#ignore the scoring i’m still figuring that out

[pettygods]

hello. i successfully made a sourdough loaf today and i think that’s quite neat

[azsazz]

Shut Out

Hockey!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @i-am-a-lost-girl16: Hockey Az and Figure Skater reader?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,493

Notes: See? I still write 😏

_________________________________________

“Hey! I still have the ice for another fifteen minutes,” you shout at the hockey players that are suddenly stampeding through the gate to the ice rink like animals.

You cut to a harsh stop, ice shavings spraying in your wake as you cross your arms over your chest and glare at the Velaris Bats hockey team gliding easily across the ice rink where you were just practicing your figure skating routine. Normally, you’d be ogling the broad players in their onyx and violet practice jerseys, already splitting into teams for a scrimmage as they ignore the fiery look on your face, but with only a few more weeks until nationals, you need every minute on the ice that you can get.

“Sorry, Princess,” Cassian “Bloodshed” Bailey says, flipping a puck onto the tip of his stick as he skates past, tossing it up and catching it again a few times as if it’s a display that should impress you. Right now, none of their tricks or flirtatious teases are doing anything of the sort. “Gotta big game against the Wolves this weekend. Coach wants us on extra ice time so we’re in tip-top shape.”

“I’m pretty sure when he said extra ice time, he didn’t mean to interrupt my ice time,” you growl at him, but he’s already distracted, bobbing the puck back and forth as he approaches the net. The sound of his stick on the ice echoes throughout the arena as he takes a slap shot.

You refrain from smiling smugly when the goalie stops his shot with a triumphant cackle.

You stubbornly want to stay on the ice, take up the time you’re allowed to practice your routine, but with all the pucks zipping around, it could be detrimental to your health if you were to trip or—Mother forbid—land on one as you come out of an axel.

Eyes flitting angrily around the colony of Bat’s players, you scour the ice for the team captain, Rhysand. The thing is, all dressed up in their pads and helmets, the players are a blur of clones, whipping by you on both sides as they warm up.

There’s always one player that never fails to stand out to you, no matter how much he tries to disappear from the crowd. He catches your eye as he skates by, the fallen strands of hair from your ponytail lifting with the speed that he’s moving, taking a puck down the ice as a breakaway ensues.

He dodges you easily, and your heart races in your chest at the fleeting glance he passes you. His hazel eyes have a hard, determined set to them, as if he knows before he’s even finished crossing the neutral line that he’s going to score a goal.

Azriel Teller.

He dips around the defensemen effortlessly, and if you were more well-versed in hockey to know if he was actually as good as he seems, you’d be sure that he’s a shoo-in for going to the big leagues after graduation.

Azriel feigns to the right, deking out the player in the violet practice jersey, before placing a well-aimed shot at the net.

It soars past the goalie, hitting the net and falling to the ice with a clatter that’s deafened by his teammates cheering and skating his way to clang their helmets together in celebration.

From the middle of the player puddle, those glittering hazel eyes find yours again and your breath whooshes from your chest at the smirk he pairs with it.

“(Y/N?) What are you still doing out here?” A voice startles you away from the glorious sight of Azriel. You flinch, teetering off balance as you whirl around, flailing your arms as you startle.

Rhysand catches you as you slip, steadying you against his chest. The sound of his hockey stick slapping the ice is loud in your ears and your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you clutch to the captain of the Velaris Bats jersey with an iron grip.

You were nearly born on the ice, your parents getting you into skating at a very early age, and here you are, tripping around like a newborn deer walking for the first time.

All in front of Azriel, too.

When you have your feet beneath you again, you slide back a pace, the frown returning to your face as you tilt your chin to address Rhysand.

“Your team cut into my time early,” you say sourly, but standing this close to Rhysand, you can’t seem to find that fire in the pit of your stomach that raged when the team first stepped onto the ice. The goal Azriel all but dedicated to you with that look snuffed it right out. “I don’t appreciate you guys barging in here on my time, thinking you own the damn place. I have nationals to practice for, you know.”

Rhysand grimaces in response. He’s someone you might even consider a friend, having run into the hockey boys on multiple occasions, the figure skaters and the hockey teams having to share one rink now that the other one is finally being updated with the generous donation the school received. He’s nice, a good team captain, if you’ve ever seen one, caring not only about his players, but the circumstances everyone at the Velaris Ice Center is facing with recent construction.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, and he means it. “I was in a call with coach and wasn’t able to stop Cassian from leading the charge out here.”

“This is the second time it’s happened in two weeks, Rhys.” You all but huff. You don’t want to act like the prissy figure skater they probably all think you are, but enough is enough. Winning Nationals is important to you, and you can’t become distracted by hockey players or lose any ice time.

Rhysand opens his mouth to reply but before he can say anything, Azriel is whizzing past, shoulder checking his captain as if the consequences of that don’t bother him in the slightest.

You gasp as Rhys recoils, even more so when you see the cross look on Azriel’s face when he shoots a warning glower over his shoulder.

Rhys glares, flipping his friend off, and you have to tuck your lips between your teeth to keep from bursting into laughter at the sight of his gloved fingers thick with padding flipping Azriel off.

Rolling his eyes, the captain turns back to you.

“What was that all about?” You ask tentatively, not sure you want to know the answer. Your eyes are still on Azriel who’s hopped over the fence into the team’s bench and is currently squirting some water into his mouth. It drips down his chin, gliding down the thick column of his throat and into the neckline of his pads.

The sight makes your throat dry.

“I’ll try better,” Rhysand says, hands on his hips as he looks around the rink. His perfectly plucked brows are furrowed as he thinks, and you can’t help but wonder if he gets them professionally done or not. “Hey, assholes,” he suddenly shouts, and you flinch when his voice echoes around the arena. “Get on the benches, now!”

You swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat as the team follows their captains’ orders with grumbles. They don’t seem to want whatever lecture they think they’re going to get from Rhysand, but he ignores their grousing, turning back to you when the last ass has hit the bench.

“You have fifteen minutes, (Y/N),” Rhys says, skating backwards towards the bench.  When your jaw drops, his grin turns wicked.

He wants you to finish practicing right now? While the entire team watches? Is he fucking crazy?

“You can’t be serious,” you shriek, almost stomping your skate-clad foot on the ice. Yes, you’re used to performing in front of a crowd even larger than the team, but these guys are like fiends. Half of them glower at you while the other half is looking at you like they want to fool around on center ice.

“Totally am,” Rhysand shouts back, and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are hot enough to melt the ice beneath your skates. “C’mon now, you’re wasting precious practice time for the both of us!”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, but he’s right, you do want your time back. Preferably without a horde of horny college hockey players watching you, but you’ll take what you can get this time.

Skating over to where your phone is placed on the rail of the away team benches, you restart your song with a few beats of silence before so you can get into your starting position back in the middle of the rink.

When the first string of the violins starts, you’re off, determined now more than ever at getting this routine perfect.

You’re all too aware of the hazel eyes tracing your every move as you skate, though.

[slafastri28]

I Hope You're Doing Well - LN4

Note: I literally pulled this out my ass, but it just flowed!

Word Count: 2.2k (yes that is a lot for me) Warnings: Idk a lot of kissing at the end, little angst

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well, I figure you are considering you just won the constructors championship, call me when you want to catch up, I miss you, okay bye,” you hung up the phone. You turned to face your parents along with Lando’s,

“Sorry kid,” your dad said rubbing your shoulder. The four sat you down in the middle of the F1 season telling you their concerns for their son, complaining of being homesick and lonely, which was not Lando at all. You had known each other as long as you could remember. Your parents all went to university together and forced you and Lando into a friendship like parents do with kids. It was awkward at first, but you were very social as a child, and hanging out with a boy a year older than you was cool to you, and if it made your parents happy you would do it. Despite being a year older than you, you were always the same height as Lando growing up. You fit perfectly in his kart, but he never trusted you to drive it. He was always on about traveling in Formula 1 eventually, and he was fine his first couple years but this year was different. 

“It’s alright, I wasn’t expecting an answer,” you gave the parents a half smile. You and Lando had lost touch after the first race of the year, after spending all of the winter together something shifted, but you didn’t know what you did to make him ignore you. You called him at the first sign of concern from his parents, but no answer, his parents even urged him to call you but they were rarely hearing from him as it was. Little did they know he would sit listening to the messages you left all the time thinking about home and being with you. 

Last winter your parents threw a big party, all their friends were there and of course Lando. There was no one else really your age there so you two find yourselves alone in your childhood bedroom sitting and talking. 

“I’m confident this year, we will perform better I know it,” he nodded.

“Well of course you will, and you are going to get that win, I just know it,” you smiled. 

“Yeah I hope, thanks for the belief,” he said.

���What are friends for,” that word friends hit Lando hard. He thought he had made so obvious these past few years about how he felt about you, but he was only a friend to you. The rest of that winter he was not his usual self leaving you questioning, he barely even said goodbye before he left for testing. You sat alone in your apartment finding yourself wanting to pick up the phone and ask him what you did wrong but you accepted he needed space. You soon felt something was missing as he didn’t call you after every race like he did last year, you missed seeing his smile, which you always thought was cute. Now without his constant presence, you discovered your true feelings for Lando. You sent him messages getting responses two days later, he wouldn’t take any of your calls due to being busy, but it was the time you would normally call last year, and you knew what was different. You began to leave messages when his parents went to see him. Each message started and ended the same way. 

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well,” and ended with “I miss you,” or something along those lines. After his first win, you called,

“Hi Lan, it’s me, I hope you’re doing well, and celebrating this win, I’m so proud of you, I wish I could have been there, I miss you.” Your calls continued after each win he earned this year, each podium, each race he scored points, even in his worst races you still left messages, none being answered or getting a callback, making you long for him more. The season came to a close and there you were surrounded by the people near and dear to him leaving the same message again.

This winter he had not come back to visit his family yet, meaning you didn’t have that chance to see him in your time off from work. There you sat around the most important people in your life, as one was missing, holding back tears. His mother rushed out of the room picking up her phone and scolding her son in a message. You went to bed that night looking through the scrapbooks your Moms made of the two of you when you were younger, pictures of you hugging, your arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, pictures of you forcing a smile onto his face and him doing the same to you, so many memories. The books continued as the years went on, you at age 15 with a sign at one of his races and him hugging you after, your high school graduation, your college graduation, he was always there. Now this winter here you were alone a year from that night wishing he would come home. 

You woke up the next morning with a voice message lighting up your phone. You were stunned to see the contact picture, you and Lando as little kids. You put in your headphones and hesitated before pressing play on the message.

“Hi Y/N, it’s Lando, I hope you’re doing well, I am doing well, thank you for all your congratulations, I’m sorry I’ve ignored you this season, I will tell you more when I get home tomorrow, I miss you too, see you probably a few hours after you listen to this,” his voice was sincere and you could hear little cracks knowing he was upset. You could feel your heart racing, your mind was spiraling, what could he possibly have to say to me? This is going to be so awkward. What do I even say to him? Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on your door. You quickly fixed your hair before pulling the blanket up over your pajamas hiding any possible embarrassment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you heard your mom’s voice outside, “can I come in?” 

“Yes, come in,” you put the blanket down, “what is it?” Your Mom looked unusually happy for it being eight in the morning, she must have already had her coffee. 

“Lando’s flight arrives in an hour, and we are all going to surprise him at the airport, I know you’re upset with him, but please maybe it will change things,” her eyes were pleading, and after the message, you knew it would be the right thing to do. You hopped out of bed grabbing your morning coffee before changing. You conveniently lived close to the airport so an hour was plenty of time. As you stood with your two families in the terminal waiting you began to think again, you had seen him on social media, which was easier to bury your feelings, but in real life, you didn’t know what you would do. 

You watched the hallway, seeing several people go by, none were the faces you wanted to see. It had been a few more minutes since you were distracted by your phone, but you chose to look up at the perfect moment.

“Here he comes,” his mom exclaimed. You shoved your phone in your bag immediately, putting on a smile. He dropped his bag greeting first his parents, then your parents, and froze when he got to you. It was like time stopped, and no one else in the airport existed. He stretched out his arms as you rushed into them. He pulled you so close, you felt your feet lift off the ground.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry, I’ve missed you so much,” he began to cry into you.

“Lando, Lando,” you sobbed feeling his warmth. The two of you pulled yourselves together as you made your way out to your cars.

“Why don’t you two ride together, you have some catching up to do,” his mom winked in your direction. The two of you did as you were told riding in the “kids' car” back to his parents’ home. You got home before them leaving you two some time after your silent car ride, both of you trying to keep it together. Once you got to their house, you made your way upstairs to his room. You watched him unpack his things before you noticed the stack of books next to the bed, the same ones you had looked at the night before. Something in your gut told you to open one, and it was right, it struck his attention.

“Wow look at us,” he said joining you sitting on his bed. 

“I know, we were so cute,” you laughed pointing at a picture of you two at Lando’s 9th birthday, you were blowing out his candle with him. 

“Still are,” he said softly, the look in his eyes showed he wanted to continue. You closed the book and took a good look at him, you saw pain in his body language, emotional pain. He was different than the Lando you saw the previous year. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you said resting your hand on his shoulder, “what did I do,” you thought back to last year knowing exactly what hurt him. 

“Y/N, hand me the book,” he pointed to the one from your high school years. You handed him the book and he began to frantically flip through it, finding one specific picture. You stared at it, then at him with a faint smile on your lips. 

“The dance,” you nodded looking ashamed. 

“That’s when it started Y/N, and ever since then I have loved you, I thought I made it obvious, but you only saw me as a friend, I couldn’t take it anymore, I was hurt, and didn’t want to waste my time,” his eyes stayed locked on the book. 

“Lan, I feel the same, it took me not having you present constantly to finally realize I have loved you,” you smiled. His eyes picked up from the book,

“All those messages were cries for you to call me so we could have this conversation, I started to think you moved on after the constant lack of response,” you sighed.

“I should have answered all those calls, I should have called back, I should have said something-” you cut him off pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands quickly found your face as yours found his hair, running your fingers through his curls. You both gasped for air after that, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Your hands moved slowly from his hair to his hands which remained on your face. He let go interlocking his fingers with yours as your hands moved to your lap.

“This, this is how it was meant to be,” he smiled, before kissing you once more. 

“So should we tell our parents, who definitely have their suspicions already,” you laughed. 

“Not yet,” he said laying down in his bed and pulling you along with him. You two lay there your head on his chest with your hands locked over your heart. You were at full joy in the moment, a moment that you didn’t know you needed until now. You flipped over laying on top of him. 

“So despite my horrible dancing that night, that’s when you knew,” you laughed running your fingers through his hair again. 

“I wasn’t much better,” he laughed, “despite your clumsiness, you still were beautiful,” he said grinning. You pressed another kiss to his lips as his arms found your back pulling you in tighter. You two continued, intensifying the kiss as you both lay now on your sides. His lips moved from your face, down to your jaw and eventually reached your neck, letting you sigh.

“Kids dinner!” your mom called from outside the door. Lando continued moving back up to your lips. 

“Lan,” you repeated whispering, pushing him away, “come on,” you smiled. 

“Just a few more,” he begged.

“Later,” your eyes showed promise. You fixed your hair in his full-length mirror where he stood behind you wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Come on,” you laughed opening the door. You two walked hand in hand downstairs meeting your families in the kitchen. They all turned to face the two of you standing there with intertwined fingers, both with red cheeks. The Dads gave nods of approval to Lando and the Moms squealed gesturing for you to both sit.

“Finally,” his mom clapped as you sat at the table.

“Come on give us a little kiss,” your mom added on. The Dads rolled their eyes but still watched. Lando pulled you in by your neck pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You heard your Dad’s whistle, you shot him a glare after the kiss ended. It was just like old times in the winter when you would have dinners, the conversation flowed naturally as you felt Lando’s smile beaming on his face. This was secretly what you always desired. 

[leahwllmsn]

good graces

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 3.4k

You dislike Alexia Putellas with everything in you. Or maybe you’ve been crushing on her all this time. Who knows.

The first thing you noticed upon entering the club was the sea of people that made it hard for you to even get to the booth. The music was blaring in your ears and the smell of smoke wafted towards your nose. A strobe light shone against your eyes, making you squint and stop in your tracks. Kika was walking ahead of you and you quickly grabbed onto her hand, forcing her to stop as well.

“What’s wrong?” Kika spoke towards your ear.

You shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m fine. Got disoriented for a second.”

“Okay.” Kika turned around, still keeping her hand linked with yours. You let yourself get dragged, Kika manoeuvring the both of you easily around the crowd.

It felt like forever until you finally reached the booth where the rest of the Barcelona players were occupying. Everyone was exchanging their ‘hi’s and ‘nice to meet you’s and you couldn’t focus on any of that. Not when you could feel her gaze on you.

The season was starting next week and since you and a couple of girls were new to the club, Patri decided to host a night out to introduce the newcomers. You knew a couple of the Spanish girls, having met them during international matches and exchanged contacts throughout your years in professional football.

There was one person, however, that… you didn’t really know how to explain it. Was she your enemy? Frenemy? You didn’t exactly hate her… But you didn’t exactly like her either. You’re pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

But it wasn’t that negative, soul-sucking, I-hope-she-dies type of hatred—at least, to you it wasn’t. It was more of… you couldn’t stand the stupid smirk on her face, it was infuriating, and even more so when she pushed you to the ground during matches or worse—when she completely humiliated you by nutmegging you and scoring a goal.

The smirk she sent your way after that was… maddening. You wanted to punch her, or something. You didn’t though. Instead you scowled at her throughout the rest of the game and you ignored her when everyone was shaking hands.

So you never really know where you stood with Alexia Putellas. The only words exchanged between you two were the heated curses on the pitch. Now that you two were going to be teammates, it was going to change the dynamics between you, definitely. You didn’t know in what way though.

You were never able to pinpoint why you disliked her so much, maybe it was because of the way she walked around the pitch like she owned the game before it even started. Like she was so confident that she would be winning—which was sexy as hell, yes, but it angered you. Because you were going to win, obviously. 

So maybe it was a good thing that you would be on the same team now. Maybe you could finally co-exist.

The situation had been on your mind ever since you signed for Barcelona. The uncertainty of it all was throwing you off. So you made a mental note to avoid her until you could figure it out.

Whatever ‘it’ was.

Your mantra before entering the club was to look away, to not spare her a glance. Not under any circumstances should you look her way. Period. 

It should be simple. It was simple.

All thoughts completely flew out the window the moment you arrived at the booth and you could feel Alexia’s eyes on you.

Ever since the first time you shook hands with her on the field (you were fifteen and she was sixteen), you had always known when her eyes were on you. Call it intuition or sixth sense or whatever.

