utterly adorable.

The two of you chat casually until you’re forced to check the time. You inhale sharply, and Orion tilts his head slightly, curious about your reaction.

“It was great talking to you, but I really need to go. I have work tomorrow and I’d like to get some sleep.”

Panic flashes across his face. He had enjoyed your company so much. He didn’t feel alienated or alone when he was with you. The sense of connection played a significant role, but Orion had already let you into his spark. He had found a safe harbor in you and wasn’t ready to drift away just yet. He wasn’t ready to let go, even if the world around him were to crumble.

“May I accompany you?” he asks, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Excuse me?”

“May I accompany you?” he repeats, now begging.

“My home isn’t exactly designed to host a giant robot. Besides, it’s dangerous and... wait, do you even know the traffic regulations?”

His expression answers the question, but he still attempts to defend himself.

“I have acquainted myself with them partially.”

“Who has the right of way at an uncontrolled intersection?”

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it again, visibly crestfallen. He looks as though he might cry.

“Orion, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” you reassure him. “The first thing I’ll do after work is come here.”

He frantically searches for an argument to keep you with him—anything to prolong your company. Then he remembers his first encounter with human children.

“Every child was assigned a guardian who escorted them home and ensured their safety,” he states, refusing to give up. “Do you have a protector?”

“Unofficially, that was Optimus…”

“Then I would like to carry on his mission.”

“I’m not a child, Orion.”

“I understand that. I merely wish for your safety, [Name],” he explains earnestly. “And… I would prefer not to part from the company most dear to me.”

Your thoughts drift back to something he said earlier—how he recognized the bond you once shared, even though this was your first conversation. He hadn’t recognized Ratchet or anyone from his team—only you.

You tried to put yourself in his position. To suddenly find yourself in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers addressing you by a false name and feeding you information that might as well be fiction. And then, in a world where nothing is familiar, someone steps in—someone you vaguely recognize. You might not know their name, but you know there was once a connection. Wouldn’t you cling to that tiny thread, desperately pulling it closer if someone tried to take it away?

Orion had found solid ground, and you were unintentionally trying to undermine it. You exhale softly. You already knew you’d be saying goodbye to sleep tonight.

“Alright.” His smile makes it all worth it. It’s as though you’ve handed him a star from the sky. “Let’s see what Ratchet has to say about all this.”

"I see no objections."

Orion looks at you with excitement sparkling in his optics.

"Wow, that was quick."

"It's a good excuse for Orion to explore the area and get accustomed to his alt mode."

The medic refrains from adding that if the former leader remained at the base, he would likely have wasted away in longing for you, lamenting to every sentient being that he couldn't wait to see you again. Though the comment teeters on the edge of his glossa, he opts for discretion. Optimus, at least, had never vocalized his peculiar obsession with you quite so openly.

"Should anything unusual occur, contact me immediately. Someone will come for you in the morning," Ratchet advises his friend before turning to you. "Good night, [Name]."

You thank the medic for his diligence and ask him to take some rest, earning a piercing glare that almost feels lethal, then retrieve your backpack and head toward the tunnel. Orion stays close by, not leaving your side even after transforming. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, visibly delighted at the prospect of your first shared drive together. In his mind, this was more than a mere drive—it was a deeply intimate act, almost akin to inviting a partner into one’s private space.

But his dreams are promptly shattered when you inform him that you have your own car.

The journey is uneventful but nerve-wracking; you constantly check your side mirror to ensure Orion is still following you. Thankfully, there are no issues, and he even remembers to use his turn signals when necessary. Everything proceeds smoothly until you pull into your driveway and are struck by a dreadful realization: Will a Peterbilt even fit in my garage?

You park your car to the side, leaving Orion enough space to drive safely. Exiting your vehicle, you open the garage door and wave at him to proceed. You nervously bite your thumb, watching the massive truck carefully edge into the space. There are barely three centimeters between the roof of the truck and the ceiling. When you close the garage door, the already limited space shrinks further.

"So, do you regret your decision now?" you ask, stepping around to the front of the truck.

Orion transforms with meticulous precision, carefully positioning his limbs and helm to avoid damaging the walls. The process goes well until his helm grazes the ceiling with an audible thud, dislodging a few small pieces of debris. He winces slightly and rubs his helm but offers you a warm smile.

"I do not regret my decision."

"Pfff, well, that's good. Are you all right?"

"I am unharmed."

You can’t help but feel guilty for confining him to such a cramped space, but it was his choice. If he insisted, he would simply have to endure it. Of course, that meant you would have to endure it, too, as the issues began almost immediately.

"All right, I’m going to grab my things. I’ll be back in a moment."

He panics again—something you’re beginning to expect from him.

"Please, do not leave me."

His voice is unchanging. A deep and thick baritone that permeates your body, speaking straight to your soul. It is strange to hear the same voice coming out of a shamed and uncertain being, begging you for company.

"I’ll only be gone for two minutes."

You reach for the door handle, but his servo shoots forward, blocking your exit.

"Orion," you chide, your tone sharp and reprimanding.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, his apprehension laid bare.

"Please, I do not wish to be alone."

"Two minutes," you say firmly, though your annoyance falters when you see the raw emotion in his optics. Sighing, you place a hand on the edge of his digit, catching his attention. "I’ll be back. I promise."

He believes you, of course he does. He trusts you to return, yes, he even knows it. It doesn't change the fact that he is frightened, he feels alone, and your proximity calms the storm raging through his processor. His whole body is clamoring for you, screaming for you to stay with him. He craves bodily contact, he wants your soft hands to stroke his metal and your lips to whisper sweet nothings. He wants more, he wants to feel the softness, more, more, more.

He takes his servo away.

"Good mech."

As you disappear through the door, Orion buries his face in his hands. Despite his embarrassment, he can’t suppress a grin. He had enjoyed that moment—far too much.

He wants to hear you say it again.

When you return, you’re carrying a blanket, a deck of UNO cards, some snacks, and your laptop. Orion beams at the sight of you but frowns when he notices you shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asks with concern.

"Hmm? A little, but I’ll warm up soon."

Without warning, he gently scoops you up in his servo, handling you with the utmost care. The shock is brief—you don’t even have time to protest before he places you on his chassis. His servo remains loosely wrapped around you as a precaution, but your back presses against his warm metal frame. Tilting your head up to glare at him for pulling such a stunt, you find him already watching you, amusement dancing in his optics.

"Ask next time before you do something like that," you scold lightly.

"I make no promises," he teases, earning a playful flick to his digit.

"I was planning to play UNO, but since you pulled that move, let’s watch a movie instead. Unless you’d rather do something else?"

"I leave myself entirely at your mercy."

He would have been content doing nothing as long as he could hold you close.

"All right, then. A movie it is."

It's hard for him to keep up with the plot when he's overstimulated, but he tries, because your questions encouraging discussion come out of nowhere. And it was just at moments when he started to drift off, when the optics shifted from the tiny screen to you; when there was only you and him in the world. Sometimes, however, he would focus for longer, especially during the romantic scenes. He longs to experience something similar with you, an indestructible, sappy love. To recite poetry into your ear and watch you blush, to announce to everyone how much you mean to him. To bestow expensive gifts, the geodes you mentioned earlier. He needs your tender words, your praise, your touch. You could do whatever you liked with him, and he would give you his spark.

He worries when you fall silent for too long.

"[Name]?" he calls softly, leaning closer to check on you. Relief washes over him when he sees you’ve simply fallen asleep. Poor thing—you must have been exhausted.

Still, a part of him resents it. He wanted to talk to you longer, watch more films, learn more about human romance to win your favor. But he knows his thoughts are selfish. Setting the laptop aside, he carefully covers you with his other servo, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

He's not sure he'll be able to recharge. At least not now, when he was too absorbed in devouring you with his optics. You felt safe with him. You gave him your trust. You chose him.

A spark of possessiveness sweeps through his processor. He doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want you to go to work tomorrow and leave him for eternity. He also knows he shouldn't think that way. The spark goes out.

Watching you sleep, his processor churns with thoughts. You trusted him. He vows to prove his worth tomorrow, to show you just how deep his feelings run.

Because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be himself. How much longer he will remain as Orion Pax.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Franco x driver reader- She is a rookie who started before him and the others on the grid are protective of her since she has no one with her (her family never goes to see her or supports her). They start talking and the other drivers act like older brothers.

A/n— Hi 👋 @alex-wotton I went with the last one because it really stood out to me because I realized last night that if I was a f1 driver traveling to races would be pretty lonely as my mom has lupus and is in pain all the time and my siblings are still in school while my dad works out on the road. I will also be doing the others to.

