#if i could do math my life would be so so so so different

[strange-lamp-stranger]

OKOK this is just pasted in from my notes app so apologies if the formatting is weird! it's very much so just the way i spat it all out of my brain and onto the page, lol. i also started actually planning out plot beats n stuff in case i was gonna write a whole fic but i don't think that's gonna happen anytime soon, so i'll throw those in too! it's all under the cut because. long.

Modern AU Kyana-centric. Takes place in Canada because i said so.

She's studying business administration in uni and feeling really stuck in life. She rents a tiny basement apartment, and while she gets along with most of her classmates, she's not close with any of them (but she is closest with Ione, who has a crush on Kyana). Not to mention, the department head, Dr. Rose Sephrum, who is incidentally Kyana's great-aunt and closest living relative, is bitter and overly strict. While Kyana is actually pretty good at most of the stuff in her classes, she's struggling to keep up because she isn't receiving any supports for her (undiscovered & undiagnosed) ADHD.

Kyana's backstory: grew up in foster care after her parents died when she was a toddler. She never got adopted and bounced around a lot of different homes. Dr. Sephrum could have adopted her, but refused. When Kyana turned 18, she entered into a government program supporting young adults coming out of the foster care/child welfare system. She basically gets a government stipend every month. It pays her rent and groceries and not much else, but between those payments and gov't student loans/grants, she's able to comfortably support herself. She volunteers at a local animal shelter every other weekend WITH IONE!!

Dani's backstory: She grew up with her cousins Roy (4 years older than her) and Egan (1 year older than her, but 100% the baby of the family) under the care of her Uncle Oto. (The three of them nicknamed their backyard and make-do play area "the Heap" because it was. well. a big heap of junk that Oto could never be bothered to clean up). Oto was one of those father figures that is definitely shitty, but also definitely cares and is always doing what he thinks is best for the kids, even if it's incredibly misguided. In highschool, Dani's only good grades were in math and tech/construction classes, but she had a reputation for doing dangerous and impulsive things in her tech classes without her teachers' permission. She got an apprenticeship as a mechanic at a local appliance repair shop right out of highschool. DANI IS AUTISTIC. IT SHOWS. KYANA'S TOO POLITE TO ASK ABOUT IT SO FOR A GOOD WHILE SHE JUST THINKS DANI'S WEIRD FOR NO REASON. (Dani got diagnosed in middle school because social differences were really starting to show and she was getting kind of bullied, and the school psychologist saw her and was like "hmmm i have a suspicion".)

Fic begins when Kyana's roommate moves out mid-semester (they were apparently on academic probation and got their last strike), leaving Kyana stranded and needing a last-minute roommate. She put out an ad and the first person to respond was Dani. Dani the appliance technician apprentice. Dani with her wild blue hair and adorably annoying cat, Plug. Dani's passion for life rubs off on Kyana, who begins to feel inspired again.

Eventually, Ione moves in with Kyana and Dani [she DOESN'T get together with Kyana, who is Very Aroace. Actually, when she learned that her feelings weren't and never would be reciprocated, Ione decided, in her self-destructive ways, that the best way to deal with it would be to completely break off her friendship with Kyana so that Ione's feelings might fade. After a year or so, her romantic feelings DO fade, but she still feels a gaping, Kyana-shaped hole in her life. Ione's convinced it's because she's not actually over her feelings for Kyana yet, but really it's because—regardless of the type of attraction she feels—she's in love with Kyana and has developed a similarly strong "squish" (platonic crush). Kyana, after some prodding from Dani, decides to try to reconnect with Ione, and that's when they become friends again, and move in together and eventually become platonic life partners.]

Plot beats (UNFINISHED):

- Dani moves in. Background exposition on why Kyana needed a new roommate. Kyana instantly falls in love with Plug. Kyana is clearly burnt out from school.

- Kyana goes to class. We meet Professor Sephrum and Ione. Kyana and Ione study together. Kyana laments how much she dislikes the program they're in, and Ione agrees but says that she herself feels like she just needs to suck it up until she graduates. she thinks it'd be a waste of her athletic scholarship otherwise (Ione is a lightweight wrestler. Kyana was on the highschool wrestling team with her but dropped it after highschool). Kyana thinks that is a really sad outlook to have.

- Kyana fails one of her courses because she couldn't keep up with the courseload. She desolately contemplates dropping out. Dani learns about Kyana having failed that class and gets Kyana her favourite flavour of gum (she'd seen Kyana chewing it while doing chores around the house) and gives Kyana an awkward pep talk. Plug is a cute little asshole. Dani tries to steer Kyana in a positive direction and asks what course(s) she did best in. Kyana says she got a 78 in her kinesiology elective. [warblingly like, yknow, someone who was just crying really hard a few minutes ago] "I wish I'd done better, honestly. It's the one class I actually looked forward to."

- Semester 2 reading week—Kyana and Ione finally catch a break and Dani invites them to come with her on the roadtrip she's been planning on taking to go visit Roy and Egan. (Incidentally, Kyana has been taking another kinesiology elective and really enjoying it also. She's considering declaring it as her minor.) The three of them (and Plug. he has a cat backpack) pile into Dani's old little 2008 Volkswagen (golf?). on the way down, Dani and Ione learn that Kyana's never been to an amusement park. There's a big one in the city that Roy and Egan live in, and so the five of them (plus Roy's fwb, Cressida) spend a day at the amusement park. Kyana turns out to be a total adrenaline junkie and goes on all the huge rides with Dani. They convince Ione to go on the biggest rollercoaster with them. She's scared out of her mind the whole time but Kyana is happy so it's worth it, Ione thinks. when they get back to Roy and Egan's place, Plug is smugly napping in a pile of upturned potted plants.

- [SOMEHOW, THEY RETURN HOME.]

- Dani's been helping Kyana with her homework whenever she can. Kyana has to take a statistics class and Dani is like "fuck yeah, math, something i actually understand!" Because of this, Kyana managed to do pretty well on her midterms. Kyana mentions she's considering declaring a kinesiology minor. Dani's straight up like "why just a minor? don't you like it way more than business or whatever-the-fuck? you can still change your major, yeah?" Kyana's like "huh, i think i can? i don't know yet though. Business is more... there's more job opportunities, i guess?" Dani says Kyana could keep business as a minor then, since she's probably already got like half the required courses for it. Kyana thinks about it.

- Kyana is walking to her one evening class from the animal shelter. Her and Ione were helping out with a vaccination clinic the shelter was holding. she couldn't help with the vaccinations, obviously, but she helped with, like, client intake and stuff. Ione was really good with the nervous animals. anyways, before class she stops in to see the kinesiology department head, Dr. Enoch. She wants to know what switching majors would be like. Enoch notes that her grades are pretty lackluster and that she'd probably need to bring her grades up a bit before the administration would let her declare a new major. Enoch offers his help, pointing Kyana to resources around campus, etc. He asks about what Kyana feels like she struggles with the most, and when she explains, he's like "oooohhh, okokok i've heard that one before. go to the uni's medical centre, tell them exactly what you told me, and say that your advisor(s) have recommended you get an educational psych assessment focusing on adhd. your uni health insurance plus provincial student funding should cover any costs. alright?"

- Kyana's working part-time (25ish hours a week) over the summer at a local café (Wild Springs Café & Bistro) to save for when her funding cuts off. Her bosses are Finbar and Elyse, who were Dani's neighbors growing up. Dani frequently stops at the café for coffee runs for her work, even though it's a 10 minute drive. She says that it's cause the coffee's better here than any Tim's or McD's and also the longer drive gives her more of a break, but really it's mostly because she likes annoying Finbar. Kyana learns the absolutely wild lore behind Finbar and Elyse's relationship. Ione picks Kyana up after her shift and confesses her romantic feelings. Kyana has a hard time reacting and tries her best to turn Ione down ("you're my best friend, and i love you. i love you so much. but—i don't really think i love you in the same way you love me? i don't think i can love anybody that way. i... never have. i can't really imagine it, if that makes sense? i'm sorry.") Ione cries, Kyana offers a hug, Ione refuses and says goodnight.

- Kyana is leaving the doctor's office, adhd diagnosis in hand (figuratively speaking). [NOTE THAT THE DIAGNOSTIC CLINIC HAD TO CONTACT DR. SEPHRUM SINCE SHE'S THE ONLY PERSON WHO KNEW KYANA AS A CHILD. DR. SEPHRUM WAS NOT EXACTLY THRILLED.] She's in a mix of shock and relief and happiness and when she gets home she collapses on the floor to pet Plug. Dani asks how it went and when Kyana tells her, Dani fist bumps her like "hell yeah, brain buddies!" this is how Kyana learns that Dani is autistic. Kyana has barely heard from Ione in a month and a half, now, (Ione's even been volunteering at the shelter on opposite weekends from Kyana) and asks if Dani knows what she's up to. Dani says she doesn't, but she'll reach out. Meanwhile, Kyana needs to contact her school's accessibility office in order to get the accomodations she needs, which is a whole other hurdle. She wishes she had Ione to support her.

- Dani contacts Ione. As soon as she brings up Kyana, Ione gets very weird about it. She tries to change the subject and is generally very cagey. Dani gives up and tells Kyana about it. Dani asks about what even happened between the two of them. Kyana explains and is generally very distraught, says she thinks it's her fault but she doesn't know what else she could've done. Dani is very matter-of-fact and is like "you did exactly what you thought was best and let her down easy, the rest of this is Ione's shit to figure out". Kyana sees her point but doesn't feel much better.

- Kyana and Ione start their second year of uni. Kyana's grades go up significantly and she is able to switch majors. she keeps business as a minor because she basically already has all the credits she needs for it. However, this means that Kyana and Ione don't have nearly as many classes together. In their one business class together, Ione acts very standoffish and avoids Kyana. Until one day, they end up in a group/partner project together (Kyana was away sick the day it was assigned, and Ione hadn't found a group, so they end up having to partner up) for their final assignment in that class. Incidentally, Ione's been performing very well in her wrestling matches, but she looks run ragged and frequently complains about being really sore.

- After a very awkward evening of working on the assignment together at the school library, Ione needs to get home. However, it's completely dark out and Kyana knows she's not keen on walking home alone when it's dark out. Also Ione generally looks like shit and Kyana wants to try and do something nice for her. So Kyana asks if Ione wants her to walk her home, and Ione's like "I... yeah. I'd appreciate that." At the end of the walk, before Ione goes inside, Kyana says something along the lines of "You know I don't resent you or anything, right? I still wanna be friends. I really, really want to." Ione is like "not right now you don't. i'm sure. not until i stop... wanting you. you can pretend it doesn't make things weird but i know it does." Kyana tries to impress upon the fact that it really doesn't but Ione doesn't really believe her. they agree on a time and date to finish the assignment and then say bye.

and uhhhhhh that's the last beat i'd written down. which is not the best place to leave off, huh. but!! i also wrote down what i called "the killscreen/end conditions" for the story, which are as follows:

- Kyana and Ione in QPR, Dani is their best friend (if Ione was a middle aged man she'd call Dani "wife #2")

- Kyana has her kinesiology degree and becomes a certified physiotherapy assistant

- Ione drops out of university and goes to college to get her veterinary technician diploma

- Dani starts her own appliance repair business (?)

OUAUGH i forgot how much i like this AU... i really wanna actually figure out how it ends one of these days,,

hello I have recently been made aware that a bad situation I am in is much worse than I thought, and I really could use some fluffy (or honestly angsty too) rwd thoughts or headcanons

[lesenbyan]

Tfw @composeregg showed me a bumper sticker last night and now we're both in the glorious hell of reading scientific articles about how time is fake and how scientists are testing that

[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

the way I have heard so many talented fanfic writers say they started writing because they read someone else's fanfics that are so good they inspired them into becoming writers too? just proved my point that your writing is never 'in vain', even if you dislike it and think it could've been better, it's still good enough for someone out there that it becomes their source of inspiration and perhaps happiness. you'll never know.

but don't ever, ever belittle your own works. just because you don't like them, doesn't mean other people dislike them too. again, you'll never know. there could be someone out there who reread your works every day because those fics you wrote helped them escape reality for a while, they could be reading your works as a way to help get them through a hard time in their life. you'll never know.

your writing may have saved someone's life.

your writing may have inspired someone into pursuing their career and changing their life for the better.

several best selling authors started as fanfic writers, and the majority of fanfic writers started writing because they were inspired by someone's fanfics. you do the math.

your "silly fics" have permanent impact on this world, even if you think they're not good (they actually are good, I promise you, don't let your mind lie to you).

I mean ***I*** personally started writing my first fanfic about 7 years ago, and have been writing ever since, because I was inspired by my favorite fanfic writers. I still remember all the lines I like from those fics I read 7-8 years ago, I still think about those fics I read from 7-8 years ago and still remember the stories very well in my heart. I started writing because of them.

this blog would never have been created at all, if it weren't because of those fanfic writers whose works I read 7-8 years ago.

I wouldn't have so far written about 130,000 words this year alone, if it weren't because of those fanfic writers whose works I read 7-8 years ago.

to all the fanfic writers out there; your works inspired someone, your writing made a difference to someone's life.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[derealifies]

— HOW I UTILIZE THE GOD STATE FOR MANIFESTING

i use law of assumption for this (obviously) and it's easier than (some of) you might think

so in my own experience, i started with affirmations, like "i am the creator of my reality" or just simply "i am god" and use it interchangeably. embody yourself as the state that you want.

& i don't repeat excessively or in routine, only when i feel like it! this is especially important because well, if you're actually god, you wouldn't need to tell yourself that everyday.

and then there are times where you really realize how much your self-concept has improved. for me, it was as simple as seeing a beautiful butterfly and feeling proud/happy because i know it was under my creation. and most of all, i was content with my ability to manifest and my current reality, which i had already assumed as my dream life - which it is.

now for what i've manifested/received simply from embodying this state of consciousness:

- better mental health & confidence - i knew things were going to be okay, if not perfect, because i assumed it will.

- control over the state of the weather (i once manifested a strong ass storm bc i hated the summer 😭... welp)

- social media popularity (i only thought "oh how interesting would it be if i made this post and it blows up" & it happened in less than one day 🤷‍♀️)

- grades & natural intelligence => maths was one of my difficult subject and now i can do it sooo smoothly (my latest maths test got 91%)

- inducing pure consciousness easily. before this, i spent like 1-2h everyday trying to relax and get into the 'void state' for no reason, while listening to a bunch of different meditation guide and subliminals. that's not to say that you shouldn't do this, but i was overcomplicating it all. once i decided that i could just induce pure consciousness in like, a minute, it happened. it is *that* easy, so don't tell yourself otherwise.

- there's more that i will add in later posts if i remember.. anyway thank u for reading, happy manifesting lovies 💕

[snowsinterlude]

🐇 - rich, stupid, dumb girl and her nerd boyfriend.

(coriolanus snow x bimbo reader)

summary: you loved your boyfriend just too much not to let him edge you in public

c.w: in public, reader is a bimbo, edging, fingering (f. recieving), oral (m. recieving), overstimulation, a bit of praising, dom coryo, at school sex, smut, nsfw, humiliation, explicit content, slightly degrading

mascara running down your eyes, lipstick kisses on his hips, abdomen and neck, your boyfriend had his hand on your head as he frowned at the pleasure and the perfect sight of having you bobbing your head on his dick.

your boyfriend was such a cute nerd, always giving you the right answers to tests that you were too stupid to answer for yourself. always kissing your lips behind the books shelves. always putting you on your knees and letting his fingers open your mouth as you looked up at him, too whiny cause he tried to get you to understand something your stupid brain couldn't bare.

you were just another stupid brain dead girl who's head was good but not in the right ways- he loved the way you eagerly sucked on his dick, getting him coated in your saliva and kissing his tip as if it was the most precious thing of your life. it was just curious to see someone so dumb using it's inteligence to reproduction purposes. of course, both of you didn't mean to reproduct, but if you were to have a son or daughter, you had to pray that he/she would be just as pretty as you- but not as inteligent.

the soft grunts he let out of his mouth were the prettiest thing you could hear. no matter how many soap operas your father made you watch, the prettiest sounds were made by his throat.

you didn't have a gag reflex. every ex boyfriend you had usually would go nuts because of it. but coryo was different.

your sweet, precious, nerdy boyfriend, was bigger than your average-sized-dick exes. you didn't care- i mean, what is a bit of gagging when his dick is hitting the back of your throat? it was delicious having the chance to taste him.

that's why you were on your knees now, under the library desk as he read (or tried) to read the books in front of him. your mouth was too eager, you seemed hungry for him, pillow plump lips with smeared lipstick engulfing all you could of his inches, every single one could fit into your throat- fuck the gag reflex. you wanted him to the brim.

your thinking was delayed by his sweet words, the sweet tone of his voice cussing you for being so good at sucking a dick but being so horrible with mathematics.

"god, you're so pretty, doll. how can you be so hungry for dick?" he asked, and you moaned against his dick, incapable of giving him any proper answers. "keep going like that, okay? once i'll cum- fuck, we'll come back to studying."

"'don't wanna" you said, muffled by his cock.

"i didn't asked if you want, baby. you will." he said, pulling you by your hair to get you away from his dick. he kissed you, lips and tongue on yours. "now, sit by my side, okay?"

and you obeyed, pouting and trying to clean the lipstick stains off your lips.

his hand went to your thigh after he put his dick back inside his clothes. "c'mon, tell me. do you know the answer to that?" he pointed to a question on the book, something about maths. your worst grades were in this one class.

"i don't." you said, pouting. "c'mon, cory! let me make you cum." you begged, cleaning off the mascara stains now. "don't be such a meanie." you said, blinking your doe eyes.

"nope. answer at least one of those." and you tried, really. but then his fingers were on your damped panties going up and down your slick and you couldn't seem to think anymore. how mean of him.

"i-i don't know, coryo- stop that, if you keep on edgin' then i won't be capable of answerin'-" you slurred, almost crying from the way he was teasing you. he knew you couldn't answer things like that. not in that state.

"c'mon, doll. you know better than that." he said, and you melted almost right away.

"i don't. i swear!" you said, feeling him pull your panties to the side so he could have a better access to you.

"well, i guess you won't be cummin' today. what a shame." he said, thrusting his fingers slowly into you, curling them inside your tight cunt.

"please don't- coryoo, let me cum, please!" you begged, awkwardly bucking against his fingers only to end up mewling into his sudden kiss.

"i kissed you just because you're too loud. you know that the library doesn't permit such lewd actions of love as to kissing."

"you're f..fingering me."

"nuh-uh, i'm trying to teach you the basics of mathematics by pushing you to an edge." he said, kissing your cheek. "but if you're not answering, then maybe i should just stop."

he threatened to pull his fingers out of you, which didn’t happen due to your relentlessly bucking to his fingers. "n-no, i'll answer it! i will!-"

"then do it." he said, his thumb on your clit. "what is the second most read book in the world?"

"d...dom quixote?" you dared, mewling into his fingers, noticing how wet you were by the sounds your pussy was making on him. he gave you a proud smile, getting quicker with his fingers and promptly taking them off you when a teacher passed close by.

he sucked on those fingers, humming about how good you tasted. "such a sweet girl, it isn't even difficult to tell that you're the sweetest in taste too." he said, adjusting your pantiesnas you breathed heavily.

he's such a meanie. spent the whole day teasing you. fingering, grinding, humping, he didn’t got quiet until he accompanied you home, and now, your hands were on the wall as he pounded into you, making sure you felt every single inch of his dick inside you.

"c-cory, you'll let me cum, right? you spent the whole day- fuck! t-teasing me, edging me!" you slurred.

he nodded, kissing your neck. "promise i'll let you, doll. just keep yourself quiet. you don't want your parents to see what a slut you are, do you?"

"n-no, i don't!" you answered, holding all your moans by biting your bottom lip.

"princess," he called you "you don't need to stop moaning. just be good and less louder okay?" you nodded as an answer. the moans you let out after that, were soft grunts, hard to be held as he kept on pounding into you, even harder when his hand found your cunt again, his index on your clit.

"st-stop, coryo. it's gettin' harder to-" another moan, this time due to how he pinched your clit. "s-stop!"

"oh you want me to?"

"n-no, but-"

"no but's. you know you want it. tell me, doll. what do you want?"

"c-cum. want to cum." you begged. "please."

"hm,, i don't really want to end it right now." his pace became quicker; his lips on your shoulder and his words on your ear.