So you had no choice but to look at her.

(She looked as good as you remembered.)

Your eyes locked for a second before Alexia broke away first, her eyes falling down to your left hand—your hand that was tightly intertwined with Kika’s. You saw the frown she sent your way and you sent her one back. Was it so hard to smile at someone?

You felt a tug at your hand and realised that Kika was motioning for you to take a seat. You glanced up once more at Alexia, but her gaze was now focused on the drink in front of her. 

You slid into the booth next to Kika and accepted the drink that Pina held out to you, muttering a ‘thanks’. Once you did, you felt the pair of hazel eyes from across the table back on you. 

Your eye contact lasted longer this time, you didn’t know why Alexia was looking at you like that. It was a gaze that felt so intense, making you instantly chug your drink. 

“Whoa,” you heard someone say, a giggle following after. “No rush, chica. We have all night.”

“Patri, nice to see you again,” you shouted over the music.

“You too!” She lifted a bottle of vodka, silently asking you if you wanted some, to which you nodded in reply. Patri took your now empty glass and poured some into it. “We’re out of shot glasses, sorry! This one over here,” she pointed a thumb at Alexia. “Accidentally elbowed them to the ground and now we only get plastic cups!”

You couldn’t help it and joined in on the laughter. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alexia’s head snap towards you. You gulped the drink Patri gave you and continued on with your staring contest with the captain. You raised an eyebrow at her, she simply threw that signature smirk of hers your way.

Infuriating.

“Can they actually do that?” asked Jana.

“Apparently!” Patri answered back.

Mapi placed her arm around Alexia’s shoulder, “You have to excuse this one. She had some pre-drinks at her place so she’s already well on her way to being extra drunk.” After a moment, she added. “Although, she became extremely calm these past few minutes. Are you okay?” Mapi teased.

Alexia playfully shoved her away. “It’s not my fault they didn’t know the risks when they decided to open a club.”

You felt Kika bump her shoulder against yours. “I can see why you’re so hung up on her, to be honest.”

At that, you pulled back. You gave Kika a look that was a mixture of ‘what the hell are you talking about’ and ‘I think I’m not drunk enough for this conversation’.

Kika rolled her eyes and leaned closer, speaking directly in your ears. “She’s ridiculously attractive.”

You placed your hand on Kika’s face, shoving her away. You could feel Kika’s laughter against your palm and you pulled your hand back.

“Y/n—” Kika started, but you interrupted her.

“Nope,” you took another gulp of your drink. “Talk to me again about this topic when I’m drunk. Actually, no. Don’t talk to me about this topic at all because there is nothing to talk about in the first place!”

Kika shook her head fondly and wrapped her arm around your neck, bringing your head towards her so she could whisper in your ear. “I think you should drink faster then, because your girl looks like she’s going to kill me and we need to do something about it.”

You pinched her thigh. “She’s not my girl.”

“Ouch! That was the part you got? Not her wanting to kill me?”

“Stop being ridiculous then. Why would she want to kill you?”

Kika grinned. “Probably because to everyone else it looks like we’re about to kiss.”

Your eyes widened at your proximity and quickly shoved the brunette, causing her to lean backwards into Jana, who looked amused at the two of you.

“Sorry,” Kika whined. “Y/n’s fault!”

Just when you were about to say something back, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. A text message from an unknown number.

Hola

It’s Alexia.

You glanced up at her, giving her a confused look. Alexia just gave a slight nod of her head, flicking her eyes to your phone. You sighed. This was going to be fun.

you: how did you get my number?

unknown number: Perks of being the capitana.

you: why are you even texting me? you’re literally in front of me

unknown number: Oh am I? Thank you for pointing that out.

you: you’re as annoying as I remembered

you: so ? is there a reason why you’re texting me

annoying capi: Because you are too far away. It’s so loud here. I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to you.

annoying capi: I have captain duties

you: to talk to me?

annoying capi: Yes

You almost rolled your eyes at that. What kind of captain duties was this? Pere would likely introduce Alexia as your captain on your first day. There was nothing urgent that any captain-teammate talk had to be done now.

You just hoped that she wasn’t planning on kicking you out of the club, or any other evil things you couldn’t think of. You stared at her, somewhere between a glare and an interested look. Only one way to find out.

you: I’m about to grab a drink at the bar

annoying capi: Is this an invitation?

you: am I going by myself or are you coming with?

“Y/n and I are grabbing more drinks,” Alexia announced. “Does anyone want anything?”

Everyone shook their heads and with that Alexia slid out of the booth. She outstretched her hand towards you and you stared down at it. There was no way that Alexia was asking you to hold her hand, because that would be ridiculous, and frankly, you weren’t sure if you were ready to know what it feels like to hold Alexia’s hand—

“Dios mío,” Alexia reached out and grabbed your wrist. You didn’t have time to react and the next thing you knew, you were being pulled to the bar.

Alexia’s grasp on your wrist was tight, you felt all tingly as more seconds passed by and Alexia’s grip never faltered. 

You inwardly cringe at yourself for feeling like that towards a… a frenemy (you still didn’t know what you two were).

When you reached the bar, Alexia finally let go and you kind of missed the warm feeling Alexia’s hold gave you.

“What’s your drink?” Alexia asked.

“Uhm…”

The place was crowded, which was definitely good for the business, but you decided that it was very not good for you. Because with the way Alexia was leaning sideways against the counter, arms crossed, eyebrows raised at you—Alexia was so close that you couldn’t think of anything, except the way her eyes looked even more heavenly at night (not that you noticed. You were too busy marking her during games, you definitely had no time to admire the way the sunlight made her eyes shine even brighter).

“Do you do that a lot?” Alexia asked once she finished talking to the bartender.

When you still hadn’t answered, Alexia pursed her lips and blew on your face. “Boo.”

Your eyes widened. “W-what was that for?”

“You’re zoning out again,” Alexia rolled her eyes at you.

“No I wasn’t,” you tried your best to sound calm despite your racing heartbeat. 

Alexia smelled like alcohol and a perfume that you knew was from Chanel (you had the same one at home) and you knew you weren’t supposed to let your mind wander, but you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel like to have Alexia pressed up against you. Like, really pressed up against you. 

How her lips would feel on—

“You’re doing it again,” Alexia noted.

You blinked a few times. What the hell were you thinking? You couldn’t think of Alexia like that. The thought made you shiver. You two disliked each other. “I’m doing what?”

“Spacing out,” Alexia looked amused. “Something on your mind?”

“Just the usual,” you replied, looking anywhere but those eyes.

“And what is the usual to you?”

You let out a small laugh. “Are you always this nosy? I don’t see you texting Kika or Pajor and asking for a one-on-one.”

Alexia shrugged. “Maybe I’m just interested in you.”

At that, you looked at Alexia and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just am. I can’t pinpoint it.”

You narrowed your eyes. Was she flirting with you? “Is this you talking to me as my captain or is this something else?” Alexia was about to reply when you cut her off. “Is this where you say something nice about me but then talk shit a second later?” you paused. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say because the next thing you knew, Alexia was laughing. It was the first time you’ve heard her laugh. You didn’t want to think about the tug in your heart or the smile making its way to your lips. “What does that have to do with anything?” Alexia asked you.

You crossed your arms against your chest. “It sounded like you were flirting with me.”

“I could mean being interested in you in a non-romantic sense,” Alexia refuted. “I am going to be your capitana after all.”

“Mhmm, sure,” you looked around the bar. “I think you’re lying.”

Alexia looked amused. “Why do you think that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, I just do. I can’t pinpoint it.”

“Using my words against me, I see.” 

You cheekily smiled at her and she did the same. Alexia actually smiled at you. It was a miracle. First you made her laugh, then you made her smile. You were on a roll.

Not that it mattered. You couldn’t care less, really.

Suddenly remembering that you didn’t tell her what drink you wanted, you looked at the bartender then back at her, “Did you order for me? Hope it’s nothing poisonous. We’re about to play on the same team, you can stop trying to kill me on the field now.”

Alexia scoffed. “I never acted like I wanted to kill you.”

“I beg to differ but sure,” you couldn’t believe that you were enjoying a conversation with Alexia Putellas. “I never told you my drink order, so if you got me something I don’t like, you’re paying for it.”

Alexia scrunched her nose at you. “I thought I was paying for it. I am a gentlewoman after all.”

You hummed. “Does this work on all women?”

“It’s Sex on the Beach, by the way,” Alexia ignored your question. “What I ordered for you.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. Oh this can definitely be considered flirting. “Why Sex on the Beach?”

Alexia just shrugged in response.

“That’s my favourite,” you told her. “Just for your information.”

“Really?” Alexia grinned at you. (What a sight it was.) “I am so good at this.”

“Sure. You probably chose that drink so you could flirt with me.”

“Is that a problem?”

You looked at her questioningly. “That you got my favourite cocktail right on the first try?”

Alexia laughed again, but this time there wasn’t the usual teasing tone when she spoke. “You’re so dense sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you drew out. “I guess.”

“What I meant was… is that a problem if I was flirting with you?”

You weren't expecting that answer. This was definitely not the captain-teammate talk you were expecting, nor was this the type of conversation you were expecting from your frenemy. “Uh,” you stammered. “With the fact that you have a girlfriend, yeah kind of.”

Alexia stared at you for a second, before she looked away. When she turned to you again, a coy smile was present on her lips. “You’re right. That was terrible. Sorry, please don’t tell my non-existent girlfriend about this.”

Oh? You tried to hide the smile that was making its way to your face. “Don’t worry. I don’t know your non-existent girlfriend enough to snitch on you.”

The bartender interrupted you with your drinks and you gulped half of yours in one go. You needed to be more intoxicated with the way this conversation was going.

“I probably sound like a terrible girlfriend,” Alexia said, placing her card back in her wallet after paying for your drinks.

“Hm? How so?”

“I’m literally flirting with another woman here, even though my girlfriend, our three kids, and two dogs are waiting for me at our mansion,” Alexia rolled out dramatically, you laughed at how ridiculous she was.

“So you were flirting with me.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, looking down. She looked… shy? This was new. You were enjoying this very much. “I never said such a thing.”

“What?” You looked at her in disbelief. “Alexia, you just said ‘I’m literally flirting with another woman’.”

Alexia shrugged, taking a gulp of her drink. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

You had to keep on reminding yourself that Alexia was your frenemy. You two disliked each other. Whatever this was… it was a momentary lapse in judgement. A drunk night out. You weren’t into Alexia like that and she was definitely, totally just playing with you. But looking at the blonde in front of you—how Alexia was doing something as simple as swirling her straw in her drink—you never wanted to do something stupid as much as right now.

“You know,” you started. “If you didn’t have a girlfriend, I would totally kiss you.”

You were only toying with her of course. You didn’t actually want to kiss her.

Alexia choked on her drink. “I’m sorry, what?” she looked at you wide-eyed.

You smirked, it was a nice turn of events, having Alexia be the one stuttering instead of you. “You heard me.”

“Well,” you saw Alexia gulp and place her drink on the bar. “I guess you’re in luck then.” Alexia averted her eyes down to your lips. “My non-existent girlfriend just broke up with me,” she pouted dramatically. Damn it. You were trying so hard not to look at her lips. “You, on the other hand, is a terrible date.”

You looked confused. “Me?”

Alexia nodded. “Flirting with me when your date is right there,” she tilted her head in the direction of where your friends were sitting. “Kika?”

You laughed at that. Was Alexia actually jealous? “Am I sensing some jealousy here, Putellas?”

“Why would I be?” Alexia scoffed, the faint blush on her cheeks visible despite the dark lighting of the club. Oh this was so much fun.

“Is that why you’re always so hostile towards me on the pitch, Capi? Do you actually have a crush on me? Asking me out would work just fine, you know.”

“I’m not…” Alexia crossed her arms. “I’m not jealous and I definitely do not have a crush on you. Ridícula.”

You could feel the effects of the alcohol, because you could never be this bold otherwise. You stepped forward, tracing a finger down Alexia’s forearm.

“Uh,” Alexia stammered.

“It’s so funny,” you whispered in her ear. “To have the mighty Alexia Putellas speechless for once.”

You tapped Alexia’s cheek and leaned back.

Alexia just kept on staring at you for a few seconds, her mouth stuttering to say something.

“I’m going to order another drink,” you said, gulping down the last of your cocktail. “Do you want something?”

Alexia finally regained her composure and straightened her back. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

You waved the bartender over and told him your order. You turned to Alexia with an expectant look. “Well? What do you want?”

“Ah. Are you on the menu?” Alexia answered, giving you her best innocent look.

It took a second for you to realise what Alexia said, and when you did, your mouth dropped open. 

Before you could reply, Alexia leaned in and whispered in your ear. “I always win these games, cariño,” the hot breath against your ear causing you to shiver. “See you back there.” Alexia winked and turned around, leaving you to stare at her retreating figure with your mouth still agape and your heart thumping wildly against your chest.

You hated her so much.

[cupcakeinat0r]

Your middle-aged, loser Genetics professor who has a dad bod <3

Part 9

Wc. 7.7k

Miguel waits in his car, his gaze not fixated on anything specific; simply forward. He rests his forearm on the car door, window down. The thick hairs of his arm raise as his mind ventures, replaying the past few hours in his mind. A low hum stirs against his chest. There’s a sort of glow he emulates as he sits there idly, smizing at nothing in particular. He probably looks like a total creep with how he’s grinning in his car, alone, looking off into space. No passenger. You've sat there for the past few months, from campus to your place, and vice versa. But today, you aren’t there, yet he’s happy. His heartbeat intensifies, his stomach contracting once or twice due to unfiltered chuckles. As he waits patiently in the car, he lets it consume him, the memory of that morning, and he closes his eyes.

“Okay, what do you think?” you reach your arms out as if to present a prize, and the winner is Miguel. Miguel, who looks uncomfortable in your too-small-for-him lounge chair but shows no sign of strain on his face, fixes his glasses and observes with love-sickened eyes. After a simple, romantic breakfast at his place, he insisted on taking you back home so that you could get ready. Then after dropping you off, you figured he might as well stay so he can take you to the ceremony, too.

“Is it too much?” You give a little twirl.

His eyes scan thoroughly scan you. “Jesus… How’d I get so lucky?” The question sounds genuine, as if needing an actual answer. “You’re beautiful, mama.”

This makes you smile in return. You look to the mirror to see if Miguel is right (obviously, he is), running your hands over your pre-planned graduation outfit. Today, you receive your hard-earned Master’s Degree, and even though throughout the year you were convinced you wouldn’t be, you’re feeling more nervous than ever. “Picked it myself.” Your voice wavers just a hint. Has two years really gone by so fast? More specifically, the second year of your grad. The first one felt like eons. Maybe it’s just because you didn’t score an Adonis of a professor that year.

Miguel stands from his chair and comes from behind, his hands snaking through the gap between your arms and waist, holding you tightly against his plush exterior, “I just wish I was the one who got it for you.” and a kiss is pressed to your temple. His grasp seemed to soothe your nerves a bit, your body sinking into his natural warmth and plush. You can see his face through the mirror, the absence of doubt and judgment in his expression making you fall all over again. You really were a lucky girl. He looks at you with such reverence. And maybe a touch of arousal. Those aren’t his keys you feel on your backside.

“Oh, stop. You’ve given me more than enough, Miguel. All I need is you.” With his chin resting on the top of your head, you reach to cup his face, a picture-perfect moment displayed on the full-length mirror. He whispers into your ear, “Giving you lessons doesn’t count, that’s just my job. te voy a dar el mundo, mi Vida.”

“Right, right, and I’m guessing giving me that necklace was a part of your job description?”

You win a rich, dark chuckle from him, but he ignores you, still sprinkling kisses on your skin, his bifocals bending out of place at times. You giggle and even try to break away, but he doesn’t budge. You fight the urge to kiss back just to spite him.

“Or that skirt? Or those shoes? Or that one purse? Damn, how much does the school pay you?”

And before you can further argue, he presses more kisses onto you, almost sending both of you to topple over. “Just let me spoil you, mama.” He speaks against your jaw.

“Miguel!” the gravel chuckle of his voice continues to rumble against the side of your neck. You can’t complain and never will, but the difference between Miguel now versus the Miguel you met still leaves you baffled to this day. Or it isn’t much of a difference or change, really, but rather an unmasking. This Miguel was just stowed away until further notice; placed in the backest corner of the freezer to never see the light of day. This is the person Miguel was dying to show, he just needed the right person to coax it out of him. Now you have him attacking you with wet kisses in the middle of your living room, his hulking arms locked around you with no chance at an escape.

“Right, enough fooling around and help me into this, will you!” Reluctantly, he’ll let you move your hair for better access to the still-open zipper of your outfit.

“Fine. On one condition.”

Sigh. “Yes?”

“Un besito.”

“Oh my God.”

“Take it or leave it. Last offer. Don’t make me make it two.”

“Given there’s no one else around to zip me up, I guess I have no choice. Just my luck.” you joke, eagerly leaning your head back against his chest, granting his kiss entry to your neck, your chin, and then lastly, your lip. And then one kiss turned to multiple. If you weren’t so completely lost in his tongue and lips, you’d notice his hand rested and wrapped around your neck. The minor callouses provided a sensation that only added to the fervor of the exchange. Once y’all finally pull away, low eyes traveling in triangles, he politely requests, “Step forward for me.”

You move forward slightly so as to give him space to zip you up. But before he can do the job, he takes a second to look over the details of your back, a part of your body his hands have gotten to know very well, but his eyes haven’t gotten the same pleasure of. Miguel was very good at respecting your boundaries and wishes, which meant a lot (a lot) of making out, but nothing further than that. He notes to himself how soft it looks, the hills and curves of your spine creating a Grecian masterpiece.

And you can practically feel his eyes roam every inch of exposed skin, making you feel like art. You think to say something, but you’d rather let Miguel have this moment, and you let yourself have it, too. You’d often think about what it’d be like to see Miguel’s reaction to you. All of you. He’s made you feel nothing but like a deity for the duration of your budding, unlabeled relationship, and you’ve been fully clothed at all times. You can only imagine how he’ll act when you’re completely bare.

You know for sure he loves you. He said so. And he’s shown it to you. You’ve decided that being that vulnerable with him is something you want, it’s only a matter of when.

You start to hear the friction of the tab pulling the teeth together, one by one, that’s how slow Miguel was going. Unable to resist the urge, he stops the zipper and reaches to plant a tender kiss on the back of what’s left of your exposed neck. “I could do this every day, you know?” he admits softly, like a hymn. You turn, not completely, just so that your face is to him, “‘Everyday’? For how long?” You know the answer, kind of, but there’s still curiosity in what he’ll say. There are so many instances where you wait for Miguel to say the wrong thing; to do something that’ll break this spell, but he hasn’t. He just doesn’t have the capacity to. He’s perfect in your eyes.