Oh one more thing this is just a little look into the big fic around this request I’ll be doing later… depending on how well this does.

"They mean well" — Franco Colapinto x fem! rookie diver! Reader

Fluff slightly angsty

Word count—1122

Summary — Franco befriend's the female Alpine rookie the only problem is that he now has to deal with her guard dogs.

The first few weeks on the grid were a whirlwind, especially since you were a rookie in a sport where every second counts, and every move you make is scrutinized. It was hard, almost overwhelming, and though you knew the other drivers were competitive, you quickly realized that there was a quieter, more supportive side to them. You couldn’t deny how much it helped to have the older drivers looking out for you.

Lando had taken to teasing you right away. His cheeky humor and constant lighthearted comments were always enough to make you laugh, even on the toughest days. “You’re doing better than most of the vets, you know,” he’d say after a particularly good lap, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Next time, you’ll have to give me some pointers!”

Max, who often seemed aloof to others, was surprisingly attentive. He noticed when you were on your own, after long days when you would simply wander the paddock, minding your own business. Without a word, he would sidle up next to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and talk about the most mundane things—anything to take your mind off the pressure. “Have you ever tried the coffee from the new stand near the paddock? Best one in town,” he’d comment, knowing full well it was an excuse to pull you into a conversation that wasn’t about racing for once.

Charles, ever the older brother type, was the one who would make sure you didn’t slip into your head too much. He could tell when the weight of everything was starting to build up on your shoulders. “Hey,” he’d say, voice gentle but firm. “You’re doing fine. Don’t let the stress get to you. You have a team behind you.”

And then there was Franco. He was quieter than the others, but his presence was undeniable. He’d only just joined the grid, and the others were quick to embrace him, but it was clear that his personality was different—calmer, more reserved. You found that, over time, you felt a quiet connection with him. It wasn’t an in-your-face, loud support, but a steady, reassuring presence.

One evening, after another intense qualifying session, you found yourself walking alone by the garages, replaying every corner of the track in your head. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, but you didn’t want to be a burden to the others, so you walked it off in silence. Franco noticed you from across the paddock and, with a knowing look, excused himself from a conversation he was having with Lando.

When he reached you, there was no fanfare, just a casual ease that made you relax almost immediately.

“Hey, everything okay?” Franco asked, his voice soft yet direct.

You smiled, a little weary, but grateful. “Just thinking about the session. Could’ve done better.”

He shook his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “You did fine. We all have those moments, don’t overthink it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s just… hard sometimes. Being the rookie and feeling like you’re always falling short.”

Franco tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before replying. “I get it. I’m still the new guy here too, remember? But honestly, the others are looking out for you. They’ve got your back.”

The way he said it was simple, but there was a sincerity behind it that made something inside you relax. Franco wasn’t offering empty words—he meant it.

And it wasn’t just him. The next time you walked into the paddock and bumped into Max, he clapped you on the shoulder with a grin. “You looked a bit off yesterday. If you need a break, you know where to find me.”

Lando, catching wind of the exchange, chimed in from a few feet away. “Yeah, don’t make us have to drag you into our fun. We’re here for more than just the racing.”

The protectiveness came in waves. Sometimes it was subtle—Charles, pulling you aside to offer advice on staying focused during the race, or Lando, joking around to make you laugh when the stress of the weekend was beginning to get to you. But sometimes, it was a little more overt.

The first time you really felt the weight of their protectiveness was after a particularly tough race, where you finished outside the points. The media was relentless, questions flying about whether you were cut out for the sport, and you could feel the eyes of the paddock on you.

As you were heading back to your garage, head down, trying to shut out the noise, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. It was Max.

“You don’t let them get to you,” he said quietly, looking you in the eyes. “It’s one race. And you’ll get them next time.”

Before you could respond, Lando appeared, his usual grin plastered across his face. “Max is right, of course. And if they keep giving you trouble, just let me know. I’m pretty good at handling the media.”

Charles joined them, his voice more serious than usual. “We’ve all been there. Don’t let them make you doubt yourself. We’re all in this together.”

That was when it hit you—this wasn’t just about the competition on the track. They truly cared about you, and despite the pressures of racing, they weren’t about to let you face it alone.

Franco appeared just as they were finishing up, walking over to the group with a quiet smile. “Everyone’s right,” he added, offering a knowing look. “And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always around. No need to fight your battles alone.”

From that moment on, you felt the weight of their protectiveness more than ever. It wasn’t just about them looking out for a rookie; it was about them making sure you knew that no matter what happened, you weren’t alone on the grid.

The bond between you and Franco deepened as the weeks went on. In between races, the two of you shared quiet conversations in the back of the garage, or while waiting for your cars to be prepped. You spoke about everything—racing, family, the weird quirks of the Formula 1 lifestyle, and even the things you’d been avoiding thinking about. Franco’s steady support and dry humor became something you could rely on, and the way he listened without judgment made him one of the few you truly felt comfortable with.

In a world that often felt like a competition to survive, you finally understood: you had people here, and they weren’t just teammates or rivals—they were your family.

And Franco, despite being new to the grid himself, was starting to feel more like a brother than just a teammate.

[monamipencil]

i have never heard of self respect or feminism or women's rights. like wym??? i dont know them. i only know this man. anna, this was so fucking hot??? grrrrr. im losing my mind here

annotations;

The only communication between you two is texts asking the other to come over. To fulfill each other's desires through a quick and hard fuck.

fuck, that's so toxic but so hot

But with Joshua, he doesn’t even begin till he’s made you cum. The gratification he gives you doesn’t start with his cock inside you. It begins with his mouth on your cunt, his fingers inside your wet hole. The chivalry he displays while he fucks you in your bed is unfortunately the only way you are able to witness it.

😌 im just a girl <3

Outside of your late nights with him, he doesn’t contact you, or even try to have a conversation with you. And yet you still fell for him.

grrrrrr, this is hitting home

He doesn’t care that he’s promised that this would be the last time, he doesn’t care that you want to better your self.

feminism and self-respect, who? ain't never heard of them

Before you can even register whats happening, you feel him fully sheath himself inside you.

oh fuck, im a whore for dubcon

Joshua’s hands come down to slap your ass harshly, leaving large red hand prints against your supple skin.

🥴🥴 grrr, rough josh can get me

“Joshua please, don’t cum inside me,” you beg him, but he just chuckles at your pleas. “Be a good girl for me and just take what I give you,”

fuck???? omg

His other hands is pushing your face into the pillow with so much force that you genuinely don’t believe that you are able to move from where you lay.

yes. im tweaking here,

“I’ll text you the next time I want to come over,” Joshua says when he’s fully dressed, pulling you into a deep kiss before leaving.

ok fuck. does that hurt? yes. do i still want it? fuck yes

It doens’t matter how many times you tell him that “this is the last time”, Joshua always get what he wants.

RAHHHHHHHHHHH 🦅🦅🦅

Come Thru

" you make me wanna come thru quarter after two just to put it down on you"

✧ pairing: joshua hong x female!reader ✧ wordcount: 1.7k ✧ genre: toxic fwb situation, slight angst, smut (mdni 18+)

✧ reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated ♡! tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, and they help writers like me to get better reach. thank you!

✧ summary: your fwb joshua, comes over despite your half-assed protests. you arrangment is over, but one last time won't hurt, right? ✧ tags: non-idol!au, fwb! joshua, toxic!joshua, afab!reader, few smau texts, joshua is an asshole and reader lets him. ✧ warning/smut tags: DUBCON, coercion, unprotected p in v sex, degradation, slapping, groping, fingering, creampie. ✧ note: i recommend you don't take the dubcon and coercion warning lightly, if this isn't your cup of tea do not read. minors plz do not even try, i am watching. joshua is written to be an asshole in this fic. i also want to preface that i don't view joshua in this way irl, this is purely fiction. don't be like reader irl, this is made up plz. thank u to @junkissed and @okiedokrie for beta-reading ♡. also i had to ai generate an expanded version of this pic for the header, fyi. -> i have been in a joshua brain rot for the past 3 months, so this is the cause for this fic :p. lmk if u like darker themed fics! see u soonest - anna !

A part of you is reluctant to open the door, whilst the other part is begging you to give him one more chance. One more chance to kiss him, to feel him against your skin, to hear him say your name. 

There hasn’t been a time where you’ve denied Joshua’s need, allowing him to use your body in the ways he sees fit. But it’s different now, and that difference is the fact that you and Joshua don’t see eye to eye on the current status of your “relationship”. 

But you let him in anyway, you allow him to feel you completely, even when you know it's wrong. You know it’s wrong to do these things when you’re desperately in love with him and you know he doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. The only communication between you two is texts asking the other to come over. To fulfill each other's desires through a quick and hard fuck. 