"please. just this once." you tried again, your cunt tightening around him as he pounded slowly inside you.

it was torturing. you could feel your core clenching, his dick throbbing inside you and still he didn’t want to make you cum. he was taking you over the edge.

with that in mind for the next reason you would fight with him, you trembledand squirmed when his dick kissed your uterus just the right way- when he hit the sweetest spots in your cunt that just him knew about.

you cried your eyes out, bucking against him and letting him bury himself into you- it was just too good not to let him do it. and then you were ready to cum all of your pent-up sexual teasing over his dick, and that's what you did, letting his cock be coated with your cum and moaning as you felt his cum going directly into you. rope after rope, spurt after spurt, you were filled up completely by his cum, and he quickly adjusted your panties in the right direction, kissing your temple.

"be a doll and sleep with those hm? full." he said, tapping your ass and kissing you goodbye.

being stupid with those thoughts of yours, you quickly forgot about what he said, and he knew, somehow- because on the next day he fucked you and stuffed his seed into you, he made sure to not let anything leak when he shoved your panties into you.

"don't forget about it this time." and he kissed you again, this time, you oveyed promptly and slept with his cum inside your cunt..

[lizzieolseniskinda]

TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 2

SDE MASTERLIST - x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: +3.7k

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: soulmate & time travel au, english is not my first language. muggle studies is basically what we get in school

The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet—almost too quiet in the early morning light. You wandered around Hogwarts, taking in the atmosphere. It was just how you remembered life before the war. But you had to act as if you didn’t know, act as if you didn’t know your way around Hogwarts. Your heart was still racing from the overwhelming disorientation of time travel. The walls seemed taller, the stones beneath you felt somewhat smoother. It felt the same but yet so different at the same time.

You had no clue what to do next. The task lay plain ahead of you—find Tom Riddle and alter the course of his life by becoming his great love. You shook your head; you knew how time travel could have a big effect on the timeline. You never took Muggle Studies—mainly because of the maths—but you knew what this could do. Once he saw you, it would be done. There would be no going back, well, it wasn’t like you could turn back whenever you wanted.

But, it was like Hermione said, ‘No one is supposed to see you.’ Only this time, it was different. If you didn’t change Tom Riddle for the better, you could make him even worse than he was in your time.

“I believe you may be a bit out of place, my dear.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your heart almost leaping out of your chest. The voice was warm, kind, but still serious. You recognized the voice. You turned and saw Dumbledore standing there, a somewhat younger version.

You knew he was still a professor at this time. His auburn hair was tinged with a lot of strands of silver, his robes a deep shade of purple. His piercing blue eyes gleamed with curiosity and suspicion as he looked at you. He raised an eyebrow, and his lips curled into a gentle, knowing smile. You wanted to slap him, angry for making you do this, while telling you absolutely nothing.

“You look as though you've been wandering these halls for quite some time,” he continued, stepping toward you. “And yet, I don't recall seeing you in any of my classes.”    

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for a good answer, but you came up empty-handed. Dumbledore's gaze was patient, waiting for you to speak.

“Uhh... I—” you began, your voice shaking softly, but you stopped. What could you say? What were you supposed to say? That you had just traveled back into the past to stop one of his students from becoming the biggest and darkest wizard of all time?

Dumbledore's eyes softened. “Why don't we take this conversation somewhere a bit more private?” he suggested, his tone gentle. “I have a feeling there's more to your story than a lost stroll through the castle.”

Without waiting for your response, Dumbledore turned around, motioning for you to follow him. You hesitated for a second, but the calmness in his demeanor somehow reassured you. Reluctantly, you followed him down the corridor, your footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the morning.

After a while, you arrived at an empty classroom, the large wooden door creaking as Dumbledore pushed it open. Sunlight entered through the tall, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the rows of desks. The air was filled with a faint scent of parchment and chalk, just like his.

Dumbledore gestured to a chair near the front. “Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

You did as he asked, feeling out of place in this familiar yet unfamiliar world. Dumbledore remained standing in front of your desk for a moment, studying you with those sharp, calculating eyes. “There is something... remarkable about you,” he said quietly, his voice kind. “You’re not quite where you’re supposed to be, are you?”

You looked at your shoes, realising you also didn’t quite look the part to simply be lost. “No,” you admitted. You knew lying to a man like Dumbledore would do you no good. “I’m... not?" you said, unsure.

Dumbledore nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “Time,” he mused, his eyes twinkling with understanding. “It has a peculiar way of bending when we least expect it.”

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze. He knew. He definitely knew. “How?” you breathed, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself. “How did you—”

Dumbledore raised his hand to quiet you. “I have my ways,” he smiled. “But more importantly, it seems you have a very important reason for being here.”

You swallowed, feeling the enormity of your ‘mission’ pressing down on you, but in Dumbledore’s presence, it felt a little less overwhelming—though you were still angry he hadn’t told you anything sooner. He waited, giving you space to explain.

After a pause, you spoke again. “I was sent... to change something. Something that will affect the future,” you hesitated, unsure how much you were allowed to reveal. “It's about Tom Riddle.”

At the mention of Riddle's name, Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but you noticed the slightest shift in his demeanour. His gaze became more focused, and he leaned forward slightly.

“Tom,” he repeated softly. “Yes... I've always known there was something... special about that boy.”

Special? More like dangerous. You nodded. “If I don't change him, if I can't make him different... the world will fall into darkness. Everyone I love, my friends...” you stopped. Your parents. You hadn’t even thought of them. Your heart started banging in your chest. You wanted to go back. Tell them that you were grateful for everything, and that you were sorry for leaving them behind out of nowhere.

Dumbledore didn’t react with surprise. He nodded. “Do not worry about your friends or family.” He sighed softly. “You have been given a great responsibility. But changing the course of someone's life is no simple task, especially when that person’s soul is... so deeply marked.”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

For a moment, Dumbledore was silent, his gaze fixed on you with empathy. “Nothing is impossible, but you must remember, even the darkest of souls have their choices. Tom Riddle's path has always been his own. You may be able to guide him... but ultimately, it is up to him who or what he becomes.”

His words hung in the air, a reminder of what you were facing. “Know that I will be watching, and if you ever need guidance, you know where to find me.”

Dumbledore had insisted on introducing you to the Headmaster as a transfer student, emphasizing that no one could know the truth. The fewer people involved in the truth, the better.

You made your way through the corridors of Hogwarts with Dumbledore. Students were scattered around, laughing, talking in hushed voices, completely unaware of the darkness that would be coming.

Dumbledore said the password to the Headmaster's office. It was the same as he had used. So original. The spiral staircase came into view as the gargoyles started moving. You followed your former Headmaster up the stairs. The office was filled with old books, a large desk, and a few moving portraits on the walls. It looked almost the same as Dumbledore's office.

Behind the desk sat Headmaster Armando Dippet, a tall, thin man with kind eyes. “Ah, Albus,” Dippet said, rising from his seat to greet him. “What brings you here?”

Dumbledore gestured to you. “Headmaster, I would like to introduce you to our newest transfer student.” He gave you a small nod to encourage you to take a step forward. “She's come from Beauxbatons and will be joining us for the rest of her schooling.”

Dippet's eyebrows rose in surprise. “A transfer from Beauxbatons? How delightful! We don't often have students join us from abroad.” He looked at you. “What is your name, my dear?”

You swallowed, your nerves tightening your throat. “Y/n L/n.” You smiled at the Headmaster. “I'm honored to be here.”

“It's always wonderful to have new students join us at Hogwarts. The castle can seem quite large and scary at first, but I'm very sure you'll grow accustomed to it in no time,” Dippet smiled at you.

You forced back a smile. Normally, you would love such pleasantries, but now? Absolutely not. It felt as if you wanted to throw up.

Dumbledore stepped forward. “Headmaster, I’ve already informed Y/N of the basic rules and traditions of the school, but I do believe the Sorting Hat will handle the rest?”

“Indeed,” Dippet nodded, motioning to a nearby shelf where the Sorting Hat was in its usual place. “No time like the present.”

Your heart raced when the Sorting Hat was placed upon your head. You knew what house you had once belonged to, but would it be the same here? In this time?

“Hmm...” the hat murmured after whining about who dared to wake him up. “Interesting... very interesting. You’re not like the others I’ve sorted. Ever.”

You held your breath.

“I see loyalty... with a lot of bravery,” the hat mused. “A fierce desire to do what’s right, even when it’s proven difficult. Courage, and there’s something more than that... something deeper…”

Did it know? You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, huffing out a breath.

“Ah,” it whispered. "But that is not for me to uncover. Your place, however, is clear.”

Another moment passed, and then the hat shouted, “Gryffindor!”

The word rang in your ears. You weren’t placed in the same house. Your former house was Hufflepuff. What changed? The house of loyalty, hard work, and kindness. Maybe this could help ground you. Most Hufflepuffs you knew were kind (mostly high as well) and helpful. There were always exceptions, but you were happy with that house.

Dippet clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. “A Gryffindor! A fine choice indeed. You’ll find good company there.”

Dumbledore’s expression remained calm. “It seems that your path is set,” he said quietly, his eyes twinkling with that wisdom he always had.

As the hat was lifted from your head, you stood up from the stool you had taken a seat on. Gryffindor. It was unexpected, but not wrong—or bad. In some way, it made sense for you. You needed to be brave to talk to Tom Riddle. So, what better house for that than Gryffindor?

The Headmaster waved his wand, and a piece of parchment floated over to you. “Here’s your timetable, Y/N,” he said, handing it over to you. "You’ll begin classes immediately. I’m sure the others will help you find your way.”

You took the parchment, scanning the schedule. You had loads of free periods, and as always, an Astronomy class at midnight on a Friday night.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” you said quietly, tucking the parchment under your arm.

Dippet smiled. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Y/N. I hope your time here will be both enlightening and rewarding.”

“I sure hope so,” you nodded. Rewarding. You could use the reward of going home.

You and Dumbledore left the office. Going down the staircase, the air felt cooler. Dumbledore walked beside you in silence.

“So, you’ve been placed in Gryffindor,” Dumbledore broke the silence. “A good choice. You’ll find a community of loyalty and bravery there.”

You nodded. “I didn’t expect it.”

“Sometimes,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “the unexpected paths are the ones that lead us exactly where we need to go. You have been given a second chance, in more ways than one.”

“And remember,” he said softly, “the fewer people who know your true purpose, the better. Riddle must never know why you’re really here.”

You nodded.

When you stepped inside the Gryffindor common room, you immediately felt the warmth. There was a soft red glow from the lanterns, and the walls were lined with rewards and books. The smell of fresh cookies hung in the air.

A group of students was clustered around a table and looked up as you entered. It was already early in the morning, and you wondered why most students were up at this time. The faces of the students were curious but friendly, and a wave of relief washed over you. Before you could take another step, a girl with curly dark hair and a wide smile broke away from the group.

“Hi!” she greeted enthusiastically, her eyes wide with interest. “You must be the new transfer student! I’m Maeve, Maeve Miller.”

You tried your best not to grimace as you forced a smile. “I’m Y/N L/N.” The realization of having to meet and make new friends dawned on you even harder.

“Professor Dippet had owled us. We were all curious, y’know? Transfer students aren’t that common. You’re lucky it’s the start of the school year!”

You smiled at Maeve’s happiness, but you were still baffled at how fast news spread in Hogwarts. I mean, you had literally just left Dippet’s office.

“I’ll make sure you fit right in. I’ll show you to the dormitory,” Maeve smiled.

You followed her to a spiral staircase. As you walked with Maeve, she chatted happily about the house traditions, the upcoming Quidditch match, and the best way to sneak extra food from the kitchen.

Once you reached the dormitory, you found yourself in a circular room with soft, warm lighting. You saw only one vacant bed — in the middle — with your belongings neatly placed beside it. A suitcase you recognized, though it felt strange seeing it here. You had basically come empty-handed, so how were all your belongings here already?

“ How...?” you trailed off, confused.

Maeve caught your confusion. “Professor Dumbledore’s pretty amazing, isn’t he? He made sure your belongings were here from yesterday evening. Must’ve used some magic to get your stuff here so quickly.”

You nodded, even more confused. You didn’t even know you had time-traveled yesterday. You had no idea how, and you didn’t want to think too much about it before it might drive you mad.

“So, obviously, that’s your bed,” Maeve pointed towards the bed with your belongings on it. “And this is mine,” she added, pointing to the bed next to yours. “We’ll be neighbors! Oh, and these are your other roommates.”

Two other girls approached, one with long red hair and freckles, and the other with short brown curls. They introduced themselves as Alicia and Lilith, both offering you warm, welcoming smiles.

“Nice to meet you,” Alicia said, while Lilith gave you a small, shy wave. “It’s so exciting to have someone new join us, especially in our fifth year!”

“I’m glad to be here!” you lied through your teeth.

“Well, we’re heading to breakfast in a bit if you want to join us,” Alicia offered. “But I’m sure you’ll want to settle in first.”

“Yeah, you guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you in a while,” you replied with a nod and a smile.

As the girls made their way out, leaving you alone, you felt disoriented. This was all going too fast. You needed a moment to yourself. Normally, you would have already been in your last year. You made your way over to the small adjoining bathroom. The light was bright. You stepped in front of the large mirror, ready to see your face full of scars and dirt from the war.

But no, your fingers trembled slightly as you reached up to touch your face. Staring back at you was a younger version of yourself — exactly as you had looked in your own fifth year at Hogwarts. Your features were softer, untouched by the weight of the war. Your eyes looked brighter... they hadn’t seen the horrors that awaited. No pair of eyes should see a war go down.

It was all surreal, like looking at a stranger. It was clear the potion had not only sent you back in time, but also transformed you to match the age you needed to be.

For a moment, the reflection blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. You had been thrust back into your younger self, in a world you didn’t belong in. You took a deep breath, swallowing the fears and tears away. You could do this. You had to do this. For your friends and family.

The first day at Hogwarts felt surreal. The familiar sounds of students chatting in the Great Hall, the smell of freshly made food, and the sight of enchanted candles floating above made you feel like you had stepped back into a dream. You knew there was a big chance that Tom Riddle was here, in the same room as you.

But before you could worry about him, you had to get through your first day as just another transfer student.

You found yourself sitting at the Gryffindor table with your roommates and their friends. “So, what was Beauxbatons like? I’ve heard it’s incredibly fancy, with all those grand fountains everywhere,” Maeve spoke—a good friend from Lilith, you noted. You could see how she was the one who helped Lilith blossom open as a shy person.

You hesitated for a second, remembering Dumbledore’s warning to keep it simple. You gave her a small smile. “It’s different from Hogwarts. Especially since there are a lot more boys here than I'm used to.”

Lucas, a boy with a head full of black curls, looked up. “Hogwarts has its charm. Luckily you were sorted into Gryffindor. You seem like a cool person, and everyone knows it's the best house.”

Alicia was flipping through your timetable, trying to figure out if you had any classes with your Gryffindor friends. “We’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing! I'm hoping for some practical lessons today. Spells, maybe,” Alicia's eyes widened with excitement.

Your stomach dropped slightly after Lucas mentioned there was a big chance you’d have a class with the Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws. Given Riddle’s obsessive interest in the subject, there was no doubt he would be in this class.

You offered a casual nod. “Defense Against the Dark Arts should be interesting…”

After the five of you finished breakfast, you gathered your books and made your way to your first class of the day. The halls were busy with students, most of whom paid little attention to you, though a few curious glances lingered.

Once you reached the DADA classroom, you found yourself standing at the doorway. You hoped for a normal teacher—when you were at Hogwarts before, every year there was a teacher with the weirdest background ever. The classroom was large, with desks arranged in neat rows, and the walls were lined with various defensive artefacts.

You let your eyes wander around the room. There, near the middle, sat Tom Riddle.

He was exactly as you had imagined—tall, dark-haired, and composed. His sharp features and cold eyes stood out even among your classmates. He exuded an air of authority and confidence. The other students around him seemed to ignore him. You wondered why. Were they scared of him, or did they think he was a weirdo?

You quickly tore your gaze away from the back of his head before he sensed you staring. “Come on,” Maeve whispered. “We don't want you to be late on your first day.”

You nodded and walked toward a vacant seat next to Lucas. The professor was a stern-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard. He immediately launched into a discussion of the most advanced spells, his tone brisk and matter-of-fact.

It was pretty hard to focus with the presence of Tom Riddle in the room. Every now and then, you dared to glance at him, watching as he listened intently, his expression focused and serious. You had no idea how you were supposed to change him. He already seemed so... unreachable.

Halfway through the class, the professor called for everyone to pair up for duelling practice. Maeve grabbed your arm, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Partners?” she asked eagerly.

“Of course,” you replied, grateful for the distraction.

You and Maeve moved to an open space in the classroom, pulling out your wands as the professor demonstrated a series of defensive spells. You followed along, trying to keep your movements smooth and controlled. Thankfully, the practice went well, and Maeve seemed impressed.

“You're really good!” she said after successfully blocking one of your spells. “You must have had excellent teachers at Beauxbatons.”

You smiled and nodded at her praise. As you practiced with Maeve, you couldn’t help but notice Tom a few spaces away, duelling effortlessly with a Slytherin boy. His movements were precise, fluid, as if he had been born with a wand in his hand. It was clear to anyone watching that he was far more advanced than most students his age.

Finally, when the class came to an end, you packed up your things, trying to avoid looking at him as you left the room with Maeve, Lilith, Alicia, and Lucas.

“Next up is Transfiguration,” Alicia said, checking her timetable as you all walked down the corridor. “I’m actually looking forward to that one.”

The rest of the day passed in a similar blur. Transfiguration was more manageable—Professor Dumbledore, who taught the class, gave you a small, knowing smile when he saw you, though he treated you no differently than the other students. You worked on basic transformations alongside your friends, though your mind kept drifting back to Defense Against the Dark Arts and the presence of Tom Riddle.

Potions came next, with Professor Slughorn as the teacher. He welcomed you to the class with open arms, making sure you had everything you needed. It was weird since you'd already met him, just when he was a bit older. Lucas was quick to show you around the room, helping you find ingredients and sharing tips for the potion you were brewing.

“Slughorn’s a bit of a collector,” Alicia whispered as you carefully added a pinch of powdered unicorn horn to your cauldron. “He loves students with… potential. But he’s nice, at least.”

“He’s even got a club,” Lilith quipped quietly.

By the time you reached your last class of the day, Charms, the exhaustion of trying to keep up appearances had settled deep in your bones. Yet, your new friends kept the energy alive. Alicia was quick with jokes, and Lucas had a dry, witty humor that balanced Maeve's enthusiasm. And Lilith was just there, enjoying her friends’ energy.

a/n: quick chapterrrr, part three will be coming out next week (probably or sooner)

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@optimisticsandwichgladiator

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[naeverse]

Lapdog

🐩staring: NerdMiguel x QueenBee Reader

💗 preview: “Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?

🌸Summary: You, Queen Bee, have been desiring a little assistant for a while—someone who can fetch you things, do your work, assist you in any way possible, and just make life much easier. However, after witnessing a surprising occurrence with one of the lamest students on campus, Miguel O'Hara, you believe you've found just that, and maybe something even better...

💗rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🐩tw/cw. Blackmail, Caught in the act, College AU,  Demeaning, Desperation, Dirty talk, Dominance, Handjob, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Ownership, Public Masturbation, Power Differences, Praising, Public, Sex toys, Vibrator, etc…

🌸Word count: 9k

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

Small, quiet whimpers escaped the lips of the burly man to your left. His head lowered in an attempt to hide as he diligently tackled your college work. His large, left hand trembled while he solved long math equations, expressions, logarithms, and whatever else the packet held. You shifted your gaze from the four-eyed male to two others seated at your booth.

Peter B. Parker, the captain of the football team and the golden boy of the school, sat across from you, alongside his girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, or MJ, who was the editor of the college newspaper. They cuddled up against each other, with MJ on his chest and his arm wrapped around her.

The two were considered your "friends" at the university, forming the famous clique that instilled fear and envy in the entire student body. However, between the adored football jock and the news girl, you, on the other hand, were a much bigger deal. 

Everyone knew your name, and if they didn't, you were seen as an utter disgrace due to your cluelessness.

You were known as the university's queen bee.

Everyone loved or hated you; you didn't care. Any attention was welcome. You were the leader of the notorious sorority house of baddies, with a rich family that could drop and sue anyone with the drop of a hat. You could control the student body in masses with just a word, and had everyone, even the staff, wrapped around your pretty, manicured finger. 

Whatever you said went, and don't you fucking dare think otherwise; you'd be an idiot to challenge the queen. Having the ability to turn any person into a complete nobody, withering away in debts and charges, kept everyone in their place.

But you wouldn't exactly say Peter and MJ were your friends, just students at college who possessed a certain kind of power that was highly useful to have in your corner.

Peter and his kind, sweet persona solidified bonds with other universities and the dean themselves. He was the face of your campus and was hella popular.

MJ headed the media, and whatever she said or wrote in the newspaper or the college blog was believed by everyone on campus, even if it was false.