“For however long you’ll have me. Which I’m really hoping is forever or else this’ll be extremely embarrassing.”

Damn, he said the right thing. People can say his stab at humor is mediocre all they want, but Miguel never ceases to make you snicker. If you opened an Oxford Dictionary to ‘adorable’, it’d have his picture.

“Who am I kidding, you could absolutely humiliate me and I’d still say ‘thank you’.”

“Oh, this’ll make some good blackmail.” you finally turn around to tauntingly wave your index finger at his amused expression.

“Oye, Final exam grades aren’t due ‘til next month, so I’d be careful if I were you.” his brow perks when he says ‘you’, and your only response is a sarcastic ‘Oooooo’ before you’re muffled by the millionth kiss of the day, but who’s counting?

“There. Secured. Anything else, princesa?”

You take a deep breath, getting in one last overall look in the mirror before facing him, “Okay, yeah, I’m ready. Just need my chauffeur.” You look over at Miguel, who looks back at you confused, then looks around knowing fully well there’s no one else except the two of you.

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

Ha ha ha. Very Funny. If expressions could talk, this is what yours would’ve said.

Miguel smiles, taking your hand to kiss the back of it, and rubs your knuckles with his thumb as an apology. “Your chariot awaits, your majesty.”

Wait, where is he going?

“Mig, stadium’s that way.” your thumb points toward the window next to you, the street that leads to the graduation growing farther and farther.

Despite that a mistake has obviously been made, Miguel looks indifferent, eyes aimed straight at the road before them with no sign of a doubt. He huffs from his nose before responding, “I know,” his thumb runs across the back of your hand, “I have something for you, though.” He takes your hand up to his lips, a smile creeping up on your features.

“At your office?”

“Accidentally left it there.”

What is he up to?

His crooked smile tells you a different story. Miguel can feel you questioning him. You can see him physically gather his words in the driver's seat.

“Remember when… we were in the library one of those first nights and we exchanged books?”

You nod. How could you forget?

“And I told you about Gabriella?”

You nod again. He’s asking obvious questions here, it’s sort of scaring you.

“That was my first time talking about her with someone. In years.” His chest and belly deflate as if releasing a weight he’s held onto, “And you’re also the first person who’s said her name out loud. Someone other than me. In a very long time.”

You listen intently, everything that has happened up until now making more sense with this piece of information. You always knew the painful fact that Miguel has been by himself mostly since starting teaching, but it stings even more knowing that he’s never opened up to anyone about this. No one to turn to. No one to be soft with. Sure, he had his friends, from what you remember him telling you about his hero, multi-dimension, whatever-it-was days, but to your understanding, they all left him alone. By means of Miguel’s requests. He wanted those days to be over completely.

“She was beginning to feel like- I don’t know. Like a figment of my imagination. Photos and videos that I rewatch and stare at every single day were starting to… go stale,” this admission makes him wince in shame, “I replay them over and over again… and nothing new. I know what happens in each and every single one of them. And it ends up hurting every single time. I didn’t know how much more I could’ve taken before stopping altogether.” His lips purse, the guilt seeping from every inch of him. “Well, at some point, I even became afraid. Terrified that I was starting to forget the little things about her, or worse, that I’d move on,”

You didn’t even notice, but the car had been parked minutes ago, it’s only when he turns his face to look at you, eyes beginning to gloss, when you realize the car had stopped.

“Until that night.” His narrow gaze softens.

“The night at the library… I told you things that I hadn’t even thought about until that night. Like, for example, how she liked to match the color of her hair ties to her shirt,” Miguel allows himself to softly beam with this memory, “or whenever I’d fall asleep on the couch, she’d always, always, place a blanket on my feet so that ‘the monsters don’t get me’,” you both giggle at this, “Like those things? They had just come back to me in that moment.”

You both had entered campus grounds and turned to his office door, and he whipped out his keys, the metal hitting against the doorknob. The halls are quiet and hollow. It feels like the end of an academic year.

“I just never thought I could possibly let those things slip.” His voice lowers, an air of disbelief in his words.

“Will you ever stop loving her?”

“Of course not. Never.”

“Then she will live on forever. You’ve proven to yourself that you’ll never let the small things leave. They’ll always come back to you.”

Miguel smiles to himself, thinking about this.

He heads toward his bookshelf, reaching for something, but you can’t see given that he himself blocks the entire view of it. “When I hear you say her name,” you see his head bow down at something in his hand, “You sound so… lively... If that makes sense? Like… as if she were still here, as if you knew her. It meant a lot to me. Even in the way you talked about her. Maybe it explains why I was able to recall so much.”

He turns around to you, and you can only make out something small in his hand; something blue?

“I figured that, if she were still here, she’d want you to have this.”

He unfurls his hand and out blossoms a satin blue ribbon formed in a rosette; the words ‘first place’ are displayed in the center. “Wear it today?” He stands before you, the dwarfed ribbon sitting in his hand. His request sounds more like a plea.

“Her teammates gave it to her when she scored their winning goal. She was so happy. It was her last game before she-” Both gazes leave the ribbon and land on each other, glossed and daring to well.

He clears his throat, “She used to- used to show it off any chance she could,” His eyes well up, but regardless of presuming tears, he looks down at the ribbon with a soft smile.

“Miguel,” Your head slowly shakes from side to side, “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” he persists, “Take it, it’s yours.” He insists through choked words. He places the ribbon in your hand, folding your fingers in, hoping that you’ll accept his gift.

Here stands a man you’ve been falling so hard for for the past year, who is not only giving you a piece of his late daughter’s life, but insisting you take it. You haven’t been around enough to know what love is, but with what Miguel is doing right now, you’re starting to think maybe this is what it might look like. When you started seeing Miguel, who was your professor, you didn’t think all those thoughts of him being yours would ever have come true. You knew it was silly, childish, and most importantly, out of the question. Yet here he is, giving you a piece of himself. This isn’t casual anymore. So he did really mean those three sacred words said last night and this morning.

After letting the ribbon sit there for just seconds but what feels like minutes, you take his hand back, but the ribbon is now pressed between you and Miguel’s palms. You give it a tight squeeze, taking in a deep breath. “It’s ours.”

You look up at him, a trail of a tear down your cheek. “Because I’m yours, if you’ll have me,” a bright smile grows behind your wet eyes. “And I’m really hoping it’s forever, or else this’ll be extremely embarrassing.” You actually laugh, and so does he, pooling eyes and all.

“You’re stuck with me. I love you.”

With those words, it was like the past five years of being alone became all worth it. All the lonely nights, all the predictive mornings, and the dune of a civilian life he was leading came crashing down on him because he knew a new one was dawning. Still civilian, but now, he has someone to put all the love he has to offer into. All his fears, all his insecurities, it all dissolved. The label of your relationship was blurry, uncertain if this was the kind of thing you entertained for only a bit and never spoke of again or something worthwhile. If last night wasn’t a confirmation of the answer, then this moment was, marking it as the official beginning of a romantic, exclusive, official relationship.

“I love you. I love you. Te amo. Te quiero. I love you. I love you… I love you…” his soft declarations are muffled in kisses on any spot he could get to. All those fantasies he’s conjured in his mind where you two live together, share a life, make a life… or two… or three… or however many you’re willing to carry, he doesn’t care, all of those scenarios now seem like promises. Like a nearby reality. Solitary nights dreaming about you in ways that leave him hot and bothered will finally come to an end. On a more suggestive note, He’ll finally be able to get through class without raging hard-ons again.

“I love you.” You manage to breathe out between kisses. Arms wrap around the back, hands wrap around the neck, fingers rake through tussles of hair, and legs begin to lose balance and find their way to the edge of Miguel’s desk. Visions become blurred, ears begin to grow hot, and heart rates quicken with beats large enough to feel on each other’s chests. You two are much too deep in it that you don’t hear the creaking of the wood underneath you. “Yes. Please.” Miguel hears your whisper, moving his head to look you in the eye. “You mean…?” He asks gently, to which you nod, repeating your plea. Without much thinking, Miguel taps your thigh. This was it. Miguel didn’t hear you say the exact words, but he knew. He knew what you were saying yes to. You, much less thinking, instinctively raise your leg, allowing Miguel to prop you onto the desk. “I love you. So much, it’s crazy, Miguel. God, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” You mewl in his ear, and in return, Miguel, with softly knitted brows, lets out a pathetic groan. Miguel may be quiet in everyday life, but when it came to the two of you, alone, he wasn’t afraid of being vocal about what he liked, and right now, with what you’re saying plus your legs wrapping securely around his waist seemed to have both an audible and physical effect on him. A big physical effect.

Is this the right spot to do this right now? Couldn’t y’all get in trouble? Was this even a good time?

These are questions that a sane person would probably think of, but with the current circumstances, you simply couldn’t give a damn, let alone Miguel. Even if you tried, you don’t think you would’ve even had enough brain wattage to string a single thought with Miguel touching you like this. However, if you had the luxury of logic, you’d know that:

1. Getting in trouble isn’t of concern since faculty are either at home starting the Summer they’ve been so impatiently waiting for, and students are at home doing the same or at the stadium.

2. Given that the ceremony won’t start until another 2 hours from now, it’ll give you both plenty of time. The traffic would’ve been dreadful anyway, so might as well just show up at the last minute.

3. What better place than here… where you two met.

You breathe heavily along with Miguel, “Remember… the first meeting… I sat right in front of this desk,” Miguel makes an effort to listen, but he’s currently too occupied with straining his hard-on against your heat, “Mm-oh…now look at us.” your breathless voice and coquettish smirk goes straight to Miguel’s cock, the feeling of his pants shrinking in size making him hot all over. Trapping your lips between his over and over again. You're pretty much without oxygen at this point, but you don’t care, it feels amazing. His teeth on your lips, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass deeper against his length. Your fingers tugged onto his now disheveled curls and he whined. He whined.

“Mama, you don’t wanna know how many times I’ve imagined this moment. Fuck, am I dreaming again?” His words hit your skin like the thick air after a calm rain.

You cup his face in your hands, pulling him from your neck, and you’re met with a lust-drunken, devoted worshipper; a big man that’s been stricken of sex for far too long. In doing so, you notice the ribbon still in your hand, which knocks a bit of sobriety back into you. It’s almost like Miguel read your mind because the same alarm goes off in his head. With that, the two of you are quick to mend one tiny problem.

Miguel, still between your legs, reaches over to lower any pictures he has of Gabriella, faced down on the shelf. As for you, you stash the ribbon safely in a drawer right behind you. Gabriella shouldn’t be present for this.

Capturing you in a kiss again, your hand ends up untucking his shirt, resting on his stomach, your fingers caressing his skin. He huffs, slightly tickled by your soft touch along his belly. The corner of his lip curves into a dorky smirk as you sneak your hand into the waistband of his slacks and boxers, pushing past his dark happy trail. “Oh fuck. Haven’t been touched like this in so long,” The clank of his belt buckle rings in your ears, making you pulsate, “I need you. So fucking badly.”

“Keep talking. Please.” You murmur, unbuttoning his shirt, unveiling a plethora of chest hair covering a body fit to raise your future children.

“So lonely, honey… miss you every night when I come home. Miss you so much in the mornings, it hurts.”

Once his shirt is on the floor, with hands and eyes, you revel in all his glory: six feet and nine inches of caramel deliciousness, coated in equal parts of muscle and fluff. You could come undone just from this sight.

His hand holds your chin with a soft caress of his thumb, “I used to look a lot better back then. I’ll work on it.”

You pull him down by his neck to eye level in protest. “Don’t you dare change a single thing on this body. You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. Finest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Oh, that made his dick twitch. Your free hand wraps around his broad shoulders while the other is in his hair, smashing faces. Miguel, with no hesitation, swipes everything off the desk and instantly pushes you onto your back, his soft husky exterior pressing you against the cold wood. Tongues are down throats. He stutters as his dick twitches, “Tell me I can eat you out.” The question and tone of voice alone make your back arch. You kiss even deeper, tongues intertwining as he moans in your mouth.

“God, yes, please, Mig, please-”

He gives a vicious squeeze to your ass, reminding you of his pure strength, “That’s not what I want. Usa tus palabras, mamita.” Your begging makes his cock ache, but he needs to hear the words. He needs to know you want this as much as he does. He needs your permission.

Your top lip curls before you speak again through hooded eyes, “Professor,” the name catches him off guard, “please… fuck me with your mouth.”

You were playing a dangerous game. Before you was a sexually deprived middle-aged man who’d been silently pining for you since day one, and you were begging him to treat your cunt like a 5-star meal. Having a gorgeous girl like you pleading for him to tongue fuck you like you deserved, it was driving him crazy. He wasted no time going down to the most sacred corner of this divine body.

“Funny… I zipped this up not even half an hour ago.”

“Hey, hey, careful, I still have a ceremony to wear this to.”

You had a point. And as if you were a gift, he bunches the fabric high enough to reveal some panties he’d recently given you. If it wasn’t for him wanting to last for both hours until the ceremony, he would’ve came right then and there. He looks at you with darkened eyes, a gaze intense enough to strip the cockiness from you, your cheeks growing hot from the act, “What? I assumed this was gonna happen later-”

Miguel cuts your sentence short with a French kiss to your clit through the thin lace, the combination of his nose, tongue, and breath on your heat making your thighs shake. “ So wet… you always this wet during class? Fuck.” With how Miguel was moaning and groaning against your sensitive skin, you’d assume he got more pleasure in giving you head than you did receiving it. Your hand darts for his scalp, the other holding onto the edge of the desk for dear life once he hooks the panty with his finger to move it out of the way, pursuing even more thirstily now. The wood creaks with each buck of your hips, but with the way Miguel’s arms hold your weight on his wide shoulders effortlessly, it doesn’t phase you. Breathless prayers of his name left your lips, panting softly as your head fell back against the table. You can feel the bundle in your core form as your whimpers turn to wails.

“Mig, s’good, feels so good. I’m close, pleasepleaseplease-”

Meanwhile, his eyes were practically to the back of his head, hips pathetically bucking to the matching rhythm of your hips as he took turns treating your clit like a lollipop and your entrance like a fleshlight. “M’gonna- aw fuck… voy a cuidarte, mamita, don’t you worry your pretty little head.” you hear through a whine before his tongue is back at it again. His hands take turns squeezing your thighs tighter around his head and occasionally using his forefingers to stimulate your sensitive bud. His glasses start to fog, and his eyes are covered by humid lenses. This was starting to obscure his perfect view of you and your euphoric expressions, and he just couldn’t have that. So, he pulled away for only a millisecond just to basically rip them off and he was right back to devouring your weeping cunt. There’s no way he was missing this.

You’re choked whines signify the peak, your body trembling uncontrollably. This will be the first of many, and he’s only getting started. When the man promises to take care of you, he’s gonna take care of you.

He spends the remainder of your climax lovingly rubbing his fingers up and down your pussy, making sure you ride it out all the way to the very end.

“Good, baby? You okay?” he purs back into your ear, tenderly caressing your thighs and planting gentle kisses of reassurance on your face. You nod with half-lidded eyes, catching your breath before replying ‘yes’.

“Tell me what you want, mama.”

“Fuck me, professor. Please?”

“Say that again.”

You look at him above you, your legs pulling his waist closer so that his aching length meets your pulsing core, “Please, I want you to fuck me, professor.” Whilst maintaining eye contact, Miguel reaches down to put your hand on the bulge. “Look what you do to me.” Your theory of his size is confirmed.

“This what you wanted?”

“Need it.”

“C’mere.”

Miguel sits you up, telling you to relax since ‘he’ll do all the work’. He carries you to his office couch. He plops onto the cushions with you straddled on his lap. While he has your tongue entwined with his, he releases his cock from the restraints of his boxers, the base erects against his lower belly. Not wanting to waste another second, although the view of it was mesmerizing, you sit up on your knees to line yourself up with him, but Miguel sits you back down, “No hay prisa, mamita, need to get you ready, but first,” His hand snakes to the back of the zipper, and the dress unveils, “Need to see all of you, beautiful.” you seem to knock the air out of him as he lets his hands explore you, your breasts the perfect hand full. “You’re so fucking hot.” He even looks up for a moment and thanks God for blessing him with someone like you, making you look down at the endearing gesture.

Your body goes limp once he laps at your chest, sucking and pulling like it was his first meal in ages. The feeling of his tongue circulating your hardened buds made you clench around nothing. He has you in a bear hug, front sides pressed against each other. The small room seems to disappear around the two of you, totally forgetting where you are, in both space and time. It’s just you, Miguel, and the beautiful sounds of pure, raw pleasure.

“Mig, wanna make you feel good, too.”

Miguel unwillingly pulls away, only half-hearing what you said, and not given even a chance to process. You’ve already positioned yourself on your hands and knees next to him on the couch. Kitten licks and tender sucks to the tip send Miguel’s head falling against the back of the couch. You know he’s needing more when his hips buck upward, and you’re more than willing to give it to him. Occasionally, you’d rest your head against his stomach chub to give him a few rewarding strokes, admiring his size, just to let it sink back into your hollowed mouth. You managed to get Miguel growling, hoarse moans spilling from his bitten lips as you tend to his stiffened cock that you’ve daydreamed of tasting.

“Baby, please, slow down, not gonna last long.” But it was no use. You were relentless on his aching manhood. The only way to get you to go easy on him was to reach over your ass and pump his fingers into you, so that’s exactly what he did. You whine with his tip in the back of your throat, but you’re able to still keep him in. To Miguel’s hopes, you do slow down, the mutual pleasure putting both of you in sync.

“Let’s come together, mamita, hm? Can I put another one in, baby?”

He takes your eye contact as a cue to put in a third, thick finger, eliciting a high-pitched moan against his veiny shaft. Having both ends of you completely filled was, in all honesty, a bit overwhelming, but it’s the best feeling you’ve ever felt. There’s no one else you would’ve rathered have you like this than your Mig.

His fingers get faster, and your strength to keep his cock inside is dwindling, but for him, you try, nonetheless.

“That’s it, mamita, that’s it…” His fingers are unbelievably fast at the point, droplets sent flying and falling onto the fabric of the couch. That’s something he’ll worry about later, but right now, his goal was to get you absolutely fucked out and coming all over his hand. Unable to hold it anymore, you free him from your mouth, letting yourself cry and whine freely as he finger fucks your second orgasm out of you. Still determined to have him come with you, you pump him with your hand as you ride off your high on his hand. Miguel wants to praise you, but his panting and mewling get in the way. You had this gentle giant making what would be considered embarrassing noises, but symphonic music to your ears. At the first sign of his juices, you place him back into your mouth, but this time, he holds your hair and fucks up into your mouth in short, fast, desperate thrusts until he’s finished.