“Fuck, it's cold,” Joshua mutters, rubbing his arms to create some type of warmth as you open the door, “what took you so long?” 

“Then go home,” you roll your eyes, moving over to let him pass through the door despite the fact you told him to go home. 

“I don't wanna, I've missed you,” Joshua smiles at you, not with affection but just because he’s pleased at the fact that you allowed him to come over. 

“Why are you here, Shua?” you ask him, your arms crossing in front of your chest as you feign annoyance. 

“You know why,” he says, eyes piercing yours as his expression turns serious. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you sigh, but your feet move towards you bedroom anyways while Joshua follows suit. 

Despite your verbal protest, you can’t help but fall into his trap. Blaming it on how handsome he is, how soft his voice gets when hes with you, and especially because he knows how to fuck you right. 

In your past relationships, sex never felt good, it was mostly just you going through the motions. Your partners finishing and leaving you to lie there sticky and displeased. But with Joshua, he doesn’t even begin till he’s made you cum. The gratification he gives you doesn’t start with his cock inside you. It begins with his mouth on your cunt, his fingers inside your wet hole. The chivalry he displays while he fucks you in your bed is unfortunately the only way you are able to witness it. 

Outside of your late nights with him, he doesn’t contact you, or even try to have a conversation with you. And yet you still fell for him. 

You feel his arms snake around your waist as the two of you head to your bedroom. There’s a feeling in your stomach that you can’t pinpoint. A feeling of guilt mixed with a bit of excitement. 

His lips move down your neck and you can’t help but lean back against his chest as he shuts the door. Strong arms pulling your waist in tighter as he leaves small bruises along your skin. 

Your body feels hot. All rational thoughts have left your head the moment he touched you. His hands start to move, groping at your chest, the flimsy material of your sleep wear allowing him to feel you despite the barrier. Your nipples hardening against his fingertips and he moves your head to the side, pulling you into a deep kiss. 

His dominant hand moves down from your chest, across your stomach and into your sleep shorts. 

“Why aren't you wearing underneath?” he mumbles against your lips. 

“It's too hot,” you respond before kissing him again. 

Finding your clit, he rubs circles against your sensitive bud. Rubbing and playing with you until your legs start to shake. The makeout ceases as your too overwhelmed by pleasure, your mouth open yet still against his lips as you moan out his name. 

“Fuck, you’re such a slut for me aren’t you, baby,” He curses, placing a finger inside your dripping cunt. 

He continues to play with you, his finger moving in and out of your tight pussy. Your walls are pulsing as he begins to add a second and then a third. The coil in your stomach starts to tighten as Joshua speeds up his ministrations. 

“I'm close,” you whimper, your eyebrows furrowing as you concentrate on reaching your orgasm. 

“Still so fucking tight,” Joshua whisper in your ear, feeling the way you clench around his fingers, "no matter how many times I put my cock into you."

It all comes to an abrupt stop and you whine at the loss of his touch. His pupils are dilated, eyelids lowered with lust. He doesn’t allow you to whine for him any further, carrying your body towards the bed before dropping you. Your body hits the mattress and it bounces underneath your weight. 

“Fuck me, please,” you beg him, your eyes watching the way he removes his clothes. 

You follow his actions, removing your soiled sleep shorts and thin tank top. Your tits bouncing as you throw your shirt onto the floor, not caring where it lands. The only thing on your mind is Joshua’s cock and the feeling of him being inside you. 

His eyes wash over your frame, his adam’s apple bobbing as he takes your figure in. He thinks your so sexy, with the way you stare at him so needily, your legs already spread for him. He doesn’t care that he’s promised that this would be the last time, he doesn’t care that you want to better your self. To stop this arraignment. He’s addicted to the feeling of your tight pussy, how it milks his cum and leaves him wanting another round. 

Hovering over top of you he aligns his dick with your entrance, rubbing the fat tip of his cock against your wet slit. The sounds coming from his actions are unholy, but to him the feeling is like heaven on earth. 

“You're soaking,” he groans, applying pressure to your clit with the tip of his length. 

Your eyes roll back, your walls pulsating around nothing, all you want is for him to be inside you. But you stop him for a moment, wondering why he hasn’t put on a condom. 

“Do you have a condom?” you place your hand against his chest, pushing him back slightly. 

“No, it's fine, we’ve done it without one before,” he shrugs. 

You sit up a little and roll your eyes at him. Sure you’ve done it without a condom before, but now that this arrangment has lost it’s exclusivity, you don’t trust Joshua’s words. You know that he’s probably seeing other people. 

“Joshua, fuck, are you trying to get me pregnant?” you sigh, and he does the same. 

“But it feels better without it,” he whispers in your ear before pushing you down onto the bed again. 

Before you can even register whats happening, you feel him fully sheath himself inside you. A moan escapes your lips in surprise and also pleasure. You don’t want him to fuck you like this, but the pleasure is too hard to ignore. The feeling of his naked cock inside you causes you to squeeze around him tighter. 

“I told you, it feels better without one,” he mutters, pushing your legs into your chest, folding you in half. His upper body against you, your legs essentially locked in place. 

“Joshua please,” your eyelids droop with pleasure. Your hands moving to grip his biceps as you allow him to fuck you raw. 

Joshua groans from above you, his hips snapping against your cunt, balls slapping against the skin of your ass. You can see the clear outline of his cock poking out from your lower stomach. 

“Your pussy's so good, fuck,” he continues to groan out of pleasure, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust, "taking my cock so well, baby."

He moves slightly to let go of one of your legs as he sits up, flipping your body and arranges you till your ass is in the air, your back arched. As he re-enters you, a salacious moan leaves your lips, savouring the feeling of his balls hitting your clit. 

“No one is going to fuck you like I do, you hear me?” He says, his thrusts becoming more powerful to emphasize his words. 

“I said, do you hear me?” he reiterates himself, and you answer him obediently. 

"Mhm, fuck, feels so good," you whine.

Joshua’s hands come down to slap your ass harshly, leaving large red hand prints against your supple skin. The burn feels goods and your whimper with every slap he gives you. 

“Joshua please, don’t cum inside me,” you beg him, but he just chuckles at your pleas. 

You can feel your self getting closer to your orgasm, your walls tighenting against his cock with every move he makes. 

“Be a good girl for me and just take what I give you,” is all Joshua says, his hands moving over to your clit, rubbing it in circles to get you closer to completion. 

His other hands is pushing your face into the pillow with so much force that you genuinely don’t believe that you are able to move from where you lay. You can feel his member twitch inside you, his thrust beginning to get sloppy. The headboard is banging against the wall as he moves in and out of you.

Then you feel it, his hips still, his length fully inside you, tip right against your cervix before he releases his load. 

“Shua!”

You moan at the way his hot white cum fill your needy cunt, your eyes rolling back as your releases follows right after his. All you can hear is his laboured breathing as he removes himself from you.

Letting go of his hold on you, your body flops agains the mattress. You can hear shuffling behind you and you turn around to see Joshua already putting on his clothes. 

“I’ll text you the next time I want to come over,” Joshua says when he’s fully dressed, pulling you into a deep kiss before leaving. 

You sigh into your pillow, the relization of what just happened hitting you right away. The feeling of his cum dripping out of your now swollen cunt makes you feel sick, but you can’t get over how good he makes you feel. It doens’t matter how many times you tell him that “this is the last time”, Joshua always get what he wants.

✧ note: thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! leave a comment or an ask if u wanna see more of this.