Not that anyone would know...

Peter, MJ, and you were at the top of the food chain at your university; no one else mattered and was worth the time.

So why the hell was this lowlife sitting at your booth?

Miguel O'Hara, known as the nerdiest of the nerds on your college campus, sat beside you at your usual booth in Mama's diner, your clique's hangout spot.

To be fair, you didn't classify Miguel as such; more of a loner because he didn't look like a nerd. His body was covered in bulging muscles that contrasted greatly with his quiet persona. He had a towering height that rose above most of the football team, and he got attention from girls.

Or, well...

Girls gave him attention, not like the guy minded them.

He kept to himself, always having his nose stuck in a book. To make him even more of a dork, he worked at the school library. Due to his elusive nature and  how hard he was to categorize, the loner had gained a distasteful reputation; many students on campus hated him as a result. 

Was he a jock due to his bulging muscles, a bad boy due to his mysteriousness and constant desire for solitude, or was he a nerd for always being found reading, and whenever he spoke, only intellectual things came out?

He was a tricky case.

And not one you cared about until today…

You never would have paid the introverted male any attention if it weren't for you, this morning, stumbling into the library in search of someone to do your homework. Instead of finding a lowlife in waiting, you found something much better…

You found Miguel in his office, located at the far back of the library, moaning and jerking off under his desk. To make matters worse, AirPods adorned his ears, blocking out any awareness of your presence. You even leaned over his shoulder to discover that he was clearly watching porn.

He was definitely an amateur...

But a needy little thing he was...

The sight before you was an honest gold mine, something that would be perfect for MJ to post on the school blog as you captured a video of the surprising occurrence.

It was hard to fathom how much his reputation, if he had one, would plummet once the entire school got a look at this. But then, being the cunning queen you were, you had a better idea for that video…

You decided to use it as a means to have an around-the-clock assistant that would come running at your every beck and call, at any given time. It was a great idea, especially with the lowlife not being unpleasant to the eyes. 

So now here he was, being a good little puppy for you and doing your homework, except...

It didn't seem like your associates were too pleased with your puppy’s presence.

You met Peter's gaze, his amber eyes furrowed in confusion as he glanced from you to the muscular loner and back again. "Okay, why the hell is he here?" he finally asked after a while of just staring at the two of you. A smirk spread across your lips at his question. "I believe you have eyes, Peter. He's doing my homework," you simply said with a sly grin, continuing your subtle movements under the table, which only made the geek clench his pencil even more.

Peter and MJ recognized that look on you, that sneaky smile you wore whenever you were up to no good. But this time, they couldn't quite put a finger on what it was and how it involved the four-eyed freak.

MJ looked between you and Miguel as well, her cherry lips pursing. "Why here, though?" she asked, her head still resting against Peter's chest. "Most of the time when we meet at Mama's diner, we gossip, we talk about deep stuff. We can't do that with him here," she acknowledged, motioning to Miguel in the corner, who seemed very focused on solving a long ass math problem.

You couldn't help but look over at him as well, taking in the sight of his heavy breathing and faintly red cheeks, before looking back at your associates, who still wore expressions of confusion and discomfort. You huffed, giving them a fake pout. “Come on, Miguel won't utter a single word to anyone...

Now, would you?”

You asked, turning to look at the large Latino, his amber orbs covered with a pair of black eyeglasses as he remained silent, adamantly trying to avoid eye contact. You scowled, giving him a tight squeeze, followed by a deep stroke making him jolt. His eyes briefly rolled, his mouth stammering, trying to find his words. “No… I won't.” He said so low and deep you had to lean in to hear him.

You could visibly see him struggling, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he tried painstakingly to control his breathing. You grinned, watching him return to work on your math packet like a good little puppy. “See? He can be trusted.” You explained with a smile, continuing your tantalizing play on the nerd, which only made the Latino male suck in a breath and grip his pencil tighter.

You swore you thought the wooden tool would snap in two any second now…

“Fine, but what made you want to bring him of all people?” Peter asked next, turning your gaze onto him. “He holds no power at our Uni. He’s useless to us.” He said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his girlfriend's red hair. You chuckled at his belief that the four-eyed male was ‘useless’; 

Currently, he was everything but…

“You know how much I wanted my own little assistant for some time.” You replied with a smirk, tracing Miguel under the table, feeling your fingers begin to become further coated in his essence. “As in someone who can fetch me things, do my work,

Satisfy my every need…”

You abruptly squeezed Miguel once more, a sudden audible groan passing his lips, gaining everyone's attention. Peter and MJ glanced over at Miguel with raised eyebrows before just brushing it off as the geek having one of his weird moments. 

Subtly, you shot the dweeb a glare, making his ears redden and clear his throat. He flicked his pencil around in his thick fingers, beginning to erase a mistake he made due to your harsh grip before you turned back to your associates with a nonchalant smile.

“Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?”

You whispered, glancing over at Miguel, who was trying not to acknowledge your gaze, seeming to be very interested in the ways of Calculus II. 

“Aww… Peter, you know me so well.” You thought with a small grin, continuing to stroke the trembling male. You could feel the dweeb strain underneath his black jeans, enjoying how greatly he was trying to hide his pleasure. With your thumb, you brushed over his sensitive tip, making him whimper loudly, despite his effort to suppress it by biting his lip.

You shot him another stern look, slightly relieved to hear a groan of annoyance from MJ at the same time. At her outburst, it drew your attention over to her to see she was looking over at the workers in Mama's diner who were diligently working in the kitchen area of the diner. “Gosh, we've been sitting here for 20 minutes, and our order still isn't here.” She whined, crossing her arms over her chest like a pouty child in the grocery store. 

“Come on, baby, it should be out in a little bit,” Peter whispered, trying to comfort her. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at her dramatics. MJ always did this to get attention, Peter’s attention in particular, who you’ve noticed was staring at you a lot more than usual upon entering Mama’s diner today.

You met MJ’s blue eyes, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “Actually, why don't you two go check it out? See what's the hold-up?” You proposed, glancing over at Miguel to see his defined Adam's apple bob at your words, his nervousness only exciting you further.

Oblivious to your proposal and the fact that you, the queen, said it, Peter and MJ nodded and slid out of the booth. You watched in the corner of your eye as they walked away from your table and towards the front of the diner. 

‘Now the fun can begin…’

You thought, a wicked grin spreading across your glossy lips. With them gone, you wanted nothing more than to have some fun with your new puppy. You turned in your seat to finally make eye contact with the panting male, and you couldn’t help but snicker at the sight.

The dweeb’s coffee-brown curls were plastered to his sweaty forehead, his amber orbs hooded behind his glasses while his grip on his pencil was slowly loosening. Breathy moans escaped his parted lips as his hips thrust softly into your hand, his eyes rolling with each of his movements.

Upon the two leaving the table, it seemed the nerd had completely dropped his facade, showing just how needy he was.

You laughed, glancing down to see the mess he was making in his black jeans. A small wet patch gradually soaked the zipper and crotch of the denim. “I knew you didn't finish in the library.” You teased, continuing to stroke him. He grunted, shifting in the booth to better angle himself into your clenched palm. “I couldn't…You interrupted me.” He replied hoarsely, making you raise an eyebrow. You abruptly gripped his cock at his response, making him whine.

“I interrupted you?”

You scoffed, not believing the balls on this nerd. “You have more mouth than I thought, Miguel O'Hara.” You hissed, releasing him and drawing down his pants, exposing his huge member fully. His hooded eyes instantly snapped open, deep pants passing his lips. “What are you—what are you doing? Someone could see.” He exclaimed through stammers, his amber eyes blown in a mixture of lust and worry as they looked all around in fear of someone being near.

You rolled your eyes at the nerd’s empty concerns. Your clique's favorite booth was positioned in the back of the diner, completely secluded. Of course, you’ll take precautions; you wouldn’t want someone to capture the sight of you having fun with a loser like him, so the idiot was fine.

Not that you cared at the moment...

“I honestly don't know what you're so worried about. You didn't seem concerned about someone seeing you when you were jerking off this morning.” You taunted, earning an angry growl from him, his cock twitching a little at that recollection. “Mierda, I didn't know anyone was there. The library is always empty in the mornings.” He said in a low voice, his tone rough and holding so much spite in it.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his anger, as if he could do anything about it. His massive body was stuck on the inside of your booth, his well-endowed cock and balls out on display.

He was completely vulnerable to you…

Your eyes trailed him, taking him in slowly, and to your surprise, you found yourself licking your lips at the sight.

Even though the dork was a lowly peasant at your school, carrying his stupid little textbooks and allowing the jocks to beat on him when he had the muscles and height to beat their asses ten-fold.

He had an impressive cock…

It was fully erect, sticking straight up into the air with a small patch of dark brown, coarse hair sitting atop his dark shaft, trailing an irresistible line up under his beige sweater. His cock was long, girthy, and definitely above average, with a brown, angry tip dripping with precum, begging to be tasted and played with.

During your moment of ogling, his large, veiny hand hastily covered the oddly magnificent sight, snapping you from your trance. You glared up at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, coffee-brown curls that hung over his framed eyes, and his attempt to cover his enormity between his legs with his hand.

“Move.” You sternly said, your tone showing just how annoyed and furious you were. You crossed your arms over your white-clad chest, awaiting the loser to obey, but surprisingly, he did no such thing. Miguel simply clenched his jaw, averted his gaze from you, not at all listening to the order you’ve just given him.

Your glossy lips pulled into a snarl, not remembering the last time someone would dare be defiant towards you, but it seemed this nerd, loner, whatever the hell he classified as, was something different…

He knew who you were, yet he was disobeying you, talking back, and worst of all…

Not submitting.

You’ve met many infuriating individuals, but he had to take the cake.

Your jaw clenched, trying to keep your composure and remind yourself that you needed him around because you were a hair's breadth from reaching into your bag and grabbing your phone to do the unthinkable. You cleared your throat, sliding so close to him that you could feel the heat of his bare, thick thighs against yours under the short, expensive pink skirt you adorned.

You brushed a strand of his coffee-brown hair behind his ear, noticing how he flinched slightly before leaning in close.

 “Move your hand, or I'll make sure to send that little video of you jerking off to MJ. I think she’ll enjoy posting that onto her little blog for the whole college to see.”

You whispered into his ear, the threat striking the nerd greatly. A wave of satisfaction rushed through your being when he turned to face you, his amber eyes narrowed in rage, but a hint of fear evident in them as well. “You wouldn't,” he said, calling your bluff in a rough, breathless voice which only made you laugh.

“You must really be living under a rock on campus if you think I’m bluffing,” you chuckled darkly as the nerd gulped. “Now…” you began, glancing down at his shielded hand over what you desired. “Unless you want the entire college to know how much of a needy little puppy you are, you will move your damn hand and allow me to do whatever I please.” You sternly said, looking down at his trembling hand and then up at him.

You found it utterly adorable how he tried to keep your hardened gaze, but he would learn that when you want something, you’ll get it no matter what.

He cursed softly, running a frustrated hand through his messy coffee-brown curls. He captured his bottom lip in his teeth and reluctantly moved his hands, placing them on either side of him on the booth’s cushions. You smirked at his obedience. “Good boy,” you praised in a teasing voice, patting his head like the doggy he was; however, he yanked away. You scoffed at his defiance.

‘It seems my puppy needs more training. No worries; he’ll submit if he likes it or not.’

You thought, casting your eyes down to meet his painfully hard and erect cock. Biting your lip, you wrapped a hand around his base, feeling how brick and sticky it was in your palm.

But before granting your puppy the sweet release he desired, he had a lesson to learn…

You harshly gripped his shaft, earning a loud groan to escape his throat. “I'm very pissed at you. Want to know why?” You asked, squeezing his cock even more, making him hiss. He clutched the cushion of the booth in his large hands, clenching his jaw once more. “Why?” He said through gritted teeth.

"Why? You nearly got us caught with those outbursts, idiot," you spat, finding a rhythm and stroking him roughly under the table. His abundant precum allowed you to smoothly run your fist along him. He groaned, his head falling back against the booth.

"Maybe... you should f-fucking stop then," he said through pants, which only made you giggle. "Oh, I'm just finishing what you started in the library, puppy," you said with a fake pout.

"And here I thought you liked getting off in public places."

Miguel moaned softly at your words, his cock twitching in your hand in response. You raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh? Don't tell me that's the truth," you teased with a soft chuckle, knowing you'll surely have some fun with that hidden kink of his in the future.

However, no response was heard from him, defending nor agreeing with your proposal; only the occasional low moans and groans escaped his lips. You snarled, pressing your thumb into the crown of his tip, eliciting a rewarding jolt and a Spanish curse to fall from his lips.

"If you won't respond to that, then answer this," you hissed, nose scrunched up in disgust as you continued your stroking. "You act all big and tough when you're alone with me, yet you curl up into a little ball when others are around," you stated with a smirk. "Why is that?"

"Because you don't fucking scare me," he said angrily with a steady voice. You scoffed in amusement, your eyes roaming over his bulging muscles through the sleeves of his beige sweater—the fabric appearing strained. "And others do?" you retorted with a snicker, causing him to growl in annoyance and look away. "It's not like that."

"Oh yeah, then what is it?" you inquired, purposely quickening your pace on his shaft, stroking him faster and pressing your palm into his length, the desire to see him lose control driving you. He whined and whimpered uncontrollably, his large hand landing on your thigh, gripping it tightly through your skirt, urging you to slow down.

You sighed heavily; Miguel was so frustrating. The dweeb's mouth constantly spoke of defiance and disrespect, while his body contradicted him each time—his hips steadily moved in sync with your palm, and his member twitched in your hand. It seemed even he was confused about what he wanted, but being the sweet master you were, you'd assist him in discovering his true desires.

But first, he had to be taught to fix his attitude because he was really pissing you off.

You brushed the pad of your thumb over his tip, intensifying his pleasure with every jerk of your hand. "I don't like your attitude with me," you said angrily, smacking his hand off your thigh and grabbing his chin.

You roughly turned him to look at you, his eyes dazed behind his black glasses, and his lips parted. "I hold the power of your entire reputation in my hands. I can get your big ass kicked out of this damn college just by showing the dean that video of you," you warned, looking at his face in complete rage.

"Do you fucking understand me!?" you exclaimed, your nails piercing into the underside of his chin. Your eyes glared daggers at him as you continued to slide your hand up and down his trembling shaft.

He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as his hand landed on your wrist, deep groans continuing to pass his lips at your movement. "Y-yes, fuck," he moaned, biting his lip. "Yes to what?" you demanded, seeking clarity. With your thumb, you caressed in small circles around the crown of his tip, a smirk spreading across your glossy lips when his grip on your wrist tightened. "Yes, I-I... understand," he said, his deep voice sounding rather airy and breathless.

"Good boy," you whispered, tilting your head at him and glancing down to see more pre-cum sprouting from his tip, dripping down his shaft and coating your hand. Miguel growled. "What do you even want from me?" he asked through trembles of pleasure, his cock twitching in your fist. Your smirk broadened, turning your attention from his cock to the four-eyed male, his chin still resting between your manicured fingers.

"You heard that conversation between Peter, MJ, and me, did you not?" you inquired with a raised eyebrow, making him heave a trembling sigh. "Lapdog, right? That's what you want?" 

"Indeed," you chuckled, releasing him. He whimpered, his thighs quivering, as heavy pants passed his lips. He rubbed his chin, pressing his backside into the leather cushions and breathing heavily. You reached over him, grabbing a few napkins from its container to clean your hands, feeling Miguel's eyes on you all the while.

When you met his gaze, you weren't surprised to see the sight of anger and irritation, but what did surprise you was the hint of curiosity found in his intense gaze.

'Was the dork interested in being your puppy?'

"Why?" he finally asked after catching his breath. You laughed, turning to him with a wicked grin. "The better question is... 

Why not?"

You replied with a snicker. Miguel rolled his eyes and sighed once more. "And you want me to be your damn lapdog?" he asked, full of spite and rage, his amber eyes appeared redder than usual, but it didn't faze you. "Yes, or that video goes out to everyone," you said with a grin, your eyes lingering along his body. "And I think everyone would be rather shocked to see what you've been hiding under all that ugly clothing," you chuckled, motioning down at his massive and still very hard cock.

He snarled, looking away from you and out the window beside him. A silence fell upon the two of you as you simply took him in—his defined cheekbones, broad nose, thick neck, and massive body covered in a hideous beige sweater, black jeans, and white Converse.

'Goodness, this is going to be fun. The most fun I've probably had in years.'

You thought, faking a pout and leaning towards him to press your plush lips against his ear. He jumped slightly at your closeness, making you giggle as you ran a hand over his chest, tracing his defined pecs and abs through his sweater.

"Come on, puppy. Don't be so mad; you might even enjoy it."

You teased, and to your anticipation, his cock throbbed in response. He groaned lowly, your chest covered in a white crop top pressing into his arm. "It’s not like I have a damn choice," he retorted, his voice still resonating with fury. 

"Well… get used to it."

You uttered, licking a stripe across his sharp jawline and enjoying how he shuddered at the feeling. You then pulled away, his amber eyes following you like the needy puppy he was.

"Now, every doggy needs a collar," you uttered with a smile, causing him to scowl. "I’m not wearing a damn collar."

"So quick to assume, puppy," you laughed, only seeming to enrage the geek even more. "Stop calling me that," he growled, causing you to sigh, finding it rather annoying how he still believed he held some type of control here. 

He'll learn sooner or later.

"You’ll grow to love it, puppy," you emphasized, turning from his faltering glare to rummage in your $500 Prada bag, fishing out a toy you purchased just for your little doggy. When you acquired it, you turned to him, twirling the dark blue and red crystallized ring in your fingers. Miguel's eyes followed it, his chest heaving in confusion and disdain, but his cock pulsated in desire and curiosity.

He could scowl and glare at you all he wanted, but his body gave him away, every single time.

“What the fuck is that?” He snapped, once he regained his composure, his amber eyes looking from the ring to you through his black eyeglasses. You chuckled, running your fingers along the ring. “After our little run-in at the library this morning, I bought my new puppy something special.” You explained, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The geek looked perplexed for the first time.

 It was a cute look on him…

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I promise...” You giggled, glancing down at his dark cock, still twitching in desire. You then held your hand out to him, the large ring resting in your palm.

“Now…show me how much of a good doggy you can be and put this on…”

“Ugh, they are saying it's another 20 minutes.” MJ groaned, climbing into the booth right after Peter. You heaved a sigh in irritation; Mama's diner was never this backed up. It was rather annoying to think you all would have to wait just for three measly milkshakes.

“So, what’s the two of you been doing? He looks like he’s about to fucking faint.” Peter joked, glancing over at Miguel, whose bronze face was covered in beads of sweat. His amber eyes trained on the packet of math work once more. You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know. The math problem must be stressing him out.” You said with a smile, subtly glancing over at your phone that rested beside you on the booth, the vibrator app pulled up on the screen that was already at level 2.

The ring that you had bought for your new puppy was nestled around the base of his cock, right over his balls, stimulating both of his sensitive areas. You gave him the benefit of the doubt to cover himself; you weren’t a total meanie.

You just needed him to know his place, as it seemed he kept forgetting.

So you decided to seat him in front of two of the most popular students at your college with a pulsating vibrator around his cock. 

What better way for him to learn...?

"Okay…" MJ trailed off, brushing off the situation as nothing. "Umm, what even is his name?" She asked, talking about Miguel as if he wasn't even there. At her inquiry, you turned to your puppy, giving him a soft pat on the head. "Tell her your name," you said sweetly, noticing the subtle glare from him. "Miguel," he responded in a gruff voice without looking up from the packet.

"Your full name," you added with a smirk, wishing to further annoy him. The dweeb’s jaw clenched at your persistence. "Miguel O’Hara," he growled, hastily returning to solving question 24 of your math packet. MJ looked between the two of you, taking in the interaction before leaning across the table, her blue eyes set on you.

“Seriously, what are you up to with him?” 

She asked in a hushed tone like no one at the table could hear her as her red eyebrows furrowed in concern. You scoffed, not believing that she would dare to ask you such a thing.

“Why the hell are you questioning anything that I do?” You spat angrily. “The fucking dweeb is just doing my damn homework,” you said, your eyes glaring into hers.

Perhaps, the load of hair upon MJ's head was the cause of her forgetfulness. Regardless of the culprit, the redhead better keep in mind how much you love fixing her mistakes and kicking her back into line if she oversteps.

You've done it to so many others, she'll be no different…

“Hey, hey, settle down,” Peter said, trying to calm the situation between the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick, it could be sliced with a spoon, let alone a knife.