You don’t even let him have a moment to breathe once you start kissing up his happy trail and to his stomach; what once was a pack of abs has given way to pudge. You kiss a little higher, giving his pec a gentle lick where it’s most sensitive, making him sharply inhale as a result. They proceed to the valley of his pecs, up his neck, to his jaw, and cheek. If Miguel still had doubts in the back of his mind about your love for his body, they’ve vanished now.

Your lips meet now, and various soft ‘I love you’s’ are exchanged.

“Just want you to sit back n’ relax now, mami. Wanna see that gorgeous face,” Holding onto your head and lower back, he carefully lays you on the couch, “Can I?” The gentle dominance this man radiated was good enough to make you already contemplate marriage. The expression on his face reflected utter devotion and praise. You thought his kind were only written in books.

“Of course, professor. Gotta repay you for all those private sessions.” Even after two orgasms, you still had to keep the cliche going. Miguel was unable to help a small chuckle. He had no problem playing right along, though. “You made it so hard to focus in class, you know that?” His voice is dark and low, a stark contrast to the noises he was making just a minute ago. He speaks while spreading your legs like precious artifacts, lining himself up. Finally.

“Sitting there all gorgeous n’ smart. Drove me insane.” He whispers into your ear, his leaking tip making a connection to your entrance. “And then having the audacity to help your classmates? How dare you have a heart just as beautiful.” He kisses you while sliding inside, muffling your gasp.

He tuts against your mouth, “Yo se, bebita, me too…mmnnshit,” His hand caresses your hair in an effort to soothe at least some tension, “I’ll go slow, mama, m’kay? Gonna take care of y- oh fuck,” His forehead presses against yours, his free hand holding onto yours as he slowly slides in and out, gauging how deep you can take him. The stretch induces a euphoric pain, causing you to squeeze his hand, but he squeezes right back, your cunt sucking him in all too well.

Miguel starts to go stupid once he’s halfway in. The sensation has him beginning to babble, choked words coming out in a gentle lull.“Que rico…Feel good, mamita? It’s okay mama, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you.” He talks delicately as he continues to go in and slowly draw out with only half of himself, just to be sure you're warmed up enough for all of him. Your eyes are closed, trying to focus on breathing, but it only makes it more difficult. It worries Miguel. “Too much, baby? I’ll stop.” And just as he’s about to pull out, you use your other hand that was clinging onto the arm of the chair to stop him, “Nonono, please,” He lowers himself, still connected, “Need you, Mig. Please, keep going, don’t stop.” You beg, the undeniable need in your voice making Miguel go weak. He puts all his weight on you, cautiously going all the way inside. When he gets as deep as he possibly can, his tip kissing you right in the perfect spot, he pecks your forehead before telling you, “You look so pretty taking it, beba.”

Miguel’s words are slurred as he begins fucking you, thick fingers playing at your clit as he does. He can’t help but prop himself on his elbow just to get a look of himself going in and out of you, the slick sounds and what looks like a bulge of his cock sending him into insanity, driving him to go desperately faster. He gets lost in the way every time he pumps in, he creates a hill in your stomach. You look down, too, seeing what he’s seeing, and it only makes his name fall from your mouth embarrassingly loud, as well as telling him how good he feels and how much you love him, every syllable coming out with pure verity.

Not now since you’re too busy getting amazingly fucked, but later on, you’ll surely think about how good of stamina Miguel has for his age. He should’ve been tired by now, but the man was rutting and there was no sign of him slowing down anytime soon. When his mouth wasn’t latched onto yours, he’d speak nonsense to you. He’d let out long, exasperated ‘Yes’s’ into your ear, unafraid to let his unfiltered noises fill the room. When he knew he was being too rough, he’d slow his thrusts until he was dragging his dick in and out of you, pumping ever so slowly and lovingly. It was then he’d be able to coherently form sweet words of nothings, “I’m obsessed with you. Wanna keep you like this forever.”

Whether he was going rabid or making sweet love, Miguel still made sure to hold your hand through it all.

He can feel himself coming soon. As if he needed to be deeper into you, he only stops for a nanosecond to bring your knees over you, pressing you even deeper into the couch, so as to better ram your already abused pussy. Your panting heightens in pitch. “Right there, sweetheart? Aww Fuck, there it is.” His big, strong hands hold your knees in place where they frame your head. Your bodies are sweaty, only enhancing the lewd sounds of his hips smacking your ass with each thrust. When your pussy flutters around him, it makes his eyes roll back. He’s already made you orgasm twice by now, getting his juices all over you, but he needs more. “I can’t stop.” He stammers through a slack jaw.

“Mig…dunno if I c-can… going-”

He slows down his rhythm, hands cupping your face to make eye contact, “Baby, please, gimme one more, just one more. Promise.”

With a nod of your head, he buries you in his arms, his face in your neck, body on body, leaving no space between you, and he rams into you like no tomorrow, luring one last orgasm from you. The way the curve of his belly and muscles rubbed against you was the icing on the cake. You feel Miguel getting closer with the way he moans into the crook of your neck. You are, too.

The dam breaks loose with an outcry of his name, to which Miguel lifts his head to kiss your tears as you peak, his own following right behind. Once it starts to descend, a rain of butterfly kisses fall on your face, “I’ve got you, sweetie,” he coos, “I love you so much… mamita,” he gently calls to get your attention, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You at least accomplish a weak smile, requiting the love with a kiss to his swollen lips.

There was no need to rush, so the two of you just lay there, embracing each other.

“Miguel,”

“Hm?” He hums against your skin.

“I feel like I’m in a fairytale.”

“Me too.”

6:49 PM.

You don’t know how, but in one hour, Miguel and you were able to go back to your place, shower (separately. You two knew a joint shower would’ve most definitely led to other things.), redo your makeup, fix your and Miguel’s hair, and leave to the stadium with moderate traffic. You look in the passenger seat mirror for the last touch-ups.

“Praying I don’t trip on that stage. If I do, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll happily take the blame.” He gives your thigh a small squeeze, in which you glare at him in return. The shit-eating grin on his face still made you smile, though.

You sit in your assigned seat among a sea of students, dawning the traditional cap and gown, with numerous achieved stoles and ropes around your neck, but only one stands out from them all, and one that you consider your best achievement: Gabriella’s Blue Ribbon.

You look down at it, giving it a little tug to straighten it out. You look up to search for Miguel in the enormous mass of seats, but it isn’t too hard. All you had to do was find the freakishly tall man with glasses, and when you do, you smile at him. As subtly as possible, he mouths ‘I love you’, and you do it back. You think to blow him a kiss, but given the situation, you also think it better not to in public. You still don’t have that degree in your hand, and you can’t risk anything, especially not when you’re so close. But trust, the second that piece of paper is in your hand, Miguel is all yours, no shame attached.

You’re on the edge of your seat the entirety of waiting for your name to be called, and once it is, you feel you could cry. You walk across the stage, a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment filling you to the brim. Miguel watches on, a prideful expression on his face. You shake hands with a few faculty members, some you grew to love and will cherish, some you secretly wished would accidentally fall through a manhole, before you get to the dean, who currently holds your degree in their hand. You’re congratulated once it’s in your hand, the feeling of two very difficult years weighing down on your hand. It feels good. Smiling ear-to-ear, you look out into the audience as you walk across, degree facing outward for the whole stadium to see because one thing for sure is that everyone in the establishment will know that you did that. Your smile shines like a thousand stars, at least to Miguel. His heart could explode with how much love and awe he feels for you. Heaven knows he tried to make a new life for himself by putting the Spider-Man title to rest, and though he was successful, he was still missing a piece of himself. In this moment, he’s thanking you for taking a chance on him; for letting a different man, a happy man, come out for a while, and hopefully, for the rest of his life.

And that’s where he sits now, in the car, waiting for you in the parking lot. Prior to the ceremony, it was agreed that Miguel would slip away just a couple of minutes early (basically skip the dean’s farewell speech) so that you and Miguel could beat the crowds and go celebrate wherever he had planned for you. Hoards of crying mothers and cheering students catch his attention. It must’ve ended. It only takes a moment for him to pick you out from the crowd, immediately exiting the car to open the passenger door for you.

“Congratulations, mi vida.” He calls out, leaning against the car.

Elated, you crash into him, arms around his neck, legs lifted in the air, and you kiss him. You pull away with a joyous mwah.

You both retreat into the car. “You helped, my cute lil geneticist.” Giddiness beams from your voice. You reach over the center console to cup his chin and squeeze it, puckering his lips to kiss him again and again. This makes him chuckle. He may be older and bigger in every sense of the word, but at the end of the day, he is and always will be your dork. Your teddy bear.

“I just taught you a few formulas. This was all you, mama,” he starts the car but glances at you for a second. “What?” You tilt your head.

“I wanna thank you.”

“For what?” Every time Miguel opens his mouth, you’re reminded of what a lottery win you’ve made. You grab his hand to hold it up to your heart; the same spot where Gabriella’s ribbon is pinned.

“For loving me. The way you do.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me.”

His brows furrowed, his lips curled into a soft smile. He notices the blue ribbon. He caresses one of its tails, and a few of his heartstrings pull at the sight. He knows that if Gabriella were there, she would’ve been the loudest in the stands. “Wish she could’ve been here.”

You press his hand against your heart.

“She is.”

Miguel has told you so much about her that at this point, she feels like yours, and you feel that she’s there. You know with your whole heart that she is.

You both share one more tender kiss before Miguel pulls out of the lot.

“Well, it’s official. I am no longer your student. How do you feel about that?” you smirk, relaxed in your assigned seat; your rightful throne as passenger princess.

“Speaking of which, I hope you know that that degree is for decoration purposes from this day forward.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re quite the comedian today, huh?”

“You think I’m kidding? I want you home 24/7, you hear me? In the kitchen, an apron and all. I’m dead serious.” The sarcastic tone in his voice sends you chuckling through the nose.

“I’ll stay home and be your housewife if you give me a perfect score, how about that?”

“Deal.”

“Ok, no, but seriously, baby, please score my paper accurately.”

“Of course, beba. Just jokes. I’m kidding about the staying-home thing, too. You can do whatever you want,” He looks over at you at a red light, “Just as long as you always come back home to me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You two snuggle in Miguel’s bed after a nice dinner celebrating you. The sheets are warm and soft, but it doesn’t compare to the warmth and softness of Miguel’s body on yours; skin to skin. You’re both entangled and nude, having just had another (or a few) rounds of passionate love. Sleep looms over both you and Miguel, a little heavier on you. You’re quickly learning that Miguel does not have the endurance of an average man.

Knowing how much you loved his speaking voice, he decided to finish and read aloud to you Pride and Prejudice, a book you recommended to him and has become a new favorite of his. A king of aftercare. How more perfect can he be?

Miguel, seeing your eyes grow heavy, kisses your temple and smiles before starting again, “ ‘I love you. You have bewitched me, mind, body, and soul. And wish from this day forth never to be parted from you.’” He recites the notorious line written by Austen, but not for the sake of reading aloud anymore, no. This line was directed to you. And only for you.

“And I love you.” You whisper back.

And for the first time in much more than just 5 years, Miguel didn’t have to go to bed alone. And he won’t have to ever again.

Miguel hasn’t thought about the canon theory in a very, very long time, but a fleeting thought went through his mind before drifting away:

If going through everything that he had to, may it be the day his genetic makeup was altered, the spider-verse, Gabriella, trading in the suit for a life of solitude, everything; Despite the pain, if it all had to happen in order to have met you.

Then it’ll all have been worth it.

<3 Tags <3

@mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @hyjionie @maomaimao @pomakori @pinkhelados @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @walmaerts @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @kaidxra @farrowroyale @pigeonmama @exactlyyoungchaos @fayeofthenightingale @s4dow @safixiovi

@hartsucks @amberbalcom14 @wait2nourh @tatooieve @helen-j-magnus @cl3stevu

@mintssanctuary @ghost-lantern @snails-doodles22 @tinythebunni @shaquilles-0atmeal @nina-from-317 @exoticb-utters @sugurusyndrome @aphinthestars

A/N: Fav chapter I've ever written. It was made with love <3 Really hoped you guys enjoyed it <3 n thnx sm for sticking around even if I made y'all wait so long 😭 love youuuuuuuu‼️ MWAH!!!

[puckinghischier]

hi!! first off, i just want to say that i really love your work. i’m so so glad i found your blog. i just reblogged this quinn blurb of yours (which i’m obsessed with btw)

i was wondering if you’d ever be up to expanding on any of the aspects of it. for example; quinn seeing a guy flirt with you in the stands while he’s playing.. when the game was over what do you think that looks like? would say something to his girl and/or show her more with actions than words? or when he sees how excited she is to see him when he’s ready to head home is he just going to let it go? <- y’know like her smile’s able to erase damn near any negative feelings he’s having. playing on when you said about his girl being able to turn him to mush 🥹

✶₊˚⊹ apologies for the length of this.. when i get excited about something i tend to ramble. also, feel free to ignore this or keep it for later if you’d want. no worries either way ‹𝟹

oh i would absolutely love to expand on that

i don’t think he would dwell on it too much, honestly. because he does trust you and he knows that when you come to his games you’re watching nothing but him, but i think he would be a lil smug about it and the fact you never give them attention like you do him.

his eyes would find you as soon as he walks out of the locker room, ready to take you home and order a post game dinner while watching whatever series the two of you get sucked into on netflix.

you’d be talking to conor, just chatting casually, always having been close with him since you started dating quinn.

too distracted to realize he’s walking towards you, he walks up and engulfs you in a hug from behind.

“Q!!” you’d squeal, laughing as conor takes that as his cue to leave, saying a short goodbye and offering a small wave.

turning around in his arms, you come face to face with your slightly damp and scruffy looking boyfriend, loving his post-shower appearance after every game.

“enjoy the game?” he asks, admiring the joy on your face that only he seems to bring out.

“duh! you scored twice, how could i not?”

quinn’s ego inflates three sizes, remembering what spurred the second goal.

“oh, speaking of, who was your new friend tonight? sure you don’t want me to just buy out the seats next to you every game?” he’d only half joke, not letting you know he has genuinely thought about it before.

you rolled your eyes at him, swatting his chest. “just some chad, brad, or whatever else people name their overly confident, dickish sons.”

your words cause alarm bells in quinn’s brain, his tone suddenly turning serious. “what do you mean by ‘dickish’? did he get handsy? say something to you? do i need to make a call to make sure he never steps foot in this arena again?”

“no! no, nothing like that. he was harmless, just thought he could impress the pretty girl next to him with all kinds of hockey talk,” you’re quick to explain, watching quinn’s jaw visibly relax. “most of which he had wrong, by the way,” you continue. “but then he asked if i was here alone, and i told him no, that my boyfriend was on the ice, but he didn’t believe me. especially not when i told him it was you, the captain of the team.”

it was quinn’s turn to roll his eyes. people never tend to believe you when you tell them he’s your boyfriend, considering you two have kept your relationship decently private. if anything, they shouldn’t believe you’re his girlfriend, still shocked at how he managed to snag someone so out of his league.

“then, after you scored he made some stupid comment about ‘aren’t you going to congratulate your boyfriend?’ as if i had a direct line to you on the ice or something,” you kept explaining to him, causing him to recall the sour look on your face when he was watching you from the bench.

he kept seeing the man turn to you and make comments, figuring he was trying to get you to engage with him. you ignored him, though, giving him side glances every few minutes with a look of annoyance.

“but, after you came over and did your ‘sweetheart’ celly, he finally shut up and left me alone,” you giggled, referencing the goal celebration quinn coined for you. he’ll skate over to the glass where you sit, pretending to lick all five of his fingers as if he’s cleaning ‘sugar’ off of them, then points to you and draws a heart in the air before skating away with a wink.

quinn smiles in triumph, happy that his plan worked.

after watching the scene you just explained play out, he knew he needed an excuse to show some big display of affection so your seat mate would get the hint. so, he turned the dial up to ten and was taking every shot he could.

he hopes the glare he gave the man as he skated away from you was partially to thank, too. even though the second he saw your excitement-filled cheering for him, the man beside of you was (mostly) forgotten.

“well, i hope he realizes you only go for guys who can score both on and off the ice,” he winks down at you, knowing his choice of words was corny, but they succeeded in coaxing out the sweet sound of your laughter that he wanted needed to hear.

he loves knowing that you only get this giggly and carefree with him; knowing that he’s the one that gets to take you home each night. the security he feels in your relationship is unlike anything he’s ever known, blown away at how fully and wholly you love him, always hearing you tell everyone who will listen to you when you think he’s not paying attention.

even if he does manage to get grumpy and annoyed when people flirt with you during games or when you’re out with the team, he knows you never even give them the time of day. every time he catches himself staring daggers at someone, all he finds when he looks at you is your pretty eyes already trained on him, making him forget about any ill feelings he has harbored in his chest, just like tonight.

“alright, captain jealousy, let’s get home so we can eat, i’m starving. i was thinking sushi and gilmore girls, what do you think?” you suggest, grabbing his hand and starting the familiar trek to the car garage.

quinn groans, hating how much you love the annoying mother daughter duo, mentally preparing himself for the hours of torture ahead of him, knowing he doesn’t stand a chance of changing your mind.