✧ taglist: @christinewithluv @todorokiskitten @peachescreamandcrumble @minwonfairy @oneandonlyluvv @ihrtmingyu @tigerhoshii @sleepzyy @luveveryonewoo @thepoopdokyeomtouched @chan-s-laptop @aksweet7 @leah-rose03 @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @gyuguys @crystal-rhyming @jenoxygen @hoshhhiiiii @babigriin @bouclesdefeu @mingyuecstacy @iluvseokmin @odevote118 @wonvsmile @suga-bitch @chickpea-jimin @lar3ine @bias-recs @hanniebub @iluvmingi @vapidlynn @aaniag @yogurttea @blurr3db3rry @lovejoshua @woozixo @drunk-on-dk @noiceoofed @angelfeverdream @leahhhher @hanniebwii @yuyunhoo @whowantshota @hannniiiiiehae @writingbarnes @chariseiswriting @imhwajaez @tomodachiii @valenhui @3lilredroses @bunnyjjongie @sunniques @lovejoshua (hi user lovejoshua u love joshua so here’s some joshua)

[phone4pills]

ASKING YOU boy.EXE

warnings

nerves sent shivers down your spine, forming goosebumps all over your arms. you knew you’d have to tell him at some point, but it was all a lot. maybe you could wait until the time actually came. no. that’d be unfair. to you. to Chris.

when you found him, the was doing crosswords in the new hoodie you’d bought him that he adored. his senses were quite delicate and most clothes were uncomfortable to the boy, but the hoodie was perfect. it was soft and not scratchy, fully cotton. but not too warm, in fact it was quite cooling and he found it easier to remain a safe temperature when wearing the piece. “hey, Chris. can we talk about something?”

his head raises, eyes meeting yours with the usual sincerity behind them. his full attention was on you and you debated changing the topic altogether. but you had to talk about this. get it out of the way. “so… uh, you know I’m not gonna live forever, right?”

he nods, patting the spot next to him on the sofa. the atmosphere thickens with the weight of such a sombre conversation on board. “was just wondering, do you want me to… turn you off before I pass away? you don’t have to answer that now-”

he cut you off, clearing his throat. his words came out hushed and kind of scratchy, like there was sorrow scraping his throat. “uh… I uh, I guess it’s your choice.” you shook your head. it wasn’t your choice.

you created Chris and when you decided to keep him on that was when your rights over him became irrelevant. he was his own being in a way. he was made to explore the world and be around humans. but would want to live forever? to watch as the world developed, or destroyed itself? would he feel alone without his creator by his side? but how could he go on living, knowing one day he’d be turned off and have no choice to see the world ever again.

“would I… get to be with you if we both die?” your heart shattered at his words. because you knew that wasn’t a possibility. wherever you ended up after your death, Chris wouldn’t be there. he couldn’t. he was a robot. when he was turned off he’d never exist again, anywhere. wasn’t that meant to comfort you? knowing it wasn’t that deep because he wasn’t a real person? why didn’t it feel good? why didn’t it ease your pain? you wanted to be with Chris forever. no until. simply forever. but you couldn’t. and you both knew it.

“no Chris… we’d uh, we’d not really see each other again.”

Little angst, do you guys think robot!Chris wants you turn him off? Would you do it anyway, out of love or something else?

- ©phone4pills

[o-batll3]

Can I request a laia codina or Kiera walsh fic please 🫶🏻 maybe one where her and reader are friends but they get drunk and sleep together and things are weird for a bit till they decide to keep things casual, no feelings. And at the end can they realise that they have feelings for eachother and get together. Maybe their team helps push them to realise

a night to remember - l.codina x reader

warnings : none, little suggestive

masterlist

you and laia codina have been best friends ever since you both joined arsenal. training together, traveling for matches, and late-night conversations over cups of tea—a bond neither of you had expected to form so quickly. over time, you became inseparable, the kind of friends who knew each other’s thoughts without speaking a word. and tonight, the team’s big victory against a rival club meant the whole squad was out celebrating at a local bar.

the atmosphere is electric; the team is laughing, drinking, and dancing. you’re already a few drinks in when laia challenges you to a tequila shot contest, and there’s no way you can back down.

“alright, y/n, let’s see what you’ve got,” she teases, eyes glinting mischievously as she lines up the glasses.

you smirk, feeling the warmth of the alcohol making you bold. “oh, you’re on, codina. don’t cry when you lose.”

the contest quickly escalates, and before long, both of you are laughing so hard you can barely stay on the barstools. shots blur together, and the world gets hazy around the edges. eventually, the two of you stumble outside, leaning on each other, sharing breathless laughs and struggling to stay upright.

“you know,” laia slurs, “you’re... you’re not half bad, y/n.”

you roll your eyes, the night spinning slightly as you look at her. “and you’re... you’re trouble.”

she raises an eyebrow, grinning in that way that always makes your heart beat a little faster. “oh yeah? prove it.”

before you realize what you’re doing, you’re pulling her in by the collar of her jacket, your lips crashing together. she responds instantly, her arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. the kiss is messy, all heat and urgency, and it feels like a line you’ve just crossed, one that you can’t come back from.

you both break apart, breathing hard, foreheads touching. the world is spinning, and her eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils wide with alcohol and something else you don’t dare name.

“my place,” she whispers, voice rough, and you don’t hesitate to nod.

you wake up with a throbbing headache and the weight of an arm draped over your waist. for a moment, you don’t move, confusion and disbelief mingling in your mind. then realization hits: laia. last night. the kiss. the heat of her body against yours. you turn your head slowly and see her, still asleep, hair a mess across the pillow. she looks peaceful, content, and for a second, you think about just staying like this.

but panic sets in. carefully, you slip out from under her arm, grab your clothes, and make your way to the bathroom. you stare at yourself in the mirror, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and you can’t believe what happened. what you let happen. it was a mistake, right? just a drunken slip-up. you can’t afford to make things weird with laia, not when she’s your best friend and your teammate.

when you step back into the room, she’s stirring, rubbing her eyes with a lazy smile. “hey,” she says softly, voice still rough with sleep.

“hey,” you reply, forcing a casual tone. “i, um, should probably get going. early training tomorrow and all.”

her smile falters just a little, but she nods. “yeah... yeah, of course. see you there.”

you grab your things and leave, heart racing as you practically run out of her apartment, trying to push away the memory of her lips on yours, the feel of her skin under your fingertips.

things are weird after that. not awful, just... different. at training, you catch her glancing at you when she thinks you’re not looking. when you joke around with her like you always do, it feels forced. she’s still laia, and you’re still you, but there’s a tension now, something unspoken hanging in the air. you keep telling yourself it’s fine, that it’ll blow over, but every time you’re near her, all you can think about is that night.

the team notices too. they’re not stupid—especially not the older players, who exchange knowing looks every time you and laia fumble a pass or seem a little too stiff during drills. it doesn’t help that you’re both quieter in the locker room, that the easy banter you used to have has been replaced by careful, measured words.

finally, one evening after training, you find laia waiting for you outside the locker room. she looks nervous, chewing her lip in that way she does when she’s thinking hard about something.

“we need to talk,” she says, and your stomach twists with both relief and dread.

“yeah,” you agree. “we do.”

you walk together to a quiet corner of the training grounds, the evening air cool against your skin. she crosses her arms, looking everywhere but at you. “look, y/n, about that night... i don’t want things to be weird between us.”

you nod, trying to ignore the ache in your chest. “me neither. it was... i mean, we were both drunk. it didn’t mean anything.”

she nods quickly, almost too quickly, and something flashes in her eyes that you can’t quite read. “yeah. exactly. it didn’t mean anything. so... we’re good?”

“we’re good,” you say, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack your face.

things go back to normal, sort of. the tension fades, but it’s still there, simmering just beneath the surface. a few weeks pass, and one night, after another win, you and laia find yourselves back at her place, a few drinks in, the unspoken promise of that first night hanging heavy in the air.

she’s the one who brings it up this time, voice hesitant. “maybe... maybe we could keep it casual. no feelings, no strings. just... fun.”

your heart skips a beat, but you nod. “yeah. no strings.”

and so it begins. late nights at her apartment after matches, stolen kisses in the backseat of the team bus when no one’s watching, and quiet mornings tangled in sheets. you tell yourselves it’s just physical, that there’s nothing deeper there. but each time you leave, you feel a little more hollow, like you’re leaving a part of yourself behind.

it takes a few months for the team to finally step in. you don’t know who starts it, but one by one, your teammates begin to push. viv gives you a knowing smile every time you sit next to laia on the bus. beth corners you in the locker room after training and says, “you know she likes you, right?”

“we’re just friends,” you insist, but even you don’t believe it anymore.

then, during a particularly tense training session, kim pulls both you and laia aside. “whatever’s going on with you two, sort it out,” she says firmly. “it’s affecting your game. and we need you both at your best.”

you and laia exchange a look, and there’s a silent agreement in her eyes. something has to change.

it’s after a hard-fought match, and the adrenaline is still pumping when you find laia alone in the locker room, staring at her phone like it holds the answers to all her problems. without thinking, you cross the room and pull her into a kiss. it’s slow this time, gentle, and when you pull back, she’s staring at you with wide, shocked eyes.