“There's nothing wrong with what Y/N is doing,” Peter said, placing a hand on MJ’s shoulder and pulling her back towards his chest. MJ sighed, giving you an apologetic look. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” You rolled your eyes, dismissing her as you met Peter’s eyes that also looked between Miguel and you. “Although, I must say…” He began, and to your surprise, settled his amber eyes onto Miguel.

You smirked, loving to see how the aroused geek would handle this, your eyes trained on him. Miguel, noticing the lack of conversation, hesitantly looked up to be met with six eyes staring back at him.

“How the hell are you so…massive?” Peter asked with a chuckle. “You don’t do shit except read, play chess, or whatever else you nerds do.” Peter jested, causing everyone, except Miguel, to laugh. Your eyes were trained on Miguel as he glanced over at you and back at Peter before clearing his throat. “Genetics.” He mumbled, returning back to writing out the parametric formula to solve the equations he was on.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, the introverted male’s words not seeming to have reached his ears. “What did you say? Speak up, man.” He laughed, causing Miguel to clench his jaw once more. His pencil halted upon the paper as he casted his amber eyes up to the jock. “Genetics. That's all it is.” He repeated in a louder tone.

“So, you are telling me, you do not work out?” MJ asked in surprise and awe, her blue eyes roaming over his body. You were certain she was checking your new puppy out.

You growled, oddly, shooting a glare at her.

You didn’t know what was with her today, but MJ was working your last nerve.

MJ, thankfully, shut up after your look, but your puppy answered anyway. “A little,” he replied, twirling the pencil in his thick fingers nervously. You couldn’t help but gaze at him—his massive musculature snug under his beige sweater that seemed to hug him in all the right places.

His biceps bulging, his hardened pecs defined, and you could even sneak a peek at his abdominal muscles pressing against the warm fabric. You bit your lip, the desire to get him out of that ugly sweater filling your being until you shook off the thought.

The damn dweeb was making you forget your title and your reputation…

But you couldn’t lie. 

The geek was exceeding your expectations…

Not only was he impressive for being at the very bottom of the student hierarchy and having the ability to make you feel all hot and bothered, but despite his cock being heavily stimulated by the vibrating ring, his voice didn't waver or falter.

Your puppy was tougher than you thought…

‘We’ll see about that.’

With a click of your phone, you raised the vibrations from a mere 2 to a 5. Instantly at the change, Miguel jolted in his seat. You watched with a look of pure innocence on your face as Peter’s eyebrows furrowed.

He snickered, eyeing the glasses-wearing male across from him at the table. “Man, you are weird as heck, but I’ll let it slide,” he said with a smile, glancing over at you, his eyes full of admiration. “If the queen here can put up with your presence, which is rare,” Peter snickered, “I’ll be willing to open a spot on the team to see how you do,” he proposed, which shocked you.

It was hard to get on Peter’s football team, yet he was practically giving it to Miguel, the most disliked male at school, on a silver platter.

You couldn’t help but feel a little angry at that, slowly becoming a bit possessive over your new puppy.

But thankfully, Miguel said the words for you. “I-I’m not interested,” he uttered, clearing his throat and clenching the pencil tightly in his large hand. You smirked, watching Peter’s eyebrows rise in shock. He glanced over at MJ, who had become quiet after your glare.

“This dude is really turning down my offer, babe,” he said, nudging MJ, who snapped out of her trance to turn her blue eyes onto Miguel. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Actually…” you said, instantly drawing their eyes on you. “It’s better if he didn’t. I’ll lose my new lapdog, and we wouldn’t want that… Isn’t that right?” You asked, running your manicured fingers through Miguel’s coffee-brown hair. You watched his jaw clench and a subtle blush spread across his lips.

Seems as if he's starting to like the name or you claiming him…

Indeed, Miguel was a naughty one…

Peter’s stunned expression instantly changed at your words. He cleared his throat, giving you a nod. “Of course, but the offer still stands,” he offered once more, looking over at you as he said it.

You gave him a small smile before MJ sat up in her chair with a grin, the color restoring back into her being after you rightfully snuffed it out. “Since the workers are taking so long, let’s play a game. Never Have I Ever, anyone?!” she exclaimed, a smile adorning her cherry lips.

You grinned, liking the idea, before a thought came to your head, causing you to heave a sigh. “Normally drinks are involved. We don’t have any,” you commented, instantly MJ reached into the pocket of Peter’s red and blue varsity jacket, pulling out his metal flask. His eyes widened in shock before he laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, I thought you didn’t know about that.”

“I know everything, baby.” MJ giggled, placing the metal flask in the center of the table. You smirked, glancing over at Miguel, who had his arms crossed upon the table, his head lowered over the math packet. He was panting, and his thighs were trembling next to your own. He wasn’t writing anything as he seemed like he was just sitting there.

But you knew what your needy puppy was up to…

He was enjoying himself, relishing in the sensation from the vibrator ring you had bought him. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

While Peter and MJ discussed the rules of the game, you leaned in close to Miguel, pressing your glossy lips against his ear. “Are you enjoying your little toy, puppy?” you inquired, causing him to suck in a breath. “Ay cono, turn it off,” he panted, whispering to you in desperation. He turned his hooded eyes onto you, and you met his gaze with a sly grin. “Why? You like it,” you whispered back with a small giggle, watching his ears redden and a vein bulge from his forehead as he tried to suppress his anger.

“So no, it’s not coming off anytime soon,” you told him. “Now, you'll play this game with us and finish my work later.”

“I don’t want to fucking play,” he growled, making your forced smile falter. You subtly reached over to your phone, turning the vibrations up from level 5 to 7. Miguel's voice caught in his throat, his hand landing on your thigh once more. You could even faintly hear the buzzing in his jeans that was slowly making the geek lose his composure.

His large palm covered your smooth skin as he gripped it tightly while he quivered. He cursed under his breath, beginning to softly pat your thigh to call a truce. You watched him with a smirk, loving how he was writhing and squirming in his seat, knowing you were the sole cause of it. “I-I’ll play,” he whined, lowering his head to hide, his amber eyes on you over his arm. You smiled, lowering it back to a mere 5.

‘Don’t piss me off,’ you mouthed, turning back to Peter and MJ to find they were, thankfully, still talking. 

You didn’t want to hear what any of them had to say when it came to Miguel and you, especially from MJ.

“The dweeb is going to play too,” you said, hastily gaining everyone’s attention. “Awesome, do you want to go around as ages? Whoever is the youngest goes first?” MJ suggested. “I think the oldest should go first,” you said with a wicked grin, knowing everyone would choose the latter since you, the queen bee, said so.

If your intuition was correct, which it always was, you sensed Miguel was older than the rest of you. His demeanor and rough look showed his maturity, and you couldn’t help but become a little aroused at the assumption.

“Fine. I’m 23,” MJ said, glancing over at Peter next. “25,” he replied, soon looking at you. “24,” you smiled before finally setting your eyes on the trembling male. His amber eyes shifted from all of your eager gazes. He cleared his throat, tanned cheeks a soft red. “26.” His voice, like usual, was deep and rather low, but you heard his answer loud and clear.

You were right...

The muscular geek was not only a disobedient lowlife, but he was older than you. ‘How fun?’ you thought, looking him up and down beside you. It made everything even sweeter.

“Well, you go first,” Peter said, motioning to Miguel with his head, his dark brown hair swaying with his slight movement. The dweeb gulped, merely sitting there for a while. It was for so long that you pondered if he had even played the common game before until he finally spoke.

“Never have I ever fallen asleep during a movie,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the table.

'Of course, a boring one, like I thought.’ You groaned, nudging his arm. “Come on, that shit blows,” you said with an eye roll. “We want something steamy, hot…” You whispered, reaching over to caress his thigh under the table. He gulped, clenching his jaw and landing his large, calloused hand on yours to cease your movement. “Fine…” he said, turning to look at you in particular.

“Never have I ever walked in on someone without knocking.”

Miguel asked with a sly grin that surprised you greatly, and left you angry as hell. You growled, hearing Peter and MJ begin to discuss their answers. “Gosh, I walked in on one of the guys with their girlfriends in the locker room,” Peter sighed as MJ didn’t have an unfortunate occurrence happen to her, but not like you cared about either of them at the moment.

You glared at Miguel, his taunting smirk and stupid glasses adorning his face, the desire to slap them both off overwhelming your being.

You turned to see Peter already taking a swig of the metal flask, a grimace on his face after the drink. “Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have chosen the strong stuff,” he commented, glancing up at you. “Now, what about the Queen bee? Walked in on one of those baddies at your sorority house?” He inquired with a chuckle. You looked over at Miguel, his eyes narrowing as he watched you take the flask, gulping down a large mouthful of the liquor.

As Peter said, the shit was strong, and it took everything in you not to cough, suppressing the urge by clearing your throat. “No…” You replied, placing the flask back on the table and subtly looking over at Miguel before meeting your two associates' curious gazes. “Then what happened then?” MJ asked, deeply intrigued.

“Well, I walked in on someone jerking off.”

You noticed beside you, Miguel’s entire body became rigid on the booth; his hand squeezed yours under the table in a rather desperate way. He was begging you with the slight touch to cease any further words.

How cute…

You smirked at the feeling, loving how you had the dweeb filled with anxiety and nervousness about whether you'll spill his deep secret or not.

But you're only a bitch when you want to be…

“That’s all you get, though.” You laughed, causing cries of frustration to erupt, although you didn’t miss the sigh of relief that passed Miguel’s lips even though he was the one who called your bluff and dug his own grave.

“First round, and it seems Queen Bee and I are tied on who’s paying for our order.” Peter laughed, causing you to roll your eyes. “If it ever gets here,” MJ added with a groan.

“Even more of a reason to continue playing,” Peter said with a smirk. “But it seems as if it’s my turn, being 25 and all.” He said, sitting back against the cushions of the booth, humming in thought. “Ah, got one.” He commented with a grin.

“Never had I ever used a mirror during romantic intercourse.” He asked, his amber eyes looking around the table.

Of course, being the fun queen bee you were, you took the flask. “I mean, if you haven’t, you are missing out.” You grinned, taking another swig of the strong liquor, feeling the satisfying sting in the back of your throat when you placed the container back on the table. You could feel the heat radiating from Miguel’s body at the mention of you doing something so naughty.

You wouldn’t mind doing something like that with him only when he was ready…

A small blush spread across MJ’s cheeks at the erotic question. “I’ve always wanted to do it.” She said, bringing a smile to Peter's lips. He snaked an arm around her, caressing her arm as he spoke in a sultry and seductive voice. “Oh really? We can always try it after-

“Oh my gosh. Get a fucking room already.” You interrupted with a snicker, eyeing the two lovebirds. “Okay, okay,” MJ said with a giggle, eyes turning to Miguel who hastily dismissed it with a head shake.

Of course, the fucking dweeb doesn’t know how to have fun.

With you, he’ll know nothing else; you’ll make sure of it.

“Well, it’s your turn now,” MJ smiled. Finally, it was your turn, instantly thinking of a proposition that could really reveal some deep secrets about Miguel.

Something he's been hiding…

You sat back in your seat, pondering your answer when your eyes met Miguel. Just the sight of the massive male was making your brain sprout with ideas. Who knew how helpful he could be with just his mere presence?

Why not reward him for the assistance?

Subtly, you sat up, turning the vibrations up to a 7 while starting your round.

“Never have I ever had a sexual encounter in a public place and secretly liked it.”

You proposed, glancing over at Miguel, who was losing it. He gritted his teeth, lowering his head to try to hide his fluttering eyes and heavy pants, but your associates’ words surprised you. “Gosh, both of us,” you heard them say, drawing your attention from your puppy.

“Yeah, we did a vibrator challenge on each other, and we went to a mall,” Peter said with a smile and a head shake. “It wasn’t enjoyable with the many people around at the sudden bursts of pleasure, but overall…it was fun,” MJ added, snuggling into Peter’s chest.

You slowly nodded, retaining the idea for further use and glancing back at Miguel, who was shaking. You felt his hand on your thigh once more and soon his soft pats, as if he was a wrestler trying to tap out of the ring.

But you weren’t a merciful referee; he could endure it a little longer…

You leaned in close to him, pretending to reach down to pick up the pencil that had accidentally rolled off the table due to his squirming. “Lift your head and play the damn game,” you spat harshly into his ear as he frantically shook his head. “Fuck, I-I can’t,” he whined breathlessly. “Mierda, I’m close. I-I can’t,” he repeated, only making you smirk.

“Be a good puppy, hold it, and play the game, or I’ll raise it to the highest level,” you told him sternly, your fingers finding the pencil in the leather cushions. You soon rose, a smile on your lips as you placed the wooden tool onto the table. “Miguel, how about you?” you inquired in a sweet voice, the lovebirds finishing their swigs of the flask. “Done anything fun in public and secretly enjoyed it?” you asked, curious about how he'd answer and respond.

Like a good doggy, he lifted his head as you commanded. His dark, hazy eyes looked between the three of you before simply reaching over and taking a swig of the flask.

“Fucking hell!? The nerd knows fun!” Peter commented with a laugh, while the rest of you looked on in astonishment. Miguel placed the flask down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Explain,” you urged, nudging him with a kick under the table. He jolted, shooting you a subtle glare, causing you to raise an eyebrow, reaching over for your phone when Miguel gave you a gentle squeeze of desperation. “Okay…” he began, exhaling and trying to regain his composure while holding back his release and being heavily stimulated.

“I was getting a-a handjob under the table…i-in a diner similar to this,” he said, making you smile, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “T-The girl was fucking rude and mean, but h-had skilled hands. Very skilled hands.” He gulped, avoiding your eyes while he spoke. “But t-that’s pretty much it. I liked it...Who wouldn't," Miguel said, looking down at his lap and leaving the table speechless.

You didn’t know whether to be flattered, angry at his description of you, or apathetic. A burning desire in your gut to simply drag him to the bathroom of Mama’s diner and see just how good his cock would feel inside of you.

But overall, the geek had surprised you with his answer, this being the only time he had spoken his mind and said his true thoughts since he sat down at this fucking booth.

“Damn, sounds hot,” MJ said, making you turn your attention from your loyal puppy to her. “Wish I had the guts like that rude girl you described. I could never.” She said lowly, bringing a wave of pride over you. Her compliment only fueled your already replete ego.

After the steamy encounter that Miguel explained to the group, it was now MJ’s turn. However, just when she was about to speak, her phone pinged with a message. She glanced down at the glowing screen, her eyebrows instantly furrowing. “Oh my gosh, babe, we have to go. I’m needed at the university.” She quaked, turning her blue eyes upon you. “I’m so sorry to pause the game and leave so early.” She apologized, hastily standing up from the booth alongside her ride, and boyfriend, Peter.

“I can only assume it's for the newspaper, so I’ll let it slide,” you told her as she thanked you, swiftly scurrying past and exiting Mama’s diner. Peter watched with a chuckle, tucking his hands into his red varsity jacket, standing beside you at the table.

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing you around, Queen Bee,” he smirked, suddenly taking your hand and placing a kiss on your knuckles. You raised an eyebrow, a smile forming upon your glossy lips. Prior to pulling away, he held his soft lips upon your skin for a moment longer and gave your knuckles an affectionate caress with his thumb, meeting your eyes. “Call me anytime.” He whispered, giving you his signature charming smile and wink that made every person on campus faint and die on the spot before leaving behind his girlfriend.

You couldn’t lie; you were a little shocked at Peter’s forwardness.

You’ve noticed his interest in the great Queen Bee—who isn’t—but he had a girlfriend, and unfortunately for him…

You don’t like to share…

Many whiny groans and the sound of loud buzzing brought you from your thoughts as you turned to look at Miguel in the corner to see something even more astonishing than Peter’s previous advances.

Miguel was panting, breathing heavily with his head pressed against the back of the leather booth. His black denims were drawn down, revealing his strained cock and the beautiful red and blue vibrator ring around his base. His eyes rolled uncontrollably behind his glasses, his mouth agape while he rambled in a blend of Spanish and English.

You could only make out the English phrases and words he uttered, which mostly were pleas and begs, all desiring one thing and one thing only.

“Please—ay cono. Let me cum. Please, let me cum."

He implored incessantly, his words so full of need and desperation. You could tell he was slowly losing it; the pleasure was blinding him, and he was only at level 7. You were hoping to try the highest level on him, but maybe another time…

You didn’t want to completely ruin your new puppy…

You leaned towards him, running a finger over his sticky tip, tracing patterns across it. He whined and squirmed in his seat at your touch. “Aww, you want to stop playing already? I wanted to try level 10.” You told him with a fake pout. He frantically shook his head, gasps of air passing his parted lips. “Goodness, no. Please, I-I can’t take any more.” He begged so perfectly that you almost allowed him to.

Well,

Almost…

“I’ll let you cum on one condition,” you proposed, taking his chin in your fingers and turning him to meet your eyes. His eyes fluttered, his hands found your wrist, grabbing on tightly to stabilize himself. His face was flushed, his defined cheeks a rosy red, and his forehead covered with beads of sweat. He looked adorable, practically begging you with his hooded doe eyes to allow him to cum. You smirked, caressing his chin.

“Tell me you are my little puppy and sweeten the deal with a cute little bark.”

You giggled, eliciting a growl that came out more like a groan. “A-Are you serious?” he panted, making your smile only broaden. “Very, and I’ll only raise the level of the vibrator if you don’t,” you said with a grin, loving the look of defeat that covered his face. “Shit,” he cursed, looking away.

“No, eyes on me.”

You sternly said, hastily yanking his chin back towards you. He clenched his jaw, making eye contact with you once more. His amber orbs were full of anger, but his desire to be relieved of the vibrator and finally be granted his satisfying release led him to speak what you wanted.

“I-I’m your… l-little… 

Puppy.”

He uttered reluctantly through shaky moans as you waited patiently for the best part of his whole confession. He growled, shaking his head. “I’m not barking.”

You huffed, giving him a stern look. “Do I have to threaten you again about that video? How about I take that little vibrator and give it to the dean instead?” you said with an evil grin. “It has your… essence all over it. Wouldn’t be hard to discover it’s yours.” You cackled. He scowled, gazing up at you through breathy moans. “You are s-such a bitch.”

“Are you sure? You are looking more like a bitch than me right now,” you spat with a laugh, piercing your nails into his chin. “Now be my good little puppy and bark.” You demanded once more, eyes trained on his furious and flushed face.

You watched Miguel resist you as hard as he could. He put up such a fight, remaining silent to disobey for a good while, but just like any wild dog, they break, they snap...

They submit.

So, it didn’t take long before the most satisfying sounds filled your ears.

“Woof…Woof.”

A wave of satisfaction overcame you, akin to taking a refreshing sip of a chocolate milkshake on a hot day. Your glossy lips pulled into a smile, feeling completely overjoyed as you stared at your official new lapdog. “Gosh, I’m going to have so much fun with you,” you promised, caressing his chin affectionately. Miguel’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his entire face turned red; even his cock frantically throbbed around the pulsating ring.

Like a dog wagging his tail, he seemed to like that idea very much...

You wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking him at a fast pace while the ring continued to buzz against him. “Be a good boy and cum for me,” you whispered. “Make me proud, puppy,” you told him, kissing along his jawline and earning a loud groan to erupt from his throat. His hips left the seat, meeting your fist with each thrust upwards. “Oh yes. Fuck,” he cried through closed eyes.

The leather booth began to creak loudly at his frenzied movement, his cock sliding in and out of your palm, completely slick with his precum. You could feel how powerful the vibrations were on his sensitive shaft whilst he continued to fuck your fist.

“Shit, shit, I’m cumming,” he groaned, before a loud guttural, deep moan erupted from deep within his chest, his thick, muscular thighs quivering. Veins bulge along the underside of his abdomen upon his climax, and with one final thrust into your hand, he shot his white, creamy load.

And the four-eyed male just kept impressing you over and over again.

His release seemed to be endless. More and more of his seed dripped from his slit, coating your hand and the buzzing toy. The vibrating ring and your fisting only seemed to milk him completely, causing him to whimper and whine uncontrollably, continuing to paint his shaft, your hand, his beige sweater, and the leather seats in his essence.

When he was finished, you took in the huge mess he’d made with a grin. “Look at what you’ve done,” you purred, grabbing a few napkins to clean your hands. Miguel didn’t respond, only babbling softly, his words unintelligible.

You laughed at his thoroughly satisfied expression, finding it utterly adorable how fucked-out he looked. You relieved him of the vibrator, turning it off and removing it from his swollen shaft, the toy completely coated with his sticky fluids. 

You smirked, eyeing the white-coated ring; it was so enticing that you couldn't help but bring the toy to your mouth to give it a taste. Like savoring the sweetness of honey on a wand, you ran your tongue along the vobrator, humming in ecstasy.