[riverbends]

Hear me outttt pope discovers reader in a depressive episode and forces them out

i’m gonna be so honest i actually don’t know how this would go down. i think helping someone with their depression would require pope to look inward because he’s never sought help for his own. so he’d be quite confused and lost, i think. i always thought he struggled to help his sister with her addiction because he wasn’t exactly in the best shape either. though he does have a way of identifying bad habits or practices in other people (e.g. telling someone else they need to eat or sleep when he knows very well that he refuses to do both himself).

but, for the most part, his concern for your wellbeing would outweigh his ignorance of his own. it happens many times throughout the series. tells lena she needs to sleep and go to school to build a better life. tries with all his might to pull angela out of her relapse (i think he also saw this as a second chance at saving julia in a way. after angela is killed, he's holding that guy underwater and starts calling him smurf and all that. angry that smurf never helped julia. angry that he failed to save another loved one from their own addiction). helps that kid at his skate park GENEROUSLY. pays his hospital bills and gives him a place to stay and everything...which still haunts me. prepares food for all the kids at his skate park (he was so mother-coded for this. pope cody IS a mother).

we know pope is capable of saving while he tries to figure out if he himself can be saved. i think he's sort of compensating. for a lot of things. for everything.

if you're depressed, his patience will wear thin eventually. not because he can't deal with you, but because it would terrify him. he'd come across as angry and fed up when he's really just trying to get something through you. trying to get something out of your head.

i'm remembering that time he kind of went off at lena (in a soft way) in the car after she got in trouble at school because he didn't know how to help her and he was terrified that he was doing everything wrong.

one hundred per cent, he's probably breaking down in front of you at some point. he usually does when he's absolutely helpless and doesn't know what to do. he can be gentle, but he's not above using force (yeah manhandling and locking angela in the bathroom because he knew she scored. forcing her to go to a meeting to get help).

he has no idea how to make you feel better so he'll most likely drag you out of bed and force you to let him take care of you. refuses to leave you alone, thinking that if he annoys you enough then you'll comply just to get him off your back. he'll keep this up as long as he has to because he can't stomach the thought of losing another person to their own sickness.

i'd write a fic about this if i really fleshed something out over time.

all i can say is that he'll probably pull you out of it in his own messy, angst-driven way ://

[flemingsfreckles]

Replacement Part 4

Read the rest of the series here

Warnings: cursing, injury to reader, mentions of blood, needles, stitches

WC: 3.4k

A/N: hello 👋

It was well after training had ended and you still found yourself standing on the pitch, drenched in sweat. Twice you had missed an opportunity to score on Saturday so here you were, for the third time this week, staying late practicing the shot over and over. You wanted to perfect it before your game in two days.

So here you were, practicing, making sure you wouldn’t mess up again, you had to prove yourself instead of looking foolish missing twice only for Jessie to come in at the half for you and make a similar shot with ease.

“You’re turning off the ball too quickly.” A voice you didn’t want to hear spoke from behind you. You could already feel your frustration beginning to build. Clenching your fists you take a deep breath trying to focus on the ball in front of you. You take another shot, watching as it tails away again. You turn and give Jessie a sharp look, hoping she’ll get the hint to leave. Instead she continues to speak to you. “I know because I used to do the same thing.”

“I really don't want your help Fleming, I can figure this out on my own.” She doesn’t see the way you roll your eyes at her when you turn back to face the goal.

“I’m just offering. I know we’re not friends and whatever you said, but you do realize we're on the same team right?” You take a deep breath, trying to block out the Canadian behind you. You take another shot, this one misses high, knowing Jessie is standing behind you watching has you a mess.

When you turn to grab another ball you acknowledge Jessie again. “Yeah I know we’re on the same team, thanks, I’m not stupid. It just doesn’t always feel like that when it seems like all I do with you is fight for playing time, which is your fault because you decided to come here.”

You notice you must’ve struck a cord within Jessie, her typical calm demeanor shifting, she looked upset, not sad, but angry. “Look I didn’t join this team with the sole intention of taking someone’s spot!” She throws her hands out.

“Then why’d you come here? You came for playing time, you came to be a starter right? You saw Portland had a weak link in the midfield and you saw your opportunity.”

“Is that why you hate me so much? You think I came here to take your spot?” Jessie’s tone shifts from anger to one of hurt.

Her words cut deep. The sadness in her eyes obvious.

“I don’t hate you.” You didn’t, you didn’t like the girl but the more and more time you spent around her, you hated her less and less. On the pitch you couldn’t stand her but in the locker room and at team dinners, she wasn’t the girl you hated. She made you laugh, she made you smile, and she gave you that stupid warm feeling.

“It sure feels like you do. All I’ve wanted was to get to know you! Since day one you’ve ignored me, you don’t think I’m stupid enough to believe that you just forgot to respond to my texts that first day. You don’t think I notice how short you are with me? And then I see you off with anyone else on this team and you’re completely different. All I want is to get to know you, and you won’t let me!” Jessie’s waving her hands around as she speaks to you.

“Janine spoke so highly of you on and off the pitch, I was so excited to come meet you and get to play with you and then I get here and you’re not at all like she said. She was so excited for us to meet, I think she thought we’d get on really well together. Even she’s noticed your behavior, she knows this isn’t how you usually are. I’m sorry that you maybe felt threatened with my move here, I promise it had nothing to do with you. I would never intentionally go to a team to take someone’s spot. I wanted more playing time, but I never had a negative motive against you or anyone on this team. I wouldn’t be offering advice if I wanted your spot!”

You hear her, she’s only explaining herself. She was right, it wasn’t fair for you to act how you did, but I you felt threatened and still did by the girl. “Whatever, I don’t need your help.”

Jessie provides her insight anyway, pushing your emotions to a greater level. “Just keep your momentum forward for maybe half a second longer, you’re pulling off.”

“Shut up!”

“Don’t tell me to shut up, I’m trying to help you! I’ve been through this, Sinc walked me through the problem, let me help you and you’ll make those shots next time.”

“I already said I didn’t want the help!” You turn screaming at Jessie. Your anger towards the girl finally breaking through. You couldn’t stand her being here acting like she knew all the answers. Jessie stares at you, dumbfounded at the way you had just yelled at her. You both just look at each other. You were a little shocked by your own actions, you rarely even raised your voice at anyone, let alone screamed at them.

The longer you look at her the more the guilt begins to set in. You had been nothing but an asshole to her since she arrived. Here she was, trying to help you, being nothing but nice to you, day after day as you continued to be terrible.

“Sorry.” You whisper, looking at the ground.

“Just try it.” She gives you a sad smile before turning and walking away, her head down.

When Jessie finally leaves, you placed the ball back down. You thought about her words, you didn’t want her to be right but she probably was. You hated that she was going to be right, you’d just wait an extra half of a second, the ball would go in. You look at the ball in front of you then at the goal then back at the ball. You couldn’t let her be right. So you didn’t, you walked up, grabbed the ball and headed toward the locker room.

You never gave yourself a chance to find out if Jessie was right about your shot. The next day you decided to have some grace with yourself, going home once training was over and before you knew it you found yourself parking your car at the stadium to start your pre-match work.

Much to your surprise, when you walked into the locker room for Sunday’s game, you found your name on the starting lineup. Adding to your surprise, two names below your own, Jessie’s was listed.

“Oh that’s different.” Sam’s voice comes from behind you, seeing the three of your names listed as the starting midfield. “Are you going to be able to handle that?”

“Handle what?” Jessie’s voice joins in behind you. “Oh, well that’s new.” She says as she also notices the changes in lineup. The three of you had practiced in this formation a few times, but it definitely wasn’t the formation you had expected for game day.

“Oh just, her not being center mid anymore, being more on the wing, just sort of newer stuff, I mean it’s new for all of us.” You knew that Sam was lying, she meant to be asking if you could handle being with Jessie.

“She’ll be fine. She’s smart.” Jessie says and you feel a hand pat you on the back, you’re not sure if it’s Sam’s or Jessie’s.

The first half was uneventful for you, spending your time running back and forth, seeing a couple passes, making a couple passes. But you found yourself on the ground for most of the game. Getting tripped up a few times and more often than not being taken out by tackles. It was beyond frustrating, ending up face down on the ground, you knew you’d be bruised and scratched up tomorrow. Being tackled frustrated you on its own, but blatant fouls being ignored frustrated you even more.

Your teammates were starting to get sick of it too. At halftime a few of them came to check on you, making comments that it’s crazy none of them are being called as fouls, telling you to keep it up and they were proud of you for playing through the apparent beating your body was taking.

Sam even made a threatening comment to the previous girl who fouled you early into the second half before she came to your side.

“That one was some bullshit.” Sam said as she extended her hand out to you, you had made the mistake of staying on the ground too long, causing the whistle to blow.

“It’s fine, feels a little targeted, but it’s fine.” You reach down to wipe the dirt and grass off your legs before giving a thumbs up to the sidelines where your coach and the training team stood ready to come check on you. You seemed to be the only one ending up on the ground this much, the only one being tackled this hard. Sam and Jessie had both taken a few, but not nearly as many.

“I know kid, Sinc’s already had some words with the refs about it.” You cringe at the childish nickname but nod at Sam. As play starts up again, you could help but notice how calm it felt being on the field despite all the physicality. Sam was always where you needed her for a pass, as was Jessie. It felt like Jessie always knew where you were going to be, even before you did. It felt easy playing with her. Your team was up 2-0, Jessie having one assist, you having the other, Sophia having both goals, it felt easy.

Maybe playing with her wouldn’t be the worst thing.

You would’ve liked the chance to score yourself but the opportunity had yet to present itself. That was until the last 20 minutes of game time. You look across to Jessie, she looks to you for a second before sending the ball your way. You were open, you had space, you also had an open line to the goal. A similar line you had last game when you missed both shots. Jessie’s words from the other day flash through your mind.

“Keep your momentum forward.”

Just as you go to take the shot, you’re sent flying forward into the ground, the ball getting away from you and you end up in a tangled heap with a KC player. A sharp pain in your back and face take the air from your lungs. You hear a whistle and the girl on top of you scrambles to get up and leaves you without a word. You’re too busy trying to ignore the sting on the side of your face and the soreness in your ribs to see the girl being shown a yellow card.

“What the fuck is your problem!” You pick your head up at the sound of yelling next to you. You see a pair of white boots stomp by you, followed quickly by two other pairs running after the first. When you pick up your head you see Jessie making her way to a group of KC players. She’s being quickly followed by Janine and Becky who are both calling at her to leave it be.

“You alright?” Coffey is once again at your side, hand pressing on your back. When you pick your face up to look at her she winces and quickly waves to the sidelines. “You’re bleeding.” She points to her own cheek, you start to bring your hand to wipe it before Sam grabs your wrist and shakes her head at you.

You take a deep breath before rolling over and taking her hand to stand up. You took a second to check out your body, you were sore overall, a little winded from the hit but nothing on an unbearable level. “Did that one at least get called?” Sam starts to nod before both of your attention is brought back to the yelling going on between your teammates and the other team.

“That was dirty and you know it, you fucking hit her from behind.” Jessie’s got her finger pointing at the girl's chest. “You’re lucky you’re getting away with just a yellow, that should be a red.” She looks at the referee trying to plead her case that the girl should be given a harsher punishment.

You watch as Janine and Becky try to put themselves between Jessie and the other girl, both of them failing as the two girls keep shouting at each other.

Your eyes are pulled away from Jessie as the trainers start assessing your face, holding gauze to the cut. They start asking how you’re feeling, if you hit your head, if you feel dizzy, all to which you say no, trying to get them to let you play again.

“You’ll probably need a stitch or two in this.” One of the trainers says to you as he pulls the gauze back from your face. You barely hear what he says as you get distracted by the sound of a whistle and commotion to your left, you watch as a girl from the Current shoves Jessie on the shoulders causing her to stumble back. Once she regains her balance, she immediately lunges back at the girl, getting her hand on the girl’s shirt collar only to be grabbed around the waist by Janine and physically pulled back. Janine drags Jessie back to where the rest of your team stood waiting. Jessie is now yelling at Janine to let her go and let her show the girl what a dirty play can look like.

The trainers keep wiping at your face, checking over the rest of your body for injuries, but your eyes are too busy locked on Jessie to care what they were doing. You can’t help but feel relaxed at Jessie’s behavior, knowing she was sticking up for you, that relaxation only lasts a moment as it quickly becomes guilt as Jessie is shown a red card. She’s been kicked out of the game because of you.

She quickly walks off the pitch, turning and shouting something as the Current player who pushed, who was making her own way into the visitors locker room, you assume she was shown a red too.

“We’re going to take you off, get this fixed up now.” You hear the assistant coach say behind you.

“No!” You try to argue but you also know there’s no point, it wouldn’t make a difference. Feeling defeated you follow the trainer off the pitch, holding gauze to your own cheek.

You walk down the tunnel and into the locker room, you pass by Jessie giving her a quick glimpse. She still looks angry but her expression softens when she sees you and turns to a look of concern. You turn into the training room and hop onto the table. The trainer takes the gauze from you and moves across the room to grab more tools. The team doctor walks in shortly after and Jessie’s head pops around the corner.

“Hey, oh.” She says, her eyes catching the cut on your face.

“Hey.” You respond, not sure how to interact with the girl. The doctor comes and stands between the two of you, gently looking at your cheek. You wince as he pulls at the skin.

“Probably just two stitches, could be three, unfortunately it’s too deep to glue.”

“Oh.” You say, you hated needles, absolutely hated them, they made your knees feel weak and your vision tunnel. “Can I lay down when you do it? I just don’t always do well with needles.” You knew better to ask now than when you started feeling faint mid-stitch a needle in your face. He nods and gestures to the pillow already on the bed. You lay down, putting your cheek with the cut face up. You close your eyes and try to relax yourself, two stitches would be quick, you’d be fine.

Suddenly having the feeling that someone was watching you, you open your eyes, expecting to see the doctor again. You confirm your feelings when you open your eyes, but instead of the doctor, it’s Jessie. She was now sitting in a chair by your head looking at you. You’re about to open your mouth when the doctor returns.

He sets up everything before turning to you. “Ready? Couple small pinches to numb, then we’ll wait a second, I’ll make sure you can’t feel anything and I’ll get you fixed up.”

You nod and watch as Jessie extends a hand to you. You look at her hand then back at her face. “If you want something to squeeze.” She says before adding, “if not that’s fine, I know it’s maybe silly but just thought I’d offer.” Before you can think you reach your own hand out, taking hers in yours. You squeeze it tight as you feel the doctor begin numbing your cheek. She gives you a soft squeeze back.

You focus on breathing, trying to ignore the feeling on your cheek. You also try to ignore the feeling of Jessie’s hand in yours. The way her thumb gently circled your skin, the way her fingers held tightly on yours. Breathing in and out, in and out. It’s only a few moments later that the doctor places his hand on your shoulder and tells you he’s done before he walks away to clean up. You feel Jessie’s grip on your hand relax, reminding you to take your own hand back from her. That’s when you realize how clammy and sweaty your hands were.

“Sorry, didn’t realize my hands were so sweaty.” You wipe your palms on your shorts, embarrassed that you probably gotJessie’s hands wet.

“No worries.” Jessie gives you a smile as she pushes herself up from the chair. “How are you feeling? I didn’t even know you got a cut.”

You laugh a bit at her comment. “I know, you were too busy trying to rip that girl's head off.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened there.” She looks at the ground, kicking the leg of the chair with her foot. “It was just pretty a dirty hit, she could’ve seriously injured you, and they hadn’t left you alone all game, I just got a little frustrated.”

“It’s fine, it happens to everyone at some point.” You’re about to thank her, tell her that it felt nice knowing she was looking out for you when Sam comes through the door, followed by a few more teammates. Jessie gives you a quick pat on the leg and heads over to begin her recovery.

“That’ll leave a scar.” Sam says looking at the fresh stitches in your cheek.

You hadn’t even thought about that, you’d have a permanent reminder of this game. A game that while successful in terms of your passing efficiency and the assist, you’d rather forget. “I hope not.”

“Hey, people think scars are hot, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.” There's a silence between the two of you which is filled with the commotion and conversations being held by your teammates. “So, are you two good now? You two looked good playing off each other.” Sam glances to where Jessie had been standing when she walked in.

“I don’t know.” You shrug, you weren’t sure how to sort your feelings, it had been easy playing with her, you didn’t feel like she was a threat to you, she felt like a teammate for the first time.

“You know, I think there’s a reason she did it.” Sam has a sly smile on her face as she looks at you, then over to where Jessie is getting an ice bath set up.

“Why’s that?”

“Oh come on, the coffees, the muffins, the way she wanted to talk with you constantly on our little midfield bonding, now she's being protective, are you blind?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Sam, I don't know what you’re talking about.” Maybe you had hit your head but you weren’t able to figure out what Sam was getting at.

“I'm just saying, I think there’s something there, a little crush.”

You stare back at Sam, you can begin to hear your parents voices again, you knew what Sam was implying but that couldn’t be true. Jessie couldn’t have a crush on you, you definitely didn’t have a crush on her, or anyone.

“I’ve got to go stretch.” You hop off the bed and move to grab a mat and begin stretching across the room in your own corner of solitude. Your mind wanders to the yelling match with Jessie, how she told you how all she wanted was to get to know you, it seemed friendly.

Was it not friendly? Did she mean something more by that? Did she share the same confused feelings as you did? Did she also have the warm tingle when she saw you? Did she also feel terrified of what it meant?

[user211201]

Ape boy

--- Originally posted on 2017-01-10 on realhankmccoy ---

“Just don’t make me dumb, man, I want to keep everything about my mind totally intact,” I told my friend at the lab.

I was totally willing to go through the procedure but I didn’t want it messing with my intellect any – my job and lifestyle were too important to me.

They promised me a whole new masculine experience, that they could bring out the man in me in ways that were easily accessible through epigenetic therapy.

I’d be fitter, more energetic, more attractive and just altogether healthier. It was in the beta testing process and they said they’d throw in $3000 if I signed off, too. I’d only need to take a few weeks off work for an outpatient trial.

“That didn’t seem so bad,” I said after the doctor finished up removing the slow drip from my arm and the infusion was complete. Took two different bags of fluid but I mostly felt fine, if a little faint at first.

I got home and realized I was pretty tired so I stripped down and went to bed. I started noticing the changes the next day already. I did have more energy. My face seemed handsomer, just a tad. After two days I was feeling pretty into this.

It was the third day when I started noticing that I was getting beefier.

That was cool, I thought, but then I noticed I was feeling hornier, too. I ignored it at first, but by the end of the day I was jacking off in my bedroom, hard. I got up off my bed, still stroking my dick, to check myself out in the mirror.

“Looks hot,” I thought, stroking it slowly. If this stuff made my sex drive a little stronger, that was fine with me.

I started getting obsessed with checkin’ out the changes in the mirror, and I had so much energy that I started working out. I’d be doing pushups on my hardwood floor and getting excited over how I was going to flex in front of the bathroom mirror after I finished a set of 50.

I went back to the lab and they didn’t seem to think it was a problem.

So I figured, what the hell, I might as well enjoy this. Pretty soon I was hanging out in just my underwear all the time. That didn’t make me dumb, I knew, it just felt good. I might as well get into it, I figured.

Only problem is I got used to it pretty quick. I hate wearing clothes now, dudes.

I looked in the mirror one day and I just looked so fucking good with these thick pecs and the thicker stubble on my face. I figured I should have fun with a haircut so I got kind of a high and tight, cut real short though, and that just turned me on. Even my facial structure has changed from this shit they’re doing to me. My ears look like they stick out more, like some dumb ape or something, and that just makes me hard. I’ve hot this thick abdomen and these beefy deltoids. I feel like I look more like a football dude, even, and I started watching football even. Might as well have fun while I’m stuck in outpatient anyhow.