“this isn’t just casual for me,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “i think i’ve been lying to myself about that for a while.”

her breath catches, and for a moment, you’re sure she’s going to walk away, but then she’s pulling you back in, her arms tight around your neck, and you can feel the answer in the way she kisses you back. this time, it’s not rushed or desperate. it’s a promise. the way she pulls you hair back whilst whispering sweet nothings and praises has your mind spiralling.

things are different after that. you’re not hiding anymore, and your teammates don’t bother to hide their satisfaction either, cheering and teasing when you and laia walk into training hand-in-hand. the tension is gone, replaced with something steadier, something real.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

xvi  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  L is for Weezer 

Series mlist 

Tags — possibly offensive humour, mentions of self hatred, lwk angst I fear 

Words — 1k 

Megumi had tossed his phone haphazardly to the other side of his bed, falling back onto the pillow and staring at the ceiling. He felt so utterly stupid. Nobara was right, honestly. He couldn’t just give up, just back away every single time he felt exposed, every time he felt as if a deeper layer of him was being shown. It scared him more than anything, to allow you to see those parts of him knowing you might not react the way he hoped. With the reveal of the vulnerable parts also came the risk of being harmed, hence why he was so guarded. He found himself converting every emotion into anger, bubbling and bursting like a geyser when the time came. Worst of all, he’d let that time be with you. He wasn’t angry at you, not in the least. He could never be angry at you. 

He was angry at Kamo for swooping in just when things felt right, he was angry at Nobara for bringing that on in the first place, and most of all, he was angry at himself. He’d pushed you away out of fear that his emotions were too much to bare, and now it had been two weeks since the two of you had shared a good conversation. He hated it. It was all his fault. 

You couldn’t ever love him. He couldn’t even love him, he hated him. It was only natural that you’d do the same, after all, you seemed to be rather parallel. Always in the same direction, never meeting. He just wished it wasn’t that way, he wished loving you wasn’t so scary and that at the very least, he could man up and admit it. He’d never been a forward man. Instead he pushed you away and treated you like an asshole. When you called him out he couldn’t even argue because everything you said was true. Every word, every bit of it, except for the implication that you’d done something wrong. 

Fuck, he felt like a middle schooler again. Living through university with you was just as heart wrenching, just as terrible. Yet again he found himself doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, every aspect of his life scrambled simply because you liked another boy. He’d never cared much for life, never found much purpose in his own, except for you. You… you were everything. 

“Fushiguro, get up, man!” came a voice from the doorway, along with a jacket being tossed at him, which he swatted away without a second thought. Yuji had been at it all week, trying to make Megumi get outside for reasons other than classes. 

“Screw off.” 

Yuji suppressed a groan, tossing his head back in exasperation. “Todo’s frat is having a party tomorrow. You’re going.” 

Megumi’s face pulled up into a scowl, disgust painting his features. A party, seriously? Did Yuji even know him? “No, I’m not.” 

“You are,” Yuji pushed. He let out a soft sigh, voice coming out a little softer when he continued. “Please. Just once. Everyone’s getting worried.” 

Megumi felt a pang of something in his chest. Guilt? Maybe. Compassion? Possibly. He let out an annoyed huff, similar to what your parents do when you beg for something before asking you to grab their wallet. “…fine. Just once.” 

Yuji grinned proudly, internally fist pumping. “Yes! Okay, we’ll go tomorrow night at ten.” 

“Hmph. ‘Kay.” 

Meanwhile, you were having a similar conversation, though with far more pestering and far more people. 

Toge was sprawled out on the carpet beside your bed, right next to Panda, whose circumference took up nearly half of the floors area. Maki was perched on her bed, Yuta standing idly at the bottom of it. Nobara, who had basically moved into your dorm by now, was sat at the bottom of yours. 

“You’re coming.”

“No.” 

“Please?”

“No.” 

“Please?” they simultaneously whined, except for Maki, who instead stared at you as if to tell you the choice wasn’t yours to make. 

You slumped against the wall your bed was pushed against, grumbling under your breath. “Oh my gosh, why? I don’t want to.” 

“You should get out, [name]. I’m concerned for you—we all are,” Yuta said, his gentle voice chipping away at your resolve. Screw nice boys and their soft spoken voices, and screw him for being your friend. 

“Think about it,” Nobara said, propping herself up on one arm. “If you look really hot, it’s revenge.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have much that’s ‘hot’ in my closet, anyway,” you whined. 

“You’re saying that to a shopping addict. That’s music to her ears,” Maki called from across the room. Well, she wasn’t wrong. Nobara seemed to be jittering with excitement simply from hearing it, already picturing the next trip to the mall in her mind. 

You mulled over it for a moment. There were both pros and cons included if you decided to agree. Pros: confidence boost, fun, quality time, happy friends. Cons: Megumi and Kamo were both likely to be there, considering (though Kamo more directly) they were both linked to Todo. It came down to the choice not of whether to go or not, but of whether you’d let a silly fight force you to be cooped up in your room wallowing in self pity, or if you’d push through. That realization alone was enough to force a nod from your head, a breath of air leaving your lips. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there.” 

Nobara, as well as the others, all lit up. Toge grinned at you from the floor, proud as if he’d done anything anyway. 

“We have to go shopping!” Nobara said. You agreed with a soft laugh and a hesitant nod, blissfully unaware of the events that awaited you. 

Taglist !¡ —

@1l-ynn @meowymeowbreow @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123 @idkidk32 @dazaisfavgf @tlissablr @vi0let-writes @walllflowerrrsss @sh0ot1ngst4r @blubearxy @tvnamayo @san-it-is-i-guess @harryzcherry @withlovesai

(Crossed out name means I can’t tag u!)

Megumi will forever be referred to as Firkle Smith Last name oooo… can’t listen to music so im miserable. You must be as well giggles this was kinda lazy but wtvvvv its okayyyy idk when to release the Yuji fic erm ill probably just wait for bttoh to be over and then post it we shall see…

[meazalykov]

battle of the blood

esmee brugts x reader x sister!OC

summary: el clásico gets the best of your emotions

warnings: childhood trauma, strained family relationship, angst, swearing, verbal abuse, mentions of physical abuse, long chapter, I know esmee started during this el clasico but I changed it for the plot.. please be warned.

oc: your sister's name is isla, you can make up her face claim

as one of the best defenders in the world at 21, you remind everyone why you’ve earned that title, having faced some of the world’s best forwards and come out on top. 

you love football, its your entire life, but there’s something else that was added to that: 

your girlfriend, esmee.

esmee, who came to barcelona in 2023, is your love. her presence makes everything feel right, and you can’t help but smile whenever you see her at all. you remember the day she arrived, the way her eyes sparkled with excitement, the hint of nervousness as she stepped into her new life. 

it was the start of something beautiful—not just for her, but for you too. you had been searching for something deeper, and there she was.

being with esmee has awakened a side of you that had been dormant, buried beneath the pressures you’ve had throughout your entire life. 

during training sessions, the intensity can be overwhelming. despite the urgency of it all, esmee is always there. she makes your heart race, not just from the adrenaline of the sport, but from the love you have for her. when you catch her gaze from across the training pitch, it’s as if time slows down. 

the world around you fades away, and all you see is her.

in those fleeting moments, you can’t help but sneak in quick hugs, a brief escape from the tiredness of training. yes, you keep things professional in front of the public but the team adores the mutual love you have for eachother. 

esmee giggles, a sound that sparks warmth in your chest, but you can see the hints of nervousness creeping into her demeanor. her teammates, playful and lively, often tease her, and while you know it’s all in good fun, you can’t help but feel protective of her. 

when the world gets too loud, esmee knows how to bring you back down to earth. she asks about your day, your plans, anything really, and in those moments of vulnerability, something you weren’t granted as a child.. you find peace. 

you cherish the little things, like the way she plays with your hair or how she leans her head against your shoulder, finding safety in your presence. mosttimes, when the pressures of life seem too heavy, you sit together in silence, holding hands and blocking the world away. 

evenings spent together often find you curled up on the couch, watching your favorite shows, stealing kisses during the best parts, or sharing popcorn as you giggle at the most ridiculous moments. these are the times that reaffirmed your belief in love.

a few months into your relationship with esmee, an undeniable comfort settled between you two. you realized that the walls you had built around your heart were slowly coming down, allowing her in. 

those late-night conversations that once danced around the surface now floated into deeper waters. you acted in certain ways that made esmee knew that you had a difficult past, but she never questioned you about it. she would never force you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. 

one evening, while sitting on your cozy balcony, the barcelona street lights twinkling below, you felt compelled to open up about something that had long weighed on you.

“esmee,” you began, your voice just above a whisper, 

“you know my sister, isla?” the light from the street below caught the glint of curiosity in her eyes. she nodded, already aware of that fact but eager to hear more. 

“we don’t really get along,” you continued, almost wanting to laugh since your words were  an understatement. 

esmee leaned closer, her expression shifting to one of concern. 

“i get that, but… what happened?” her gentle prompt encouraged you to delve deeper. you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to share the truth.

“it’s not just sibling rivalry, esmee,” you began, your heart pounding. 