Your eyes fluttered at the taste. His seed was different—something you couldn't quite put into words, but an essence you'd definitely want more of in the future, something you had to taste straight from the source.

After sucking the ring clean, you placed it into your bag and slid closer to Miguel. His eyes were still closed, his chest heaving up and down while his body spasmed—small tremors spreading through his massive being.

You turned his face towards you, a finger resting under his chin. His eyes fluttered open to meet your satisfied gaze. “I’m happy you enjoyed yourself, puppy,” you whispered, an airy chuckle passing his lips at your words. “I had no choice… 

So I might as well enjoy it,” 

He muttered breathlessly, his response made you even prouder. Your little puppy was understanding the game—the fun. You couldn’t help but love the dork even more.

You leaned closer to him, your nose brushing against his. 

“Finally… you are starting to get it,” you uttered, pressing a rough and searing kiss to his mouth. Miguel, completely exhausted and shocked, instantly lost the fight, giving you control.

You devoured his mouth hungrily, his plush lips feeling just right and tasting even better as your tongue entered his parted lips. He groaned, kissing you back, but not enough to dominate nor challenge you, which you adored so much.

You kissed him until you were satisfied, sucking his lips until they were pink and swollen, and tasting his mouth with your tongue. You then pulled away from his enticing lips, both of you panting heavily. You looked him over with a smirk, patting his head and running your manicured fingers through his coffee-brown hair, and to your satisfaction, he didn’t pull away—either from weariness or pure enjoyment, it seemed your puppy had accepted his role. 

But you couldn’t be so sure…

You smiled, sliding out of the booth and picking up your $500 Prada bag from the seat. His amber eyes were full of confusion as he looked you over. You met your adorable lapdog’s gaze, standing before him in your lavish clothes—a white crop top, pink Gucci jacket, skirt, and heels.

You gave him a sly grin, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Clean yourself up and have my homework done by 10. 

I want you at my sorority house tonight,” 

You smirked, watching his tanned cheeks turn a deep red. Your eyes took him in one last time, taking in his little mess, his flustered and stunned expression, softened cock, massive body, and those dorky glasses.

 All of that and so much more was yours now.

All yours…

“See you then,” you giggled, blowing him a kiss, and turning on your pink high heels, leaving the dork flabbergasted.

You swung open the door of Mama’s diner, stepping out onto the sidewalk and into the bustling streets of Nueva York. You put on your pink heart-shaped shades, the evening sun beaming upon your face, as an unshakeable smile adorned your glossy lips.

You were excited, no, delighted. 

You had discovered something better than a measly assistant that you had desired before. 

You had a permanent peasant, a puppy who was none other than the outcast of your college—the student at the bottom of the student hierarchy and hated by all was officially yours. 

And you couldn’t wait to have so much more fun with your little bitch boy, Miguel O’Hara.

Your new lapdog...

A/N: I enjoyed writing this soo much!! 😆

I hope u guys enjoyed it as well, I'm thinking of writing a Part 2 but...idk 🤔😏

But hope u guys liked!! 💗💗

P.S: Part 3 of 'A Fate Worse Than Death' would be up next week, my apologies, I just had to write this one. 😌

<3 Taglist:

~@oscarissac2099

~@powerful-niya

(Let me know in the comments if you'll like to become a part of the taglist! ❤️)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[izzyy-stuff]

heyy izzy! i don’t think ive ever sent in a request to you before but i absolutely love your work so i thought i’d send something in. could you please do a roommate!taehyun fic where he accidentally walks in on you while you’re in the shower but then decides to join you which then ends up in him fucking you while you’re pressed against the cold shower wall and one leg pulled over his shoulder so he can hit deep :)

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇 & 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐘 - 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍

roommate!taehyun x fem!reader

in which what originally was supposed to be just a quick shower to help him relax takes a different turn when he walks into the bathroom and sees you already in the shower, deciding to relieve his frustration differently than he originally intended to.

wc 2.5k

warnings shower sex, unprotected sex + creampie, vaginal fingering, tiny mention of nipple play, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation, pet names, softdom!taehyun, biting/marking

↪ izzy speaks... I can't believe tae had zero works until now... like that's insane. I'm glad I can finally show it to you though. The writing process for this was for someone reason extremely SLOW. Everyone thank serene for being my life saver again and helping me get through whatever writing block I was feeling while writing this.

Kang Taehyun must have been the safest choice for a roommate ever. 

Unlike the other guys in your friend group, he was calm and knew when to shut up. Taehyun could cook, making your life a lot easier when he offered to make dinner as often as he could, and he was outside the dorm most of the time, too. If he wasn’t in the library studying after his lessons ended, you would find him in the gym, keeping in shape. 

He barely went straight to your dorm after school, so you had learned to get comfortable during your alone time. From using your living room for studying and making a mess with your papers and study books all over the floor, which he would have usually pointed out and told you to keep a system, to walking around the apartment with just your underwear.

So it wasn’t unusual when you sat on the couch in your living room in just panties and an oversized shirt you found at the bottom of your closet while cleaning up last week. You were surprised when you found it, confident you’ve never bought nor worn that shirt. But as you put it on, pushing your thoughts aside as there was no possible way of it being someone else’s if it was in your closet, you realized it was more comfortable than the garments you knew you owned. 

You have gone over the math formula hundreds of times and still feel like you see it for the first time every time your eyes land on it again. It doesn’t make sense. No matter how long you stare at it, the numbers and signs seem foreign. 

You sigh, slamming the math book shut and spreading out on the couch as a sign of giving up. You would have to ask Taehyun about it after dinner. But for now, you had other things on your to-do list for the day. 

Put your and Taehyun’s clothes into the washing machine (AND THANK HIM FOR DOING IT LAST TIME!!) 

Wash up 

Learn math 

Call your mom

You mentally cross out math, pretending it never existed. Still, you know you will have to come back to it. To this day, you weren’t sure why you decided to take another math semester when you didn’t have to. You were naive when you listened to your parents and signed up for “the only important class you will need in the future.” You had to scoff every time now when you remembered your mother’s words, knowing you wouldn’t ever need the formulas you were learning. 

Sighing, you get up from the couch and look around the living room. Looking at it now, you understand why Taehyun always wants you to have your work organized. It was a mess. 

Your fingers run through your hair before you pick up a few of your books and put them aside in the corner of the table so that other people can still use it. It also reminds you that you should clean around the house with Taehyun soon. 

But for now, there was the current to-do list you had to go through. 

You grab Taehyun’s clothes basket from his room, as you did many times before, kicking the door behind you so it would close before continuing towards your shared bathroom. 

Having a shared bathroom might have been the only disadvantage of living with Taehyun. You both tried to search for a bigger place so you could each get your own, but once you saw the prices, you both decided it was only a petite inconvenience. 

It doesn’t take you long to sort out all of his and your clothes by colors, leaving Tae’s underwear in the basket for him to do later on his own. You don't mind doing his laundry, just like he doesn't mind doing yours, but there are still limits to what you are willing to do for him. Even though those lines sometimes seem blurry in your eyes.

You aren't sure when or how it happened, but lately, you've found yourself wanting to step over some of the lines you had set for yourself when you first decided to room with Taehyun.

Maybe it was because of how comfortable you got with each other after half a year of living together. Perhaps it was because Tae had become your best friend over the years you knew him. Or, more likely, it was actually because of the amount of times you had seen him shirtless.

“We are friends, Ma. You don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant or something just because I am rooming with a guy. And you have met him many times. You know how Tae is.” You remember the call you had with your mom after you moved in, rethinking all your words. You were so sure back then that nothing could ever happen between the two of you, but a small part of you always wished for something else. 

You snap out of your thoughts, pressing the start button on your washing machine with a sigh. You step over the pile of white clothing you had prepared for the next wash, getting to the shower. You pull down your panties and shirt, hanging them on the empty peg beside your towel. 

♡⸝⸝ 

Taehyun was too exhausted to go to the gym tonight. He had enough. From missing lunch because he lost track of time while reviewing for his upcoming exam to completely forgetting about an assignment due last night. He just wanted to go home and relax for a bit before he would have to fall into the endless circle of studying again. 

So when he got through the door of your shared apartment, his first thought was to shower and go to sleep. He didn’t think much of what you were doing as he took down his shoes. Honestly, that was what he was the least worried about. 

Taehyun shakes his head as his eyes land on your books on the table, but then a smile creeps up his lips. You did listen when he scolded you about making a mess, after all. 

He looks around the apartment, trying to find you with his eyes. Eventually, his sight lands on your room, assuming you didn’t hear him coming in and were busy with your studies, so you didn’t come out to greet him. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

He doesn’t even properly register the sound of the washing machine as he walks toward the bathroom. For the first time in a while, his mind is finally blank, making him relax as he opens the door. 

Neither of you really realizes what’s going on until you drop down your shampoo, your eyes wide as you quickly try to cover your naked body upon noticing your roommate in the room. 

Taehyun’s cheeks could be mistaken for a tomato as his eyes travel from the bottom of your body to your face, swallowing everything he wants to say before even opening his mouth, stuttering. “I– shit, fuck– uhm, sorry,” he blurts out quickly, turning around so he wouldn’t face you. He doesn’t leave, though. 

 You can’t hear your own breath, nor his, as you stare at his back, your mind, unlike Tae’s, clouded with thoughts. “I wanted to shower. I’m– I didn’t know you were in here,” he says, you think. You’re unsure if any of the words actually reach your ears or if it’s all just in your head. Maybe he is just a figment of your imagination, too. He isn’t real. He isn’t standing in the bathroom with his back turned to you. 

“I’ve been so out of it today I just– I’m not sure what I am saying, to be honest. I didn’t mean to, though–” 

You cut him off, your words echoing in his ears. Still, he doesn’t believe what he just heard. “What?” He asks, his boba eyes making you feel weak in the knees as he turns around to face you again. “You wanted to shower and relax your mind, right?” You repeat half your question, your hands slowly falling to your sides. Taehyun bites his bottom lip, fighting all his inner demons to keep his eyes on yours. “Want to join me then?” 

You’re not sure what happens next. It’s all blurry in your mind. But the next thing you know, Taehyun’s hands are all over your body, “helping you to wash up,” as he said, but you both know that’s not what it really is when his hand just so innocently squeezes your breast. 

Your breath shakes as you feel him groan against your shoulder, sending shivers through your body. You tilt your head to the side, biting your bottom lip to prevent a moan from escaping your lips as he kisses your collarbone, his cold fingers playing with your nipples as if he had touched them thousands of times before, as if he wasn’t afraid at all of the sudden intimacy. 

“Tae,” you breathe out, and he only hums in response, his lips on your neck. “Are you okay with this?” He asks carefully, making it almost impossible for you to tell him no. So you nod, whining when his fingers trace down from your chest to your legs, making their way to your clit. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles. 

“S-shut up,” your voice shakes as you try to grind against his fingers, muffling your moan when he removes his hand. Your pussy clenches around nothing when your name leaves his lips, his kisses moving lower on your back until you hear him kneel behind you. You swallow a lump in your throat when his hands wrap around your thighs, the water drops on your back sending shivers through your body. “Mind bending over for me, sweetheart?” 

It feels unreal. Your roommate’s head between your legs, eating you out as if you were supposed to be tonight’s dinner, was all a little too much. You weren’t sure how long you could last. “Wait– I’m–” you try to speak up but end up swallowing everything you wanted to say when his tongue gets replaced by his fingers. You gasp, your hand slowly sliding down on the bathroom tiles as you begin to lose strength. You don’t think he notices, or at least he doesn’t do anything about it. His fingers pump into you so effortlessly, too. Somehow, it feels like he has been in your cunt many times before. 

Your first orgasm of the night is on Taehyun’s fingers, preparing you for himself. “Doing so well,” he coos, slowly standing up. It takes no time for his lips to find your neck again, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. “‘S too much,” you whine, turning your head around to see him. His boba eyes are soft, full of love even, you’d dare to say. 

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes out when his eyes land on yours, immediately kissing you. You fall into the kiss, turning around to face him. Taehyun takes a step forward, making you press your back against the wet tiles. The water dripping between the two of you doesn’t seem to bother him a bit as he wraps your leg around his waist. 

You are still kissing him when he aligns himself at your entrance, thrusting into you without a warning. You gasp, breaking the kiss. His lips chase after yours again, but you’re too busy trying to get used to him to kiss him back. “So good,” he praises you again, his mouth moving to your jaw and chin. You tilt your head to the side, trying to keep as quiet as possible as he thrusts into you again, starting slowly, with his eyes on yours to make sure you are okay. 

You nod to him instinctively, and he thrusts into you right away, this time faster, harsher. It doesn’t take long for him to set a comfortable speed, and you can feel all his stress in each thrust. “I needed this,” he mumbles. “Needed you.” 

It almost passes unnoticed by you, just some out-of-mind praises, but you catch onto it, and his words get stuck in your head. “N–Needed me?” Your question comes out as a broken moan, making him groan. “The whole day,” he agrees, only thrusting harder. “Everyone’s been getting on my nerves,” he explains. “Couldn’t wait to come home to you.” 

The ticklish feeling in your stomach makes you uneasy. You’re not sure if it’s another orgasm building up or just an after-effect of his words. Honestly, it might be both. But before you can think about it properly, another thrust comes in, with a few mumbles about how perfect you are before you feel his speed slowing down again, letting you know he is reaching his limit, too. 

It only takes a few more sloppy thrusts before he cums inside you, both of you too into the moment to realize he should pull out. Taehyun’s head falls onto your shoulder, but he doesn’t stop holding your leg up, assuring himself he still feels you on his body. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he breathes out, and before you can answer, you feel his teeth digging into the skin on your shoulder. 

You gasp, “What was that for?” He only hums in response, as if he had no idea what you were referring to. “A mark,” he finally mutters, making your eyes widen. “Wanted to mark you.” He says it so casually, while his hand slides between your bodies, circling your clit slowly again. You swallow a moan as his finger makes its way into your pussy again, feeling the mixture of his and your cum sliding down your thigh. You need another shower. 

You stay still for a bit, his head resting on your shoulder and your leg wrapped around his waist while your fingers play with his hair to assure him you are still there, not saying anything. 

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself immediately. You keep your eyes on his naked body, rethinking your next moves. “I need your help with math,” you proclaim quietly like you normally would. “I’ll gladly help you,” he nods with a smile. So happy, and for what? He was never rude about it when you asked for his help, but it wasn’t like he would be excited, either. This time, however, he makes you question what’s going on in his mind. 

“Here,” he says, the same smile still on his lips as he hands you your shirt and panties. “I didn’t know you were already wearing my stuff, but I can’t say I would complain,” he teases you, and it all finally clicks. Of course, that’s why you didn’t remember owning the shirt. It wasn’t yours in the first place. “Uhm–” you panic, trying to find a good excuse, but it’s already too late because all Taehyun can think about is the adorable blush on your cheeks.

TXT ⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez ✶⋆

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[fanaticsnail]

Snail important question;

Of any line-up of characters of your choice-

Who do you think is attracted to competency,

Who is attracted to stupidity,

Who can go either way,

And who is attracted to both at the same time (imagine;

Reader: sorry I'm late I had to fight off two different ships

Them: is that how you got that bruise on your face?

Reader: oh... Actually, I wasn't looking and pulled a push door off its' hinges into my face

Them, kicking off their pants: god you're so fucking stupid, sit on my face

)

Also, I feel like there are different versions of competency and stupidity. Street smarts vs social obliviousness. Book smarts vs functionally illiterate. Strategic/battle smarts vs what-do-you-mean-flashing-the-enemy-isn't-a-valid-distraction?

(Zoro is completely math smart and dumb in every other way)

I could imagine Luffy would be attracted to hyper specific competency. If you're really into a specific thing and good at it and it's your dream he would absolutely love it even if it sounds like you're speaking gibberish to him. He wouldn't even think of it as weird - I mean, no more weird than any other dream he doesn't personally understand - he's certainly not the type to judge based on societal norms. You could talk his ear off about the reproductive habits of different animals and he wouldn't get why everyone else doesn't like to hear it when they're eating but hey more food for him.

Snail. Your asks always know how to get the better of me. Have a series of little drabbles, dear.

Competency, Stupidity, Duality

Masterlist here

Word Count: 410+, 510+, 580+

Synopsis: They can't help what attracted them to you. No matter what you did, they simply couldn't get enough of you. Their emotions finally catch up with them, and they confess their adoration for you.

Themes: variety x gn!reader, feelings, injury, mentions of battles, finally giving in, all different 'reader' inserts, confessions of love, kid x reader, zoro x reader, killer x reader, angst, fluff, sweetness.

Notes: I wasn't expecting to write this today, but I've been thinking about the big boys lately and I needed to give them some love. Something about trios lately.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Competency: Eustass Kid

When Eustass Kid noticed how quick and sharp you were to react in life or death circumstances, he was immediately smitten with you. Being a Straw-Hat, your ambitions and dreams were fostered by your playful captain as you sailed aboard the Thousand Sunny. Your ability to interact flawlessly by balancing the combined efforts of the three crews had him intrigued by your charisma. 

Fighting by your side was something he didn’t expect to affect him so much. The way you researched the strengths and weaknesses of all three crews sailing and fighting together was admirable. Asserting yourself by asking Law to push and pull you closer to the fight with the Ope-Ope no Mi ability, while fighting side-by-side with Massacre Soldier Killer in close quarters, had him left wordless.

After the battle finishes, he watched as you hastily aided your crew of their injuries while disregarding your own; putting others first while adding pressure to your hand-gash, hovering it over your head to slow the bleeding. He couldn’t get enough of you. 

He needed you to know how he felt about you, but being in the presence of Luffy and Law always seemed to bring out the more juvenile side of attitude. His simple attraction and infatuation with you had to be revealed to you in due time, but he couldn’t risk sounding like an idiot in front of you. He would have to simply wait until you were alone and unoccupied before he made his move to take care of you after taking care of others. 

Slowly approaching you as you sat down against the tangerine grove aboard the Thousand Sunny, his shadow shrouded your form and prompted you to gaze up into his scarred, sheepish face. Your smile caused his heart to beat harder and his head to swirl with a variety of "what-ifs". Gulping back his insecurities, he knelt down in front of you.

“Let me take care of that for you,” he offered with a soft smirk, “You’ve done so much for others, and I think your hand needs some seeing to.” 

“If you say so, Captain Kid,” you shrug, offering your injured hand delicately to him and listening to his every instruction as he treats you, “I wasn’t aware you had any medical training.” He straps your hand in a bandage, placing down the final ties before holding your injured hand in his.

“I don’t,” he shrugged with a smile atop his painted lips, “But I’ve lost an arm before, and I don’t want to see that happen to you.” 

“You’re-...” he stuttered over his words, gazing at your hand before softly drifting his tired eyes up, “...-You amaze me. Truly, amaze me.” You place your other hand on his, never once removing your eyes from his face as he offers you such kindness. 

“Thank you, sir,” you nod to him with a soft smile, “You amaze me, too.”

Stupidity: Roronoa Zoro

“Why would you do that?” Zoro roared at you, hovering his body over yours and caging your face-down body within a shield of his own. The gashes on your back were deep, your body weeping out the red essence and staining your clothes with it.

“C-Couldn’t risk yours,” you stuttered out with a soft smile, “H’was gonna g-get yours. Didn’t want you to wear the shame.” His eyes widened, filling with a steam of glossy tears that threatened to spill over the moment you stuttered out your confession. “That’s what you said, wasn’t it? Mark on the back is a swordsman’s greatest shame?” 

Drip. 

Drip.

Drip.

One after one, soft tears spilt down his cheeks and mixed with the fluids pooling at your back. He leaned down towards you, the heat of battle dying down with the swift, flaming kick of the blonde cook and giggling chuckles of your captain, Luffy. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he sniffed his sobs back as he leaned down to cage you, “Can’t you see? None of that fucking matters without you here.” He softly, tenderly moved you from your position on the floor to not disturb your wounds. He sat you up, cradling you against his broad chest and openly sobbed for you. 

“When you get better,” he growled into your shoulder, “I will repay you for this. I will pay my debt to you.” His sobs got more desperate, not halting in the slightest when Trafalgar D Water-Law approached the two of you in your embrace. 

“Let me get ‘em to the infirmary,” Law offered, gesturing for Bepo to ready the aid kit, “I’ll treat the wounds there-.” 

“-I won’t leave them,” Zoro barked over your shoulder, your soft smile tugging at your cheeks in your hazy daze. “Let me go with you, Traffy. I won’t say a damn word to distract you, on my honor.” Law nods, raising his hand and spreading his fingers and offers the two words to switch positions within the infirmary: “Room, Shambles.” 

As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you laughed each time Zoro chastised you for your stupidity. Echos of: “There were so many other things you could’ve done instead,” and “You stumbled into that blade like a moron and took that hit for me, idiot.” You giggled through the pain, barely feeling it as Law worked to stitch you together again. 

Upon regaining consciousness, you looked to your moss-haired crewmate and offered out your hand to his bicep. His head was bowed, arms crossed over his chest, and was assumed to be napping by your bedside. Feeling your touch, he was roused from his sleep and immediately leaned forward to bring his face beside yours. 

“You’re a fucking moron,” he huffed, smiling in a melancholy grin. You laughed at his insult, squeezing his muscle before retracting your hand. As you nearly drew it away to your side, he caught your hand and brought your palm up to his lips. 

“My fucking moron,” he confirmed, placing a soft kiss to your palm before using it to cup his face. “I love you.”

Duality: Massacre Soldier Killer

Staring up into your face while remaining silent, resting his masked face on the heel of his palm, he listened to your recount of a very specific childhood injury that left you with an interesting scar on your thigh. Killer’s eyes never left your face, his cheeks beginning to glow warm and vibrant beneath the shroud of his mask.

“So, let me get this straight,” Captain Eustass Kid held his hand in front of his face and gave it a gentle wave to halt your words, “That sick-looking scar wasn’t from any time you served with Luffy, but because you set off a fucking harpoon and speared yourself in the leg with it?” 

Killer felt himself swoon at the melody your laugh thrust into the atmosphere. He was ever thankful his blue and white mask disguised how much he was smiling beneath the shroud. 

“Yep,” you popped the ‘P’ afterwards, nodding in confirmation as you sat beside Usopp and drew your tankard up to your lips, “But I learnt from it, and it hasn’t happened since.” Killer sighed, his voice almost coming out in a soft moan to reveal his growing infatuation for you. Kid barked out a harsh gaggle of laughter, clapping you on the shoulder with his right hand and gestured for you to reveal it to them.

“Let me see it again, go on,” he chuckled, removing his hand and sitting back on his seat, “Use Killer’s thigh as a prop so we can see it properly. You don’t mind do you, big guy?” Killer absentmindedly and slowly shook his head, tapping his thigh twice with his hand for you to reveal your injury to the captain of the Victoria Punk, himself and your crewmate beside you. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, standing beside Usopp and Killer and gently placed your foot atop Killer’s thigh and began hiking up your shorts to your hip, “Feast your eyes, Captain.” Sure enough, an interesting looking scar was revealed on your inner thigh, clear as day and sure as the sea is salty. 

“Oh, fucking hells!” Kid gave you a hearty laugh, “You seeing this, big guy?” Kid turned his attention to his first mate, his smile only growing as he noticed the angle of Killer’s mask never left your face. Surprise was immediately thrust into Kid’s eyes, noticing the unwavering resolve in Killer’s posture. 

You turned your attention down to the silent and broody first-mate, your face puzzled and eyes searching his mask for any further thought or action. He slowly drew his hands up to clasp around your ankle and calf, holding it firmly as he leaned forward. 

“You’re perfect,” he offered in a breathy whisper, stroking your leg and gazing lovingly into your face, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” 

Your face flushed with a warmth at his words, eyes widening and looking down at his large hands as they held you so tenderly and delicately within his grasp. Smiling, you leaned forwards and placed your hand over his scarred left forearm with mischief in your eyes, asking him a simple question with a suggestive tone. 

“Like what you see then, big guy?” At your question, Usopp nearly choked on his drink. You had never been this bold before, and this came as a shock to your crew’s skilled sniper. He covered his choking with a soft cough, turning away with a downturned smile and stifling his growing laugh. 

“So much,” Killer confirmed, gently caressing your calf and looking up at you through half-hooded blonde lashes beneath his mask, “So, so much.”

[sweetsreverie]

could you write a drabble where darry’s girlfriend is totally adored by the rest of the boys and she’s almost motherly to them?

bro... thank you for planting this idea in my head ♡︎

pairing: darry curtis x f!reader wc: 972 warnings/notes: none

You met Darry six months ago while you were at the grocery store. You were clearly having trouble trying to reach something on the top shelf and he offered to help you, retrieving the item and handing it to you with a charming, kind smile. The two of you ended up talking in the spice aisle for nearly ten minutes before you both realized that you had places to be. Darry had scribbled his home phone number on your grocery list before leaving. Since then, you mostly saw him on the weekends when he wasn’t working, or on the rare occasion that he wasn’t totally exhausted after work, you would see him for dinner.

It took a while for him to introduce you to his brothers, and eventually the rest of their little gang. But when he did, he came to notice that the boys treated you differently than anyone else. They seemed to respect you, and they didn’t really pick on you or mess with you like they did other people. That was also partially because you seemed to take care of them, and honestly you didn’t even think much of it. You just found yourself doing little things for them here and there. It started with you cleaning up Darry’s work boots one night, and then you ironed Sodapop’s work shirt one day while he was running late for work, and you’ve helped Ponyboy with his homework on multiple occasions when he was struggling through his math homework. 

It made Darry’s heart swell, especially when you took care of Ponyboy and Soda. Ever since their mom died, they haven’t had a female, or even somewhat of a motherly figure in their life. Darry could be tough on them, so having your gentle nature around was almost comforting for them.

Today you had the day off of work so you spent some time at the Curtis’ house. Darry was working so you tried to clean up the place to take it off of his shoulders. Besides, you sometimes spent the night with Darry and ate dinner with them, so you figure you might as well pull your own weight and treat the place as your own. 

“You know Y/N, this ain’t even your house. You don’t have to clean up after us.” Pony says while he sits on the couch and Johnny sits on the floor near the coffee table, and the two of them were playing ‘go fish’.

“Well- I stay here enough and eat enough of yall’s food, I might as well. And I don’t want Darry to have to worry about it when he gets back from work.” You explain as you wipe down the kitchen table with a damp cloth.

Ponyboy smiles softly at that before he looks down at the cards in his hand. “Well… I know that Darry really appreciates it. He probably don’t show it or say it, but… I know he does.” Pony tells you with a little nod.

“I just know he’s got a lot on his plate, and I don’t see you boys helping him clean up much.” You say, the teasing tone clear in your voice while you grin over at Pony. Pony’s expression turns sheepish immediately, and Johnny even chuckles at your playful scolding.

Later that evening when Darry comes home, you stand in the kitchen with him while you two wait for dinner to finish cooking. After a few moments, Darry turns to you as you’re leaning against the counter.

“You know, Ponyboy told me you scolded him like a mother today.” Darry says, and you groan and shake your head.

“I did not! I was just messing with him-” You insist, and Darry laughs.

“He knows that, doll face. I just… think it’s funny. You really do take care of us.” Darry says with a little smile while he reaches for your hand.

You think about it for a second, and you realize that you really do take care of these boys.

“Well… you’re my boys. And someone’s gotta keep some order around here.” You tell Darry with a grin. You hear the front door open, and you poke your head out from around the doorway to see Sodapop and Steve.

“Aht aht, don’t bring them dirty boots in the house. Leave ‘em on the porch.” You tell the two of them, and Ponyboy laughs as they turn back around and begin to take their boots off on the porch.

When you turn back to Darry in the kitchen, the man is just grinning from ear to ear.

“What were you saying about keeping order around here?” He asks jokingly and you can’t help but laugh.

“Hell, even Dally listens to you. You must have instilled some kinda fear in him or something.”

You laugh at that and shake your head, and you move closer to Darry so you’re tucked in his side.

“But… really. Ever since our folks passed, Pony and Soda haven’t really had… a woman to care for them, or like.. A mother figure. If you know what I mean.” Darry tries to explain, and you nod while giving him a little smile.

“I understand, Darry. Really- and… I’m happy to be that for them. I know I can never replace your mom, and I don’t want to- but… I’m happy to look after them. I know it's hard for you to do on your own.” You explain to Darry, and he lets out a quiet sigh while he looks down at you with an expression of admiration.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Darry asks, and you laugh softly.

“Yeah. Once or twice I think.” You tease him lightly before the two of you carry on with making dinner before the boys in the living room start getting too rowdy.

[lovebvni]

mindset of manifestation & how i manifest

like melanie martínez, i am back from the dead.

i apologize for being gone so long, but i needed a break from tumblr. i saw toxicity swirling in the community, my life got busy, and i decided it was just time for a break. when i was planking to come back, i just saw how things got terrible and i got upset and decided not to come back.

so, im back now and with a little tutorial on how i manifest!!! <3 i hope this can help some of you out.

let’s start with background.

manifesting is kind of like predicting the future. you have something you want to happen, then it happens soon after. i feel like this is the easiest way to get into the manifestation mindset. you cannot change what you’re getting if you want it. could you change your mind later and return it like a package? yes! but before it arrives, you know it’s arrival is coming.

sure, there can be delays, but it all is going to turn out YOUR way in the end.

nile and i have been working on our mindset and this is something they wrote that i think can be really helpful — as it was to me.

from the past two years we have been actively manifesting, we learned that we often saw things as “crazy”. but manifesting isn’t crazy, it’s quite normal.

every time you get dressed in the morning, it’s an act of manifestation. you’re showing up with what you want.

manifestation is a mondane activity!! stop treating it like it was a kiss from an angel!

by reading this, you’re manifesting your eyes working, you’ve used your hands to open an app, and you have believed you can read and get through this blog! without manifesting that, you would not be here.

the first step to manifestation is believing you can do it, believing you have done it, and believing you will continue to do it. period.

there are many MANY different ways to manifest, but i manifest in 3 ways (sometimes i use all three, sometimes i use just 1 or 2.)

!! I ALMOSR FORGOT TO PUT THIS AND IM ADDING IT BEFORE I GET TO NUMBER 2 OMG!!

STOP! BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE I WANT YOU TO GET A NOTEBOOK, A SHEET OF PAPER, OR MAKE A CHECKLIST ON YOUR PHONE IN YOUR NOTES APP!!!

now i want you to write down everything you want right now down and leave the boxes blank if you haven’t gotten them yet.

once you get through that, i want you to randomly click between some of the items you want and write down things you wanted that you did get! they can be some simple and things from years ago, what matters is you have them down. throw in some things that you may have to do for school or work while you’re at it.

here’s an example! (left is before checking off, right is after)

as you can see, i added a note to the side because i got what i wanted and more abundantly! i had been manifesting a dog since i was a young child, and in 2021, i got 2!!!! (one is laying at my feet right now <3)

continue to do this daily, weekly, or whatever you have time for. i personally do this on notion and i try to add something new daily (im adding the heartstopper thing rn!!)

but yeah!! write everything u want down, and continue to add to it, just so u can see progress DOES happen and your work and effort DOES pay off!

affirming and persisting

this id the first way i learned to manifest, and the most self-explanatory.

you simply repeat what you want over and over until you get it! but not in the future tense, in the current or past tense.

ex; “i passed my maths final!”, “im so happy my boyfriend gave me those roses for valentine’s day, he’s so sweet!”, “i finished the essay for english like a week before it was due!” “i got the lead role in my play! im so excited!” etc.

now, the common factor between all of these is having a positive mindset about them. i cannot tell you HOW many times i manifested something would go well, and right before they happened, i got in a shitty mind space and wondered if it would ever happen.

but, nonetheless, i persisted through and i got what i wanted.

the pain have have been feeling cant compare to the joy that is coming. Romans 8:18

persisting is basically pushing through. think about the time you didn’t think you would make it through an injury, a school year, a trial, yet you still walked through it — even if it was slow.

like when work days are long and you want to go home, but you can’t, so you persist.

i try to think of my manifestations as an ultimatum. it’s going to happen, and that’s final. the only thing you have to do to get it is stay conscious.

and staying conscious, walking through those days, is how you get to the end!

i use affirming and persisting with pretty much everything, which is why it was first.

2. listening to subs.

it’s that simple — listen to an audible subliminal that has the results you want over and over!! that’s all i do u guys. here’s my playlist if u want it (IF I DELETE IT CHECK MY PINNED POST!! I UPDATE IT OFTEN)

i often use @stilljuststardust’s subs, slade’s subs, enchanted workshops’ subs and i want it, i got it’s subs!

all of them are trusted and credible. i cannot promise you that all the subs in my playlist will work for you, as they are (sometimes) linked to my personal desires.

3. pinterest manifestation!!

i recommend having either a whole pinterest account or a board set aside for this way of manifestation.

you simply make boards (or sections) for things you want. i would say this is best for physical items, people, looks, makeup, etc. things that re physically tangible, rather than something like reality shifting (although i do have a reality shifting board! it has been working pretty well <3)

i also have one for my mindset, my religion, so on and so forth (link btw)

i think this is pretty self explanatory. just save picture of things you want and quotes/affirmations and DONE!

i also use this sub with it :p it’s worked WONDERSSS!

if you have any other questions i will be happy to answer them!! i love you all!! go manifest!!

[janeyseymour]

Save Me Before I Lose Myself- part 3

Part 1. Part 2.

Summary: Your wife finds the note Melissa gave you, because... of course she does.

WC: ~2.7k

Carrie is back at her position sitting at the head of the table typing furiously on her laptop when you walk in with Millie excitedly telling you about how much she adored what they did in Miss Schemmenti’s classroom today.

It’s clear your wife is not happy about the disruption and noise that you bring into the house- but what is she expecting? Millie is seven, of course she’s excitable about what she’s been doing at school. And you can not comprehend how she could ever think of your daughter as a disruption. Sure, you sometimes have to put things on pause in order to take care of whatever your little girl wants, but isn’t that what being a parent is supposed to be?

“Amelia, quiet,” is all your wife states as your daughter kicks her shoes off at the front door with a loud giggle, followed by an “Oops! Sorry Momma!”

Millie immediately goes silent, and she shoots you an apologetic look, and you sigh heavily before making your way further into the house.

“Hi, honey,” you whisper as you lean forward to kiss her. It nearly repulses you to do that. You hate her at this point, and if it weren’t for Millie, you wouldn’t still be with her. There’s no damn way. But, Millie needs… well, she might actually do better without Carrie in her life at this point. You can’t find it in you to get away though. Because you know the repercussions, and then you might not always have your little girl. Despite the fact that Carrie pretty much despises your daughter’s mere existence (despite the fact that she is the one who carried her and gave birth to her- and you truly believe that may be part of the reason she has such a distain for the sweet little girl you have), you know your wife would somehow manage to get shared custody. You don’t know which is worse- having to put up with your abusive wife’s behaviors, or worrying about your daughter when it isn’t your time with her. 

“Glad to see you can do one thing right,” Carrie rolls her eyes, not so much as kissing you back. 

“Th-thank you,” you mumble and kiss her temple. “I’m going to get Millie set up with her homework for tonight, but then I’ll be back to make dinner, okay?”

Your wife just huffs. You’re not really sure what to do. “Or I can start dinner and have her do her homework after?”

“I don’t give a shit what you do.”

You sigh softly and make your way to the cabinets to prepare dinner again. Once dinner is in the oven, you help Millie with the math homework that Melissa had assigned at the dining room table, and then you’re plating dinner. You set three platters out on the dining room table, one in front of your wife, when she stands abruptly.

“That looks awful,” is all she tells you before walking away. You can hear her climbing the steps a few seconds later.

“It looks yummy, Momma,” Millie tells you softly. She gives you a warm smile that melts away some of the ice in your heart. 

“Thank you, baby,” you give her a tired smile. “Eat up, hun.”

Your little girl follows your soft order, and a few minutes later Carrie appears again in an entirely different outfit.

“I’m going out.”

“I thought you would stay for dinner?” you ask quietly. “I made your favorite.”

“And I told you it looks awful.” She grabs her purse from her chair and leaves without another word.

“I love you,” you call after her, although you know those words are said out of habit, the meaning behind them lost long ago. You don’t get a response. 

It’s not easy getting your daughter ready for bed that night. She downright refuses to sleep in her own room. So you allow her to curl up on your chest in your own room once you’ve changed and prepared yourself for bed. Carrie still isn’t home.

“Is Mom coming home tonight?” Millie asks you quietly as she twirls your hair in her fingers.

“I’m sure she is,” you tell her quietly. “But I think my little girl needs to catch some shut eye if we’re going to be up and out of the house on time again for school.”

Your daughter yawns against you. “I don’t want her to come home. I wish it was just me and you.”

You briefly pause the circular motion your hand is making on Millie’s back as you take in what she said. How are you supposed to respond to that? You have no idea. So you don’t. You just begin to softly sing, knowing your voice is always able to lull the seven year old to sleep. It’s always been that way- from the time you and Carrie brought her home from the hospital. 

It doesn’t take long for your daughter’s soft snores to fill the air, and only then do you allow the damn to break, and you begin to cry in earnest. Your body is wracked with silent sobs that you force yourself to choke down, lest you wake your little girl while you’re like this. She would not fall asleep again that night if she woke up to you in this state. How did your life come to this? How did your life become a hole in the ground that you can’t see out of- that you feel like you’re being buried alive in? How did you become a shell of the woman that you used to be? 

Eventually exhaustion takes over, and your brain finally slows down enough for you to fall asleep. Carrie still isn’t home.

Meanwhile, Melissa is desperately searching for ways to help you. Logically, she knows what Barbara said is true- she can’t fully step in unless you admit it all and ask for help, or Millie is in danger and child protective services needs to be called. Good God does she pray that the latter never comes. She’s had a soft spot for your daughter from the beginning, a bright shining light with the sweetest smile and kindest soul- and that was before she knew everything that was happening behind closed doors. That doesn’t mean she can stop trying to figure out ways to help support you in any way she can. She’s up late into the night researching what to say to you, what to avoid saying to you, how to get you to see that what is happening is not okay (she’s fairly certain you’re aware of that, and she spends a long time contemplating what could keep you from leaving), and how to just generally show you that she is on your side and will help be there for you in any way she can. When push comes to shove, Melissa can do everything she can to help you through this less than ideal (hellish) situation, but only you can make the decision to leave. The hardheaded woman silently promises herself that she’ll take a better approach to this situation now that she’s more informed. Starting tomorrow, she’ll treat you as the many websites had instructed her to.

Carrie comes home that night smelling of booze, cigarettes, and the perfume of another woman. She stumbles her way into the room in such a way that despite the fact that you are utterly exhausted, you still wake with a small jolt. You immediately pull Millie closer to you, gripping her a bit tighter. Your eyes stay closed.

Your wife continues on in her drunken state, grumbling about how she can’t wait to take off her damned bra. You hear her clothing being thrown into the laundry bin, and then as she’s stumbling over to the bed, she falls. She falls over the jeans that you had haphazardly discarded from your body while getting ready for bed. The sticky note that your daughter’s teacher had given you earlier in the day just barely sticks out of your back pocket, but the lime green color stands out amongst the midst of the darkness.

Carrie pulls the note out of your pocket, looks it over, and sees absolute red. Before you know what’s happening, your already bruised over cheek stings more than it already has been. Your eyes fly open, and a sharp cry falls from your lips.

“What the fuck is this?” your wife screams in your face.

If Millie wasn’t woken by your small shout, she certainly is awake now. Her eyes snap open.

“Millie, go to your room,” you get out quickly. “Now.”

“What the fuck is this?” Carrie continues to loom over you, and you know that whatever is about to happen to you is not going to be good. Your wife is too intoxicated to notice that your daughter is in your arms. That, or she has taken notice to it and just doesn’t seem to care anymore.

“Amelia, now!” you shout when the little girl only clings to you tighter. You pry her off of you and practically force her off the bed. She runs out of the room quickly.

Millie doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what to do. Your phone is in your room with you, and the landline has been gone since the telephone company tried to raise your rates. She can’t do anything as much as she might want to. You would flip if she tried to leave the house in order to get help, and she knows she can’t enter the room again. Not with the urgency that you rushed her out of there with. She’s helpless, absolutely helpless. She can’t help you. Tears begin to pour down her face as she makes her way to her bedroom, desperately searching for her headphones to drown out the sounds of your cries and pleas for it to stop.

“Who the fuck is Melissa, and how long has this been going on?!” Carrie shouts out you, enraged. She throws your already sore body to the ground. “What the fuck?!” The lamp from her side of the bed very narrowly misses your head and shatters against the wall.

“It’s nobody!” you insist.

“Then why the fuck is she telling you she’s here when you’re ready?! Are you planning on leaving me?!”

“N-no,” you stammer out. “No. Carrie, I love you. I would never. I would never.”

“Then what the fuck does she want?!”

You bite the bullet. “It’s Millie’s teacher,” is all you can get out before your wife flies into another fit of rage.

“You’re fucking her teacher?!”

“No!” you cry. “She was just letting me know that if I need help with transportation for Millie, she’s here to help!”

Somehow, by some Grace of God, that gets through to her. You had thought with your weak excuse for that note, you would only be struck harder. “What?”

“She- she knows that sometimes my boss holds me later than he should,” you manage to grit out as you pick yourself up from the floor. “I- I don’t even know why she signed it ‘Melissa’ and not ‘Miss Schemmenti’.” That part of your statement is truthful. 

Carrie’s face falls. Her eyes turn soft, the softness that she used to look at you with appears for the first time in a long time. “Y- you’re not cheating on me?”

“No,” you sigh softly as you sit down on the bed gingerly. You grimace. You had hit your tailbone on the floor in the midst of your wife’s rage. That’s going to hurt tomorrow. You bite your tongue and don’t mention that while you would never cheat- you’re certain Carrie is cheating on you, and probably with multiple women.

“I- I’m sorry,” Carrie whispers as she crawls onto the bed next to you and pulls you into her arms. She kisses your temple gently, like she used to back when things were good.

You shrug and look at her with blank eyes. “It’s okay.”

It’s far from okay, and you know that. But if you say anything else, you know it will only turn into flames again.

“L- let’s just go to bed.”

So, you do. You lay down, and she holds you tenderly. She kisses the back of your neck lightly. You have to fight the hurt and anger that you want to let out. Instead of fighting or rolling away from her, you close your eyes.

Your alarm clock goes off far earlier than you had hoped. You groan in pain at the soreness all over your body. Your tailbone hurts like hell. But life doesn’t stop, and motherhood certainly will never give you a break, so you limp your way down the hall to Millie’s room.

When you expect to see your daughter asleep surrounded by the mountain of stuffed animals that she insists on keeping on her bed, you find her mattress bare. Your heart flies into your throat for a split second, before you see just the tips of her toes peeking out from under the bed.

Grunting as you lower yourself to the floor, you see that she’s sprawled out on the ground with a singular blanket laying over her, and her headphones planted firmly over her ears. Gently, so as not to startle her, you begin to rub what you can reach of her calf to wake her. You hear a soft groan before wide blue eyes meet your own.

“Mill,” you sigh softly.

“Momma!” she cries as she rips off her headphones and scrambles out from under her bed and comes barreling for you.

Instinctively, you put your arms up defensively. “Millie, no!”

Your daughter freezes. You’ve never denied her a morning snuggle before. “Momma?” Her tone absolutely shatters your heart.

“I’m okay,” you tell her. “Just sore.”

She frowns. “C-can I cuddle, or no?”

“Just very gentle, please,” you say softly. “And only for a few minutes. We have to be getting ready for school soon. I promised Miss Schemmenti I would get you there on time and pick you up on time.”

This morning is a stark contrast to what your mornings usually are. Millie is quiet. She’s not the happy little girl that she usually is in the early day. She doesn’t twirl around and giggle when she puts on her skirt like always. You know she knows what happened last night. You can only pray she doesn’t say anything to her teacher today about what happened.

She doesn’t even have to ask you to walk into the school with her. You know that after what took place, if you don’t obediently take her in as she silently pleads, it will be waterworks galore. So you limp your way into the building, down the halls, and into the second grade classroom.

Millie doesn’t greet her teacher. Instead, she clings to you as you lead her over to her desk. Melissa watches the strange behaviors closely.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at the end of the day,” you promise your little girl with a kiss pressed to the side of her head. 

You stand up straight, not even hiding the pain that you’re in. You turn to face the desk that her teacher was sitting in just mere seconds ago, although she isn’t there. Instead, she’s in front of you.

“Y/N,” the redhead says softly. “If I could talk to you in the hallway for a second?”

You brace yourself for the berating that you know you’re bound to get when you enter the hall. Instead, you’re met with a warmth that you’ve only recently seen. Melissa begins to speak just how the guides had told her to. About halfway through, you stop her gently.

“Please,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over. “Please, stop trying to help me.”

“Why would I do that?” she asks you quietly, almost in a hurt way.

“B-because,” you sigh softly. “Because it’s only hurting me.” And with that, you turn on your heel, and you limp out of the building. Melissa can only watch, mouth agape, as she tries to decipher what that could possibly mean.

TAGS (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three]

word count: 8.8k

[1]

Just before you turned thirteen your body, finally, began to change. 

While Alexia’d gone ahead of you a year prior—with her limbs now lanky and sinewy, and her muscles stretched close to the newly grown bones—you were left behind. She’d grown taller, yes; not by much but the two-inch difference (two and a half, as Alexia was always inclined to remind you) felt like a foot to you. So the change was welcome when it finally started, and more importantly, it happened to coincide with something that completely altered the trajectory of your life.

During the spring after your birthday, your father got a promotion at work. To celebrate this milestone, he took you and your mother for a trip around Europe. And as a gift for your hard work and for getting into La Masia with Alexia just a few months before, your parents surprised you with tickets to at least one game in the country, or area, you were visiting. 

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny. 

Or at least that was how you liked to look at it. 

Before seeing the match between Schalke 04 against Stuttgart, the idea of keeping never entered your mind; you’d played forward your whole life, and you thought that would be the position you’d play in professionally. But as you saw Manuel Neuer controlling the outcome of the game with his hands, a spark ignited within you—this overwhelming surge—and right there and then, you were enlightened to the art of keeping. That spark returned home with you and, playing into the hands of fate, your journey to keeping began.

[2]

The crescendo of the cicadas’ song was this close to lulling you to sleep. It didn’t help that Alexia’d curled herself up beside you in your bed, her head on your lap while her math notebook laid forgotten at the foot of the bed, and her eyes already closed. It was a rare occurrence for the both of you and even more so for Alexia to ‘slack off’—if you were to put it as Alexia had—but this afternoon was a particularly hot one. Summer had practically bled into spring, and even someone like Alexia clearly wasn’t immune to its soporific effect. 

The numbers from the homework you were working on began to blur when you heard a knock downstairs. Out of curiosity or just surprise, you snapped awake. And so did Alexia, apparently.

“You expecting someone?” Alexia yawned, stretching out her long limbs before settling over to her other side. The movement made a lock of hair fall to her cheek which you brushed away with the back of your finger.

“No, it’s probably Mamá’s.” You hummed in answer, relaxing down on your pillow to finally chase that nap that continued to tempt you.

But then came your mother’s voice, “Guille! Hello, my boy! How are you?”

Alexia let out a startled yelp when you jumped out of the bed, now fully awake, tripping on the rug as you rushed into the closet. 

“What the hell? What are you doing?!” Alexia hissed with annoyance but you were too busy trying to get changed to address it. 

You snatched the closest pair of shorts and jersey shirt, and began to shed the ones you had on before you slipped the fresh ones on in quick succession. 

As you did, you began to explain, “I completely forgot! I was supposed to meet up with Guille today!”

When your head popped out of your shirt, you found a deep crease between Alexia’s brows. She was sitting in the middle of your bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a disgruntled cat woken from a nap with the way her hair stuck out in odd places. 

She looked adorable. 

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

Crossing her arms, Alexia retorted, “Why? It’s Saturday.” 

The tone she used made it seem that today being a Saturday was a valid enough reason for you to not go. 

“And it is because it’s Saturday—and no training, Alexia—that I can go with him.” 

At that, her frown only seemed to deepen. You had half a mind to tease her but you knew that’d probably just piss her off even more, although if you were being honest, you didn’t understand just why this seemed to bother Alexia so much.  So instead of teasing, you tried a placating tone, “You could come with if you want?”

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air. 

“Honey? Guille is here for you!” 

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance. 

“I’m really sorry! Please stay for dinner! I’ll be quick!” 

And with a quick hug goodbye, you rushed out of your room and practically flew down the stairs. At the bottom, you found Guille leaning against the bannister, hands in his short pockets, with a small rucksack on his back who, upon seeing you, gave you a bright smile.

“Hey! You look—” He began but then suddenly, his eyes darkened and the quirk of his lips turned upside down, his tone flattening, “Oh. You’re here.”

In the same second you noticed Alexia beside you, Alexia’d slung an arm over your shoulders.

“Lovely to see you as always, Guille. And I could say the same about you.” Alexia deadpanned, flashing Guille a smile full of teeth, her eyes void of any warmth as she stared at him down her nose. Then she turned to you, her face lighting up as she asked with a little too much excitement, “So, are we going or not?”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Guille blurted out, but before you could even answer, Alexia left your side and ran down the steps. 

“Of course, Guille! Come on, keep up!” Alexia exclaimed on her way out of the door, tapping Guille’s stomach as she did—not without force apparently with the way Guille expelled air out harshly. 

When you got to him, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

You gave Guille an apologetic look, grabbing your ball bag. 

“I’m really sorry for the last minute change. I’ll make it up to you.”

Still clutching his stomach, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The three of you got to the field near your place—which you were glad to find empty—without any more incidents. You were faced with another problem as it was only after you’d begun warming up that you realized that in your haste to leave, you forgot to bring water with you. When you told Alexia, she offered to go to the nearest corner store to buy some.

You stretched as you waited for Alexia’s return when Guille suddenly said behind you.

“Here.”

Turning, you found him holding a paper parcel bag. You considered his outstretched hand with curiosity before you met his eyes, taking the bag from him slowly. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something to get you started,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “You said you wanted to keep, so I thought you’d need them.”

Peering into the bag, you gasped at what you found inside. 

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

He shrugged, smiling, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Thank you! Come here, you big baby!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. Unlike Alexia, Guille was only taller than you by mere centimeters so it was relatively easy to ruffle his hair as you pulled away. 

“Mess up my hair again and I won’t teach you anything,” He threatened with a faux glare as he swept his fingers through his curling locks in an attempt to tame them. 

You rolled your eyes, grinning at him. “Okay, Antonio Banderas. So, what are the basics?”

He imitated you, rolling his eyes before he shook his head slightly, his smile never leaving his lips. Then he pointed to a spot by the goal line. “Put your gloves on and stand right there.”

You did, noting the way your new gloves fit perfectly over your hands and fingers. It felt different—stuffy—and you could already feel your palms beginning to sweat from the trapped heat. When you stood where Guille pointed, he walked around you all the while he instructed you to correct your posture: he told you keep your feet shoulder-width apart, to bend your legs slightly so that your chest was just past your knees, and to hold your palms facing out. 

“The main thing to worry about starting out is your stance. It will take time to get the balance right but once you get it down, you’re set.”

“Is this alright?” 

Guille took a step back and he gripped his chin as he hummed. After a moment of scrutiny, he nudged you back suddenly. It wasn’t quite forceful but it made you tumble down on your rear all the same. 

You smiled at him sheepishly, getting up. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Yep. It looks like you keep your weight on your heels too much.” He crouched down at your feet, drawing a square over the front half of your foot. “Keep your weight spread out around here and you should—”

Guille scrambled back suddenly, yelping as a football went flying past where he was just a second ago and into the net. Turning to the direction where the ball came from with your mouth agape, you found Alexia there with water bottles clasped to her chest, an eyebrow raised, while one corner of her mouth was set in a bemused droop, another ball rolling beneath her left foot.

“What the hell was that for, asshole?!” Guille shouted as he stormed his way over to Alexia. He was in front of her now, looking up at her with flame in his eyes but Alexia remained unfazed. She put the water bottles down before she settled her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to the side. 

“I’m sorry, Guille. I didn’t see you.” Alexia said flatly, “And aren’t you supposed to be playing keeper?”

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

“Ale, I asked Guille to teach me.” You huffed, running in between them and separating them with your arms before things got out of hand—again. 

This wasn’t the first time this… row between them happened. In fact, you noticed it’s been occurring more frequently lately. For all their similarities—the main one being their short tempers—the two never got on well together for reasons you never really understood and the only thread that tied them together was you. 

They weren’t always like this though; they were nice with each other the first time they’d met. Guille transferred to your school not long after you’d joined Sabadell, and if you and Alexia were inseparable there, it was always you and Guille at school. And when an opportunity arose for your two favorite persons to meet, you took it. It went well; they were friendly with each other. You only noticed things had changed after you and Guille’s school team started playing against Alexia’s so you were never sure when this all started, and by that point, the friction between them was too great to smoothen out which both saddened and disappointed you.

And it wasn’t like you never tried to get to the bottom of it. You’d asked them what happened, they both gave similar answers. By that, you meant completely avoiding answering. 

Guille’d assured you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re friends? Don’t worry.” 

While Alexia’d said with a confused frown, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.” 

And when you pestered her, asked her if the reason was because she liked Guille as a joke, she looked at you without reply, and when next practice came, she made a nuisance of herself enough to let you know the answer to your question and more. 

And here you were again, with them acting like this–always at each other’s throats. 

At your answer, Alexia looked at you, confused. “Why would you ask him to teach you how to keep?”

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all… 

Mustering up the courage to meet her eye again, you replied, low and serious. “I want to start playing keeper, Alexia.” 

Alexia blinked, and then she crossed her arms before she eyed Guille who was scowling at her in return. She looked at you again. 

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

“I’ll still start as a forward. But he said he’ll put in some extra technical sessions for me starting next week which was why I asked Guille to help me get started. Alejandro said if I get good enough, he’ll see if I can start as keeper for the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three. 

You caught Guille’s eyes darting from you to Alexia and back again from the corner of your eyes but you remained focused on Alexia’s face. At a glance, Alexia might seem calm—impassive with the way all of her features remained flat. But her eyelids drooped just so they hid more than half of her pupils, how her lower lip was slightly concealed beneath the upper one; she was pissed and even worse, she was hurt. And knowing that you’d hurt her was enough to compel you to reach out and touch her arm, apologetic.

Alexia regarded you for a moment longer. Another word of apology was on the tip of your tongue when she finally sighed, the corner of her lips tilting up to a half-smile as she spoke softly. “Okay. How can I help?”

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw your arms around her and it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest upon hearing the chuckle she let out.

The next couple of hours were spent with the three of you working together: Guille by the goal who continuously gave you notes and instructions, while Alexia—upon Guille’s signal—would send some shots to the net so you could try and stop them. The first… fifty or so shots went right past you—going easy was never exactly Alexia’s strong suit—but the more you focused on getting the timing right and reading the language of Alexia’s body to anticipate the direction of the ball, you ended the session with a few decent saves. 

It was a rough start but you were satisfied with it.

You’d left to use the restroom but upon coming back, the two of them were bickering once more.

Oh, no. What was it now?

You heard more of their words the closer you got, but you didn’t have to move too close with the way they were shouting.

“Come on, dude! Please, don’t tell me you’re still pissed off about that? It was a fair match!”

“How was that fair, Alexia? The two of you playing together is never fair! You’re both in La Masia for crying out loud! And even more importantly, she was supposed to be on my team! That was the original plan, but you went ahead and took her away!”

“What made you think I took her away?” Alexia crossed her arms, scoffing. “Let’s face it. She likes to play with me more than you.”

“You don’t know that!”

That was the moment Alexia spotted you and before you could even get a word in, she said, “Why don’t we just ask her who she’d rather play with?”

Two sets of intense eyes looked your way and without meaning to, you gulped, taking a step back.

“So? Who would you rather play with: me or her?” Guille asked, eyes wide and pleading. 

Suddenly feeling like you were backed into a corner, you stammered in your panic, “Umm, I—”

[3]

Alexia stayed over for dinner that night. That was normal; what was unusual was she left you alone to do the dishes. You had a feeling where she might be, especially since she’d been mostly quiet throughout the whole evening.

After you put away the last dish in the cupboard, and when your arms were finally free from suds, you took a peek into the living room. She wasn’t there—a confirmation of her whereabouts.

Putting on your flip flops, you headed out of the back door. 

The light from the living room casted a faint glow that dissipated the darkness around the garden when you opened the door that led out to it, aiding you just enough to see Alexia on the swing, sitting still with her back hunched forward. Once you were just a few paces behind her, you saw the contours of her headset, but even with them on, there was no way she didn’t know you were there—the fact that your shadow stretched to reach her before you did was a dead give away. Yet still, she made no move to acknowledge your presence.

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly. 

She gave you a glance before she went back to looking down at her clasped hands. 

“Alexia, come on.” 

Still no response. You fiddled with your thumbs as the moment dragged on. 

You sighed, sitting down on your heels next to her.

“I should’ve told you about the keeper thing,” you muttered. “I wanted to get a feel for it first, to get a bit better at it before I told you. But I didn’t consider how that would make you feel… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel that I didn’t want or need you by my side, Alexia. I wanted you to think I was good enough for this.” 

Finally, Alexia turned to you, taking her headset off, the movement barely above a whisper. And softly, she spoke, “What made you think that I’ll think you’re not good enough for anything?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, pulling at the grass in front of you. Your mother would probably see the hole you’d made on the lawn and berate you for it in the morning but you needed something to keep your hands busy. “I just wanted to go through this without too many expectations. And it’s not like I don’t want to keep our dynamic going. I love playing forward with you, Alexia, but I think keeping is my calling, just like midfield is to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand. You didn’t want any added pressure. I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her. Then, “So, tell me why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Alexia huffed with indignation. Then she looked away again, working her lower lip between her teeth.

You put a hand on her knee. “Alexia, what is it?”

“I…” Alexia sighed, brushing the bridge of her nose with her thumb. You gave her another moment. She heaved another breath before she began.

“That thing you said… Did you really mean it when you said you’d rather play with him than me?”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Of course not. We both know it’s always going to be you, Alexia.”

“Then why did you tell him that?”

“I feel like if I didn’t, I’d lose him as a friend.”

“And you’re not worried about losing me?” Alexia cried out, her tone inflected while her eyes reflected her hurt.

You blinked at her. 

There were moments—just like now—where you’d feel a sudden urge to shake Alexia. For all her sharpness and unmatched awareness, she sometimes failed to see even the most obvious of things. Couldn’t she see that you loved her and that you’d follow her to the edge of the earth if she asked you to?

At the absurdity of her question, you really couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up and shuffled behind her before you threw your arms around Alexia’s neck, draping yourself over her broad back, which made the swing move forward. The dampness of her hair felt cool against your cheek, the scent of your shampoo that clung to them filled your senses as you chuckled into her ear. 

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Because, Alexia, do you hear yourself? I love you, you idiot!” You giggled again. “I know our friendship isn’t that shallow that I’d lose you over this. Or am I wrong?”

Alexia turned her head and you saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

A pleasant silence blanketed you both. And then Alexia hummed.

“But if there was something that could break us, what do you think it would be?”

You stopped to ponder, twirling a lock of Alexia’s hair with your finger, noting her hair was nearly dry now. When your mind drew blank, you replied nonchalantly, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Good.” Alexia leaned away so she could give you a lopsided smile—an earnest one. “Because me neither.”

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

She glanced at you for a moment before she turned back to what she was doing, sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed a plate in the soapy water in the sink.

“I said, are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’ve been out of it since practice.” When a moment of silence lapsed, Alexia added, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you on your swing the past few days, too, because I did.”

You looked out the window and watched how the rain sluiced down the glass pane. In the darkness behind the window, you saw glimpses of soaked, curly locks and heard the hasty confession all over again.

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

The sound of glass shattering and metal clanging made you jump, and you watched as a casserole pot twirled like a top on the hard, kitchen floor, while fragments of a broken plate skittered out to different directions. 

“Oh, shit!” Alexia cursed, looking down at the mess, while a voice called out from the living room. 

“Alexia, is everything alright in there?'' Came Eli’s voice. A few seconds later, Jaume’s head popped into the kitchen. He glanced at you then his eyes settled on Alexia who was crouched down, looking up guiltily at her father.

“Are you okay, girls?”

“Yes, Papá. I just… dropped some stuff.” Alexia said. You crouched down, too, about to pick up a fragment when Jaume spoke.

“Don’t pick that up, love, you might cut yourself. I’ll do it.” 

Jaume shooed the two of you to a corner he deemed safe and the both of you watched as he picked up the pieces, throwing them in the bin by the back door. Afterwards, he gave Alexia a kiss on her temple, and you a hug and a ruffle to your hair, as he retired for the evening, leaving the two of you again in your own company. Alexia went back to the sink to finish up whatever was left, and you returned to your place on the counter beside her. 

The silence that intruded was cut short by Alexia when she cleared her throat, “So… what did you say?” 

“I haven’t said anything, yet,” you sighed again, looking back out the window, the questions coming back full force. In the eight years you’d known Guille, how long had he harbored those feelings for you? When did it happen? What did you do to make him feel that way?

“Do you like him?” Alexia’s question brought you back to the present.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You laughed slightly, glancing back at Alexia who shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“No, I don’t think so. Desire is a drive, like it makes you want to act. Attraction is just… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a weaker feeling. And they complement each other but they’re not the same.”

“And you know this how exactly?” You asked her teasingly, a brow raised.

Alexia averted her eyes, and shrugged your question off with a laugh.

In the moment of silence that followed, you traced Alexia’s profile, and your gaze ended at the elegant curve of the bow of her lips. She looked so pretty casted in the candescent glow of the kitchen light that it made your chest ache just by looking at her. You dropped your eyes to your feet as your mind ran faster than before this entire conversation happened.

Clutching your arms tightly across your chest, you muttered, “I don’t know what I want.” 

[5]

Maybe hoping it would all turn out fine was a bit naive because naturally, Guille didn’t take your rejection well. It was your fault really for expecting otherwise but nevertheless, the inevitable discomfort of disappointment settled like lead in your gut. 

The thing was, you were ready to give Guille the space he needed to accept your boundaries—friends, or nothing at all—and to heal. But accusing Alexia of making you turn against him? Now, that was something you couldn’t let pass. 

He knew he’d crossed a line, too, with the way he kept avoiding you. At first, the silence didn’t bother you; he was hurt, after all. But when the apology never came, you understood that you’d be going through your last year of high school without your closest friend there by your side.

A fortnight passed without any word from him so it surprised you when he showed up at the local meetup that the three of you used to go to. He refused to meet your eyes but he had no problem leveling with the glares Alexia kept giving him. And when you ended up in Alexia’s team, the only sign of his distaste about it was the way his lips flattened to a line. He looked like he was about to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he turned around and made his way to his teammates.

With one last look at Guille’s retreating back, you tuned back in your team’s conversation.

“—doesn’t need to play keeper. We need her more in the offensive.” Alexia said evenly but when you met her eyes, there was a clear question in them. 

You gave her a slight nod to let her know you were okay. 

She nodded back.

“How will that work? She’s the better keeper.” And then Marco added, “No offense, Julia.” 

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

“Julia is perfectly fine and besides, with you, Benji, and Carmen, our backline is already strong. The four of you together lessens our chance of conceding.” Alexia paused, looking over her shoulder to the other team before she faced you all again, continuing, “Our priority is the offensive. What good is a strong backline if we can’t counterattack? That’s why I’m suggesting she play as forward in the meantime, while Martina and I will play as interiors. Does that make sense?”

A collective nodding occurred.

“So just to clarify, we’re playing three–two–one?” Benji asked.

Alexia hummed, nodding her head. “Mostly. If we find the space and some opportunities, we can easily do three–one–two.”

“No pressure on us defenders, right?” Carmen said with a laugh, if not with a hint of nerve. 

Everyone laughed but at the end of it, Alexia placed a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “No pressure because you guys, as I said, are very strong. You got this.”

Carmen smiled at Alexia at that, nodding before she finally moved to her spot. As you and Alexia moved towards the middle of the pitch, Guille was introduced to your line of sight, and a weight pressed in your gut. Disappointment? Perhaps. Or maybe you just actually missed talking and hanging out with him.

Alexia’s teasing tone pulled away your attention from Guille.  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to play forward from all the keeping you’ve been doing.”

“Four years of keeping against the five years of playing forward? You need to brush up on your math ‘cause I think you’ve forgotten how to count.” You said dryly, giving her a look so dirty that had her throwing her head back in laughter.

Alexia leveled you with an unimpressed look but her tone remained playful. “You are such a bitch sometimes. You know that, right?”

“Thank you. I do try, you know. It’s my only defense against your smart-mouth.”

“Stop denying you don’t like my teasing.” Alexia waggled her brows as she smirked. The way she looked just then—with both hands on her hips, the ball beneath her left boot—your throat dried, heart racing; a sensation that’d familiarized itself to you during its recurrent visits over the past few weeks. Your mind blanked out, clear as the white of Alexia’s shirt, and when no words came to you to retort back, you shook your head and just laughed. By the time the game started—or maybe it was because it started—the feeling finally went away, replaced by the adrenaline that shot through your veins the moment Alexia kicked the ball to you.

It proved to be a tight game. The main strategy of the opposition seemed to be to mark and shut you and Alexia down whenever the ball so much turned your way. Alexia was right to trust your backline: any counterattack from the other team was dealt with immediately, and Julia only needed to save a handful of shots that passed through your defense, which she handled well.

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

Alexia cut a diagonal through the box, taking two of the defenders as she did, freeing up the space just behind her. You knew what she was doing so you faked a sidestep, turning quickly to lose your marker, before you sprinted in towards the middle of the box. And as you anticipated, Alexia sent the ball back to you with a flick of her heel. Now, if you could just—

The ground tilted, and there was a moment where the whole world suspended. It lasted for less than a breath before everything—the sensations and sounds—came rushing back in.

You slammed to the ground. 

Air was squeezed out of your lungs from the impact, while your skull and teeth rattled within the confines of your skin; the taste of green, earth, and copper spread on your tongue. Muffled shouts and grunts filtered past the ringing in your ear but when you cupped a hand over your tender ribs, your resulting groan was all you could hear.

When you finally came to, Alexia’s face was over you, the doubled image of her finally merging into one. Her wide, hazel eyes looked on you with worry and you felt the warmth of her fingers as they grazed over your face: from your temples down to your cheeks which she took in a gentle cradle.

“Alexia?” You let out another groan as you turned on your back while Alexia helped you.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

There was a tension that constricted around the front part of your head, but you could feel the blood pulsing most on the side that collided with the ground. “My head… it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. Just lay down for now, I’ll get you…”

You seemed to have passed out after that because one moment you were lying on the fields, and the next you were beside Alexia on her living room couch. You had a vague recollection of being carried on Alexia’s back, but the feel of the strong plane of her shoulder against your cheek remained there, warm and comforting. 

And only then, after Eli gave you ice for your head, did you see the bruise that bloomed deep in the skin of Alexia’s jaw, just below her left cheek, and the scuffed knuckles of her right hand which were splotched with deep reds and purples.

You took her hand onto your lap, gently running over the ice for your head over her knuckles, while you looked at Eli sitting on the opposite couch with Jaume beside her. Eli’s face burnt redder than you’d ever seen before, while Jaume held onto her hand, circling his thumb over the top of it in an attempt to calm her down.

Alexia remained quiet the whole time, eyes casted down as she took her mother’s reprimanding words. There was the unmistakable shine of shame in them, her guilt, but also an unwavering quality that stood for what she did. At the end of it, Eli and Jaume hugged the both of you before letting you retreat into Alexia’s room as you waited for your parents to arrive.

Instead of getting on her bed with you, Alexia plopped down on the floor just by the foot of the bed, her back against the wooden bedframe. You regarded the back of her head, her neck curved downwards, and you suddenly felt the need to be close to her so you shuffled off her sheets, and got down beside her. 

“Thank you, but your mother was right, you know? You shouldn’t have done it, Alexia.” You mumbled, unfurling her fingers to rest on your knee so you could access more of her knuckles that way. Gently, you placed ice over it, but she still hissed in pain. “You shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Why not? He deserved it.” Alexia said evenly as she stared at the far corner of the room. “And before you start defending him, you didn’t see what I saw—what the rest of us saw. He didn’t even touch the ball—it was all feet. He meant to trip you up.” 

Warmth bloomed in your chest at her words—at how her action showed just how much you meant to her—but the discomfort in your gut marred the surge of your affection for her. 

You took a deep breath, sighed it out, and it tasted like disappointment. 

“Alexia, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But you can’t just hurt people just because they did something to me.” 

Alexia puffed her chest and proclaimed, “I can.”

“Stop that nonsense, Alexia. I mean it.” Firmer now, you said, and there was a hint of desperation in the intonation of your words. There was an urgent need to make Alexia understand the gravity of what she did, what future implications it held if what Eli and you told her didn’t sink in now. “Actions like this can jeopardize you, Alexia, and all the things you worked hard for. Do you understand that? What will Alejandro say when he sees you all bruised up next practice? And if I get tackled dirty during a game and I get hurt, would you risk a red card, or suspension, for behaving like this?”

Alexia became silent, the muscle in her jaw working, and when she turned to you with her mouth open and you spotted a defiant crease in her brows, you were quick to stop her.

“If the answer to that question isn’t no, Ale, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of teeth clattering filled the air. She casted her gaze aside again, her cheeks growing a shade deeper. “Look at me, Alexia.”

When she kept her eyes glued to the floor, you dropped the ice pack to take her face in your hands. She flinched from the coldness of your fingers but as you looked into her eyes, rimmed with redness and framed by drooping eyelids, you found exhaustion and the shine of apology. You brushed away a matted lock of hair from the tail end of her brow.

“You have a good heart, Alexia, but you have to promise me. Please don’t do something like this again. Ever.” 

Alexia looked into your eyes, deeply as if in contemplation, and then she closed them. A moment later, she sighed, sagging into your touch as if a weight had left her shoulders, before she opened them again. 

“I promise.” 

This time, you believed her.

Smiling softly at her, you whispered, while you placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

Settling into the moment, you rested your head against Alexia’s shoulder, her bruised hand in yours. In the brief silence before your father arrived to pick you up, Alexia spoke in an earnest tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I know you can handle yourself, but that won’t stop me from having your back.”

At her words, your heart felt like it would burst your chest open. And you should’ve known that this was where you’d end up—with her, it seemed inevitable anyway—because the years of you’d known Alexia flashed quickly before your eyes, and the memory stopped to this person beside you, haloed golden by the warm glow of her bedside lamp, and you were hit with a realization that took what little breath you had away.

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

When you got on the field in a Barça jersey for the first time after your return, you didn’t expect to be welcomed like you did. Jona subbed you on after the first half and as you left the tunnel, you heard the crowd chanting your name. The cheers made you feel excited, accepted and seen, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t pressure you at all.

It was originally intended for you to come on during the last twenty minutes, but seeing as Caro, Patri, and Alexia gave the team a comfortable enough lead, Jona decided to sub you on ahead of schedule. You didn’t see much action on your end though, something that you didn’t mind at all—a quiet defensive-third was the best kind. The midfielders kept the midline high to sustain pressure in the offensive-third, while the defenders maintained such a tight backline that any loose through-balls sent to the opposing runners were called offside. Of course, there were a handful of times when you needed to get out of your box to ping the ball back into the offensive, but other than that, it was quiet. When the match ended, you were satisfied that Barça had another clean sheet and four goals to add to the season tally.

For the celebration, you moved with your teammates around Estadi Johan Cruyff, and during the procession, you spied your parents, Eli, and Alba who was talking to a raven-haired woman you’d never seen before, clapping and cheering. Warmth filled you upon seeing your family in the stands again—such a scene was a luxury when you were in the States because plane tickets weren’t exactly cheap—and when you felt the familiar weight of Alexia’s arm slung over your shoulders, the fabric of her captain armband against the skin of your neck, it felt like a perfect homecoming.

Well, almost.

After you’d showered and changed to your casuals, most of the crowd had gone while some lounged about, one of which was the raven-haired woman Alba was talking to. When Alexia took her hand, you knew instantly, and your heart—damn your heart—dropped.

“This is Diana,” Alexia said after the both of them made their way to you. And if it wasn’t their intertwined hands that revealed what they were to each other, their gaze—saccharine when they met—made it all the more clear the nature of their relationship long before Alexia said the words, “my girlfriend.”

Diana beamed up at Alexia, her cheeks deepening in color before she regarded you again, sticking her hand out towards you to shake. Preceding the intention, you took her hand and when you did, Diana placed her other hand over yours, clasping your hand between her warm palms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Alexia’s talked so much about you.” 

She did? Your eyes flitted to Alexia but when she shied away from that, you focused back on Diana’s face. She was stunning: with her high cheekbones carved to elegance, her brows following the perfect line of her temple, her full lips painted with a terracotta shade made deeper by the bronze of her skin, while her loose, straight, raven hair framed her face in such a way that accentuated the sharpness of her jaws. Her eyes were dark but still light enough to see the outline of her pupils, and they had an amiable shape that reflected her warm nature. And for some reason, her light brown eyes looked really familiar—

“Ah! My favorite cousin made it, after all! Although I’m not sure it was me you went to the game for!” Tori’s playful voice resonated in the near-barren corridor. Diana’s eyes flicked somewhere behind you—to Tori, you supposed.

“Don’t be like that, Tori, of course I came to see you, too!”

“Lies!”

Diana shook her head, laughing, as she took Tori in her arms. “Come here, you!”

In response, Tori said something in Portuguese that made Diana laugh. When they broke apart, Diana said, “Forget you? Never. Especially when I owe you one.”

“Owe her what?” Alexia asked with her brows creased with curiosity.

Diana took Alexia’s hand and squeezed it, looking up at Alexia with a gentle expression. “For giving us the chance to meet.”

“Damn right!” Tori exclaimed, putting both hands on her hips, as she grinned so wide that her dimple showed. Tori must’ve seen your confusion because she leaned in to whisper, “I brought Diana as my plus one for last year’s Ballon D’Or ceremony.”

You allowed your mouth to drop open before you smiled, letting out a small laugh that made your chest ache. “Ah, I see.”

“She kept complaining about going but now, aren’t you grateful I took you away from your precinct, Detective Beauregard?” Tori teased.

“She’s never going to let us live this down, will she?” Diana muttered dryly to Alexia but it was deliberately loud enough for all of you to hear. In response, Alexia threw her head back laughing. 

“You’re a detective? That’s amazing!” You said, impressed.

“Please, Tori’s exaggerating. I work in forensics. DNA analyst is the correct title.” Diana threw Tori a dirty look to which the other woman raised her shoulders in response. “It’s a whole different world compared to yours so—and please don’t let this get to your head, Tori—I am grateful I was able to step into it.”

Her eyes, still locked with Alexia’s, grew all the more soft.

“Get a room, you guys,” Tori said with a mock sound of disgust, and then she continued to mutter, “And to think that you’ve only been going out for four months… I don’t even want to think about how it will be like in another three months.”

At that, Alexia raised a brow and then, “Want to do some extra laps tomorrow?”

You and Tori knew Alexia was joking, but Tori being Tori, she spluttered, “That would be a hard no, Captain. I’ll just—Have a great night!” 

With that, she ran away, arms flailing behind her in an exaggerated manner as she hastily made her exit. The sight drew laughter from the three of you.

“We’re having dinner at Mamá’s, want to come over?” Alexia asked.

You shook your head, flashing a look at Diana, before you told Alexia,“Not tonight. I’m just about to head over to my parents’ as well.”

“Alright. But Alba’s going to ask about you, you know? I think she wants to hang  out with you.”

You laughed. “Tell her to text me. She’ll know what that means.”

“Is that something I should know about?” Alexia smirked.

Flatly, you retorted, “If it’s something that concerns you, I’d be telling you by now, right?” 

“You see what I have to deal with?” Alexia told Diana, almost whining.

Inching backwards, you said as dry as you could manage, “I’ll take that as my queue to leave, Alexia might start crying. She’s a crybaby, you know?” 

“Hey! I’m not—”

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Alexia. Be proud!”

Diana only laughed, saying, “Alright, kids, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Nodding, you grinned at Alexia while she mouthed the word ‘bitch’ to you. In kind, you mouthed ‘smartmouth’ back. With a shake of her head and a smile, she gave you one last hug, and after a pleasant goodnight from Diana, the three of you parted ways.

You sent them a look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the watch around Alexia’s left wrist. It glinted as they walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, looking as in love as any new couple would. 

The sight made you smile, but it felt heavy, and as if the universe wanted to rub salt to the wound, you found Patri outside the locker room when you turned around with a look akin to pity in her eyes.

[7]

The next day, Guille stopped by at your place. He’d given you notice a few days prior but even still, the moment you saw him behind the door, you squealed like you were ten again from your excitement. After you hugged him tight—he made a choking noise when you did to tease you—you held him at arm’s length to see what changes the last few months had done to him.

He looked different. Gone were the long, dark curls; now sheared close to his scalp that left only about an inch of length, his hair retained their luscious shine, their color still as dark as night. 

His scar—the one just by the tail end of his left brow—that used to see little light from the obstruction of his hair, now stood apparent and without meaning to, the day he got it came back to you: the bruised knuckles, ice-cold fingers, and the warm blush of a lamplight.

 And your chest ached a little.

Leading the conversation to the living room, the two of you ended up ordering takeaways—mostly for Guille’s benefit because you weren’t about to subject him to your football diet—and as you ate, the two of you caught up.

Guille was close to finishing his dissertation—the biomechanics of concussion in sport and its neurocognitive implications—and he was both excited and fearful about what would come next. He then talked about his girlfriend, Iris, smittenly if you might add. She was actually with him in the city, but his mother insisted she steal Iris for the day for some quality bonding, and you laughed at the repertoire of stories he’d relayed in great detail about his mother’s teasing of their relationship.

“When am I going to meet Iris?” You asked with a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Well, since you’re actually staying in Barcelona this time, we can arrange that.”

A pause, and then, “Is Alexia staying here, too, or are you here by yourself?”

“No, it’s just me here.”

“Oh. I thought the two of you’d be rooming again like—” Probably seeing your change in demeanor, Guille cleared his throat as he ate his pasta a bit too eagerly. “Speaking of, how is she?”

The question was casual but you knew it was anything but.

“She’s doing good, if not a little stressed. Our first Champions League game is just around the corner after all and it’s against Chelsea, so.” You shrugged to complete your thought. You knew what he was asking but you’d rather not talk about that.

His eyes could burn a hole on the side of your head by the way he stared at you in the silence that followed. Then he sighed deeply.

“She still doesn’t know.”

Tension filled every inch of your body and you shrank tight as a coiled spring. You stood up as you felt a sudden urge to get away from him, taking the used plates on the coffee table as a pretense to move from the couch to the sink.

“What’s it to you if she doesn’t know, Guille?” You asked flatly, rolling up your sleeves after you turned the tap on.

“I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

“And who says I’m not?” Your tone was flat and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, Guille only gave you a pointed look.

Then he said softly, “She could make you happier and you know it.”

And there it was again, that look in his eyes that you just couldn’t stand. Gritting your teeth, you gripped the edge of the sink and your voice quaked when you spoke. “Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you tried to find the words but when they evaded you, you huffed and threw your hands up in the air. “Why are you making it sound like I have a chance?”

“Because you do! You’re the one who’s not giving Alexia a chance by not telling her.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. As much as your heart wanted that to be true, you knew otherwise.

“It’s really fucking not.” Guille countered.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did.” 

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

“That can go the other way, too. Alcohol has a way of loosening what’s been bottled.”

“Oh, come on!” Guille scoffed. “You’ve known her since you were eight. You’ve been through thick and thin together! Do you really think she wanted you to leave?”

With the reminder, the memory sprung up on you and you could hear Alexia’s voice, grating and wrenching your heart raw again when you heard the words from her lips. You whirled around to face him, eyes burning.

“You weren’t there when she told me, Guille!” You breathed out sharply and then you continued, in a lower tone filled with resignation, you whispered as you buried your face in your palms. “You didn’t hear the way she said it. You didn’t—”

You choked on your words. 

After all this time, it was still too painful.

Darkness filled your vision but the tears escaped nonetheless, branding tracks down your cheeks. You heard the rustling of clothes followed by soft footsteps. Before you knew it, Guille’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and his familiar, comforting scent made you sink into the embrace.

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. But if you could forgive me for being an asshole and what I did to you, why can’t you do the same with her?”

You didn’t say anything after that, only clutched at his shirt a little tighter.

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

“Did you see the news?” Jona asked as he kept the door open for you to an empty meeting room, closing it as soon as you’d gone in. 

Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs, you said, “I did.”

You saw it this morning and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t faze you. 

Jona nodded, taking the chair across the table from you. He put his clasped hands on the wooden surface and the way he tapped an erratic rhythm with his thumbs didn’t help your nerves.

“Lyon paid a hefty transfer fee for her and that makes me worried. I don’t know what Bompastor is planning to do with her but her transfer to the European league will be a concern for the club.” With a pensive crease appearing between his brows, he continued. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about her.”

He nodded, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “She’s a lethal forward and you’re the only one in the club who’s ever played with her. In fact, you two seemed very close during your time in Angel City.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back into your chair, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Jona blinked at you.

Then slowly, “Surely you must’ve trained closely together considering she’s a forward and you’re a keeper? Unless training was vastly different in Angel City, then I’m sorry for the assumption.”

“O–Oh, I thought you were implying—” You shook your head, uncrossing your arms as you waved the rest of your sentence away. “Never mind. But yes, that’s right.”

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again. 

“She’s going to be a big problem. And that’s why I’m going to change things up a bit. I want to put you in the starting lineup as soon as possible—put as many games with our current team under your belt. We’ll most likely face Lyon in the Quarters and that’s unfortunate but what is great is that you’re here: the best counter to what Lyon acquired. If we could eliminate Lyon early, we have a higher chance of winning this year’s Champions League. The question is, are you ready for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Jona.” You said seriously, ignoring the pressure that pressed in the periphery of your mind.

“Use me.”