They told me it wouldn’t alter my mind any but it’s like I’m addicted to working out, flexing in the mirror, taking selfies, hooking up – with dudes – I just find em on my phone. I stopped reading. I look at these hairy legs and I get hard just touching em, I rub a hand across my pecs and my nipples are hard right away and I feel my cock jump up wanting a piece of the action. All I can think about is my goddamn cock, man.

So I took another week off work because I’m not ready to go back, and told myself on Monday I’d start getting ready to get my life on track. I just procrastinated the whole day, jacking off in bed, mostly, slowly stroking it. I guess my new bod’s so awesome that it’s just depressing to think of going back to the office.

My alarm goes off on Tuesday, and I throw it against the wall and say fuck it. One more day of fun’s not gonna hurt. Dudes, I look so fucking good. At least I’ll be productive today, I tell myself. So I start off the day with a ton of pushups, make myself a protein shake, and I look so ripped in the mirror that I figure I’ll score myself a hookup off Grindr. Guy comes over, and his hairy, hard pecs crushed against mine – my rubbing the short beard I’ve got started all up on his asshole, and that turns him on enough that he’s letting me lift his legs and plow the shit out of him..

After he’s gone, I’m back in front of the mirror saying “you fucking stud. Yeah you fuckin’ ape boy. Fuckin’ just want to fuck with dudes, don’t you, gay boy. Yeah you jocked up fuck. Just want to get naked and fuck, don’t you?”

Still hard, still horny, so just stroking my dick slowly while I put the game on for ambience. I don’t know how Thursday’s gonna shake out but today I just went out and bought a basketball hoop for the driveway so I could burn off some of this energy. Felt fuckin’ great, too, goin’ out in the sun in just some shorts and Nikes working on my game. Soon as I was back indoors though, man, just stripped back down to my underwear – I can’t stop admiring this body. Gotta get another dude over here to mess around with. Fuck work, man, you only live once, right?

Think I’m gonna pick up a big screen for the bedroom because that’d be pretty cool, and I just found out gay dues have their own hockey leagues you can join so I’m thinking of that. How hot would that be – those dudes are fuckin’ built, man, and I could pick it up pretty quick I bet.

Fuck, let me know if – oh, fuck it, I’m gonna order a pizza and see if I can find a hot hookup for tonight. Some dude with pecs as thick as mine and who’s like me slapping this cock all over his tongue for a couple of hours while I tease the shit out of his hot jock ass. Yeah man. Fuckin’ hot, man, I could pump a full load into some dude’s muscle butt and be ready to score again two hours later. That’s how good I feel. Friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it as long as it’s none of that lovey-dovey or dramatic shit – I’ve got em on the phone. Sex, muscle, good food and workin’ out, so glad I met those lab rats.

[vortexdoll]

omg so random and feel free to ignore, but could I request a joey jordison x biker!reader thing? oneshot, drabble, I don't care, I just crave biker!reader in fandoms I'm in 😭🙏 anyways I hope you have a good day/night!! :)

Backstage Pass

Gif Credit @mattel

A/n: Hello! Ofc I can! Tysm for being my first request. I didn’t know how I would go about it and this is what it ended up as. I hope you like it!

Joey Jordison x biker!reader

Summary: After a high-energy Slipknot show, you catch Joey Jordison’s attention backstage, leading to an unexpected night of conversation, cigarettes, and a quiet escape from the chaos.

Warnings: N/a

Word count: 870

The energy from the show still thrummed through your veins as you leaned against the cold concrete wall of the backstage hallway. Your ears rang from the pounding drums and screaming guitars, but you didn’t mind. The show had been everything you’d hoped for—raw, aggressive, and completely unforgettable.

And now, you were backstage, waiting.

You had lucked out, scoring a pass to meet Slipknot after the show. But you weren’t the type to fangirl and beg for autographs. You were here for one reason—Joey Jordison.

You’d followed his career for years, fascinated by his talent, his energy, and the way he seemed to pour his entire soul into the drums. You weren’t some obsessed fan—you just admired the hell out of the guy. And maybe, deep down, you wanted to know if the man behind the legend was anything like the one you’d imagined.

The door at the end of the hall creaked open.

Joey stepped out, his mask nowhere in sight. His dark, sweat-dampened hair clung to his face, and his eyes, sharp and piercing, flicked toward you almost immediately. Dressed in all black, he had an effortless presence—one that made it impossible to look away.

“You were in the front row, weren’t you?” His voice was rough, slightly hoarse from the show.

You nodded. “Yeah. Hell of a performance.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You looked like you were having a good time.” He gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering on your leather jacket. “You a biker?”

“Since I was sixteen,” you replied. “Can’t stand being stuck in one place too long.”

His smirk widened. “I get that.” He leaned against the wall next to you, arms crossed. “Most of the people back here just want a picture. You don’t seem like the type.”

You chuckled. “I’m not.”

Joey tilted his head, considering you. “So, why are you back here?”

“Figured it’d be cool to meet you. No bullshit, no fan-crazed screaming. Just… talk.”

Something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t used to that answer. He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a first.”

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment, but the energy between you was anything but dull. Joey glanced around, then gestured toward a side door.

“Come on. I need some fresh air. You up for a smoke?”

“Yeah,” you said, pushing off the wall to follow him.

⸻

The alley behind the venue was dimly lit, the distant hum of the city filling the silence. Joey pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features.

He took a drag and exhaled, watching you from the corner of his eye. “So, what do you ride?”

“Custom-built chopper,” you said, leaning against the brick wall.

Joey let out an approving hum. “Bet that thing turns heads.”

You smirked. “It does. You ever ride?”

He shook his head. “Never got into it. I like speed, but I get my rush on stage.” He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Drumming’s the closest thing to flying for me.”

You nodded. “Makes sense. You look like you’re in another world when you play.”

Joey chuckled. “That obvious?”

“Yeah,” you said, watching him. “But it’s cool. You don’t half-ass anything.”

“Neither do you,” he said, flicking ash onto the pavement. “I can tell.”

The way he was looking at you—like he was actually seeing you—made your stomach do something stupid. He wasn’t just making conversation. He was interested.

“You got plans after this?” he asked suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Depends. Why?”

He smirked. “Thought you might wanna hang out for a bit. Nothing crazy. Just… get out of here. Find somewhere quieter.”

The idea of ditching the noisy after-party and spending time alone with Joey Jordison? Yeah, that sounded a hell of a lot better.

You pretended to think about it for a second before grinning. “Alright, rockstar. Lead the way.”

Joey chuckled, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “Let’s go, then.”

And just like that, the night took a turn you hadn’t seen coming.

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met

word count: 832 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Kenma x chubby!Reader feat. Kuroo (as The Wingman™ doing the most)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

“You need to get out more. Don’t you ever miss the sun and …”, Kuroo looked around his friend’s gaming room, noting empty take-out containers and energy drinks and balled up socks, “fresh air?”

“No.“, Kenma simply said as he rifled through the games on his computer, trying to decide which one he would stream tonight.

“Come on, let‘s go out. Not for a drink or anything, just for a walk.“

Kenma knew he wouldn‘t be able to hold out long against Kuroo‘s incessant pleas that were bound to follow and so he gave a demonstrative sigh and got up, ignoring the other‘s wide grin.

“Now isn‘t this nice?“, Kuroo took a deep breath of the crisp evening air.

Kenma just looked at his phone and tapped on a nearby checkpoint collecting his rewards.

“It‘s raining.“

“Hardly, drizzling at best. Do you wanna check out that new restaurant that just opened up?“

“No, let‘s go back home. We can order food.“

“We‘ve barely been out five minutes.“

That was already 5 times longer than Kenma preferred in a week.

“Look, the app says there is an event in the park over there. Why don‘t we check it out?“

Lured with the promise of a good game, Kenma shuffled after Kuroo, not hiding a groan of contempt that made Kuroo laugh, “Just like the good old days!“

According to the app the upcoming battle would take place at a fountain in the middle of the small aforementioned park. Only a few other people were already waiting there, periodically checking their phones for the event timer.

Kenma looked around, already thinking about what food he craved once he was back in his warm and cozy house.

There were two young school boys who, in Kuroo‘s opinion, should have gone to bed long ago, another man a little older than him - and you. You stood under a cream coloured umbrella, concentrating on your phone like the others. A fluffy white dog sat at your feet, leaning close to stay dry.

You looked really cute, stunningly cute actually, as far as he could tell in the dim light of the street lanterns, subdued by the misty air. The washed out video game shirt was tied to a knot at your hips, hugging your curvy shape. You reminded him of the big bunny plushie he had gotten a few years ago as part of a game promotion.

The event finally began. He tried to keep his focus on the game but snuck curious looks every now and then across the fountain. Did you live around here, too? How had he never seen you bef- oh, right.

After a few short minutes it was already over and everyone went their separate ways.

“So, what do you wanna have for dinner? Kenma? Hello? Hm?“

Kuroo‘s eyes followed the gaze of his friend and grinned when he spotted you, digging around in your bag.

“Kenma-kun?“, he said teasingly, leaning closer to his friend‘s ear, “You still with us?“

“Huh?“

The younger one snapped out of his daze.

“Why don‘t you go talk to her?“

“Talk to who?“

“Her.“, Kuroo nodded in your direction.

“Why would I?“

“Oh geez, I dunno. Because you‘re staring and for you that is basically equivalent to Tora salivating.“

“Am not.“, Kenma muttered defensively and hated that his ears turned hot.

“Uh huh. Hey, excuse me!”, Kuroo ignored the panicked tug on his jacket when he called out to you.

You looked up, then at them, looked around in confusion, then pointed at yourself.

“Yes.”, Kuroo called with a bright confident smile and walked over to you, Kenma who was still holding onto his jacket followed, but quickly let go before you noticed.

You seemed a bit worried at the tall figure calling out to you randomly in a park but calmed when he asked, “Did you score anything good?” He pointed to your phone.

“Oh. Yes, yes I did.” You turned your phone to show off the rewards.

“Nice. Didn’t you say you got something good, Kenma?”

The younger one nodded and turned his screen for you to see.

“Wow, lucky!”

“I’m Kuroo. This is Kenma.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m (y/n).”

Silence followed.

“And who is this?”

Kuroo pointed at the dog to your feet that sniffed his foot quizzically.

“That’s Plume. I named her after -“

“The berserker in Cloak and Dagger II.“, Kenma finished.

His ears turned hot again when your face lit up.

“Yes! Oh my god, I never met anyone offline who knows the game!“

Silence fell again, Kuroo tapped his foot impatiently.

“Hey, Kenma, isn‘t Cloak and Dagger a multiplayer game?“

“Yeah.“, Kenma replied, weirdly annoyed that his friend would ask such a dumb obvious question in front of you.

Another short stretch of silence.

Kuroo sighed. “Why don‘t you two exchange tags then? You could play together.“

“Oh! That would be great, but I mean, of course you don‘t have to.“, you said quickly.

“Oh no, he wants to.“

a/n: let‘s just pretend the picture is post-time skip - also this game is entirely made up and it took me way too long to think of a name

[boldlyvoid]

Come Together

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Summary: Ever since the academy, Aaron and Y/N have been at each other's throats for a spot on the BAU. He got it, She didn't. Now they have to plan the Bureau's Holiday party together without killing each other.

Warnings: angst, fighting, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, Aaron had a crush on her while married. why he and haley broke up, miscarriage mentions, divorced Aaron, flirting, teasing, kissing, fingering, hate sex, p in v smut, rough sex, no condoms used

Word Count: 4.8k

Penelope is usually the one to plan holiday parties… but after last year's spiked punch— that ruined a lot of upper agents' sobriety, which wasn’t her fault at all, the director delegated to having two random people plan it together. He pulled names from a hat that just happened to be Aaron Hotchner and Y/N Y/L/N. 

She was happy to do it, and he was fine with doing it… they just weren’t happy about doing it together. The two agents couldn’t stand each other and it goes all the way back to being in the same year at the academy. 

They were tied for the top of the class, duking it out to be the chosen one for Agent Rossi’s new right-hand man. And of course, it went to a man. It didn’t matter to them that she was fantastic at what she did, or that her final score was 0.2% higher than his. He was a man so he got it. 

She got a job in CARD which, she liked, it was still an opportunity to solve cases and bring kids home to their parents… she just had to work with the BAU more than she liked and take orders from them. And then Rossi left, Gideon stepped down and Aaron Hotchner was the fucking Head of the BAU. 

She was taking orders from him. Him and his goon squad of pretty people he picked over her. 

She would’ve pushed everything aside and dealt with him, she would’ve mended things if he accepted her into the team. But he never did. After 5 applications and being looked over for everything while he hired younger and younger, she finally gave up and started to hate his guts even more. 

Now she’s in the elevator, pushing the button for floor 6 and shaking the thoughts of strangling him out of her head so she can deal with him for half an hour. He’s always so busy that she’s been waiting all week just to talk about this stupid fucking party, and the only time he has is at 8:30 pm on a Friday when she should be at home. 

She walks right into the bullpen, up the stairs and knocks on his door. “come in?” He calls. 

“Hey,” she says with a deep sigh. “Can we talk about the party?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, waving her in. “Come sit, I already have some ideas.” 

“Okay…” she sits down in front of him, ignoring all his plaques and accolades and staring down at her clipboard. “I called around and there are 3 places available that are big enough to hold us, on the 3rd Saturday of the month.” 

“Awesome, I already called a friend of mine with a Christmas tree farm and acquired 3 trees— Douglas furs, all pretty and big, we’ll just need a ceiling over 12 feet to house them,” he explains. 

“And who’s going to decorate them?” She asks. 

He shrugs, “We’ve got a big budget, we can hire someone to do it.” 

“Who did Penelope use?” 

“Herself,” he smiles that devilishly condescending smile. “I’m sure if we ask she’d want to help out again. She loves Christmas.” 

“Did you ever figure out who spiked the punch last year?” She asks, genuinely feeling sorry for Penelope. 

Penny was the only one on the team that she actually liked. 

He nods, “Dax Cooper up in counter-terrorism.” 

“Yeah, he’s an asshole.” 

“Worse than me?” He teases. “Seriously, when are you going to stop being mad at me?” 

“When you admit you hate me!” She fights back. “I did nothing to you. You’re the one who conspired with Dave and got hired here and then you purposely lost all my applications and never let me know why you wouldn’t even interview me.”

“I didn’t lose them, I put them to the side,” he shrugs. “You weren’t ready to be on our team.” 

“But the walking calculator and teen Mrs. USA are?” She laughs.

“Reid and JJ are wonderful assets,” he snaps, jaw tight and eyes full of fury. “This is why I don’t want you. You wouldn’t be a team player. Not until you get rid of the attitude and accept that this job is about more than numbers. Yes, they’re young, yes you beat me by a fraction of a percent, but that doesn’t mean you have what it takes to do what we do.” 

“I look at cases full of missing, dead and raped kids all day, how is that any different?” She honestly can’t believe it. 

“Because you look at a screen all day with facts and witness statements and I go out into the field and I talk to parents and I deal with the cops and I don’t start fights over petty bullshit,” he reminds her. “I have never called you names or signalled you out. All you do, every time we're on a scene together, is whisper and gossip and try to undermine me. You need to grow up.” 

She just shakes her head, holding in a comment that could hurt him because… and she hates to say it, but he’s right. “Whatever. Should I call one of these places and book it tomorrow or what?” 

“Do whatever you want, just give me the address so I can have the trees and decorations sent over,” he honestly doesn’t care. “I trust your judgement on a caterer, I’ll pick a band… what else would we need?” 

“Invitations, which I can handle,” she assures as she stands up to walk to his door. “I’ll cc you on everything and include the director for oversight. I’ll call you if I have questions.” 

“Y/N,” he calls out to her before she leaves. “I’m going to be looking for a new agent in a few months…” 

“And?” 

“If we can work this out by then… maybe things will be different when you apply this time?” He suggests, giving her innocent eyes and genuinely meaning it. 

“Okay.” 

—

“Did you see her last night?” Dave asks, walking right into Aaron's office with two coffees right at 8am. 

He nods, “I did… you don’t have any connections to a band I can book for Christmas, do you?” 

“The Jazz club might be able to lend us some members,” he suggests. “I’ll make a call… but I take it things went well?” 

“As well as they could go, she’s still so mad at me for getting this position over her,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how to make her realize she just wasn’t ready. Our working together would’ve been awful. It would’ve—

“Ruined your marriage that just ended?” Dave teases. “I know you liked her, I saw the way you two looked at each other and I saw the teasing and the way you talked about her. She was more than a friend to you… I couldn’t have her on the team like that. I couldn’t see you go through what I did with Caroline.” 

“I hate thinking about how different things could’ve been if she was on the team though,” he shakes his head and stares off out the window. “We almost broke up back then, you know? We almost never had Jack…” 

“You know it’s perfectly normal for marriages not to work out, it doesn’t mean you loved her any less, it just wasn’t meant to be forever,” Dave reminds him. “You’re still friends, there’s no ill will. You never cheated, she didn’t either. You just grew apart. It happens.” 

“But now I’m single and I can pursue Y/N… but she hates me,” he sighs. “I don’t think she’ll ever stop hating me.” 

“Nasty hate sex is fun,” Dave teases, making them both laugh. “I’m serious… you wouldn’t believe the women I’ve—

“I know, actually,” Aaron shakes his head. “Strauss can’t look at you the same anymore.” 

“Hey… that wasn’t hate, it was just indifference,” he teases. 

“Whatever,” Aaron can’t help but smirk. “Can you work on the band for me?”

“I will, I’ll get them to throw in some love songs too,” Dave teases on his way out. 

This was going to be interesting. 

—

Two weeks of planning and emails blow by in the blink of an eye. 

He gets ready for the party early, having to be there to check things over and meet the band and shake hands with the higher-ups as they arrive. He has a nice suit on, a red tie for Christmas and dark green socks that no one will ever notice. But he wants to look nice. 

For her. 

He walks up to her where she’s hiding in the corner. Adorning the most stunning golden dress and holding her clipboard, making sure everything gets delivered and set up in time for the start time at 7. They still have 4 hours till then, but she’s an overachiever. And a worrier. She needed this to be perfect. 

She looked perfect. Like the 2000 Holiday Barbie brought to life. He’s absolutely astounded by her beauty he just stares for a moment before he says anything. 

“You know, you look very pretty today,” he compliments but she doesn’t take it that way. 

She looks at him like he just insulted her mother. “What?” 

“That dress, it looks nice on you,” he looks her up and down. Smiling like he has some tricks up his sleeve. “What? Can’t I think you look nice? Haven’t we spent enough time talking this last month to let me compliment you?” 