“it’s… it’s more complicated than that. when we were kids, isla was never really nice to me. she would tease me, and I tried to brush it off, but it was relentless. as we got older, it turned into something darker.” 

esmee’s brow furrowed, and you could see the flicker of concern in her eyes. 

“what do you mean?” she asked softly, her voice steady but filled with empathy.

“there was this one time,” you recalled, the memories flooding back with clarity. 

“we were in the field, just playing football during one of the days that we didn’t have practice back at my childhood club, then, out of nowhere, she just… snapped. she started pushing me, calling me names, she beat me up then started saying I’d never be as good as her.” 

your voice trembled as you continued. 

“that was just the start. it got worse. she’d corner me, taunt me. when my parents weren't home, she would always beat me up. its not like they would have cared since they were never around but isla alway reminded me that I would never be her.” 

esmee’s hand found yours, her grip tightening slightly as if to reinforce the bond you shared. 

“y/n, I’m so sorry,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with understanding. 

“that’s awful. no one should have to go through that, especially from your sister.” 

the weight of your confession felt heavy yet liberating. as you spoke, you worried that it might shift her perception of you, but her unwavering gaze reassured you. 

“it’s been hard for me to reconcile those memories,” you admitted. 

“i wish she would snap out of it, be the sister I always wanted. but every time I think about confronting my past, about talking to her, it’s like that darkness just pulls me back.”

“you have every right to feel how you feel,” esmee replied, her voice a soothing balm against the turmoil inside you. 

“sometimes letting go is the healthiest choice. it’s okay to put distance between you and someone who brings you pain.” 

in your mind you had esmee’s love, and that was more than enough. 

when isla transferred to real madrid from aston villa back in august, it sent shockwaves through the football community, but for you, y/n, it was merely a confirmation of what you had always known. everyone expected the announcement to create an excitment among you, with commentators dissecting every angle, but you felt strangely detached. after all, you had long ago come to terms with the reality of your relationship—or lack thereof—with isla.

most people suspect that you and isla aren’t close at all, and they’re right. the truth is, you don’t even follow each other on social media. it’s not an oversight; it’s a deliberate choice. you’ve both carved out your own professional existences in the world of football, but the disconnect runs far deeper than just career paths. 

when isla’s name surfaces in interviews, you always say, “she’s my sister,” but even that feels like a hollow statement. it’s the only phrase you can utter without spiraling into a torrent of emotions that wouldn’t be conducive to your public image. 

your pr team constantly reminds you to keep it professional, advising you to avoid any personal comments that could lead to negative speculation. they know the rumors swirl, that fans are eager to dissect what must be some family drama. 

they think it’s just sibling rivalry or jealousy. if only they knew the truth—that isla’s presence in your life had been more harmful than supportive, and that your silence is more a shield than a statement.

as the media continues to pair your names together, it’s irritating to reflect on the fact that you’re linked by blood and talent, yet worlds apart in spirit. you wish you could express how isla’s competitive edge always crossed the line into emotional and physical abuse, how the shadows of your childhood still loom large, how her triumphs feel like a stark reminder of your own struggles. 

for now, those words remain locked away, buried under layers of professional decorum and public expectations of barcelona players.

as el clasico approached, you felt your mood souring more and more each day. anticipation crackled in the air like a thousand tiny static shocks. for you, it felt heavy, oppressive—a cloud she couldn’t shake off. 

the usual buzz of excitement that surrounded the biggest match in football felt muted, as if you were standing behind a glass wall, watching everyone else thrive in the moment while you grappled with your own turmoil. 

only a handful of people on the team seemed to understand why your demeanor had shifted so noticeably. esmee was one of them—brash and spirited, always ready to sprinkle a bit of humor to lighten the mood, yet deeply empathetic when it came to your struggles. 

esmee had a sixth sense for when y/n was struggling. alexia, as captain, also had a deep understanding of the weight y/n’s situation with isla. she’d made sure to keep conversations about family issues to a minimum during training sessions. 

the rest of the team suspected something was off, but they respected y/n’s space, choosing not to pry or gossip. 

“things will be okay, y/n,” esmee reassured her you afternoon, giving a supportive squeeze to your waist after the conversation of el clasico was brough up. 

“we’ll get through madrid together. we’ll play the full 90 minutes and then come back to barcelona. you won’t have to see isla again until march.” 

despite the attempt at comfort, y/n felt her heart sink. she appreciated esmee’s sentiment, but the thought only compounded her feelings of dread. 

“i didn’t see her for three years when she was at aston villa,” y/n muttered, frustration clawing at her chest. 

“why did she have to come to madrid? it’s like she’s intentionally making my life worse.” 

y/n had achieved her success in her own right, yet every time she saw isla on the edge of the pitch, posing for photos or congratulating teammates, y/n felt herself slipping back into the background. the knot in her stomach twisted tighter, amplifying her anxiety. do any of those people know that isla is an abuser? do they know that she used to beat up her younger sister until her hands started to hurt too much? probably not. 

“c’mon, y/n, try to see the positives,” esmee urged, attempting to pull her friend from the dark place lingering in her thoughts. 

“this is your chance to show madrid what you’re made of! i know you’re a defender but maybe we can get a goal out of you!.” 

you forced a laugh with a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. the idea of stepping onto the pitch, with thousands of eyes watching you—not only as part of barcelona but in direct comparison to isla—sent your mind spiraling. 

what if you didn’t perform well? what if your sister outshines you? 

you had wanted to have this magical moment as a pro player without isla looming in the background, always casting a lengthy shadow over your achievements.

“look, why not make this game about us?” esmee continued, trying to penetrate y/n’s wall of anxiety. 

“play for the team, for each other. we’re going to have fun! it’s el clasico! if anything, we should be excited! forget about isla.” 

it was hard for you to forget, very hard. how could you? memories of childhood flashed through your mind: the abuses, the times when isla’s achievements always overshadowed your own spark. it felt like being trapped in a cycle she couldn’t escape. 

you remembered celebrating each of your own milestones quietly, while isla was surrounded by adoring friends and admiring coaches. 

taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you felt a flicker of determination ignite within you. esmee was right about one thing: it was important to rely on your teammates, the women who had stood by your side through victories and losses alike.

perhaps, if you reframed your perspective, you could focus on what you could control rather than the shadows of your past.

as training sessions progressed, it became harder for you to keep your emotions in check. every exercise, every drill, became a mental obstacle course. the tension built up not just for you but for the entire team. they were gearing up for a match that was not only an opportunity to prove themselves against their fiercest rivals, but also a chance for you to confront some demons that had followed you into the present.

the morning of el clásico broke in madrid, sunlight streaming through the hotel room window, illuminating every corner and filling the air with an electric energy. 

“hey, sleepyhead! wake up! it’s match day!” kika chirped, her voice bright and cheerful as she moved around the room, throwing a pillow on your sleepy head.

you couldn’t help but wake up and smile at her enthusiasm, though the knot in your stomach tightened a little more.

“morning,” you replied, stretching and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the vibrant posters of barcelona hung on the walls, a reminder of the mission ahead.

 “did you sleep at all?”

“of course! i had this amazing dream about scoring the winning goal,” kika laughed, her excitement contagious.

you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of that same energy, even as your mind drifted back to other thoughts.

“i barely slept. too many thoughts,” you admitted, the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders.

“about isla?” kika guessed, her tone shifting to something more understanding. you nodded, your heart sinking a little at the mention of her name. 

the reminder of being in the starting lineup sent a mix of nerves through you. as you and kika finished getting ready, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

you looked focused, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of longing for the comfort of esmee’s arms. it was hard not to wish you could have a moment away from the pressure, to feel the warmth and safety of your partner’s embrace. 

“let’s head down for breakfast,” kika suggested, sensing your distraction. you nodded, knowing that you needed to center yourself and prepare for the day ahead. the atmosphere in the dining room was buzzing with excitement, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries filling the air.

as you entered, the chatter of your teammates surrounded you, their laughter and energy infectious. you settled at the table, and soon the conversation turned toward the madrid lineup. your heart raced as they mentioned isla's name, and you felt the knot in your stomach clench tighter. 

“of course, they’ll have isla,” mapi said, a slight edge of playful rivalry in her voice. 

“she’s one of their best forwards. should be fun trying to keep her in check.” 

“fun,” you murmured, trying to smile. inside, you felt a mix of admiration and jealousy, an emotional tug-of-war that blurred the line between sibling rivalry and personal ambition. 

“we’ll handle it,” frido chimed in, trying to lift the mood.

as breakfast came to an end, you took a moment to reflect on everything swirling in your head. thoughts raced as you prepared to head to the stadium, the enormity of the day dawning on you. 

this wasn’t just another game; it was el clásico. you would be facing isla, your biological sister.

"you ready?" mapi asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement, oblivious to the storm inside you. you forced a smile, nodding tightly as the whistle blew, marking the beginning of el clásico. 

you quickly tucked your worries to the back of your mind, focusing on the game ahead.

as you maneuvered up the pitch, you could hear your teammates calling for the ball. aitana had it, and you made your way toward her, preparing to receive the pass. just as you felt the rhythm starting to flow through you, a figure rushed at you, and adrenaline kicked in. 

at the last moment, you spotted that familiar silhouette, but it was too late. 

you managed to push the ball to caro just in time, but the force of the collision pushed you back slightly. steadying yourself, you took a quick look only to realize it was isla. instinct kicked in, and you pushed her away from you. 

"don’t push me!" she snapped, her tone a mix of irritation.

“i just did!” you shot back, your heart racing as your blood boiled. you could feel the heat of her presence instantly igniting all those old wounds. 

“whatever, just wait until the end my little sister. I hope your teammates are ready to pick up the pieces when you fall apart.”

the exchange hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze as the intensity of the game continued around you. you fought to push out the old memories of isolation and hurt, taut and angry.

“not today, isla,” you muttered under your breath, refocusing on the game, trying to shake off the encounter. deep down, you knew this game was about more than football; it was about proving to yourself and to her that you were no longer the scared girl she once abused. 

you were a force to be reckoned with—a player in your own right.

 

isla shot you a dirty look before returning to her position, the tension prickled in the air. you forced yourself to breathe through it, channeling the storm of emotions into energy for the game. 

ignoring her felt like a mini victory, and you strived to sink back into the rhythm of the match.

the chaos of the field surrounded you—the shouts from your teammates, the roar of the crowd, the pounding of feet on the grass. 

with a swift glance up the pitch, you saw patri breaking through the defense. it was now or never. positioning yourself perfectly, you lifted your foot and sent a precise cross sailing through the air. everything slowed down as you watched the ball arc toward her. 

in the glorious moment that followed, patri met it with her head, sending it soaring into the back of the net. 

“vammoooss!” you shouted, adrenaline exploding through you as the crowd erupted in cheers. overwhelmed with joy, you sprinted toward patri, 

your heart racing. when you reached her, you jumped onto her back, wrapping your arms around her shoulders in a triumphant embrace.

“what a header!” you laughed, squeezing her tightly as she hoisted you up effortlessly. the bond you shared with patri was one of the deepest you had on the team too.

“you played it perfectly!” she beamed, her smile contagious.

the second half kicked off, and when esmee came on, you felt a rush of excitement. she was not just your girlfriend but she was an excellent player. as you positioned yourself on the right wing, you watched with anticipation as esmee was on the left.

suddenly, the joy of the moment was shattered. without warning, isla charged toward esmee, pushing her hard at full force when the dutch girl had the ball. you felt your stomach drop as you witnessed the blatant foul unfold right in front of you. 

esmee hit the ground with a thud, disbelief written all over her face as she looked up at the referee. the whistle blew, but to your disgust, isla received only a simple yellow card.

“that should’ve been a fucking red card…” you mumbled to yourself, unable to hold back the frustration bubbling up within you. you were furious—not just at the referee’s poor judgment but also at the way your sister exploited the situation. 

it was conscious and cruel, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as your fists clenched at your sides.

mapi, who was close enough to overhear, giggled softly, sensing your ire. 

“I think we all saw that, you know?” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. you shot her a glance, half amused but still seething. 

“not funny,” you replied sharply, trying to keep your focus on the game. you could see esmee slowly getting up, shaking her head in disbelief as she brushed off the grass on her legs. 

a mix of sadness and anger welled within you—it wasn’t just a foul; it was a reminder of how your sister’s actions affected not just you, but your loved ones as well.

it was hard to shake off the fight in your chest. the thought that isla was playing dirty, particularly against someone you cared about, burned intensely. you glanced back at esmee, who shrugged off the hit.

shortly after, the game continued.

the tension in the stadium reached a fever pitch as the clock ticked down to the 87th minute. barcelona had just scored their fourth goal, courtesy of alexia, and the crowd erupted in cheers that reverberated around the pitch. 

just when you thought the game was stabilizing, hell broke loose in a way you never anticipated.

isla broke past ingrid as if she were a mere hurdle, her focus unyielding as she made a reckless dash toward the goal. in that split second, your heart raced—not in excitement, but in horror. that familiar cocktail of hatred and anger surged through you, overwhelming all rational thought. 

you weren’t just standing by anymore; you were compelled to act, to protect what was rightfully yours on the field.

without a second thought, you lunged forward at full speed, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you executed the fastest and cleanest side tackle imaginable. your body struck the ground, sliding into her with precision. isla flew away from the ball, sent sprawling across the pitch as your foot sent it careening toward the crowd, safely out of harm’s way.

the satisfying thud of your tackle felt like a victory, but it was short-lived. as you stood up, energy still crackling in your limbs, you felt a rush of pride—until that pride morphed into a tension that shadowed the field.

isla sprang to her feet, standing right in front of you with rage bubbling in her eyes.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” she spat, invading your personal space, her face a mask of anger and disbelief. her breath was heavy, and you could see the seething hatred reflected in her dark gaze.

you pushed back, adrenaline mingling with defiance. “i’m the one who stopped you from making a fool of yourself! that was a pathetic run!” you felt empowered, knowing you had thwarted her attempt to score, and relished the moment of victory. 

isla laughed bitterly, her voice slicing through the chaos around you. “pathetic? look who’s talking!” 

“you’re a joke, isla! you always have been!” 

“joke?” she echoed, her mouth twisting into a sneer. 

“at least i’m not the one who needs to prove myself every time i step on this field. everyone knows what a failure you are!” the venom in her words stung, and her face was a twisted mirror of the anger that coursed through you.

“maybe if you spent less time abusing people and more time focusing on your own game, you wouldn’t be in this position right now!” you responded, the heat of the moment making you bold. your gaze locked onto hers, refusing to break contact, as if the intensity could somehow ward off her next assault.

“you think this is about me?” isla laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. 

“this is about you, desperate to be seen, desperate for validation!" the derision in her voice felt like a blade, piercing the surface of your confidence.

“this is so fucking hilarious, you’re scared!” you shot back, your voice shaking but resolute. 

“scared that if you lost, you wouldn’t know who you are anymore. you’re obsessed with proving you're the best, shit you abused me for years and that wasn’t enough, maybe you should’ve killed me isla!”

“look at you! the fact that you’re still here makes me sick!” isla ignores what you said, failing to admit her abuse towards you.

“you’re such a bitch, thinking you could go to barcelona and think you’re hot shit—” 

“says the one who chose madrid of all teams, look at your team with zero goals!!” you snapped immaturely, the words spilling out before you could even catch yourself. 

cata tried to pull you away from your sister for the last twenty seconds, but it was no use; your anger suddenly surged, fueling a strength that felt almost uncontrollable. 

at that moment, everything around you turned into a blur as adrenaline surged through your veins.

alexia had noticed the commotion and began to move toward you, determination etched on her face. 

“leave her alone!” athenea shouted at you, stepping between you and your sister.

“score a goal then come back to me, you bitch,” you shot back, your voice laced with defiance as you metaphorically swatted athenea away like she was an annoying fly. 

“don’t speak to her like that!” your sister yelled, pushing you.

the crowd around you watched in shock, drawn into the escalating drama, whispers and gasps cutting through the din of the match.

suddenly, both teams surrounded you, players from both sides trying to break up the heated argument. tensions flared further as a few of your teammates exchanged barbs with madrid players, the atmosphere thick with hostility. 

the referee rushed in to maintain order, but you and your sister remained locked in a fierce gaze, hatred radiating off you like heat from a fire.

“i haven’t seen you in three years—what the fuck? you know what? you’re hopeless. you’ve always been the one holding everyone back! shit, you guys would’ve been up to six if you didn’t make those mistakes you did!!!” isla spat.

“you’re pathetic, isla. maybe shut up and stop pretending you’re even close to being good enough. maybe try watching your balance next time?” you shot back, the memory of the side tackle you had executed flashing before your eyes, where she had fallen face-first into the grass.

“do you think anyone actually believes in you at barcelona? i don't, and i’m positive your captain doesn’t either!” isla laughed, the sound harsh and mocking, as if your words were nothing more than a joke to her. 

“you don’t know me, you don’t know y/n, and what happens at barcelona, go away!” alexia shouted, her voice cutting through the chaotic atmosphere as she rushed towards you, clearly infuriated by what had just transpired. 

she pulled you away from the escalating confrontation, her grip firm and protective, while olga carmona was busy dragging isla away, separating the two of you in a tangle of emotions and disbelief.

as the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match, the rush of emotions hit you like a tidal wave—embarrassment, anger, sadness, and confusion twisted together in an overwhelming torrent. 

your heart raced, every beat echoing your thoughts over and over: why did your sister hate you so much? yes, you had initiated the encounter with a side tackle, but it was just a game! a competition, something you had always loved, something that was supposed to bring joy. 

yet, here you were, feeling like a stranger in your own life, treated as though you were the villain in a twisted narrative that belonged to Isla.

deep down, you knew you weren’t the evil one. it was Isla—the sister who once had control over your life through years of emotional and physical abuse. the memories rushed back, uninvited and unwelcome, as you thought about the day you finally managed to escape at 16, signing with la masia and vowing to break free from the darkness that had enveloped your childhood. 

you had fought tooth and nail to build a life away from that pain, so why, after all these years, did she still hold such a powerful grip over your emotions?

the anger began to bubble to the surface, fierce and unyielding, igniting sparks of determination within you. you promised yourself you would never let anyone, least of all her, treat you like that ever again. yet with that anger came an undercurrent of sadness, an ache that resonated deeper than you wanted to admit. 

you realized, more painfully than ever, that you didn’t know your sister anymore—this Isla was a stranger in your life, and yet the years of shared history felt like a heavy weight pressing down on both of you. how had this happened? it felt surreal, standing on this battlefield of memories past, both of you reduced to adversaries when you should have been allies.

watching teammates embrace amid cheers and celebrations around you, you began to feel profoundly isolated. their laughter rang in your ears like a mocking reminder of the bond you once had with Isla, a bond that was now fractured, strained by the years of resentment and pain that simmered beneath the surface. 

it was as if you were caught in some cruel twist of fate, living out a nightmare where your family ties had turned into shackles, binding you to a painful legacy.

questions raced through your mind like a whirlwind: was there any hope for repair? could you ever bridge the chasm that had formed between you? every thought pulled you deeper into the confusion of your feelings, and you wondered if healing was even possible after so much trauma. 

the night wrapped its heavy cloak around madrid, its bustling streets still alive with the echoes of celebration and the collective energy of the crowd. bright lights illuminated the cobblestones, but inside the dimly lit bus, you felt completely enveloped in darkness.

the soft chatter of ecstatic teammates faded as you made your way to the farthest back seats, seeking solitude and privacy in the midst of a chaotic victory.

as you settled into the back corner, you pulled your hoodie over your eyes, the fabric a barrier from the vibrant world outside. your chest felt tight, a vice slowly tightening with each breath. the floodgates opened, and tears streamed unabated down your cheeks. 

you couldn’t remember the last time you had cried like this, where each sob felt like a physical release, an expulsion of the pain that had been building inside for years. the laughter and joy of your teammates were a distant hum, far removed from the anguish that churned in your heart. even in your secluded corner, memories of your fractured relationship with Isla rushed over you, relentless waves that threatened to pull you under.

“you don’t have a sister. you don’t have a sister,” echoed in your mind, each repetition stinging sharper than the last. the thought sank deep, raw and brutal, leaving you feeling utterly unmoored.

as you rested your head against the cool glass of the window, gazing out at the blurred lights of the city, the world outside became a mere backdrop to your inner turmoil. you could hear muffled conversations, the exuberant energy radiating from your teammates—a stark contrast to your spiraling emotions. 

the victory that had once been something to celebrate now felt meaningless in the face of the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

just then, the door creaked open on the bus, and vicky stepped in. she was still glowing from the game, her face alight with enthusiasm, but that expression quickly faded when she spotted you in the back. 

concern etched itself across her features, and her heart sank. she could see from the shadows of your hoodie and the position of your body—hunched and closed off—that you were in distress. overwhelmed, vicky turned on her heel and dashed back out of the bus, seeking out esmee, who stood chatting at the entrance with ellie.

“esmee! y/n is on the bus crying,” vicky mumbled, urgency lacing her words. the concern in her voice was palpable; she wanted to keep the team from overwhelming you, sensing how raw your emotion was and how much space you needed.

esmee felt her stomach twist at vicky's words. she had watched you take that fateful departure from the group, and it had left her heart heavy. she knew you better than most, knew when you needed to be left alone and when you needed someone to pull you back from the edge of despair. 

without hesitation, she scooped her things into her bag and sprinted past vicky, urgency pushing her feet to move faster.

the bus interior was dim, the only light provided by the streetlamps outside the window. it was quiet and still, a place where vulnerability thrived. esmee's heart raced as she stepped onto the bus, drawn immediately to the haunting softness of your cries. 

approaching you cautiously, she felt a pang of sadness pool in her chest. settling down across the aisle from you, she could now see the crumpled sleeve you were using as a tissue.

“y/n,” she whispered softly, her voice barely breaking the silence between the two of you. you didn’t respond, lost in the storm of your emotions. esmee took a deep breath, grounding herself as she tried to navigate this delicate moment. 

“can I sit with you?”

the slight shift in your posture told her it was okay. she moved into the seat right next to you, close enough to feel your warmth without infringing on your space. you still kept your eyes fixed on the streaks of light melting into the darkness beyond the window.

“it’s really okay to cry, baby,” esmee said gently, her tone soothing and patient. it was a balm for your frayed nerves, and for a moment, you blinked through the haze of tears. 

“I’m right here with you. you’re not alone.”

you drew a shaky breath, but the tears kept coming. it felt too heavy to be cradled alone in this storm of feelings. esmee reached forward, resting her hand on the empty seat between you, her fingers subtly inviting closeness. 

“I can’t take what you’re feeling away for you,” she continued softly, 

“but I can sit here with you while you feel it. it’s okay to not be okay.” esmee stays realistic. 

the tenderness of her words seeped into the crevices of your heart, and for the first time, you glanced towards her. her eyes were filled with concern, a deep and genuine empathy that made something inside you shift. 

the warmth of her gaze encouraged you to speak, to let out the words you had been holding tight within.

“it’s just… everything,” you managed to choke out between sobs, your voice breaking as the weight of the years spilled from your lips. 

“Isla… everything that happened at the end of the game, everything.”

esmee nodded, completely attuned to your pain. 

“I know it’s changing everything you thought you understood about things. It’s like a dark cloud, isn’t it?” she said, her gaze unwavering as she leaned closer, conveying both solidarity and strength. 

with gentle resolve, esmee shifted a fraction closer, and as if sensing your need for comfort, she brushed her hand against your back, the soft contact grounding and familiar as you lean against her chest. 

it felt as if she was sending warmth through that simple gesture, wrapping you in the safety of her presence. you blinked at her, your tears mixing with the warmth that slowly began to settle in your chest.

“i hate her.” you mumbled. 

“i can see why,” esmee understood. 

esmee gently placed her hand on your waist, her fingers squeezing lightly as if to remind you she was there, physically and emotionally. 

as the tears poured forth, each drop carrying away a piece of your pain, a piece of the suffocating grief that had held you captive for so long, it felt easier to breathe. esmee didn’t shy away from the gravity of what you were feeling; instead, she leaned in closer, her presence a steadfast beacon. 

the familiarity of her touch ignited a sense of safety, drawing you just a bit closer to the shore after feeling lost at sea for so long.

“let it all out,” she encouraged, brushing her thumb softly over the back of your hand that rested limply in your lap. it was a gentle caress that seemed to wipe away some of your doubts, a silent promise that you were moments away from finding solace in companionship. 

“nobody’s judging you here, I promise.”

you clung to her hand, feeling an unexpected safety in that small gesture.the tears continued to flow, but rather than a dam holding them back, it felt like a river running its course, tearing along and removing the debris of old pain.

esmee did not shy away from the intimacy of the moment; she was your shelter from the turmoil, absorbing your sorrow alongside you.

“no one has to know we’re having a moment,” esmee teased gently, her playful spirit shining through despite the gravity of the situation. she added a smirk, trying to raise the corners of your mouth into a semblance of a smile. 

you couldn’t help but chuckle at her light-hearted attempt to coax you from the shadows. laughter bubbled up from the depths of your throat—tentative at first, but it felt slightly like sunlight breaking through the clouds. 

“I might be too emotional for this team,” you replied, your voice still thick with emotion but softened by humor.

“at least we have each other to be emotional with,” esmee offered with sincerity, squeezing your hand gently before letting it settle back on your thigh, a touch that was both supportive and grounding.

as you both sat in the quiet of the bus, the soft sounds of the city thrumming outside, you found solace in the physical closeness and the shared silence after esmee’s words. 

you might not have your biological family, but you have found your family at barcelona. 

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