“Don’t you have a wife?” She asks, disgusted he’d hit on her. “And a kid?” 

“We got divorced back in April,” he shrugs. “And you say you want to be a profiler, yet you haven’t looked at my hands in months?” 

She looks now, noticing that he doesn’t have a ring and the tan line that should be there is long gone, which means he’s telling the truth. “Oh… sorry.” 

“It’s better this way,” he nods, giving her a sweet smile. “Is everything going to plan?” 

She nods too, “Yeah. Just waiting on your band… please tell me they’re good?” 

He laughs, “They’re great. Dave’s got this Jazz bar he basically owns with how much money he’s spent there so they owe him one… You’ll like them.” 

“Jazz, at Christmas?” She can’t believe it. “Hotch—

“Aaron,” he corrects her. “Please, for the love of god, call me Aaron again.”

“Why?” She laughs, “We’re not close.” 

“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You can’t tell me that before everything went down, we didn’t have something going on? We were friendly, I almost thought you had a crush on me?” 

She looks at him with a brow raised, “You thought I had a crush on you?” 

He nods, “And then you found out I was married.” 

“So you’re saying if you weren’t married we could’ve hooked up at the academy?” She asks. “Sounds like you liked me too, regardless of the wife.” 

“No—

“Be honest,” she begs, stepping into his space even more. “If things were different- if you didn’t have a wife and we fucked back then, would you have screwed me over for the job?” 

“I didn’t screw you over, I simply already knew Dave,” he finally admits after 10 long years. “I knew he was about to leave, he knew Gideon didn’t want to be in charge. He wanted someone to run the whole unit who wouldn’t choke— not saying you’d choke, he just knew I was already hard on the inside, I wasn’t going to lose my mind with all the shit we see.” 

“You could’ve put in a good word for me, Aaron, I would’ve been fine working under you. I would’ve loved even just an office job in the BAU, I want to work with more than just missing kids,” she begs. “I’ve done it for 10 years, now. You know that makes me strong. You have a kid of your own, you know it’s not easy to think about them missing, let alone deal with it.” 

“I know… and I was serious, I have a new position opening up and I want to give this another try,” he admits. “I want you on the team.” 

She shakes her head, “how can I be on the team when this—” she points between them. “This, whatever this is, is going on?” 

“The sexual tension?” He teases and she swats his arm. “We’ll be fine.” 

She shakes her head. “Just, give me some time to think about it?” 

“I can do that…” 

—

She watches him from afar most of the night. Talking only when they needed to, like in front of the director or on stage while introducing the band and thanking everyone for being there… she was having a very hard time being in the same room as him with all she knew now. 

She was still mad at him. 

Mad because she’s wasted so much of her life hating him when they could’ve been happy together… but at the same time she was sad for his ex-wife. She wondered how long the marriage was loveless. Did she know? Did she suspect? Who broke it off? Does he see his son? She knew he was a good man back then but, what kind of good man has a crush on someone else while married? Would he just do that to her if they got together? 

She had so many questions in her mind and they wouldn’t shut up. 

He approaches her again while she’s deep in thought, staring at the floor while she sips on a drink she doesn’t even like. 

“Having fun?” He asks. 

She shakes her head, “No.” she puts her drink down on the table just behind her and turns back to him as he begins to speak.

“Something not going according to pl—

“Why the fuck did you have to tell me you like me?” She snaps. “I was so okay with hating you for the rest of my life because I couldn’t be on the team I always wanted to join and then you tell me you like me? That if you didn’t have a wife you’d want to be with me back then?” 

He steps more into her space so they can keep their voices down and between each other, “because you deserve to know.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” she fights back. “You were never worried about me being too immature for the team, you were scared you’d end up cheating on your wife with me. I didn’t even know you had a wife until I developed feelings for you. You never wore your ring to class, we spent every day sitting together in class or at the library and you came back to my dorm a few times… you pursued me as much as I was pursuing you and then you made it my fault.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he bows his head, ashamed. “My wife and I weren’t in a good place, we were talking about getting separated… then she got pregnant.” 

“I thought Jack was only—

“We lost a couple babies before him,” he admits. “I didn’t want to be like my dad. I didn’t want to knock her up and leave her so I stayed. I stayed but I wasn’t a good dad anyway. I was always at work, I missed important things with my son and she was the one to end it because she deserved someone who wanted to be home with her and my son deserved to grow up knowing his dad wasn’t always going to be there but loves him enough to be as present as possible when he is home. I couldn’t be that when I was with his mom. we’re so much better apart, I love having weekends alone with my son and doing things we like and not worrying about fighting with his mother in front of him. And she’s happier now with her new boyfriend and Jack's happy with the prospect of a stepdad who can step up in all the areas I lack.” 

“That’s a really mature thing to do for him,” she manages to give him a small, press-lipped smile. “Still doesn’t make me feel better about what you did to me.” 

“I’ve wanted to tell you the truth and that I’m sorry for so long, but when we’re together it’s always a fight. I can never get an honest minute with you, you always just come in guns blazing and my instinct is to tease you back,” he admits. “I am sorry. I wish things were different. I would like to start over if you’d allow me to.” 

“I don’t want a job on your team,” she says, stepping in even closer. Close enough to kiss him. “I can’t work with you like this.” 

“Why?” He smirks. 

“Because Strauss hates you enough as is without you fucking your subordinate,” she whispers. “I’m not throwing myself under the bus… just to be under you.”

He lunges for a kiss, pressing his lips against hers as he cups her face. She backs up slightly in surprise, bumping into the table behind herself. Aaron’s instincts are sharp, he reaches behind her and steadies it so the drink doesn’t crash against the floor and draw more attention to them. She knows the few people in this corner are already looking at them, but she doesn’t care. 

This is a kiss she’s waited a decade for. 

Her hands go inside his suit jacket, she reaches around to grasp his back and pulls him flush against herself. They break the kiss just to breathe, going in for another and another until their tongues meet and they’re the odd couple making out in the corner of the party. 

His hand slips from her cheek to her jaw, along the side of her neck and then she pulls away, “not here,” she reminds him they’re in public and he can’t touch her anywhere he wants to. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “How long do we have to stay here?” 

“I have to stay for shutdown tonight,” she sighs. “But…. Come with me.” 

She pats his side and moves past him, leading him out of the little corner they’re in and towards the main room. He follows her up a staircase, past people they both know and respect and they catch a few eyes but, she puts on a fake pissed-off look and they think she’s leading him somewhere to yell at him… cause that’s what they do. 

“Hey man, where are you going?” Derek asks as they pass him and Penelope sharing a plate of hors d’oeuvres. 

He’s quick on his feet, “One of the vendors fucked up, we have to chat with their boss and discuss how they can make it up to us.” 

“Oh, damn, well… have fun,” he teases. Letting them go on down the small corridor towards some offices. 

She leads him to the only open office she has access to, flicks on the light, lets him in and locks the door behind them. He’s quick to crowd her space, press her up against the door and grip her chin to tilt her attention up toward his eyes once more. She’s back inside his suit jacket, he’s so toasty-warm in there she can only imagine what it’ll be like to be naked with him.

“What were you saying about fucking up and making up for it?” She teases him. 

He smirks, “I will… but first we need to find a way to release all that pent-up frustration we have against each other.” 

She tries her best not to laugh, just shaking her head with a smile as she lets out a little huff, “Ah yes, fuck me like you hate me so we can restart fresh.” 

He cups her face with both hands, eyes darkening with lust, “you’ve been such a brat for so long.” 

“And I’m sure you know the cure for that?” She teases, pulling him in closer. One of her legs slips out of the slit of her dress and she brings it up to wrap around his hip, he’s quick to drop one of the hands from her cheek to grip her thigh. 

“I do,” he whispers, his voice so deep it makes her stomach drop with anticipation. 

He kisses her abruptly, she grips his back pulling him as if they could possibly get any closer but they can’t. Not yet. He grinds against her as their tongues meet again, his hand on her leg goes a little higher until he’s gripping her ass. The hand on her cheek starts to slip again, caressing her chest, she lightly moans into his mouth at the feeling. He’s everywhere, boxing her in against the door, but she wants more. She wants him buried deep inside of her, pounding her against the table over there, letting her know just how much he’s wanted her this whole time. 

He kisses the side of her mouth, her jaw and down her neck, letting her catch her breath just to knock it all out of her again when he starts to lightly suck on her skin. “Aaron, don’t you fucking dare,” she scolds him. 

“I won’t,” he speaks against her, just lightly nipping and sucking at her skin on his way down to her cleavage. 

She pulls her hands out from inside his jacket to roam his shoulders until one hand ends up at the nape of his neck to play with his hair. Her head is tossed back against the door, and he kisses every inch of available skin on her chest. 

He reaches down and gets both of his hands under her ass, making her jump up so he can carry her. Still kissing her neck, he moves them over to the table and sets her down. She’s just the tiniest bit taller now, he kisses her cheek again, looking her in the eye once more as he spreads her legs and runs his fingers along her thighs, realizing now she has nylons on. His hands go further, towards her aching cunt, he grips her thighs while both thumbs play with the seam of her nylons. 

“I’m gonna rip these,” he announces, finding the weakest part of the seam and tearing it open enough to fit his cock through, without completely ruining them. He moves her thong to the side and drags his index finger over her clit. “You’re fucking soaked…”

She tosses her head back, both hands gripping the table like her ice depends on it when two of his fingers plunge into her. “Oh, fuck,” she moans a little too loud. 

Attaching his lips to her neck again, he sucks on her pulse point while fucking her on his fingers. It’s hard and quick, covering the palm of his hand with her slick as his thumb rubs her clit. She’s always known his hands would be good for this, if nothing else.

“Please, Aaron? Oh my god,” She starts to beg.

“Words, princess,” he teases against her neck, teeth grazing her skin, his breath hot, it sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Wanna cum,” she whispers, breathy and so close. “On your cock.” 

“Okay,” he pulls out, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking his palm up to his fingers. He sucks them into his mouth with a groan. His cock twitches between them, jumping with excitement. 

She whines again while he undoes the zipper and tugs his cock out, “please?” 

“Hold on,” he spreads the excess wetness over his cock, stroking himself twice while biting his tongue. It clearly felt so fucking good but she knew her tight cunt was going to be better. 

He slips in slowly and her grip changes, letting go of the counter, she wraps her legs around him and grips his back with her fingernails dug into the skin. “Better?” He whispers into her ear. 

She whimpers when he doesn’t move, feeling so full, “fuck me, please? Fuck me the way I deserve.” 

He hums, kissing her cheek before looking into her eyes, all watery and blown out, her mascara started to run a bit. He tilts his head to the side, “how hard?” 

“Hard,” she looks him dead in the face. 

He slips out, pulls her off the table and turns her around so her chest is against the cold hardwood table-top and flips her dress skirt up and out of the way. He rips her nylons even more, all the way up the back so her ass is exposed. He takes her ass cheeks in his hands and spreads her apart, amazed at how her pussy clenched in anticipation. 

“Please,” she whined, almost stomping her feet with desperation. 

He slams into her without warning, making her gasp loud enough to be heard by anyone wandering the hallway outside.

He pulls out a bit and slams back into her again and again and again until the noises she’s making are complete nonsense. She whines and moans and leans against the table for dear life while pushing back against him. He slaps her ass a few times, making the sound reverberate around the room like an echo. 

He needs more friction, so his thrusts get less powerful and more rhythmic, he uses her like a toy bouncing her on his cock like a rag doll. She felt like her main purpose in life was to be fucked by him like this, it felt so good, it felt incredibly right, and she loved every fucking second of it. All those years of fighting paid the fuck off.

He slams into her cervix over and over, the head of his cock kissing the puckered spot inside again and again. Her hungry cunt sucks him in so deep, never wanting him to leave, and he can tell she’s close just from the way she clamps around him like a vice. He reached around to her stomach and drags his hand down her mound to rub her clit with his middle finger. The rhythm barely matches, but she loves the way it feels. It’s unpredictable, it’s all under his control, she just sits there and takes it like the good girl he’s raised her to be. 

“Cum on the cock you hate so much,” he insists, “I wanna feel it. I want you to cover my cock in your cum before I fill you up to the fucking brim.” 

Too fucked out to really respond she reaches one hand behind her back so he’ll hold it. He intertwines their fingers and leans forward to kiss her shoulder as his hips snap against hers with force. She starts to shake, her legs barely able to keep her up as her orgasm hits her and rattles through her body. He feels the spasm from the inside, her cunt flutters as she releases all the built-up tension in her body She’s so fucking tight he’s barely able to register his own orgasm approaching when he topples over her on the table. 

He fucks into her as deep as he can go and then stills. She can feel rope after rope of his cum pump into her, they can hear the dribbles on the floor between them as it overflows and drips out of her, along with her own. 

He kisses her back, breathing hard against her. She’s just trapped there under him, legs quaking in her heels, “holy fuck?” 

“Sorry,” he pulls back and out of her, “shit… we didn’t think this through.” 

She sighs, holding her dress up so she doesn’t make a mess. “Are there any tissues in here?” 

He looks around, “Yeah… but it’s just that brown paper towel roll like we have at work.” 

“It’ll do,” she shrugs. Watching him walk over to the dispenser near the sink in the corner of the room, he takes a bit out and cleans himself up quickly, putting himself back in his boxers before her gets some more.

He leans her forward again, kneeling behind her, he cleans her up to the best of his ability and then he repositions her thong. He even wipes up the floor before tossing the paper out. “I can’t believe there was so much…” 

She laughs, dropping her dress back down and fluffing it so it looks normal again. “10 years worth of—

“Okay,” he shakes his head with a smirk, stepping back into her space, he wraps her up and kisses her forehead, “you did so good.” 

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly, she feels so different. There’s so much affection in her chest as she looks up at him once more. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.” 

“I’ll stay with you here while they’re cleaning up,” he assures. “And maybe later I can show you how sorry I am for keeping secrets all these years?” 

“I’d really like that… but I’m still not working for you,” she teases. 

“I guess I’ll just have to take on more CARD cases so you’re forced to see me,” he teases right back, smiling at her. 

This is going to be fun. 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

[xuchiya]

"Quick Reaction" || kang yeosang || one-shot

| genre: non!idol ateez. fluff. slice of life | mentions: teasing. fainting. jewelry gift. | This is literally my high school delusions. My old school is literally an 'old school' school like no phones and computers, being in a relationship is not allowed, and big ass windows as our source of fans--- i mean we do have electric fans and ceiling fans but with the weather and a very old, close to dying, e-fans? We really have to depend on the wind from our windows. Anyways, this list is basically a true experience. My personal favorite? Song Mingi's.

You were bored out of your mind, wishing you could have brought your book or your drawing pad to pass time, although everything seemed to be going smoothly—until your professor called you to the faculty room. "You're missing an assignment," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice as she added, "and so is your classmate, Kang Yeosang."

Anything but that. You cried, stomping your foot to the ground out of frustration. You sighed internally, mentally retracing your steps to figure out which assignment had slipped through the cracks. As you walked to the faculty room, carrying your notebook and pen, you bumped into Yeosang, who had the same expression of concern on his face. You both exchanged knowing glances, resigned to your fate.

“You lost your assignment?” Yeosang asks. You shake your head, “I’m not sure either but I know I wrote it and had a perfect score. What about you?”

Yeosang shrugs, “I guess I was cutting class when it was given.” Both of you giggling knowing that is farfetched. He never does and never will, most especially his mom is your math adviser. Besides, there are guards blocking the two entrances of your school gates, so there is no point in cutting class unless you decide to fake ‘sickness’ to not attend school.

Standing outside the faculty room, you could hear your professor bustling about. "Alright, since you two are here, I’ll dictate the assignment instead, but since students aren’t allowed inside, I’ll give you the answers too. Be quick, though—it needs to be passed immediately and the head will not be happy to have students inside."

You pouted, “We could just work inside the classroom.” 

“Oh … you’re right. You may go but I hope to get this one before dismissal and ask one of your classmates to dictate some of the homeworks you both are missing.”

And that’s how you found yourself inside your classroom. Yeosang stays at the other but you both agree to stay at your classroom instead. You pulled out your notebook, your pen poised to capture every word. Years of training as a news anchor for your upcoming college years had honed your ability to take notes swiftly and efficiently. Yeosang, however, wasn’t faring as well. As your classmate, Hongjoong rattled off the questions and answers, you noticed him out of the corner of your eye, struggling to keep up. His eyes darted from his notebook to yours, then back again, frustration clear on his face.

"Hey, hey, what’s this..." he whispered urgently, tapping you on the shoulder to grab your attention, leaning over your shoulder. It wasn’t until you leaned back to check on him that both of you realized how close you were. Your faces stopped just inches apart, your breath brushing against his lips. Yeosang froze, his gaze trailing over your features, taking in every detail. His heart pounded in his chest as he noticed every imperfection—each one making him feel something unfamiliar yet undeniably warm.

"Hey, if you two are gonna kiss, let me turn around first!" Hongjoong teased, breaking the moment.

Startled, you both pulled away, cheeks burning with embarrassment. You quickly handed your notebook to Yeosang, avoiding eye contact as you nervously fiddled with your pen. Meanwhile, he hid his face behind your notebook, furiously scribbling down the remaining answers, trying to ignore the heat still lingering on his cheeks.

As both of you finished the assignment, he took your notebook and he handed the assignment to Hongjoong who insisted on bringing them to your professor since he will be passing by the faculty room and towards the auditorium. After thanking Hongjoong, Yeosang glanced at you, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You met his gaze for a brief moment, sharing a silent understanding, before both of you looked away, the air between you filled with unspoken words and the beginnings of something new.

[waliminium]

Offside Glances

Pairing: Hockey Player!Harvey Spector x Figure Skater!reader Warnings: fluff, light teasing/banter, mild swearing Word Count: 1081

Summary: Harvey Specter is a star hockey player, he trains daily at the same arena as a rising figure skater—you.

The slap of the puck echoed across the arena as Harvey Specter skated to a slow stop, his breath fogging up in the cold air. Practice was over, the rink beginning to empty, but Harvey didn’t leave.

He never did.

He stood near the boards, pretending to adjust his gloves or tighten his skates, his dark eyes already trained on the far end of the rink. And right on cue—like clockwork—you stepped onto the ice.

You didn’t notice him at first. You never did.

Hair pulled back, headphones in, focus etched into every line of your expression. A figure skater through and through—precise, powerful, graceful. You moved like you were born with blades instead of feet, gliding onto the ice like you belonged to it.

And Harvey? He belonged to the crash of bodies, the thud of hits, the sting of a puck ricocheting off his shin. His world was chaos. Yours was art.

But every damn day after practice, he stayed behind just to watch you.

“You’re doing that thing again,” came a familiar voice from behind him.

Harvey didn’t turn. He didn’t have to.

Mike Ross, his teammate and the only person annoying enough to notice things Harvey didn’t want noticed, skated up beside him, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. “Staring. Brooding. Pretending you’re not completely obsessed.”

Harvey sighed, finally sparing him a glance. “Shut up, Mike.”

Mike ignored him entirely, leaning casually on his stick as he followed Harvey’s gaze to you, who had just launched into a flawless double axel. “I gotta say, man, it’s honestly impressive at this point. You could’ve been on the bench, in the shower, home with your feet up—but nope. You’re right here. Like a statue. A statue in a helmet with zero game.”

“I have plenty of game,” Harvey muttered.

“Then why haven’t you said a single word to her?” Mike arched a brow. “You’ve been staring at her like she’s a sunrise for weeks. You’re Harvey Specter. Guy who talks his way out of penalties. Trash-talks and scores. What’s stopping you?”

Harvey’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t answer right away.

You were spinning now, elegant and fast, your blade carving tight curves in the ice. Every movement looked effortless, but Harvey knew how hard that kind of control must be. And he admired it. More than he cared to admit.

“She’s… not like the others,” he said finally, low.

Mike blinked. “Whoa. Real feelings? That’s new.”

“Don’t push it,” Harvey warned, but the edge in his voice was softer than usual.

Mike grinned, sensing victory. “Look, if you’re scared, just say so.”

Harvey turned to face him, finally stepping away from the boards. “I’m not scared.”

Mike shrugged, smug. “Then go talk to her.”

Harvey hesitated, just for a second. Then you landed a jump so clean it made his chest tighten.

“…Maybe tomorrow.”

Mike snorted. “Classic.”

But even as he walked off the ice, Mike glanced back at Harvey still standing there, eyes locked on you.

And Harvey? He didn’t notice Mike leave. He was too busy watching the way your hair caught the light as you spun.

He didn’t know your story. He didn’t know if you liked hockey players, or if you’d ever even noticed him.

But every day he stayed. And every day he watched.

Harvey wasn’t planning to talk to you.

He never planned to. His usual confidence—the sharp, swaggering kind that made sports reporters fall silent and rookies flinch—completely evaporated when it came to you.

But that day? The universe had other plans.

He’d lingered as usual, perched near the exit of the rink, towel draped around his neck, skates unlaced but not off. Watching. You were mid-spin, flawless as always, when it happened—your blade caught slightly on a rough patch near center ice.

You didn’t fall, but your balance wobbled just enough to make Harvey move.

He was on his feet before he could think, crossing the ice as if the whistle had blown and someone needed checking into the boards. You straightened up quickly, brushing it off, but then your eyes lifted and locked with his for the very first time.

And there it was.

Recognition.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low but steady, like this wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you in his head a hundred times before.

You blinked, pulling out one earbud. “Yeah. Just caught a bad patch.”

Harvey nodded, then realized he was standing way too close. He shifted back half a step, but you were still watching him—eyes curious, maybe a little amused.

“You’re Harvey, right?” you asked, and that alone was enough to short-circuit his brain.

“You know my name?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “You think I don’t know the guy who watches my practice every day?”

Harvey froze.

You tilted your head. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

He cleared his throat, trying to recover, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Just…appreciate good skating when I see it.”

“Mhm,” you said, unconvinced but not unkind. “And here I thought hockey players were all chaos and brute force.”

He smirked, that familiar Harvey confidence finally starting to flicker back to life. “Most of them are. I’m the exception.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That right?”

“Absolutely.”

You stared at him for a moment—really stared—and Harvey swore he saw something shift in your expression. Something warm.

“You skate like you’re angry at the ice,” you said, teasing.

“And you skate like it owes you something,” he shot back without missing a beat.

A pause. Then: you laughed.

It was quiet, soft, but it hit him harder than any body check ever had.

“Maybe we’re not so different,” you said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Harvey smiled. Not his press-conference smile, not the one he gave fans or cameras. A real one.

He leaned a little closer, his voice low. “You ever want to trade tips—rage for grace—I’m usually here before your practice. I mean… unless you’ve got better things to do than teach a hockey player how to spin.”

You gave him a look. Then, slowly, you nodded. “We’ll see, Specter.”

And with that, you turned, gliding away with a smirk over your shoulder.

Harvey stood frozen in place.

A moment later, a voice groaned behind him.

“Unbelievable,” Mike muttered, standing in the tunnel, arms crossed. “All it took was a near-death wobble and suddenly you’re Mr. Smooth.”

Harvey didn’t look away from the ice. “Shut up, Mike.”

[katelynnwrites]

Tilly | Sydney Lohmann x Child!Reader

warnings: this is my first attempt at writing something like this 😅

word count: 1702

summary: you're only three fingers old but you can be your tante's best wingwoman, part of Sydney's Little Liebe

a/n: let me know if you'd like more of this?

Tilly. That’s your middle name.

Tante Syd’s middle name is Matilda. Momma tells you that she specially chose your name so that you can share it with Tante Syd.

Tilly is not quite Matilda but you like it. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, sharing your name with your favourite Tante.

You think that you must be her favourite too because she gives you more cuddles than any of your other Tantes.

She makes the best pasta too and always remembers to put extra cheese on your plate.

Sometimes she sneaks you sweets when Momma’s not looking. She comes to find you on your red blanket that Momma sets out for you, when she’s training with the rest of your Tantes.

You like it when Tante Syd is smiling and happy. Momma says that Tante’s Syd’s smile can light up anyone’s day.

You think your Momma is silly. Tante Syd is not a light like the one by the side of your bed. She is also not the sun which is what your school teacher says makes daytime bright.

But Tante Syd does smile a lot.

She smiles a lot at your Momma. You think that that particular smile of hers looks a little different than all her other smiles.

You don’t know why but you know it does.

Sometimes though when Momma isn’t looking and Tante Syd thinks you aren’t, her smile disappears.

She looks sad.

It makes you all icky inside when you see it.

You try to give her hugs to help make her feel better and she always squeezes you tight but you still catch her looking sad.

Like when you’re over at Tante Syd’s house and she makes you and Momma dinner.

You have a chair there just for you because you and Momma go over there so much. Tante Syd’s house has lots of your things there. A box of toys, your very own plate and even your favourite apple juice.

Momma gets distracted feeding you but behind her Tante Syd gets quiet. Her smile goes away and you don’t like it. That nasty feeling in your tummy comes back.

You cry.

You cry and Momma shushes you, picking you up and trying to figure out what’s wrong.

You don’t want her to hold you because you know that you need to go to Tante Syd. Momma is holding you too close and you can’t wiggle free so you keep crying.

‘Tante Syd! Tante Syd!’ You sob.

She comes over looking all anxious and worried at your sudden outburst but you stretch out your arms towards her.

Tante Syd carries you like you want and you pat her cheek through your tears.

‘No sad Tante. No sad.’

‘I’m not sad Little Liebe.’ She reassures you.

Only Momma and Tante Syd call you that. Tante Klara had tried once but you stubbornly ignored her.

You don’t understand why Tante Syd is lying to you but she kisses your cheek and wipes away your tears.

It leaves you confused and you stare at her suspiciously but her smile is back and she really does seem okay so you let it be.

Momma presses an anxious kiss onto your forehead before attempting to feed you another spoonful.

You cast one more glance at Tante Syd and she nods at you encouragingly so you open your mouth and eat it.

******

Momma tells you that you should never lie and that you should always tell her when you don’t feel good.

So you try your best to explain to her why your tummy hurts when you see Tante Syd becoming all quiet.

You know you’re a big girl even if Momma calls you her baby. You can hold up three fingers all by yourself when someone asks how old you are so you can’t be Momma’s baby.

Babies are not three fingers old. Babies also cannot score goals past Tante Mala.

You’re all tucked into your big girl bed when you ask, ‘Momma why does Tante Syd lie?’

Momma looks confused.

Her eyebrows furrow together and a crease appears on her forehead.

That crease appears when she’s worried about you too. Like when you’re sick and when Momma thought she had lost you although you were really just with Tante Lea so you don’t know why she was so upset.

‘How do you know Tante Syd lied to you?’ Momma asks carefully.

‘She said she wasn’t sad but I know she was. Her smile went away and my tummy hurt!’

‘Oh Little Liebe that doesn’t mean she wasn’t happy.’ Your Momma tries to explain.

But you give an indignant squeak.

‘No! Tante was sad! Tante Syd gets sad a lot when you aren’t looking! She thinks I don’t see but I do! I do!’

You’re nearly shouting and Momma scoops you up, blankie and all, hugging you tightly.

‘Okay. Okay. I’ll talk to her Little Liebe.’

You watch her skeptically. Momma still has her forehead crease but you think it is for Tante Syd instead of you.

‘Promise me you will make Tante Syd feel better?’ You insist, kicking your legs to emphasise your point.

Momma nods seriously, ‘I promise to try baby.’

******

You and Momma go over to Tante Syd’s apartment on Friday.

Every Friday you have her pasta there. Momma and Tante sometimes eat other things but Tante Syd always always makes you your pasta. With extra cheese cause that’s important.

Tante Klara once said that Tante Syd spoils your Momma. You don’t understand how your Momma can be spoilt. She doesn’t look broken.

Tante greets you at the door, after Momma carries you up so that you can reach the doorbell.

‘Tante Syd!’ You yell, rushing to hold onto her legs.

Your Tante laughs and she lifts you up onto her hip.

‘Hallo meine Little Liebe.’ She murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your cheek and then onto your tummy.

You squeal because it tickles and try to push her head away.

Tante Syd relents but only after she kisses your tummy once more, making you giggle.

‘What no hellos for me?’ Momma asks teasingly.

Tante Syd grins at her and you copy her expression.

‘I just saw you at training a couple hours ago but I’ve always got hellos for you.’ Tante tells your Momma.

Momma smiles and then Tante Syd is taking you inside and plopping you down onto your special high chair.

It has stickers all over it because one afternoon when Momma had to go and talk to some TV people, she had let Tante Syd babysit you.

Your favourite Tante had given you a packet of stickers and sat down to decorate your chair with you.

Swinging your legs excitedly as Tante Syd puts your plate down for you, you cheer, ‘Dankeschon’.

‘You’re welcome.’ Tante hums.

She and Momma take turns feeding you spoonfuls of the yummy pasta in between bites of their own food so you finish rather quickly.

You’re less messy than usual too, until Momma puts some strawberries in front of you and asks you to eat your fruit while she talks to Tante Syd.

You immediately pout and ask if you can come too but Momma says it’s only for grown ups.

It makes you unhappy to hear that but Momma has her serious face on so you don’t argue.

Tante Syd has gone to put her and Momma’s dishes in the sink and when she comes back, Momma takes Tante Syd by the hand to the couch.

It’s a little far but you can still hear them if you try really really hard.

Tante asks Momma what’s wrong but you can’t hear what Momma is saying.

It annoys you and you squash a strawberry between your fingers to help take your mind off it.

You get distracted with picking the tiny seeds out of it and by the time you focus back on the low murmur of Momma’s and Tante Syd’s voices, Momma has Tante pulled into her side.

Tante Syd is crying softly and then your Momma leans in to kiss her. Like how Tante Pernille kisses Tante Magda.

Your Tante all but melts into Momma, cradling her face in a way that you have never seen her do before.

With wide eyes, you drop what’s left of your strawberry.

Tante draws back from Momma after a moment, murmuring, ‘I love you. I love you both.’

You’ve never seen your Momma kiss anyone before. She has always said that it’s just you and her.

It makes you anxious even if it’s Tante Syd that your Momma kissed.

You wiggle your toes and frown.

Momma is smiling so widely though, Tante Syd is too.

You think that maybe it’s okay that they’re kissing if it means they are happy.

You did want Tante Syd to stop being sad after all.

You’re wondering so hard that you miss Tante Syd pressing a kiss onto your Momma’s hairline before standing up and walking over to you.

She gets you out of your special chair and settles you on her hip.

You pat her cheek with sticky fingers and Tante grins.

‘No more sad?’

‘No. Never again Little Liebe.’ Tante Syd promises you.

She links her pinky with yours just as she showed you before. Tante said you could never break pinky promises so you know that she’s being very serious.

She does have her very serious game day face on. The one she has on whenever she tells you she’s going to score a goal for you.

Then she breaks into a smile.

‘I think you need some more strawberries as a thank you for being the best wing woman in the world. Some ice cream sounds like a great idea too.’

‘Really?’ You excitedly ask, looking to your Momma to see if she’s okay with it.

You have no idea what a wingwoman is but if Tante Syd is telling you that you’re the best then you must have done a great job.

‘Yes really.’ Momma nods with her own smile.

As Tante helps you eat your dessert, you think that her and Momma kissing is very good if you get ice cream every time they do so.

German Translations:

tante - aunty

meine Little Liebe - my Little Love

dankeschon - thank you

[sturnsblogs]

could you do a Chris and reader in where the reader flunks her math exam (like scores extremely low) and nerd chris comforts her and helps her study for the next one?

You were pissed.

Not just the kind of pissed where you sulk for a few hours and get over it. No, this was the kind of pissed where you felt like punching something—or someone.

Because your math grade? Yeah. It was a disaster.

You had just gotten your exam back, and the big, bold, disgusting red 32% at the top of the page might as well have been a death sentence.

So now, you were stomping into Chris’s dorm, throwing your bag onto his bed with enough force to shake the whole damn mattress.

Chris, sitting at his desk with a textbook in his lap, glanced up at you with wide eyes. “Uh… hey, baby?”

“Don’t,” you snapped, cutting him off before he could get all soft and concerned. You were not in the mood.

Chris blinked, slightly startled. “Okay…” He set his book down and turned toward you. “Are you—”

“I flunked,” you spat, pacing back and forth, too worked up to sit still. “Like, flunked. Thirty-fucking-two percent, Chris! Do you know how bad that is?”

Chris frowned, adjusting his glasses. “That’s… not great.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Not great?” you repeated mockingly. “Wow, thanks, Einstein, I hadn’t figured that one out.”

Chris exhaled slowly, clearly trying to keep his patience. “Baby, I—”

“I swear my professor has it out for me,” you continued, ignoring him. “Like, who the hell even needs math? When am I ever gonna use this in real life?!”

Chris opened his mouth to answer, but you shot him a glare.

“Don’t,” you warned.

He closed his mouth.

You sighed dramatically, flopping onto his bed. “This is so unfair.”

Chris was quiet for a moment before he pushed himself up from his chair, walking over to sit beside you. His hand hesitated before resting on your thigh, rubbing slow circles in a way that he knew usually calmed you down.

“Baby,” he murmured, voice soft. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t just snap at me like that.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I can when I’m failing.”

Chris sighed, shaking his head before reaching for your bag. He pulled out the crumpled exam paper, scanning over it.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Don’t look at it.”

Chris hummed, flipping through the pages. “Okay, well… you actually got some of the multiple-choice questions right.”

“Oh, fantastic,” you mumbled. “Maybe I’ll just guess on the next test too.”

Chris ignored your sarcasm, tapping his finger against the page. “You messed up mostly on quadratic equations. And some of these word problems.”

You peeked through your fingers. “Chris, I don’t care about quadratic equations.”

He smiled slightly. “Yeah, I kinda figured that.”

You groaned again, flopping onto your back dramatically. “I’m doomed.”

Chris chuckled, setting the paper aside. “You’re not doomed.”

You peeked up at him. “You’re literally the smartest person I know, and I still failed.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because you never let me help you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it because… yeah. He was right.

Chris sighed, shifting closer, his hand sliding up to rub soothing circles into your waist. “You can do this, baby. You just need to actually try.”

You scowled. “I do try.”

Chris gave you a look.

You huffed. “Okay, sometimes I try.”

Chris smirked, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Let me help you study for the next one, yeah?”

You made a face. “That sounds miserable.”

Chris snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

You sighed, staring up at him. “Fine. But if I pass, you owe me a reward.”

Chris raised a brow. “A reward?”

You smirked. “Mm-hmm.”

Chris rolled his eyes, smiling as he kissed your temple. “Deal.”

Studying with Chris was literal hell.

You had been sitting on his bed for maybe thirty minutes, and you were already slouched over the textbook, groaning like you were being forced to do manual labor.

Chris, on the other hand, was the picture of patience—glasses perched on his nose, pencil twirling between his fingers, explaining the same equation for the fourth time.

And you? You were ready to die.

“Baby,” Chris sighed, tapping his pencil against the notebook. “Are you even listening?”

You flopped onto his pillow, dramatically covering your face with your arms. “Chris, I hate this.”

Chris exhaled sharply. “No kidding.”

You peeked up at him. “You’re so mean.”

Chris gave you an unimpressed look. “I’m literally helping you.”

“You’re lecturing me,” you corrected.

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because you’re not listening!”

You whined, kicking your feet against the mattress like a child. “That’s because this is boring.”

Chris shot you a glare. “Oh my God.”

You giggled, rolling onto your stomach, cheek smushed against the pillow. “I swear, you enjoy watching me suffer.”

Chris scoffed. “No, I’d enjoy it if you actually learned something.”

You pouted. “I am learning.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s the quadratic formula?”

You opened your mouth.

Then shut it.

Then groaned into the pillow. “Chris, why do I need to know that?!”

Chris threw his head back, groaning. “You have a test on it!”

You huffed, sitting up. “I’ll just cheat.”

Chris gasped, actually placing a hand over his heart like you had just insulted his entire existence.

“You will not cheat,” he said, scandalized.

You smirked. “I might.”

Chris glared at you. “I’m seriously about to throw this textbook at you.”

You giggled. “Go ahead. I’d rather be knocked out than do more math.”

Chris gave you a deadpan look before snapping the textbook shut. “Okay, you know what? Figure it out yourself.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Chris folded his arms, looking seriously fed up. “You’re not listening, you’re not trying, and you’re whining like a literal child.”

You gasped. “I am not whining.”

Chris shot you a look.

You bit your lip. “Okay… maybe a little.”

Chris shook his head. “So much.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Well, if you weren’t so serious about it, maybe I wouldn’t be so bored.”

Chris scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry that I actually want you to pass your test.”

You pouted. “Okay, okay. I’ll try.”

Chris raised a brow. “Promise?”

You sighed dramatically. “Promise.”

Chris smirked, grabbing the notebook again. “Alright, then let’s go over this one more time.”

You groaned, but this time, you actually listened.

—

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset-deactivate @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho