#Determinants Class 12

[reeteshblog28]

Title: The Troubled Soul and Newborn Baby

Ramu, an old man on the outskirts of the village, spent his days in loneliness and sadness. His wife and children had passed away years ago. There was no happiness left in Ramu's life now. He remained immersed in his sorrows day and night, the people of the village started calling him a troubled soul. Read More

[masked-and-doomed]

Shut the fuck up for once. Maybe.

[archivegyu]

masterlist

unspoken, yet known

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AUGUST 8 — SEUNGCHEOL’S BIRTHDAY

A soft sigh escaped your lips when you unlocked the apartment door. The click of it closing behind you was familiar and comforting. The scent of morning coffee still lingered faintly in the air, left from the to-go cup you prepped earlier—his, not yours. You slipped off your shoes, dropped your bag by the wall, and padded into the kitchen, hair slightly tousled from the afternoon sun and a long half-day at uni.

Your phone buzzed.

A video call.

Incoming call from Drunk Gyu 

You picked it up, leaning lazily against the counter. “Let me guess, you’re calling to interrogate me.”

Mingyu’s face popped into view, sweat-slicked hair pushed back with a towel around his neck. “We’re just checking in. Totally normal. Definitely not to say someone is pouting.”

Joshua leaned over from behind him, sitting on the floor of the practice room. “He waited until 12:03. You didn’t call. Or text. He thinks you forgot.”

You blinked, stunned. “Wait, he stayed up that late?”

“Correction,” Joshua said, raising a finger. “He was already up. He was with Woozi, in the studio. Jihoon was working on a new arrangement, and your sulking best friend sat there staring at his phone in the dark like he was waiting for a prophecy.”

Mingyu chuckled. “At 12:03, he sighed so loud we thought something broke. Said, ‘She must be tired…’ Then walked out like a rejected K-drama second lead.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, running a hand down your face.

“And,” Joshua added, “Cheol told us that he came home at, like, 3 AM. To quote him ‘I woke up three hours later annoyed’ then, found your note next to a packed breakfast and thought you were avoiding him.”

“I had class” you said defensively, though your voice softened. “Today’s a half day, I swear.”

“Then why does he think you’re gone till night?”

“Because I might have told him my schedule was full just to buy time for the surprise?”

Joshua gasped dramatically.

Mingyu leaned in closer. “So you’re cooking something up. I knew it.”

You smirked. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Your eyes flicked briefly toward the empty tote bag by the front door. You hadn’t even bought the ingredients yet. There was dinner to prepare, decorations to set up, and a cake to pick up. Your window was tight, but you were determined.

Joshua wagged a finger. “Well, better make it count. He’s been sulking all day. Even Minghao told him to go lie down somewhere.”

You laughed, already heading for the door again. “Then I’ll make it worth the wait.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The city was golden and bright, dusted with the warmth of a late summer afternoon. You strolled with Kkuma trotting happily beside you, her new pink bow bouncing with every step.

First stop: the bakery.

A quaint spot tucked into a side street, lined with ribboned boxes and pastries that sparkled under glass. You stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming.

“Back so soon?” the baker greeted with a knowing smile.

“It’s his birthday,” you said, crouching to pat Kkuma. “I need a cake that’s… not plain. Not white. Not boring. He pouted for an hour last year because I gave him a minimalist one.”

The baker laughed. “Sounds like he’s particular.”

“He’s sentimental,” you corrected. “And dramatic.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So... something cute? Thoughtful?”

“With effort,” you added. “Like, it has to look like I lost sleep over it.”

“Got it. Leave it to me.”

You left the shop with a receipt and a promise to come back in two hours. Kkuma trotted beside you, her ears twitching.

Next was the gift shop. You wandered between shelves of candles and accessories before settling on a simple silver bracelet. Not flashy. Just… sincere. You had it engraved with the words:

“with you, always.”

You turned the small box in your hand, heart fluttering at the thought of his face when he’d open it.

On your way out, you spotted a set of pastel hairpins: lavender, peach, and daisy-patterned. You looked down at Kkuma.

She stared back with resigned eyes.

“I know,” you said. “You thought Cheol was the shopaholic in this house.”

She sighed (you swear she did), and followed you anyway.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

By early evening, the apartment had transformed.

The lights were dimmed. Soft fairy lights strung along the ceiling glowed in a warm hue. You lit a few candles, small ones, nothing too dramatic, just enough to give the room a flicker of intimacy. You cooked carefully, triple-checking the taste, adjusting the plating. Bulgogi, kimchi pancakes, soft egg rolls, seaweed soup.

You set the table, added a handwritten note under his plate that read:

“For the one who never lets me feel alone. Happy Birthday !!”

Kkuma sat by your feet, freshly brushed, with one of her new pins clipped into her fur.

You held the cake, tiny candles flickering, and stood by the entryway, the soft hum of music playing low in the background.

The door clicked open.

Seungcheol stepped in, shoulders slumped from exhaustion. He froze the moment he looked up.

You.

The lights.

The food.

Kkuma, who immediately barked and ran to him.

He picked her up with one arm, still staring.

You smiled, lifting the cake gently.

“Happy birthday, Cheol.”

His expression cracked, eyes glassy, smile shaky.

“I thought you forgot.”

“I never forget,” you said softly. “You just had to wait a little.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Dinner passed in a haze of warm lights and quiet laughter. The living room, usually scattered with Kkuma’s toys or forgotten laundry, had transformed into something soft and thoughtful: dim lights, a candlelit table, the faint scent of soy and sesame oil wafting through the air.

Seungcheol was glowing under it all. Not from the candles, not from the wine, but from something gentler. His eyes were crescent-shaped from smiling too much, and his shoulders had lost that weighted, practice-room tension.

“You really made all of this?” he asked again, looking at the food like it had just told him a secret.

“Mhm.” You fought the grin tugging at your mouth as you refilled his bowl. “Twice, if you keep asking.”

He scooped another helping of rice with exaggerated reverence. “I’m serious. This is…” He took a bite, chewed, and let out a dramatic groan. “Okay, no. This should be illegal. You could honestly take over the world with this marinade.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being realistic. If you ever betray me, please do it after dinner.”

You tossed a napkin at him, and he dodged it with a smug smile, eyes twinkling under the golden light. Then came a quieter beat, one that didn’t need to announce itself. He lowered his chopsticks and looked at you with a kind of fondness that made the room feel smaller.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” he said, voice softer now. “Coming home to you. Just… being here.”

You paused mid-reach for the pitcher of water, surprised. “You’ve only been gone a day.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Felt longer.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So you looked at him a moment longer, then rose from your seat.

“I got you something.”

His gaze followed you as you crossed the room. You came back with a tiny wrapped box, not flashy, not extravagant—just you, wrapped in care. You placed it gently in front of him.

Seungcheol blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know.”

He opened it slowly, carefully peeling away the tape like he was afraid to ruin whatever was inside. When the lid came off, he stared.

It was a silver bracelet. Simple. Clean. The kind he could wear every day.

His thumb grazed the small engraving on the inside.

“with you, always.”

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he closed the box gently, like sealing in something delicate. Then he stood up from his seat, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor, and walked toward you.

When he wrapped his arms around your waist, it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud.

It was quiet. Steady. Honest.

His head lowered, resting gently against your shoulder. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let out a breath, like this was what he’d been waiting for all day without realizing it.

“I really love it,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

You placed a hand gently on the back of his head. “I’m glad.”

He stayed there a little longer, his grip loosening just a bit, but his thoughts only tightening.

If only you knew how much of me is already yours.

He didn’t say that part out loud.

Instead, he let the silence speak for him, and held on a little longer.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Later that night, the three of them— Seungcheol, her, and a half-asleep Kkuma— ended up in his room instead of the living room like they’d originally planned. The shift was unspoken, effortless. His room always felt warmer anyway, a little smaller, a little softer. Familiar.

The bedside lamp was dim, casting golden shadows across the room. Outside, the city moved quietly beneath them, but in here, everything had settled into something quieter. Safer.

She was curled up next to him under a shared blanket, legs tucked beneath her and sweater sleeves pulled past her wrists. Kkuma was nestled in her lap, already asleep, little breaths even and steady.

Seungcheol scrolled through the movie options with one hand, trying to ignore how close she was. How she smelled like vanilla and clean laundry. How his heart had been pacing with a quiet urgency ever since dinner ended and they sat down together like this was just another normal night.

It wasn’t.

He turned to her with a small, knowing grin. “Let’s watch Made of Honor.”

She groaned. “Why this one again?”

“It’s funny and chaotic!” he said with a shrug, like it didn’t mean more than that.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

His heart stalled for a beat, but his smile didn’t falter.

She threw a handful of popcorn at him, laughing. He caught one piece in his mouth and grinned like an idiot, like this, her laughter, this version of home. It was something he could hold onto. Something he wanted to.

Eventually, her laughter faded into a soft, comfortable quiet. She leaned into his side, her head barely brushing his shoulder, but it was enough to make him forget the movie had even started. His body went still. Not rigid, just focused. Aware of her warmth, her presence, the weight of how easy this felt.

The movie played on, but his attention kept drifting. He’d seen this film enough times to memorize the lines, but tonight, the only thing he could memorize was the slope of her cheek in the golden light and how her fingers absentmindedly stroked Kkuma’s fur.

There was a part of him, maybe the reckless part, that wanted to reach for her hand. Just to hold it. Just to know how it felt to be allowed that much.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

By the time they were halfway through the second movie—Love, Rosie—her head had gently slipped onto his shoulder. Her breathing slowed. Eyes closed. Sleep found her easily.

Seungcheol turned his head to say something about the scene. He had a joke on the tip of his tongue. But the moment he looked down at her, words disappeared.

She was asleep, soft and unguarded. Kkuma had shifted, curling closer into her chest.

And he just… looked.

There was no other way to put it, he looked at her the way someone does when they’re trying to hold a moment still. Trying to memorize every detail so they could carry it through time.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know how many versions of this moment lived in his memory. How many times he’d chosen silence just to keep things the way they were. How many times he’d wanted to say something and instead, just like now, said nothing at all.

But he loved her.

He loved her the way you love someone you never want to lose.

Quietly.

I hope you always feel how much I love you, he thought, staring at the way her face softened in sleep. Even when I say nothing at all.

He reached for the remote and clicked the screen off. The room dimmed into stillness. He adjusted the blanket, pulling it gently over her shoulder, tucking it beneath her chin like she’d done for him once months ago, when he’d fallen asleep on the couch after a rough night at practice.

Then he lay back, careful not to jostle her or wake Kkuma, and settled beside them.

He let himself stay like that. Close, quiet, content.

And just before sleep started to pull him under, he turned his head, eyes still on her.

“Goodnight,” he whispered. A pause. A breath.

“I love you.”

Soft. Gentle.

A secret tucked into the dark.

One she’d never hear.

Not yet.

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (12) - Mattheo Riddle

-

The day started out deceptively normal.

You’d woken up with a pounding head and throat like sandpaper, but you were determined to power through. After all, you had an essay due, two classes with Mattheo, and lunch plans with Enzo and Theo.

Nothing you hadn’t handled before.

Except… your skin was flushed, your limbs were heavy, and your brain felt like it had been wrapped in a warm towel and shaken vigorously. Still, you pulled on your robes, tied your tie lopsided, and forced yourself through the corridors of Hogwarts like you weren’t actively dying inside.

By the time you made it to your first class, you were already swaying.

Mattheo noticed the second you sat down beside him. He didn’t say anything at first—just glanced at you from under his lashes, frowning.

“You’re quiet,” he said under his breath as Professor Flitwick began the lesson.

You smiled weakly. “Tired.”

But your voice cracked halfway through, more whisper than sound.

Mattheo turned fully to face you, narrowing his eyes. “Darling…”

You blinked slowly, forcing your head up. “I’m fine.”

“You’re pale.”

“Gee thanks, I’m always pale.”

“No,” he said, more sharply. “You’re pale like dead girl pale. And your eyes are glazed—what the fuck—are you sick?”

You flinched at the volume. “Shh—Mattheo, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he muttered, his eyes scanning your face. “You’re burning up. You’re sweating and shivering at the same time.”

“I—I just didn’t sleep much, I think—”

Then you blinked again, and your words came out slurred. “No wait I… I needed to finish the…the—uh…”

Mattheo reached for you instantly, one hand catching your arm to steady you. “You’re not even making sense, angel.”

Theo, sitting a row behind, leaned forward. “Is she okay?”

Mattheo’s jaw was tight, eyes burning. “No. She’s not.”

Enzo was already out of his seat. “What’s going on?”

“She’s sick,” Mattheo snapped, standing abruptly and sliding his arm around your waist to keep you upright. “And no one fucking noticed.”

“I just got here,” Theo said, concerned. “Is she fainting?”

You swayed, blinking sluggishly at Mattheo. “M’fine…”

“You’re not.” His voice was low but urgent now. He touched your forehead and pulled back like he’d been burned. “Fuck—she’s boiling.”

Before the professors could even notice, Mattheo was pulling your bag over his shoulder and practically lifting you from your seat. He didn’t care if he was causing a scene. He didn’t care if people were staring.

You were not okay.

And that was all it took to send every alarm in his body into panic mode.

———

You didn’t remember how you got to the hospital wing.

Everything blurred together — arms around you, Mattheo’s voice tight with anger and fear, Theo hovering in the background, Enzo pacing.

You blinked blearily against the sterile light of the hospital wing. Your head felt lighter now. A cool cloth pressed against your forehead. Gentle fingers ran through your hair.

When you stirred, Mattheo was instantly by your side.

“Hey…hey, angel, you’re awake.” His voice was so soft, so relieved it nearly broke your heart.

You tried to speak, but your throat gave a hoarse croak instead. He was already there with a glass of water, lifting your head and helping you sip it slowly.

“Easy. Don’t rush.”

You finally managed a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

His brow creased. “Sorry? What the hell are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t want to… worry you.”

“Too late,” Theo muttered from the corner. “He nearly hexed the tapestry off the hospital wing walls.”

Enzo chuckled from the chair near your bed. “Madam Pomfrey had to tell him three times to sit down.”

Mattheo shot them both a glare, then turned back to you, brushing your damp hair from your forehead. “You didn’t want to worry me?” he repeated, voice low. “Sweetheart, you could’ve collapsed in the corridor.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad…”

“You were delirious,” he whispered fiercely. “You couldn’t finish a sentence. Your eyes weren’t focusing. I’ve never seen you like that, and I hated it.”

You reached out weakly, touching his hand.

He took it instantly, lacing your fingers with his and kissing the back of your knuckles. “Don’t hide that from me again,” he said. “Ever. You’re allowed to be sick. You’re allowed to ask for help. Especially from me.”

You nodded slowly. “Promise.”

Mattheo sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you gently against his chest, not even caring that you probably looked like death. His lips pressed to your hair, to your temple, to your cheek.

“You’re the only person I’d drop everything for,” he murmured. “And you didn’t even tell me you were suffering.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“You think I care about that?” His voice was incredulous. “I’d burn down the whole castle if it meant keeping you safe. Weak? You’re the strongest person I know. But you don’t have to be alone in it.”

Theo and Enzo, still lingering nearby, exchanged a glance.

“Gods,” Theo muttered, “he’s actually purring.”

“He’s a golden retriever in snake’s clothing,” Enzo whispered. “If anyone else had tried to lie to him today, they’d be six feet under.”

Mattheo didn’t even flinch. “Keep talking,” he called calmly over your head. “I’ll remember this when I’m done making sure she survives.”

They fell quiet.

You smiled faintly and cuddled closer to Mattheo’s chest, heart finally settling after what felt like hours of chaos.

“You gonna stay with me?” you mumbled.

Mattheo pulled the blankets higher around you, brushing your nose with his. “I’m not moving until you feel better. Cancelled everything.”

You blinked. “You had detention.”

He smirked. “They can shove it.”

Then softer: “I’ll always choose you. Even when you don’t think you need me.”

You drifted off to sleep against him, his arms wrapped tight around you, heartbeat steady under your cheek.

Taglist: @hisonlyobsession @loonyladystardust

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | head first, fearless

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: widower jack backstory time hey ya. hello, word vomit!! hope u like it besties and as always, if there’s anything you want to see in this world, send me an ask and i’ll write it for you <3

title from miss t swizzle because i am an unapologetic swiftie tysm

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, age gap, language, jack’s backstory includes his time in the military, losing his leg, and death via car accident

< part 9 | part 11 >

Somehow, after almost a week at this point, Jack and you are still on the outs.

He’s done his best to stay present; he’s supposed to be helping his own case about sticking around, so ignoring you isn’t an option. Not that he would even want to. He’s been texting you regularly; asking you how you’re feeling, checking in, all of that stuff.

He typically receives dry answers, a few hours after he sends them.

He feels as though he’s at an impasse. What could he do to prove to you that he’s there and not going anywhere?

He’s thought a lot about actually getting down on one knee and proposing to you. Telling you that you can go get hitched right then, with absolutely no prenup and the promise that even if you want a divorce, he’ll be required to pay child support. Probably a lot, based on how much he makes. But he would do it happily and with no ill-will.

If that will put you at ease, just enough to let him carry some of the weight on your shoulders, then he would do it.

But in his wildest dreams he would want to wait, buy you a nice ring that he knows you’ll like and ask you to marry him without the fear he knows is clouding your mind.

He did the whole rush into marriage thing before; and while he doesn’t regret his first marriage, the 12 years he had with his wife weren’t all sunshine. The time he spent deployed, the trauma and fallout from losing his leg, and his emotional immaturity from getting married at 19 didn’t lead to the healthiest of relationships. He and his wife were already estranged when she passed away in that car accident.

Not to say that her passing hadn’t wrecked him; it had. How do you spend 12 year tied to someone like that and have it all gone in the squeal of some tires on a snowy day? At 31, Jack knew that he had a lot of life ahead of him. He had hoped that he and his wife would have been able to work it out. Instead, he planned a funeral, picked out a headstone, and watched as they buried her, all hopes of reconciliation gone before they could even start.

Jack had always thought that he would be a good dad. But after his wife died, he had no interest in putting himself out there, and decided that having kids wasn’t in the cards for him. That is, until you came along.

You, with your snarky attitude and your drive and determination, came into his life at that bar one night and turned his world completely on its head in just over a month.

Now, once again he finds himself thinking. Thinking of a little girl with his nose. Building a trampoline for the backyard. Watching t-ball games and cheering a little too loudly when his kid touches home plate. Learning to braid hair, or paying too much for swimming lessons, or watching an elementary school talent show.

And he’s excited about it. For so long, his life has felt like a routine. Go to work, go home, think about work, go to therapy, think about work, and go to work. He’s tried all the hobbies. He’s read and he’s built things and he’s crocheted and he’s collected and about a million other things.

Boredom is what finally pushed him to start going to bars, alone, and seeing what’s going on. He had great conversations, talking with other vets over scotch, talking with med students about their classes, talking with bartenders about their lives. Getting little peeks into others’ lives as his own felt more and more isolated and monotonous. And luckily, his boredom had brought him you.

You, and what he now thinks is the biggest gift of his life.

So again, he asks himself, what can he do to show you? He thought he was doing a good job of being present. Try as he might, he can’t seem to come up with and initiate a plan. Truth be told he’s hurt at your hesitation. But he also reflects on the differences between you; your ages, your money situations, your place in your lives, and he gets it, to a certain extent. He would tell any young woman to do the same, be cautious. But this is different because it’s him.

Jack lives in a roomy duplex, 3 beds and 2 baths. He curses himself for not getting a house. One with a backyard, and a bathtub. All he has is two shower stalls; not perfect for a baby’s bath time.

He has a running list of furniture that he needs to buy. A bassinet and a crib and a changing table and about a thousand other things. He’s trying not to think about living situations. He had the thought that you could move in, share in his life and have the baby’s room just down the hall from yours. He still thinks about that, but reins it in and tells himself not to get ahead of himself.

So for now, he’ll stay here, seated in his spare room, which currently houses his record collection, his books, and a desk, all collecting dust, and ponder to himself about nursery decor.

It’s 1pm on a Sunday, a shift waiting for him tonight. He should be sleeping, but he can’t.

He’s glad he’s not, because he hears a knock at his door that pulls him up from the floor, groaning.

Opening it, he’s delighted to see you standing in front of him. His delight turns quickly to worry as he sees the tight expression on your face. As he looks closer, he sees your flushed cheeks, sweat beading on your forehead, and puffy and dark undereyes.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” he asks you.

Your eyes dart around wildly as you bite your lip, your eyebrows tilted down in a mournful expression. You sniff once.

“I don’t feel good.” you tell him in a vulnerable voice. He ushers you into his home and closes the door behind you, watching the way you immediately start to shiver as the air conditioning hits your frame.

He smooths your tangled hair back from your face and places a hand on your clammy forehead.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “you have a fever.”

He works fast, getting you in his bed and sipping on a glass of water.

“What hurts?” he asks you tenderly.

“My throat,” you manage to say, swallowing some water with a wince.

“Let me see,” he urges, turning on the flashlight of his phone and looking in your mouth.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “no way to tell for sure but it’s probably strep. We need to get your fever down, I’ll get you some Tylenol.” he says, walking to his bathroom and retrieving the pills.

He hands over two pills, and you choke them down with another sip.

“How long have you had the fever?” he asks.

“I didn’t feel great last night, and when I woke up this morning it was worse.” you tell him.

“Well, thank you for coming to me,” he says gently, brushing more hair away from your face. “We need to get a test to make sure and some antibiotics.” he says.

You groan, not looking forward to leaving his big, comfy bed you had just settled in to.

“I know,” he coos, “but as soon as we’re done and have the prescription, we can come right back here.”

“Do you have to work tonight?” you ask.

“No.” he says, lying through his teeth and thinking about who he’ll text for coverage.

He helps you stand up again, holds you up while you slip on your shoes, and ushers you into the front seat of his truck, driving you to the nearest urgent care.

Jack checks you in, and returns to sit next to you on a stiff waiting room chair. You sleepy head falls onto his shoulder, and he gives the top of your head a quick kiss.

After about 15 minutes, your name is called and you stand up.

“Do you want me to come?” Jack asks.

“Yeah,” you agree.

After a quick explanation and round of vitals, your throat gets swabbed and sent for a rapid test.

You’re left alone in the room with Jack as you wait for the results.

“Thank you, Jack.” you say quietly.

“Of course, honey,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face.

“No, really,” you clarify, “thank you. I was a dick the last time we talked.”

Jack sighs.

“You weren’t a dick.” he disagrees, “you’re scared, and I understand.”

“Still,” you croak, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. And I come crawling back after a week when I’m sick and you don’t think twice.”

“Of course I didn’t.” he says.

“You’re a good man, Jack Abbot.” you tell him.

“Ahh, sometimes.” he jokes, getting you to crack a smile. Jack stands up, coming to sit next to the exam table you’re perched on, and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He squeezes, just a little, and rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Just for the people I love.” he says, his chin moving gently against your skull.

You freeze. While you and Jack have skirted around it, saying that you ‘mean a lot’ to each other, hearing him say out loud for the first time that he loves you is like getting straight ice water poured on you. Before you can respond, the doctor returns.

“So, the strep test was positive, so I’ll call in a prescription for some antibiotics. Take them once a day until they’re gone. Keep using Tylenol as directed for the fever, keep hydrated, and get lots of rest.” she urges.

You’re barely listening. Jack loves you. He loves you.

You’ve really got to think about where to go from here.

tagging: @michasia24 @veggieburgerwrites @bruher @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catmomstyles3 @qardasngan @fuckalrighty @rae4725 @beebeechaos @thatssomebadhat89 @cari87 @livingdeadblondequeen @wowitsafemale @neonpurplestars89-blog @starswin @celiacallsitcausal @vinceelser @glamorizethechaos @nerdgirljen @namgification @li22ie2017

let me know if you want on the taglist!!

[jo-speaks]

CANN U PLZ WRITE QUINN AND HIS GF HAVING HOT TOB SEXXHWINDIS PLZLZLZ

HOT TUB ANTICS

overview: a relaxing night in the hot tub with quinn turns into something more. (+ the origin of this picture)

warnings: smut! MDNI (18+pls guys), dirty talk, thigh riding, unprotected sex, etc.

note: ooo the thoughts i had running though my head when i saw this picture and then this request came though i swear i almost blew up. also this is not proofread because it's 12:40 am and i have class tomorrow :)

wc: 2.5k

You were struggling to tie the laces of your bikini top when you heard a knock on your door.

“Y/N? The tub’s ready.��� Quinn called out, his hand lingering on the knob as he waited for your response.

He heard your grumble before it was followed with, “Can you help me?”. Turning the knob, he walked in, trying his best to keep his composure as the loose top barely covered your breasts, the bottoms doing little to nothing to cover your ass. 

“Quinn?” You smirked, noticing his stare. 

“Huh? Sorry,” He replied sheepishly, making his way over to you. 

Four years of dating and he still got distracted when he saw you like this. He brought his hands up, his fingers finding the laces of your top, bringing them around your back. He did quick work of tying it together, a smirk appearing on his face as you brought your hands up to adjust the padding that covered your boobs. You had pulled one side forward a little too much, allowing Quinn to catch a quick peek at your nipple. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the top of your head. “You can’t do that, baby.”

“Do what?” You asked innocently. 

“You’re such a tease.” He laughed, “C’mon. The water’s gonna get cold."

You smiled and grabbed the towels you had waiting on the edge of the bed, taking Quinn’s hand as he guided you downstairs. Thankfully, it was pretty late at night so the house was quiet, everyone upstairs sleeping or passed out due to the drinking they had done throughout the course of the night. 

When Quinn slid open the glass door, the Michigan air flowing into the warm air of the house. A small breeze caught your abdomen, causing your arms to bring the towels up in front of you in an attempt to reserve your heat. Quinn laughed, taking the towels from you and putting a hand around your lower back to guide you outside. 

He set the towels down, taking both of your phones and putting them on top of the stack before dipping a foot in, the other following suit. When the water came up to the middle of his torso, he stuck his hand out, asking for yours so he could guide you in. The warm water felt amazing, so it didn’t take long for you to join him fully. 

Quinn took a set along the benches instilled in the tub, watching as you stood in the center, allowing the lower half of your body to acclimatize before taking a seat beside him. You let your head rest on his shoulder, the palm of his hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

“I missed this.” You sighed, your muscles relaxing as he turned the jets on the lowest level, the pressured water shooting against your backs. 

Quinn chuckled, hand shifting around your waist to mess with the bows of your bikini, “The hot tub? It does feel nice.”

“No. Well, yes, but I meant you.” You smiled, “Missed being this close to you.”

Quinn gave your thigh a squeeze, “Me too. M’sorry this summer is kinda all over the place.”

“It’s okay. I see you all year, anyway.” 

That was true. He had asked you to move in after two years of being together. Summers always gave you mixed feelings, though. Some days you’d get to be around him one hundred percent of the time, while others you’d only see him for some or not at all. You’d always appreciated his drive, and his determination to not only be better for himself but for his team. But summers were meant to be relaxing, an outlet for everything hockey. Loving him just meant adjusting to his passion, and that was no problem for you. 

Quinn reached over your shoulder, grabbing his phone, and handing it to you before letting his hand drop to your side, toying with the strings of your bikini yet again. “Play something.” You unlocked it, opening up Spotify and putting on the playlist you two had created together on shuffle. It was a slow, sensual song that had played the first time the two of you had sex and suddenly the close contact between the two of you felt too far. Your thighs rubbed together, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But it was Quinn. He noticed everything about you. 

He threw his head back with a soft laugh, lulling it back to the side to look at you with his green eyes, the blue lights of the tub making them seem brighter, “You okay over there, baby?”

You looked over at him, a desire lingering in your gaze. You brought a hand up to his cheek, cupping it softly as you shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. He smiled against your mouth, both hands coming to the side of your waist, effortlessly bringing you onto his lap, your legs on either side of him. Your hands came up to his hair as the kiss quickly went from slow and passionate to rushed and desperate. You wanted to take your time, but something about the way he held you and the music in the background had you yearning for him.

Quinn pulled back, and before you could complain, he was trailing kisses down the column of your neck, marking your skin wherever he could. His lips landed on a particularly sensitive spot, a soft moan passing your lips as your hands gripped at his hair. You could feel his cock twitch against your core through his shorts, your hips grinding down to meet the movement. 

“Stop moving.” He groaned, “You’re gonna make me cum in my pants.”

Per his request, you stopped moving, not wanting this to come to an end before it even got started. Instead, you shifted your position so that instead of being straddled across both of his legs, you were only around one. You pressed down, rocking your hips forward. The friction of his muscle against your clit was enough to have your head feeling dizzy, your hands dropping from his hair to his shoulders. He knew you could get off like this, and he wasn’t about to stop you. 

“So desperate to get off already, hm? And I’ve barely even touched you.”

His deep voice had you speeding up already, moans slipping past your parted lips as Quinn’s hands gripped your waist impossibly tighter, most likely leaving bruises you would feel in the morning.

“Quinn…” You moaned, your forehead coming down to rest on his shoulder. 

He could feel the warmth of your breath meeting his skin that sat above the water, his hands now guiding your movements as he felt you slowing down. “Tell me how bad you need me right now, sweet girl. Wanna hear it from you.”

You were never one to feel embarrassed in the bedroom, but you felt exposed out in the hot tub. There weren’t any cameras and everyone was asleep inside, but something about not having the privacy of four walls had you second-guessing yourself. 

“C’mon. Don’t go all quiet on me now,” He encouraged, his thigh tensing in an attempt to give you more courage. “Tell me how desperately you need me to fuck you.”

His words alone made you moan louder than intended. You turned your head, your cheek now to his shoulder as you peered up at him through your lashes. He copied you, twisting his neck to meet your soft gaze. The desperation in your eyes almost caused him to cum in his pants right then and there. 

“Please, Q.” You whined, your eyes fluttering as you tried to keep them open. “Need to feel you inside of me.”

He smirked, “Yeah? Want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, your orgasm creeping up on you as you tried to answer him. He could feel it – the way your thighs tensed even more, your nails digging into his skin and your noises becoming louder as he moved your hips faster. 

“M’gonna cum, Quinn!” You cried, your movements stuttering against his thigh.

Quinn placed a kiss on your cheek, “Go for it, Y/N. Let go for me.”

The second the words left his mouth you felt the knot in your stomach snap. A stream of moans leaving your throat as Quinn guided your hips, his sweet praises making it feel all that much better. 

You brought your right hand up from his shoulder, your fingers curling around the curve of the side of his neck. Pressing yourself up, you connected your lips once again, this time the pressure feeling softer as your legs shook against his thigh.

“Did so good.” He cooed, kissing you once more before shifting you off his leg, his hands coming down to slide his shorts down to rest at his ankles. Once he adjusted himself to the bare feeling, he brought his hands over to you, undoing the bows he had been toying with all night as he slipped your bottoms off effortlessly.

He didn’t have to do a thing, your body naturally gravitating back towards him as you swung a leg around his waist yet again. 

Your eyes caught his, silently asking him for permission. He didn’t answer, simply resorting to guiding your hips down against him, his cock slipping into you inch by inch. Quinn let out a groan, the feeling of your warmth around him had his head reeling. 

The music had simply become background noise by now, the only thing that mattered to the two of you being how perfectly you felt against each other. 

“It’s like you were made for me, beautiful.” He praised once he was fully inside of you. 

You nodded, blinking your eyes open to look at him. “I’m yours, Quinn. Only yours.”

The words were too sweet for the moment, but he blushed them nonetheless. He slowly thrusted up, the movement feeling experimental, his next one being just as slow. The pace was enough for you both to feel good, but not enough for you to get off. Which is just what he wanted. Quinn wanted to take his time, appreciating your body and the way you felt while this close to him. 

He didn’t want it to end. 

You let him bask in his thoughts, your body shifting forward as you left little kisses across his chest. Not enough to leave marks, but enough to have his stomach tingle at the feeling of your soft lips. You knew how much he had started to like having his shirt off when in the sun, so you decided to leave him with a little soft mark on his chest that could easily be confused for a red patch he often got. 

Your lips moved upward, kissing softly at his neck before shifting up to nip at his ear. Something about the feeling had his thrusts falter slightly, his need to fill you up slowly becoming overwhelming. 

Quinn’s movements sped up, his length dragging just a tad bit faster into you, the water starting to splash the slightest bit as soft groans escaped his chest. “So fucking perfect.”

His words made you smile, your eyebrows furrowing at the increase in speed. “I love you so much, handsome.”

His hands rounded from your waist to your ass, each hand grabbing a handful as he pulled you up, maneuvering your body to meet his hips. 

The adjustment caused him to go deeper, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you gasping his name. Your sounds became uncontrollable and the fact that they were flowing straight into Quinn’s ear didn’t help his composure at all. 

He knew he wouldn’t be holding out much longer, stomach tensing as you clenched tighter around him, but he was never one to cum before you, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. 

Quinn brought one hand back around, fitting it in between your bodies as his thumb began to circle your clit. You wailed, biting your lip to try and keep yourself under control as your orgasm built up again, the task becoming increasingly harder the faster he moved. 

“Need you to let go for me, baby.” He sighed, his cock drilling into you, “Please just cum for me again. Know you can do it.” 

His encouragement had your brain flooding out anything that wasn’t Quinn. All you could focus on were his panting breaths, and the way his eyes fluttered shut as his lips parted further. The sight alone had all your composure crumbling, a feeling of euphoria overtaking your body. 

Quinn felt your pussy clenching around him. The all-familiar feeling had his muscles tensing, his cock halting inside of you as he let himself go, his cum spurting thick ropes of white into you. 

The feeling of him leaking out of you was disguised by the jets of the hot tub, the pressure from them cleaning your exposed skin. You panted against his mouth, the feeling of his mustache tickling the tip of your nose.

Quinn blinked his eyes open as you backed up, your eyes drinking in the man in front of you. Your fingers traced his cheekbones before eventually finding their home in his hair.

He smiled at the sight of you, “You look so fucking perfect on top of me.”

You giggled, warmth rising to your face, “Don’t get used to it, that was exhausting.” 

“You barely did anything!” He laughed, eyes widening in fake disbelief. 

The laughter died down, both of you fully embracing the moment. You kissed him yet again, slower this time, basking in the way his – now swollen– lips felt against yours.

You reached to your side, this time grabbing your phone as you opened your camera app. Holding the phone out beside the two of you, you kissed the tip of his nose as your thumb hit the button to snap a picture. You didn’t look at it before kissing his lips, snapping yet another picture. 

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, looking over at your phone as you seized the moment and kissed his cheek, getting another picture of him smiling at the feeling. 

“Documenting,” You smiled, “You look so good.”

He laughed as he brought the phone in front of his face, putting the .5 setting on and laughing as you caught the moment. “I wanna get one with just you in here, hang on.”

You pressed yourself up, allowing his cock to slip out of you, a sigh leaving both your lips. He pulled his shorts up as you tied your bikini bottoms back around your waist. You stood up, leaving the warmth of the water and circling around the hot tub to capture Quinn in all his beauty. 

After a few shots, Quinn picked up his phone trying to look busy.  “Okay, look at you modeling for me.” You teased, a smile creeping up on his face as you snapped yet another picture, before rejoining him in the water.

[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Part 3

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas—and she’s already moved in.

Warnings: Alexia and the kid argue again; Alexia wishes she could just drop the kid off at her mom's house, and apparently, twelve-year-old kids are learning about reproduction in science class.

Word count: 6.8k

Legally binding masterlist here

Alexia woke to pressure at her feet. Something heavy and warm, she was still half-asleep when she shifted and kicked it gently, assuming one of her pillows.  

She frowned and opened her eyes, being hit by the morning light coming out of the windows. Then she lifted the duvet.

She saw a head.. A tiny and messy-haired head. 

The girl.

 She was wearing that familiar too tight pyjama top.

Alexia sat up slowly and stared, unsure if she was still dreaming. For a moment, she had even forgotten what happened, had forgotten about the girl, but there she was curled up at the foot of the bed.

Her position looked uncomfortable, she was lying sideways with one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, her head was turned into an awkward angle. 

She looked small. And for a few seconds, Alexia could only sit there, blankly trying to catch up to the sigh in front of her. Alexia just wasn’t expecting it to happen, although she had, and still did, get into her mother's bed when the world was too much to handle.

Although Eli, Alexia’s mom, had chosen to have her, Alexia didn’t appear in her mom's living room, saying she was now her guardian.

Alexia dropped back into the bed with a groan, burying her face in one of the pillows. Maybe she could sleep a bit more, forget this was all happening, pretend she was the only one living in the house.

But she just couldn't, her mind kept circling back to what was happening in her life.

There was a kid in her bed. Her bed.

Was she her kid? Alexia still wasn't sure. All she knew was that it was her real life now, she had to get used to it, just for a little while, at least.

The girl stirred and stretched her arms above her head, then she sat up like it was the most common thing in the world…waking up in the bed of Alexia Putellas.

“Buenos días,” [good morning] she mumbled.

Alexia turned her head slightly. 

“Hi,” Alexia said simply.

The girl rubbed her eyes and blinked at the other side of the room.

“That's your bathroom?” she asked, pointing at the door to the right of the bed.

“Uh... yeah?”

“Great,” the girl said, hopping off the bed and walking to the bathroom.

Alexia just lay there, still in her sheets and staring at the ceiling.  Her brain was trying to decide if she should laugh, scream, or go back to sleep.

She just lost her bathroom privacy to a child. Great.

Alexia should be getting up soon, she had training in two hours. Hell, she had a routine that she was supposed to be starting right now. 

First, she had to do her morning stretching and work out; after that, she had to drink a lot of water while listening to the news, then she had to go over some tactile stuff Romeu had sent her, all that before her morning training at the training ground.

But now she had a twelve-year-old in her en suite bathroom. And she didn’t know what to do with her. It was like her life had gone completely out of her control.

Even when she did her ACL and she had to rely on others for absolutely everything, she still had more control over her own life than right now.

As if the girl sensed Alexia's spiralling thoughts, she reappears from the bathroom, looking much more awake than Alexia, that was for sure.

The kid paused in the doorway, her eyes looking at the bed, at the spot she was sleeping minutes ago, then she looked at Alexia, eyes wide, waiting…like she wasn't sure she was allowed to speak.

“Do you need anything ?” Alexia asked, forcing a smile on her face.

“I... uh... slept in your bed last night,” she said, her voice low and unsure. “Sorry about that,”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Alexia said. “I didn’t see you coming in, or else I would have, hm, given you a pillow, I gue,ss.”

The girl looked at the floor. There was something in her, something that hadn't been there before. Or at least, Alexia hadn’t noticed before. As if the girl had grown nervous overnight..

Alexia watched her closely. Alexia wasn't the best at reading emotions, but it felt like the girl had a hint of embarrassment. on her face, but it was so subtle that it could have been missed.

The kid had never looked embarrassed before…Not when she broke into her apartment. Not when she revealed Alexia had ‘adopted her’

“Well…” the kid started, lifting her eyes to look at Alexia, her cheeks turning pink. “You turned off the lights.”

Alexia blinked, feeling slightly taken aback. “Oh, you don't like that? The dark, I mean.”

The girl shook her head. “It scares me,” she admitted. “I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't see anything. It felt like I was back at the orphanage.”

The words hit Alexia like a slap to the face. She hadn't expected that. She obviously didn't think when she left a kid in a completely dark room. Her mami would always light a night light for her and Alba when they were little, maybe Alexia could do the same next time?

“Oh,” Alexia said softly, “I didn't know. I'm sorry... hm, maybe we can keep them on if you like?”

The girl shrugged.

“It's okay,” she murmured. “I found your room, it wasn't so scary anymore.”

The kid said it like it was the most natural solution, as if going to Alexia’s bed in the middle of the night was the right thing to do when she felt scared

Alexia didn't know what to say. But something about it lingered. Alexia had never been the one people went to when they were scared; she was the one people went to when they needed a word of comfort (football-related) or when they needed to know in what area they needed to get better at to become a great player.

She had never been held to a standard of being someone's safe haven. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing; Alexia was happy that she could help the kid somehow, but it still felt like another weight she had to carry.

Was this weight normal? Did all parents feel that? Did her mom feel that when Alexia was born and she was suddenly responsible for a new life?

..

The omelette was in the pan, and the warm scent of butter and eggs was filling the kitchen with a smell Alexia knew very well. It had become one of her favourite scents. It meant a new day was starting, a new start over, a new beginning for Alexia.

Alexia loved mornings ever since she was a kid. She also always made omelette, so it was nice that at least one aspect of her life was still the same.

She hummed quietly under her breath and was focusing on not burning her breakfast...Well, their breakfasts.

But then Alexia heard it: footsteps in the hallway. They were very quick, as if in a hurry.

“Bye!” The word barely registered at first.

Bye?

Alexia she turned off the stove, and stepped out of the kitchen just in time to see the girl by the front door, one hand was already on the knob.

Alexia moved fast, stepping in front of it. Her arms were already crossed, and her jaw tensed. 

“Bye?”Alexia said in disbelief.. “Where exactly do you think you're going?”

“La Masia,” the girl replied, as if it was obvious. “I have training today…I can still only go once a week, but once you sign me up for the academy, I can go every day.”

And then, the kid just smiled and reached for the door again.

Alexia didn't budge. “No. You're not going anywhere.”

The girl blinked up at her. “Huuhh? Why not? I got my shoes and everything?”

“Because you're twelve,” Alexia said, brows raised. “You can't just walk out of the house like that.”

The girl tilted her head, looking confused. “I told you, Ale, you don't need to parent me. I just need a place to stay and someone to register me for La Masia. That's it.”

Ale. She had never called her that before. Just Alexia.

The girl just stood there, smiling like she couldn't possibly understand why Alexia wasn't going along with this plan, her plan.

Alexia rubbed her temples, trying to bring down an urge to scream.  The kid was stubborn. No, persistent. That was the word. Definitely better than stubborn.

When the girl tried the doorknob again, Alexia placed a hand on it, firm.

“No,” she said again. “Absolutely not. First of all, you can't just walk into La Masia with no guardian papers. Second, this city is dangerous. Third…”

She took a breath, trying not to lose her temper.

“....You're twelve. You don't even know where the nearest store is, let alone how to use public transportation by yourself.”

“But I have been on the metro before!” the girl said proudly. “Well, it was only once, but I know my way around, I can read those metro maps to find my way.”

“That’s not the point.”. Alexia raised her voice slightly, The kid couldn’t possibly think that the only survival skill she needed was to know how to read metro maps.

“The point is that you can't just go running off on your own, okay?” Alexia continued and began to walk around in the living room while the kid just stood there, watching her. “

“I'm responsible for you now. That means you don't leave this house without me knowing where you are, end of story.”

The girl immediately dropped herself onto the sofa dramatically, as if she had just been wounded by Alexia. Then she sat back and crossed her arms, a pouting on her face. “You're being overdramatic.”

Alexia froze.

Overdramatic?

Alexia slowly turned to face the girl, eyes narrowing.

“I'm being what?” she asked, voice dangerous, the same one her mom used to use on her when Alexia was the one sneaking out to play football with some neighbours. 

The girl shrugged, looking bored..

Alexia could feel it. Her patience was already wearing thin.

“You're being all 'parenty,'” the girl said as if Alexia wanting to protect her from getting abducted was some sort of overreaction. 

“I'm independent, Alexia, I’ve been on my own for a very long time, I know how to take care of myself.”

Alexia sighed. Right, yeah, of course, a little kid would know how to ‘take care of herself’.

“No, you don’t,” Alexia said sternly “I don’t care if you think you are street-smart enough to move around Barcelona alone. From now on, you aren’t leaving anywhere without an adult.”

“You are not the boss of me!” The girl said, her voice extremely angry, which matched the frown on her face. “You can’t just ruin my plans like that!!”

Alexia looked at the girl. Well, now who was overreacting?

The kids' cheeks were turning red, if she were a few decades older, Alexia would be concerned about her bursting a vein on her forehead.

For a second, Alexia genuinely considered letting her go. 

Just opening the door, waving goodbye, and letting the kid see for herself how much of a mess and unsafe the world could be.

 But no. She pulled herself together, took a deep breath through her nose. 

Guardian, she was a guardian. She was the responsible adult here, not the kid. The girl was too small and her feelings were just too big.

But if this kid thought she was old enough to manage everything, then fine. Alexia would be honest, at least.

“Look,” she said, kneeling in front of her. “I didn't ask for this either. I didn't ask for a kid to show up on my doorstep and make me responsible for her entire existence.”

The girl frowned even more, clearly not enjoying the direction the conversation was going.

“I was just getting home after training…”Alexia said, gesturing vaguely. “And then you showed up, and now I have a small human thinking she can go out and play football without so much as a lunchbox!”

The girl's expression changed.

“Okay, okay, ” the kid said. “We can get a lunch box and then I’ll go to La masia, how does that sound?”

Alexia blinked. Then dragged both hands down her face. It was going to be a long morning.

“Have you listened to anything I just told you?” Alexias asked tiredly.

“I did listen to you,” the girl replied, crossing her arms. “But I feel like you're the one not listening to me.”

Alexia started, exasperated. “How am I not listening to you? We’re having a conversation, I am talking to you.”

“You just don’t listen!” The kid said. “I have told you my plan, but when I try to do something about it, you are just like ‘no, no, no and no’... You don’t let me do anything!”

“I don’t let you do anything on your plan because it is not a plan.” Alexia snapped, sounding harsher than she meant, “Plans are realistic, they have reasonable steps you can take, what you have is a dream, dreams are not plans.”

The girl looked at Alexia, betrayed. 

“You said in that interview that you supported every child’s dream, and that you wished all of us kids would make our dreams come true! And now you’re saying my dreams are just dreams!” 

“I never said that your dreams are just dreams,” Alexia said slowly. “I said that dreams need realistic plans, and that your plan is not realistic.”

“You didn’t say that.” The girl rolled her eyes.

Briefly, Alexia imagined driving to her mother's house and just dropping the girl off. 

No explanation. No warning. Just let her mom think the kid had chosen her instead of Alexia. Maybe she would believe it. Well, Eli would be a way better mom, or guardian, than Alexia, that was for sure.

“Look, if you insist, you can drop me off, okay?” the girl offered. “I don't mind.”

Alexia was seconds from losing it.

“What part of 'you are not going to La Masia today' did you not understand?" she asked, rising to her full height, hands on her hips now. 

The whole gentle parenting attempt had clearly failed. Miserably. Maybe Alexia should try…rough parenting, instead? Was there such a thing? She should buy some parenting books, maybe that would help.

“You can’t just prohibit me from going,” the girl insisted. “I’m good enough, and, as much as you don’t like it, I have things figured out, you know? I just need you to register me full- time and things will work out.”

“Oh yeah,” Alexia muttered, throwing her arms in the air. “So you're telling me that you, a kid, have it all figured out. Meanwhile, I'm just a clueless adult trying to stop you from becoming the next missing child in Barcelona."

“You're not a clueless adult,” the girl replied, her face had a very innocent and cute expression that made Alexia almost forget why she was mad in the first place. “You're just getting in the way–I need to be there at nine.”

“I'm getting in the way??!” Alexia's blood pressure was spiking, and the kid was to blame.

The girl simply nodded and sat up straighter on the sofa.

“I know the contract said you have to care for my well-being and health and stuff, but really, you don't have to, I’m independent.

Alexia rolled her eyes. Not this conversation again. It was like the kid discovered the word independent and was running with it. They had spent the last thirty minutes going over and over the exact same thing.

“Oh, you're independent, huh?" Alexia said, challenging. “Have you brushed your teeth yet? Have you packed something to eat during training? If you get hurt, who will La Masia call? Do you know my phone number?”

The girl opened her mouth to respond, then paused and closed it again. Finally, realisation settling in her face, because right. She didn’t have it all figured out.

Alexia sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. “You're not going to La Masia,” Alexia said her voice firm. “Not today. We need to figure things out first.”

The girl's eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes”, Alexia said. “You don't have any school papers. You don't have a guardian note. You don't have– nothing! Not even a proper ID on you!”

The girl looked down, sadness growing on her face as she slowly realised that becoming a professional footballer wasn’t just about kicking a ball around.

When Alexia thought the girl had finally learned that her lesson, that this whole plan was not so easy, the girl opened her mouth again.

“So…can I go tomorrow, at least? I can take a taxi if you don’t want me taking the metro.” She looked up at Alexia, eyes big.

There was a moment of silence.

“You're going to give me grey hairs,” Alexia muttered finally, shaking her head and giving up on the whole parenting thing.

The girl didn't miss a beat. “You already have one.”

Alexia stared, deadpan. “Go set the table. Now.’

“Ughhh, fine.”

The girl pushed herself off the sofa and walked into the kitchen, grabbing two plates and setting them on the table. Alexia returned to the stove, her hands slightly trembling.

She stared down at the omelette.

Was this what parenting was? She had asked that question at least a thousand times, and it was barely nine am.

But is it? Is that what parenting is about? Explaining the obvious? Repeating yourself? Arguing with someone who thought you were the one being unreasonable?

She reached for the spatula with a sigh.

Apparently yes. Yes, it was.

As they sat down to eat, Alexia knew she had to take control of the situation. The morning had already spiralled far past her comfort zone, and if there was one thing she could do was set some rules.

“First rule,” she began as she served the omelette.

“Wait, wait!” the girl interrupted, hopping up from her chair and walking to her room, well, Alexia’s guest bedroom.

“I need to write it down, or else I’ll forget,” she called back. “Sister Maria always made me write rules like…fifty times.”

Well, Sister Maria didn’t sound very fun.

The girl returned moments later with crayons and a single piece of paper clutched in her hand.

Alexia leaned closer to inspect it and frowned.

“Hey!”  she said, taking the paper gently from the girl’s grip. “Where did you get this? This is a prescription slip...you can’t draw on this!”

The girl froze as Alexia held it up. “Oh,” she said, startled. “I didn’t know it was an important paper.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. There was something in her posture that once again made Alexia's chest ache. Alexia sighed, then she got up and walked over to the coffee table, and sifted through the mess until she found some other paper.

“Here,” she said, handing it to her. “You can draw or write on this, alright? I need the other one.”

“Okay,” the girl replied.

“Now sit back, please.”

The girl did as she was told. 

She had a full plate of omelette in front of her, crayons on her left, and a glass of orange juice on her right. Alexia wasn’t sure how much vitamin C kids actually needed, but she made sure to fill the glass.

“Alright,” Alexia said, clearing her throat. “Back to the rules.”

She took a breath.

“Rule number one: Absolutely not leaving this house without me. Understand? You’re a kid, and this city is dangerous. I don’t care if you know the way to La Masia or not.”

The girl nodded reluctantly while writing it down in pink crayon.

“Rule two,” Alexia continued. “You can’t tell anyone about the guardianship. Not a single person. Okay? We need to keep this between us.”

“Why?” the girl asked, crayon paused mid-scribble.

Alexia hesitated, and her throat tightened. She couldn���t explain the truth, not yet. 

Couldn’t say that the arrangement was only temporary. That in four months, if all went well, she wouldn’t be the kid’s legal guardian anymore. Pedro had promised it was just for the season.

Alexia opened her mouth, but then closed it. The words felt too heavy.

“Because I said so,” she said finally, forcing a smile. “Just… trust me on this.”

The girl nodded without protest, and that only made Alexia feel worse.

“Rule three,” she added. “You’re not going to La Masia until you’re registered in a school. You can’t play football full-time until that’s sorted.”

The girl sat up straighter. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She put her crayon down with a bit more force than necessary.

“How am I going to play football if I’m going to be in school?” she whined. “I need to focus on football”

Yeah, me too, Alexia thought. I also need to focus on football.

But now? She was going to have to skip training to find a school for this kid. 

Should Alexia choose the school with the best reputation or the one closest to home? What about a private one? Should she care more about the ambience of the school or how academically challenging it was? Her head already hurt.

“Look,” she said aloud. “Just because you want to play football doesn’t mean you can skip everything else. School’s part of everyone's life, and you’ll go, no arguing in that.”

“I’m not a kid!” the girl shot back, arms crossed tightly. “I’m twelve! I should be able to choose whether I want school or not.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. This girl couldn't be serious right now.

“Twelve-year-olds are still kids,” Alexia said. “You get to choose a lot of stuff in life, school isn’t one of them.”

The girl slumped in her chair, grumbling under her breath. “That’s not fair.”

Alexia sighed again, leaning back. Alexia understood, she really did.  This kid had probably been forced to grow up too fast, and she was probably not treated like a kid back at the orphanage.

“You know,” Alexia said gently, “footballers don’t just wake up and become footballers. You don’t skip all the hard stuff, you know? It takes discipline, work, and sacrifices, which means doing stuff you don’t want to do, like going to school.”

She just pouted. “This isn’t going how I thought it would,” she complained. “This is worse! way worse than I thought.”

Alexia blinked. Oh this is not how she wanted?

“Oh, you think this is bad? Did you think I wanted a kid to look after?” Alexia snapped, unable to hold back. “You think I woke up and said, ‘today’s a great day to be a parent? Let me go look for some kids!”

The girl flinched, and her eyes widened, before narrowing again. 

“Well,” the girl said, “okay, no need to be harsh.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, but her chest softened. It wasn’t easy for the kid either, even if she was the one who put both of them in that situation. She did it out of despair, fearing she wouldn’t be able to follow her dream.

The kid--Y/n--as Pedro had told her, might act tough, but Alexia saw through it.

“Alright, alright, sorry” Alexia muttered, nudging the plate a little closer. “Now eat, and if you’re still hungry, take more.”

The girl stared at her, but then smiled in that cute way she did.

She picked up her fork and finally started eating, no more complaining about La Masia or school.

They didn't say anything during breakfast, but the silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable; it was nice, in some weird way. 

They just sat there and enjoyed their breakfast like they hadn’t just yelled at each other.

Like they were... figuring it out.

..

This was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

Y/n sat in the back seat of Alexia’s car with arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, her eyes fixed firmly on the window.

She had plans. Big plans. The kind of plans that ended with a Ballon d’Or by the time she turned fourteen. But getting dragged around to some school by Alexia wasn’t on her plans, absolutely not.

She was frustrated, and she barely knew what ‘frustrated’ meant.  Maybe she could still get away; she could sneak off under the La Masia bleachers and hide and sleep there. At least she would be close to training.

School? School was a complete waste of time. No matter how important Alexia said it was.

“You can be mad all you want,” Alexia said. “But you’ll go to school next Monday, either you go to school, or you just don’t train at all.”

Y/n didn’t respond. She lifted her chin higher.

“That little contract of yours? It says I have to put you in school, or else I’ll get arrested.” Alexia tried again, wanting to get the girl to say something. She had been quiet ever since she and Pedro had taken the kid to get signed up for the Spain Academy for Girls.

Y/n’s fingers curled into fists in her lap.

Arrested? Good.

Maybe if Alexia went to jail, she would stop interfering and trying to ruin everything Y/n had so carefully planned.

“If that means I’ll finally have the freedom I was promised,” Y/n snapped, turning her head just slightly, “then yes. Go ahead, get yourself arrested.”

The sharpness in her voice surprised even her. Y/b didn’t like being rude. Didn’t like being ungrateful. Especially not to someone who had let her eat as many servings of dinner as she wanted. 

But she was furious. No one was listening to her. No one understood that she didn’t want any of this. She just wanted to play football. That was it.

Alexia’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. Her gaze moved to the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Y/n for just a second before she looked away again.

“You weren’t promised any freedom,” Alexia said quietly. “You made that up in your head. Now you, well, we have to deal with the real consequences of this guardianship, Y/n.”

Y/n. There it was again. She hated it when Alexia used her name. Her real name. She preferred kid. But now? Now, Alexia had gone through her file, she knew her real name, and her story, possibly her medical records as well.

Y/n just wanted to get out of the orphanage and become something. That was her goal, her plan and her dream.

And it had been a good plan, too; it was structured. 

She had just picked the wrong adult to drag into it. She should have chosen someone who didn’t care if she was in school, someone who wouldn’t bother about paperwork or rules.

“I still don’t like it,” she muttered, turning her chin up stubbornly. “This whole school thing.”

Alexia didn’t miss a beat.

“It’s okay,” Alexia said, her voice dry. “You don’t have to like it, you just have to go.”

..

“I don’t want it,” Y/n said while shaking her head, her mouth in a pout, Alexia had come to recognise it as her normal response to being told what to do.

Alexia held up the strawberry-print pyjamas again, this time closer to the girl’s face, as if she could see the tiny fruits on it, she would like it. 

“Please? This is the fifth one I have shown you. You need clothes, ones that fit you.”

“No.”

Right after registering her for the school (a private school) Alexia had called Romeu to say she wouldn’t make it to training. He had sounded nervous, because she never missed training. But when Alexia said it was for ‘personal reasons’ he didn’t push.

Now here she was, in the middle of a kids’ clothing store in the mall, trying (and failing) to convince her twelve-year-old to pick out anything.

“Why not?” Alexia asked, exasperated. “This one is soft and cute. The one you have is too small, it barely covers your ankles!”

“Mine fits just fine,” Y/n said. “I can still wear it.”

“Por Dios, why are you so stubborn?” Alexia let out a quiet groan.

Then, a sales assistant appeared. “Hello! Can I help you two with anything today?”

It was kind of funny, actually, how fast Y/n transformed into a shy kid; she was ducking behind Alexia’s side like it was a safe place,

Apparently, she didn’t like strangers. Alexia wasn’t sure how she had managed to trust her so quickly.

“Hi!” Alexia greeted  “I’m just trying to get some clothes for this one,” she added, nodding at Y/n, “but she doesn’t seem to like anything. Do you have more options?”

Y/n pinched her in the side for that comment. Alexia ignored it.

“Of course,” the salesgirl said and gestured toward the other section of the store. “We’ve got some great stuff for preteens over here. That age is difficult, right…”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Alexia muttered.

The woman led them to more clothing racks and then went away.

Alexia flipped through the rack and pulled out a navy-blue pyjama set with a whale on the front. It looked warm and cozy. Good.

“Look, this one’s cute…and it’s fleece-lined, so you would be warm.”

“I don’t want it,” Y/n snapped, this time sharper than before.

“Okay. What’s going on?” Alexia frowned and lowered the hanger.

Y/n looked down at her shoes and then to the side. “I just... I don’t have any money with me right now,” she whispered.

“What?” Alexia was so confused right now, she barely knew what to say or what to do.

Y/n moved her feet, not meeting Alexia’s eyes. “I said I don’t have money.”

“And?...”

“To pay for it,” Y/n mumbled. “I’m the one who’s gonna wear it.”

“Wait, you thought you had to pay for it?” If this were the case, then her attitude made sense. The kid wasn't just being grumpy.

Y/n shrugged like it was obvious. “Yeah?”

For a second, Alexia just looked at her. “Nena… you’re a kid, you don’t pay for things like this…It’s my job.”

“But I’m the one who needs it,” Y/n said quickly, arms crossing again. “So it should come from me.” 

Alexia crouched a little to meet her eye, holding the pyjamas gently between them.  “Look, I know you’re used to handling things on your own. I get it. But this? This isn’t one of those things, yeah? Taking care of you, it’s not some sort of favour.  It’s just... being responsible for someone, alright?”

Y/n’s eyes moved to hers for a split second before darting away again. 

“You don’t owe me anything for pyjamas, okay? Or food. Or school. That’s on me now.”

Y/n didn’t answer. But she didn’t argue either. She just stood there.

Alexia gave the pyjama a gentle wiggle. “So... do we hate the whales, or can I take this one to the register?”

Y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t move. 

“The strawberries were better,” she said shyly. 

Alexia grinned. “Good, I liked that one better, too.”

After the pyjamas, Alexia led her into another store, this one for everyday clothes. She was hoping that now that the ice had cracked a little, Y/n might actually help pick things out.

She wasn’t saying no to everything anymore, which was progress. But she wasn’t saying yes, either. Just quietly trailing behind, hands in her pockets, eyes darting across racks without landing on anything.

Alexia held up two jackets. One was a deep forest green, while the other was bright pink and puffy.

“Okay,” Alexia said. “So you like this one–” she shook the green one lightly, “-or this one?”

She looked over to find Y/n staring up at her with the biggest, roundest eyes. Then on the jackets. Then back at her.

She said nothing. Not a nod, not a shrug, just silence...again.

Alexia lowered both jackets slightly. “Nena? You can pick, you know. I’m not gonna be mad, it would actually help me a lot if you told me what you like.”

Then she finally spoke.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to want.”

The words hit harder than Alexia expected.

“You’re not supposed to want anything. Just… pick what you like, what you think is pretty.”

Y/n’s mouth pressed into a tight line. She didn’t answer,  but she did point at the pink one.

Alexia smiled. “Yayy!” she said, a little too enthusiastically. “Okay, this one’s warm, good for the weather this season.”

She folded the jacket over her arm and gently took Y/n’s hand, leading her toward the shirt section now. “I’ve never been in one of these,” the girl said suddenly.

Alexia glanced at her. “Where? This mall? Me neither–”

“No. A store,” Y/n clarified. “I’ve never been in a store.”

Alexia paused. “Wait, never?”

The girl shook her head. “It’s confusing. And big. And it has… a lot of stuff. At the orphanage, we just got clothes…we didn’t pick. I don’t know how to pick.”

Seeing her look so small, so unsure, did something strange to Alexia’s chest. She would take grumpy, stubborn Y/n over this quiet, unsure version of her any day.

“That’s okay,” Alexia said gently. “I’ll show you how to pick. Come here.”

Y/n took a step closer, watching her carefully.

“First, you think about what you need,” Alexia explained, flipping through hangers. “You need everything, but right now we’re looking for everyday shirts. It’s autumn, so we want clothes that are warm, but not too warm.”

The girl tilted her head slightly, paying attention, and for the first time since they had started this guardianship, Alexia felt like Y/n was really listening.

“This one’s a good example,” Alexia said, holding up a long-sleeved black shirt. “It’s simple, it goes with everything, and you can wear it when it’s chilly. If it gets colder, you can just put a jacket over.”

“So…” Y/n said slowly, “…think about the weather first?”

Alexia grinned. “Exactly. That’s a good place to start.”

Y/n nodded, then she pointed at another shirt, a navy blue one with, it had stars all over.

Alexia didn’t say anything; she just added it to the bag. They continued shopping, and it was easier now.

The girl was still quiet, but she started pointing at the things she liked. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for Alexia, that was more than enough.

By the time they reached the checkout, they had managed to get seven shirts, two jackets, two pairs of pants, two pairs of shoes and one more pyjama set (thank God! This one had the barça logo in it) and some socks. 

It wasn’t everything the kid needed, not even close, but Alexia didn’t want to overwhelm her. Baby steps, maybe she could bring her back another day.

Afterwards, Alexia decided that they should eat. They sat down to eat at one of Alexia's favourite restaurants, and Alexia ordered her usual salad without even thinking, but then she looked at the girl.

“What do you want?”

Y/n stared up at the menu board confused. Her eyes darted from item to item.

“Hmm…” She looked at Alexia, then back at the menu . “I don’t know. hm… whatever you’re having?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, amused. “Salad? You want salad?”

Y/n hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “Not really.”

“I didn’t think so. What about some pasta?” Alexia smiled. “ And we’ll get a little salad on the side. Sounds good?”

The girl tilted her head like she was considering, but she nodded slowly. Alexia watched her as she turned her attention back to the table, running her finger along the edge. It struck Alexia again, like it had back in the store, just how much this girl had gone without what she needed.

Not just clothes or choices, but small things. Like being asked what she wanted for lunch.

And god, she was just a kid.

A kid who had forged a contract because she wanted to be a footballer so badly that she had  tricked a stranger into becoming her legal guardian.

Alexia still didn’t know what to do with that. Or how she was going to tell her the truth, that she wasn’t going to stay with Alexia much longer. 

The truth was: Alexia wasn’t fit to keep her.

Alexia knew nothing about raising a kid. She didn’t even remember to feed them properly; they were having lunch at 3 pm, because she had lost track of time and the girl hadn’t reminded her. 

Probably didn’t think she was allowed to?

Sure, Alexia had bought the girl clothes, but none of them actually matched, because she had just let the girl point at things, she didn’t have the heart to say no when an item looked…too much.

So now the sneakers didn’t go with the pants, the jackets didn’t match with half the shirts. But Y/n had looked… proud, almost, when she handed them over. And Alexia wasn’t going to ruin that.

And then…

Fuck

The books. The school book, and the uniform. 

Alexia’s stomach sank, and she even put her salad aside. She had forgotten to buy them. How was she supposed to be responsible for a child when she couldn’t even manage a damn shopping list?

She was a disaster. As a parent. As a guardian. Whatever label people wanted to put on it, she wasn’t cut out for it.

..

When they got home, Alexia was carrying what felt like a hundred shopping bags, her arms sore, and her fingers red from the handles digging into her skin. 

Not even the kid got away with it, Y/n was holding the stack of brand new schoolbooks, her body was slightly bent under the weight.

“Put them on the table,” Alexia said, closing the door behind them and dumping the bags on the sofa with a tired sigh.

Alexia stared at the mess for a moment: shirts, pants, jackets, shoes, socks…everywhere. She was going to have to organise it all. Probably fold it and fit it into the girl’s wardrobe somehow. 

It wasn’t even that much, not really, but Alexia had never folded clothes this small before.

Behind her, Y/n dropped the textbooks onto the dining table, groaning as she shook out her arms. “How much reading does this school want me to do?” she asked, staring down at the books.

“A lot, apparently,” Alexia muttered, rubbing her forehead.

Y/n flipped one of the books open, frowned at the text, then looked up at Alexia, her face scrunched.

“How am I supposed to play football with this many pages to do?”

Alexia rolled her eyes and walked past her toward the kitchen. 

“Forget about football for a moment, yeah? We have got other things to focus on.”

There was a pause, just a second. “You have other things to focus on. I don’t.” Y/n said sharply

Alexia stopped.

Turned halfway around.

She didn’t like that tone, not the words exactly. She also didn’t like that they were circling back to football again, for what felt like the seventh time that day.

“Alright,” Alexia said, voice tight. “Don’t use that tone. It’s not nice.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, she just stared at her, her arms were arms crossed in a very defiant way

Alexia took another deep breath. 

She wasn’t good at this, at talking to kids, at parenting, at figuring out when to push and when to let things go. And today? Today, she felt like she was doing everything wrong.

Alexia crossed the room slowly,and  rested a hand on the back of one of the chairs.

“I know football matters to you,” she said, more gently now. “But you’re still a kid. And school isn’t an enemy, it's not something that's in the way of your dream”

“But if I don’t work harder than everyone else at La Masia, I’ll fall behind, and be bad, bad at football! And then what?”

Alexia didn’t have an answer, at least not one the kid would accept. So instead, she pulled out the chair and sat down.

“Then we figure it out,” she said. “Together.”

Y/n looked at her for a moment, and for a second, Alexia thought she might say something. But instead, the girl just nodded once, and looked away.

Alexia let out a small sigh of relief..

“Good,” she said, voice firmer now. “Now you can start your homework.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “Homework??”

“Sí,” Alexia replied, already heading back to the pile of shopping bags. “Science. Page thirty. The school sent me an email, they said you could get a head start on the work you missed while you were at the orphanage.”

Y/n picked up the textbook and flipped to page thirty, putting it down at the table. 

She looked at the words for a moment, eyebrows knitting together, then she cleared her throat and began to read aloud.

“In this section, we are going to study how reproduction works and–”

Alexia’s face went completely red as she ran forward, snatched the book from Y/n’s hands and slammed it shut.

“Actually,” she stammered, trying to put the science book aside, “go study Spanish.”

Y/n frowned. “Spanish?”

“Sí, Spanish. Page twelve. The one with conjugations.”

Y/n hesitated, then shrugged and picked up the Spanish workbook. Alexia sank into her chair across from her, exhaling very hard.

Well, at least that crisis was prevented.

..

A/n: Hope you guys liked it <3

Part 4

[fligniuz]

sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final.

word count: 5.5k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; dumbification if U squint; praise; oral (m! receiving); pre calc lol

notes : crossposting my shit to tumblr and starting with arguably one of my greatest uses of free will in history. title frommm:

You have a bit of a dilemma.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that you had a dilemma, have had one for quite a while now—your current grievances are merely extensions of a constant, one raging, blood-thirsty, borderline psychopathic problem of a class. MTH121, Concepts & Applications, is the only remaining mathematics credit required for your degree, and, coincidentally, absolutely no one told you that that’s really just a fancy name for pre-calculus. Because the universe hates you.

Your final is tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. If that wasn’t bad enough, your brain has utterly fucked you; months spent poring over formulas and right triangles amounts to nothing in the moment, every relevant fragment of knowledge completely foreign to your burnt out, sleep deprived, caffeine ridden psyche. So here you sit, “studying”, armed with just your textbook and Khan Academy tutorials.

Is it too late to switch majors? Yes, you decide, massaging your temples as you take another glance at your notes. A mass of numbers, variables, and scribbled matrices clogs the pages, complete with your near ineligible annotations, details added in the heat of a lecture. You never knew there could be so many different types of numbers. Solve for x. 5 + 2x to the 2nd power = 8x. Factor x3 - 3x to the 2nd power - 4x + 12. Find the vertex of the function f(x) = x to the 2nd power + 4x + 3. Determine the value of x if the sum of the following sequence converges to 5. How any of this is relevant to your future non-mathematics degree is beyond you.

What the hell is a vertex again? And what does it matter? You’d rather be sleeping, or drunk. Whatever.

You have one saving grace. Since your freshman year you’ve been employing a little cheat-sheet, your one-way ticket to having math explained to you in a language understood by plebeians like yourself: one Luigi Mangione, a friend of a friend of a friend, possibly the smartest guy you know (and you’re far from the only person to voice that opinion). Your self-appointed tutor—and unfortunately for you, probably the most appetizing of any of the frat guys you’ve met in college, to put it chastely. The actual knowledge is just a bonus, really, because unlike other tutors you’ve worked with Luigi seems to actually care; he wants you to walk away from him with a solid understanding of the material, rather than a temporary knowledge that gets your homework done but is absent from your memory by the time of your exams. And it’s hard to write off the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

…Pretty damn hard, actually. Because—in all honesty—you’re really into Luigi. Another thing that’s hard to do is get your math homework done when you’re busy fucking yourself with your fingers, like you tend to do after your time with him, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he would fill you, pin you down underneath him, smirk at you and tell you dirty things like that’s my girl, that’s my good fucking girl, that’s it, give it to me, show me how pretty you look when you come all over me like this…

Great. At this pace, you’ll never get anything done.

Your phone buzzes.

About an hour ago, you sent him a photo of your current predicament: your laptop and notebook open, and you sitting criss-crossed in front of it, an exaggerated pout on your lips. A few moments later, you sent another, this time of your middle finger pointed directly at your professor’s official portrait. Now, he responds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Come over. In like 15

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : And I better not hear any complaining when I make you actually do the math

Your crush feels elementary, like you’ve got the hots for the nerdy jock on the playground that’s miles out of your league and that every girl on planet Earth is fighting tooth and nail for. You respond:

no promises :P

You pray to your lucky stars that you can study as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

You told him you wouldn’t complain, and you’ve tried, you really have. But dividing radicals is fucking stupid and useless and the more you look at your paper the more these numbers and symbols really start to look all the same to you, just scribbles, meaningless scribbles of made-up concepts that have nothing to do with your career prospects whatsoever. Who gives a flying fuck about solving equations with these weird ass numbers that normal people don’t even use?

You must be thinking out loud, because Luigi laughs next to you on the couch. He is laughing at your frustration. What an emotionally supportive tutor. You groan and thread your fingers through your hair, massaging your temples.

Still smiling just slightly, he starts to gather up your things. “Alright, look, how about we take a break?” He glances over at you, still holding your head in your hands. “Yeah, let’s take a break for a minute.”

He gets up from the couch, disappears into the kitchen for just a moment. Comes back with a glass of orange juice. For you. You try not to think about how pathetic it is that the most romantic gesture a man has done for you in the past three years is bring you juice. Instead you watch him, sipping slowly—no pulp, he knows you so well—and peeking through your eyelashes as he scuttles around his dorm, just the two of you alone together, while he throws some laundry into a basket and absentmindedly closes doors of unoccupied rooms. You have never noticed how defined his calves are before, nor how his curls bounce just slightly when he walks fast or how his shorts sag on his hips just right, just enough for you to get a peek of his V-line and the waistband of his boxers when he raises his arms to stretch—

Nonchalant. Demure. Mindful. You are failing so hard at the one thing you’ve forbidden yourself from doing: staring at him until your eyes are practically burning holes in his clothes and he’s melting into the floor. Not entirely your fault. He should’ve known to dress modestly around you. Around anybody, for that matter.

Luigi comes to sit by you now. As you tuck your hair behind your ears you can feel his arm move to rest along the back of the couch, almost around you, but not quite.

“Hi,” you say, propping your head up on your arm.

He smiles at you. You can’t even look him in the eye. “Did you think more about your radicals?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

You swallow the conspiratorial intuition that he has to be fucking with you. Maybe he sees it on your face. Can smell it on you. Something.

“I was trying to think of some things I’d rather be doing,” you offer. “Instead of math.”

Your heart feels three beats faster all of a sudden, and when did he get so close to you? Your thighs are touching, his knee brushing against yours. “And what did you come up with?” he asks.

Oh, fuck. He’s definitely fucking with you. Right? He has that goddamn smirk on his face, that one that makes your insides twist with a feeling reserved only for boys who look at you just like this, like you’re busted, like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about every second you’ve spent sitting next to him doing algebra. You want to kiss it right off of him.

“Nothing,” you lie, sitting up straight and trying to pretend like you really are interested in your studies. “Here, will you show me how to do it again?”

He calls your name. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to look at him; the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head makes his intentions entirely clear. When your eyes meet his he inches closer, and all you can manage to do is stare at his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, stern and warm enough to boil.

If he truly knew what he was asking for he wouldn’t be asking at all, you think. Not unless he was prepared for whatever your fervent need has in store for him. Embarrassment feels bright red and prickly on your skin. “I shouldn’t say.”

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

Oh. Oh. All bets are off, now. This has officially progressed from studying to “studying”.

Luigi lets you lead, his hand settling on the small of your back as you come a little closer to kiss him, properly. You hear him giggle before your lips meet; the curve of his smile against you is unmistakable, casting sparks through your body and down your thighs. He tastes like spearmint. You learn quickly that he is a fantastic kisser, and his tongue finds yours with curious excitement when your breathing starts to pick up. Without question, he claims the expanse of you, drinking in your essence, licking, biting. Those irresistible curls demand attention, and so you thread your fingers through his hair, your hand sweeping from behind his ear to the nape of his neck. Luigi shivers under your touch, exhaling softly against you.

When the fingers of his left hand raise to grasp your leg, you stop kissing him only to swing your body over his lap so that you’re straddling him. Luigi breathes in deep then, like his nervous system collectively seizes at the feeling of you so close. To give him room to breathe you stop short of settling all your weight onto him. Lips meeting once more, his hands greet your hips; his touch is warm, and timid, like you’re made of sand, like you might collapse and dissolve into immeasurable particles between his fingers.

He groans into your mouth. Murmurs your name. “This isn’t very productive,” he quips.

“Intellectually, no,” you agree, nails brushing the back of his neck. He has goosebumps. A ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his lap; there are two layers of clothes between your bare skin but he is impossibly warm against you. “But what about physically?”

Luigi smiles, and fuck, he is too fucking beautiful. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

And so you kiss him again and again and again, your heart doing backflips inside your chest when his big hands glide lower, and lower, thumb toying with the waistband of your skirt, and lower still, until he’s gripping your ass. You can’t help but nuzzle against the growing stiffness underneath you, poking between your thighs—and you definitely can’t help but love the way he grinds back, hips meeting yours with just as much enthusiasm. Fuck. About an hour ago you were working through polynomials and linear equations, and now the dreamiest guy you’ve ever met is hard for you, holding you in his lap. You might as well thank your professor.

When Luigi sucks at your bottom lip for a few euphoric moments, you make the most pathetic sound into his mouth, and he growls, his hands suddenly coming up to grasp your hips and hold them steady. “Was this your plan all along?” he rasps, his lips moving swiftly to the side of your face, your jaw, the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Sharp teeth graze skin and you whimper. “What do you mean?”

“What, now you’re playing coy?” Luigi finds the pulse point in your throat and bites, softly at first, then harder when your fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. “You didn’t want to study. You called me because you wanted to get fucked, because you knew I’d want to touch you just like this, didn’t you?”

This boy is out of his mind. First he practically eye-fucks you while schooling you about imaginary numbers, and then he “scolds” you like he’s disappointed in your lack of interest in algebra, like he’s mad that you can’t resist him for being so damn gorgeous. That half-hearted meanness in his tone leaves butterflies in your stomach, in no way helped by the feeling of his tongue sliding over your collarbone.

“No,” you mutter. It’s not completely a lie. You really did need his help with the math, which he is really good at…but you can’t deny that you were really hoping you two would end up like this, with him kissing your neck all over until you’re speckled with purple and pink. You don’t even care about the obvious evidence of him on your skin—you want his entire dorm hall to know just how well-acquainted the two of you are by the time he’s done with you. The thought of everyone knowing you’re his makes you weak.

Luigi is kissing you again, slowly and deeply, one hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. His touch is too much and not enough simultaneously, your need overwhelming, and your hips are searching desperately for friction, rolling against him eagerly. So much for nonchalance.

He grasps your chin, firm but not at all painful, and flashes you that pretty smile, tutting, “I don’t believe you.”

Your mind is far too preoccupied with thoughts of his touch in other places to try to formulate a witty rebut. You opt instead to kiss him harder and sneak a hand between your bodies, tracing over his chest, down his carefully crafted abdomen, and then over the front of his shorts, groping his hard cock through polyester. Luigi groans into your mouth. He is big, almost intimidating, and imagining him inside of you has your body feeling hot all over.

As you palm the outline of his length through his trousers, his hands make their way underneath your sweater, the sudden warmth of him jolting through your torso. You look up at him through your lashes and he smirks.

“Do you want to sit on it?” he asks you, entirely stoic despite the weight of his words.

You kiss him, still squeezing his cock. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”

Fuck. You have him wrapped around your finger. How could he possibly say no when you ask so sweetly? Luigi is instantly pulling down his shorts for you, the rustle of fabric making your head spin. He’s left in just his boxers and a sweater that you quickly help him shrug off, too. Once you have him undressed, he takes a moment to survey you, your cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, hair tousled from his hands. You feel a surge of confidence now that you have his full attention and so you pull your top up and over your head, smiling when he reaches behind you to help you with your bra. He has it and your skirt off in just a few seconds, leaving your combined clothes to pile up next to the couch.

You shift so that you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him, wearing only your panties, watching him watching you. He is grinning, his cock standing proud, and you know you must be blushing by the way his teeth flash from under the curve of his lips. You feel gooey and hot in the pit of your stomach. Swallowing your shyness, you reach forward to take him in your hand. He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening on his slit, and so you begin to stroke him, starting at the head of his dick and spreading slick down his shaft. His cock is probably the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, at the very least a runner-up for his face: tan and thick, his girth evenly distributed, and big enough to have you feeling your heartbeat between your legs. There is a prominent vein along the underside of him, ending at his frenulum. He pulses with each movement of your hand.

Once he’s as wet as you like, you come closer to tease him with your tongue, licking up the base, tracing his vein, passing over his slit. Luigi groans—“fuuuuuck, baby,”—and threads his fingers into your hair, tugging hard.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he rasps. “You asked for this. Show me what that mouth can do.”

Your lips are halfway wrapped around the head of him and when you moan at his words it vibrates through him, his abs flexing deliciously. You move further down, then, mouth closed around his length, applying light pressure on your way back up. He’s too big to take all of him at once and so your left hand grasps the length you can’t reach, pumping gently. You start a subtle, easy rhythm, evenly paced and obviously satisfying enough to have Luigi panting and swearing above you: your mouth starts at his tip, sucking gently, then gliding lower, until you can feel him in the back of your throat and you’re nearly gagging on him—and then you move upward again, cheeks hollowing around him, finally reaching the head of him once more. Rinse and repeat. It is organized. Formulaic. Your process leaves you practically drooling on his cock, spit collecting at the base where you are stroking him. Fuck. You haven’t pleased a guy like this in quite a while, and under any other circumstances you’d probably feel a bit insecure about your work; but it’s difficult to justify any doubts you might have, what with the noises coming from above you:

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes, just like that, fuck yes,” Luigi moans, fingers knotted tightly in your hair. “Oh my god, your mouth…”

You slip your free hand into your panties, middle and ring finger rubbing your clit.

As your ministrations intensify, his reactions do, too. You can feel his thighs and hips tensing in an effort not to fuck into your throat. But you made a promise to yourself; you want to take the entirety of his length in your mouth before all of this is over, and so you move your left hand down to his balls, kneading him and carefully lowering your face until your nose is pressed into the curly hairs of his groin, his cock as deep as it can reach. And Luigi keens, head thrown back against the couch, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the armrest tight. You can feel him twitching in your throat.

There are a few blissful moments of you sucking him just like this, sinking him deep into your throat and pinching your lips around his tip, and you almost wish the two of you were recording because the sounds he makes are top tier jerk material for at least the next few months. He’d be a natural on camera. You want to commit every second of this to your memory.

When he goes quiet for a moment you open your eyes to look at him. You find him staring down at you, mouth agape. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks.

It’s difficult to answer with his dick in your mouth, so you settle for moaning around him again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts, his voice sweeter than sugar.

You could sit here sucking him off for the rest of your life—you could die with his dick in your mouth—but you regrettably begin to feel your jaw aching, knowing full well that keeping this up will have you hurting. Not that you really mind. When you begin to sputter and tear up around him, he grabs both sides of your face and pulls your mouth off of his cock. You are crying, just a little, crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks, your throat raw.

Luigi looks down at you sweetly. “Oh, baby,” he coos, wiping your wet face dry with his thumbs. “That’s my perfect girl. So good to me. Come here.”

He welcomes you back onto his lap with open arms and a smile. He is warm, so warm and soft against you, you could fall asleep just like this. But he is kissing you now, so slowly that you feel dizzy, and so you ground yourself, fingers embracing his curls. His hands move to your hips, grasping the waistband of your panties, teasing you, rubbing the fabric against your heat. When he finally has them off his fingers are instantly examining you, collecting your slick, slipping through your folds.

“Let’s see about a little reward for you, hm?” he whispers, capturing your lips with his.

You kiss him eagerly and arch your back so that your thighs spread wide enough for his fingers to enter you with ease—not that it would be difficult without, considering that you’re so wet you can hear him touching you, even over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Two long digits move inside of you, stretching you, massaging that spot that makes your knees buckle and your eyes cross, plus a few more that you never knew existed. His touch feels so good, just how you imagined, and you have to lean forward into the crook of his neck to keep yourself upright, your teeth sinking into a firm shoulder. Luigi makes a gruff sound, almost a chuckle, and his cock jumps at your whiny, choked noises when he adds a third finger into your pussy.

“So needy, aren’t you?” he teases. “Have you been thinking about this, gorgeous? About sucking my cock and taking my fingers like this?”

You nod, because of course you have. In that exact order. Who wouldn’t?

Luigi smiles at you, soft and adoring. You make a curious sound and his fingers depart from you, lingering at your entrance until you grind down into his lap. Your cunt brushes against him, raw, hungry, slathering his cock with your slick.

“I want you,” you whine, grabbing his face and kissing him again. “I want all of you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His hands are guiding your hips, moving you slowly against him. “Tell me about it.”

Well, you would, if your brain weren’t short-circuiting at the moment. His fault. You mumble into his ear, something about infinity, something about the way you hug your pillow at night and all the times you’ve fucked yourself stupid thinking about this very image of you and him together like this. But there are countless words for your endless feelings, words you would preach to him from high places if your body had the agency to; your attraction to him is primal, but neatly arranged, layered, wrapped up with variables galore and multiplying with each moment you spend in his presence. A mess, no doubt about it, but one you can control, a tangle to unravel, an equation to solve. Nothing less. You aren’t sure of how this ends but you know that you need him, bad, more than you knew was possible before.

You crash into him, mouths colliding, everything that you left unsaid spilling into your embrace. Words are hard. Kissing Luigi and grinding your warm, throbbing cunt against him takes much less brainpower.

He is speaking to you when you pull away: “Baby, just a second, wait right here, let me get something.” Gently you are pushed from his lap and he disappears into his room momentarily, leaving you waiting, alone, aching for him, until he rounds the corner again with a familiar foil packet, finding his way back to the couch and sweeping you on top of him once more.

“Hi. Sorry.” And now he is fully yours.

You whine and wiggle against him the second the condom is on.

“Shh,” Luigi whispers, “I got you, ‘s okay, gorgeous. Gonna take good care of you, yeah? Don’t you worry. Gonna give you just what you need, baby.”

The tip of his cock is pressing into you, then, slowly easing himself inside, and fuck, he fits just right, fills you up perfectly, has you seeing stars already. The sound you make when he bottoms out is a hop, skip, and a jump away from pornographic. Luigi purrs underneath you.

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” His hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you, and from this angle you can feel just how much he stretches you out. And then, as he begins to roll his hips: “My sweet girl, working so hard, can’t even think for yourself, can you, beautiful? That’s okay, baby. I can do all the thinking for you, you just sit back and let me work it out for you, yeah? Don’t think. Just let me please this pussy.”

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. Every single word he says into your ear shoots straight to your cunt, the mere sound of his voice so near you electrifying. He’s deep, and with your thighs spread wide like this you just have to take advantage of the perfect angle to rub your clit against him. You can’t help but squeal into the crook of his neck each time his hips ram up into you, thighs clapping against your ass; by the way his muscles tense you assume it must take much of his energy, and yet he pounds you like you weigh nothing in his lap, exerting himself like it’s a cakewalk so long as he can watch your face shrivel up with overwhelming delectation. You can tell that he loves it when you tug his hair or bite him, and so you do it every chance you get, just in case your hushed utterances in his ear fail to make your message clear enough:

“Luigi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, oh, fuck…”

As he paces himself Luigi wraps his strong arms around you, one caging your waist and the other pulling tight at your hair. Your neck is arched and exposed, leaving him free to smother his love all over you in sharp, uneven hickeys. You needed this, so, so bad, and you tell him exactly that, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you and holding him tight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. “You can have whatever you want with me. Anything.” His lips meet yours, fleeting, and then, with the slightest hint of a grin: “You earned this, baby.”

You groan directly into his ear. It’s straight from your dreams, you think, like you’ve been swept from your bed in the midst of the night and dropped right here, in the lap of the sweetest, smartest, most handsome boy you’ve ever so much as looked at, bouncing on his cock while he kisses you like you’ll float away if he lets go. The two of you work together to heighten each other’s inevitable undoing, like a function of sorts; Luigi pushes and you push back, meeting his hips every time, your clit brushing against him just right, and him breaching unknown depths of you, hands roaming, learning you inside and out.

“My sweet girl,” he grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours, driving into you with precision. “This is all yours, baby.”

Sweat starts to gather at his hairline and you can feel him shuddering in your arms. Kissing him, you press down on his toned chest, pinning him against the couch, and Luigi is practically singing for you, little grunts and babys and murmurs of your name traveling through your ears and echoing in your mind. You want this to last forever. His hips slow to a stop when you begin to move on your own; you raise yourself up, resting all your weight on your knees, with him sliding out of your cunt until just the tip is still inside—and then you drop down, letting him sink back into you quickly, slick and smooth, his cock so deep you can nearly feel it in your stomach.

Fuck. You love this. You love the way his hands grip your ass, your thighs, rubbing your back, moaning your name and kissing behind your ear. You love the way he looks at you. The pupils of those dark eyes are blown wide, watching you move, worshipping how your tits bounce, the gyration of your hips, the blush of arousal all over you, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. The sounds of sex and the shameless way he takes in every feature of your body have you feeling hot and ready to burst. You moan his name, drawn out and raspy.

“Yes,” Luigi groans. “You’re so pretty on top of me.”

Even through the haze of your pleasure you smile at his praise. He is telling you everything, every single thought that passes by in his mind, as if there will be no proof of how good he fucked you once you leave his dorm, as if every word will dissipate into thin air and leave you waiting, unsatisfied, hanging on the edge: “You take it so well, baby, my sweet girl, so perfect, so perfect just for me.”

His big hands are all over you. One cups your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, with the other splayed over your hip. You start to feel dizzy, anxious for his attention, a little bit crazy. Close. Luigi must notice the way your eyes screw shut and your pussy squeezes him tight, because his hand moves down your chest, over your stomach, and then to your clit, circling his fingers with purpose. He wishes—almost—that you were beneath him, so that he could replace his hand with his mouth, trace down your body with his lips and bring you to your very edge with his tongue, over and over again, until you’re begging him to stop.

He settles instead for kissing you, hard, slowly, lingering. “You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby.”

You nod, moaning, “yes, yes, me too,” your noises pained and rough in your throat.

The way his cock slams into you with each movement of your hips is ruthless, bruising; he’s kissing you so sweetly and you can feel your climax churning in your abdomen, rippling through you. It knocks the air from your lungs. Sex with him hurts so good. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Gonna come,” you huff. There are fingernail-sized dents in his skin. “Gonna come for you.”

Luigi nods, whispers, “good girl, such a good girl,” and circles his fingers over your clit as fast as he can manage.

You tense around him at that. You can’t even count how many times you’ve come imagining those very words whispered in your ear by the very man that you’re riding right now.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?”

You nod wildly, and everything feels so real all of a sudden, like you’ve been floating mindlessly in space and you are crashing down into reality. His teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck and his hips start to pump again and by the time he’s meeting your thrusts you’ve had enough, thighs shaking, and he starts moaning into your ear so that you know he’s right there with you, and fuck, he’s really trying to kill you—

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. A 5’11, dark haired and brown eyed muscle truck that looks at you like you are the only good thing left in the world.

For a moment there is only your deep panting and his equally spent breaths as the both of you rest, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, yours combing through his sweat-soaked curls. The dorm is quiet, calm, almost with an air of innocence, completely unswayed by the heady aftermath of what the two of you just did right there on the couch. You lean back and look into his eyes, brooding and trained entirely on you. And he has that stupid grin on his face, the one that gives both of you away for good, the one that screams we’re not the only ones who know what we’ve been up to.

You want to kiss it right off of his beautiful, beautiful face. But right now you just sigh, lean into his shoulder, and let him hold you tight. Tonight you will walk back to your dorm, all the way on the other side of campus, where your roommates will be waiting for you, likely getting ready for bed. You will walk inside and they will watch you without a clue as to whose hands have been on you, whose name has been on your lips, whose cock has been buried to the hilt inside of you for the past hour. Your legs will be aching—you are sure of it.

Your roommates will ask you, “how’d it go?”, completely unaware of what your wobbly smile really means, how you really spent your time with your cute tutor.

And you will respond, “oh, great,” with a barely masked giggle. “I’m gonna ace my test tomorrow.”

^ dividers by cafekitsune

[reeteshblog28]

Title: The Intelligence and Loyalty of a Pet Dog

Suresh and Bholu went for a walk every morning near the river which was near the village. One day, while they were walking along the river, Suresh slipped and fell into the river. Suresh did not know how to swim and started shouting for help. Bholu saw that Suresh was drowning and immediately jumped into the river.Read All

[anginophobia]

𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕦𝕝

𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: Someone has been breaking in your apartment, and you, forever determined, to see who it might be, willing the risk to see who the 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕦𝕝 creature might be.

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: stalking, somnophilia, sub!Sol, soft grinding, semi knife play, begging, strict smut, dom!fem reader.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,372 words

𝕊𝕠𝕝 𝕩 𝔽𝕖𝕞!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝟙𝟠+ 𝕆𝕟𝕝𝕪 !!ℕ𝕆 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕆ℝ𝕊!!

Something is happening.

Something strange.

It started a few months ago. A few things out of place here and there; your journal closed instead of open how you had left it the night before, a mug that was dirty now suspiciously clean after coming home from work, nothing that couldn’t be dismissed as forgotten you had done those things. 

Then a few pieces of clothes were missing. A shirt you sometimes wore to bed, a sports bra you wore when you worked out in the early mornings, even a few pieces of underwear that you liked to wear. They just… vanished.

You haven’t told anyone about it, not even your best friend, Crowe, whom you told almost everything to. Not even to Sol, a friend you had made just this year. No one knew. No one but you. 

So, you made a plan. A stupid plan but a plan nonetheless. You made it while sitting with Crowe and the others, mindlessly picking at your food from the cafeteria, soft music playing in your headphones, unintentionally blocking the others out.

Crowe had asked what you had been thinking about all lunch during your English class, and you just gave him a vague answer about having to go to work after school. He took it as an answer enough. It wasn’t really the truth, just a small white lie to make him stop asking. Might be a little rude of you to lie to your best friend, but you couldn’t tell him the real reason.

Oh well. You’ll make it up to him later.

Now, you lie awake at night, laying on your side, facing away from your window with the broken lock, your breathing even to make your intruder think you were asleep. You look towards your alarm on your nightstand. 

12:05 a.m. 

Five minutes late.

He’s usually right on the dot at 12. Strange. Is he not coming tonight? Just as you were about to give up on waiting, you heard something. A faint noise. Then the window slowly opened. Clothes rustingling softly as your intruder entered your bedroom. A soft sigh escaped him. Soft footsteps followed after a sigh and then a stop. He stopped? 

Then something touched you.

He slowly caressed your arm with his index finger. His finger felt cold against your skin. You bit your bottom lip from making any sounds as his finger trailed up and down your arm in a slow motion, as if mesmerized by how you felt.

“You’re so pretty…” He whispered softly, a soft compliment that was meant to go unheard. But it didn’t.

He stopped his movement with his finger, pulling back his hand away from your arm. You waited. There was faint movement and then it stopped. Your heart was pounding in your chest, pounding faintly in your ears as you waited. So much waiting.

Then you felt him place a soft, light kiss on the back of your neck, through your hair. You froze. Then You felt him move your hair and place another soft kiss on your now bare neck. And then another. He let out a soft sigh from the feeling of your skin on his lips.

“Oh, how I missed you today…” He whispered softly against your skin, his lips moving to your shoulder, kissing the exposed skin there. You kept your eyes closed, your bottom lip in between your teeth, trying so very hard to not make any sounds. But he was making it difficult.

He let out a soft sigh, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, before gently sucking that spot in between your shoulder and neck. A soft noise escaped you from his action, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“You’re quite ticklish, aren't you?” He whispered to you. His voice… it sounded familiar. Where have you heard it before? His nose grazed the back of your neck, inhaling your scent. His nose was cold. Fuck, he was cold. Why was he so fucking cold?

He gently placed his hand on your hip, slowly trailing up your side, feeling the tank top fabric with his fingers. He hummed softly, a happy tune. Or somewhat of it.

“Did you wear this for me, pumpkin? How sweet…” He said, his fingers stopping just below your breasts. He kissed the back of your neck again, his fingers moving slowly upwards to touch your breasts. 

Fuck it.

As fast as you could be, you reached under my pillow, grabbing the kitchen knife you had grabbed before going to bed, and turning, grabbing him by the face with your other hand and pushing him off you and onto the floor with you on top of him.

Thump.

His eyes widened in shock, looking up at you, feeling the cold blade pressing against his cheek, your hand covering his mouth. You looked down at him, seeing those familiar central heterochromia red orange eyes looking at you with shock.

You blinked once. Twice. Breathing heavy to catch your breath from pushing him to the floor.

“Sol..?” You said his name like a question, surprise and confusion laced in your voice. His hands were beside his head, as if in surrender. He had on a black jacket that wasn’t zipped up over his black t-shirt, his hood up over his black and green streaked hair.

What. The. Fuck.

He made a muffled noise against your hand, a drop of sweat sliding down his forehead to his temple. Slowly, you lowered your hand off his mouth, but kept the blade on his cheek. He was still your intruder, after all.

“Pumpkin… please, I-I can explain…” He started, his voice stuttering and rushed, staying completely still under you.

You stared at him, processing this. What were you supposed to do?

“Sol.. why?” You asked, your brows furrowing at him. He averted his gaze from yours, unable to look at you.

“I couldn’t… I-I couldn’t help it. I needed to see you again. I-I didn’t see you today or y-yesterday..” He tried to explain, his words stuttering as he spoke. What? He finally met your gaze, his eyes less shocked but more… pleading. And that look did something to you, something you weren’t going to admit. Not yet.

“P-please, Pumpkin, move the knife..” He pleaded softly, hoping you’d move the knife away from his face. You kept staring at him, something stirring inside you. What was it? Adrenaline and something else.

Slowly, you moved the knife from his face, but not from his skin. Ever so slowly, you moved the knife down, moving from his cheek to his chin, the tip of the knife grazing his skin. His breath hitched softly from the feeling. 

He said move the knife, but to never remove it from his skin.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, your gaze on the knife that pressed into his chin slightly, not enough to break the skin, but enough to remind him who was in control now.

“Sol. Who would’ve known you were a little pervert. Stealing my clothes and underwear, breaking into my apartment while I’m sleeping,” You listed off a few things, his cheeks growing red from it. You continued, your voice calm as you moved the knife lower, moving the tip of the kitchen knife down to his throat.

You leaned down, your face getting close to his, his breath catching in his throat by the movement. You leaned down to his ear, your hot breath against his ear when you spoke, making a shiver go down his spine.

“Where are your manners?”

He blinked, not expecting the change in attitude. One moment you were determined to see who your intruder was and now, now you are determined to break Sol. To break him down for what he did.

You moved the knife lower, moving it to his chest. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, from the closeness of you, from the knife dragging down his chest. He was in a dangerous position, but he didn’t care. Not about the knife at least.

You could feel the bulge in his pants, pressing against your pajama shorts. You shifted slightly, just slightly, on top of him. He let out a soft whimper, feeling you shift on him. You sat up, one hand on his chest, the other keeping the knife on his chest.

“What am I going to do with you?” You asked, tilting your head again, contemplating. There was a dangerous look in your eyes, something that made Sol nothing but a mess under you.

“A-Anything you want.. P-please…” He pleaded with you softly. You hummed and shifted on him again, grounding yourself on his bulge, hearing him gasp from the feeling.

“Anything?” You asked him, in response, he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. You lifted the knife up from his chest back to his face, up to his cheek as you leaned down slowly again, your lips dangerously close to his.

“Beg for forgiveness.” You whispered to him. He swallowed hard, his eyes wide, his breathing uneven from how close your face is to his again.

“W-what?” He asked, his voice trembling slightly. You hummed, sitting up on him again, moving your hips again on him once, earning a soft groan from him, his fingers twitching from suppressing the urge to hold your hips.

“I don’t like repeating myself.” You said, your hand that was resting on his chest moved up to his neck. He wasn’t wearing his collar like he usually did, so you gently wrapped your hand around his throat, but not squeezing. His breath hitched, his Adam's apple bobbing in your hand as he swallowed again.

“P-please forgive me..” Your hand slowly moved from his throat down his chest. “I-I’m sorry for what I’ve done, Pumpkin..” Lower, my fingers passing his torso to go lower. “Please, forgive me..”

“Do you deserve my forgiveness, Sol?” You asked him, your voice laced with something dark. It made his cock ache from the sound of your voice. He averted his gaze, his face as red as a tomato now. “N-no..” He answered with a simple response. You hummed, your fingers grazing the button of his pants. His eyes looked downward towards your fingers. Waiting.

With a swift move, you unbuttoned his pants, but made no move to do anything else. Yet. You watched his face, the knife momentarily forgotten, watching his expressions, watching every breath he takes. Every. Single. One.

Finally, your fingers slipped past the waistband of his pants, slipping inside his boxers, feeling the soft skin of the base of his cock. He gasped and jerked towards your touch, desperately needing more. You grounded yourself on him again, keeping him still from under you. Your hand moved further in his pants, feeling his hard length with your fingertips.

Jesus. He was big. But you didn’t falter.

It encouraged you to go further, finally setting his cock free from the prison of his pants. He let out a soft groan, looking up at you with those pleading eyes again. Fuck, those eyes could get him in trouble.

You wrapped your hand around his hard length, a firm but gentle grip, one that had his breath catching in his throat. You leaned down, your lips close to his ear, grazing the shell of his ear and piercings lightly.

“I didn’t say you could stop begging.” You whispered to him softly. He bit his lip piercings, his heart close to exploding in his chest. You slowly, so tortuously slow, moved your hand up his cock, stroking it once. He groaned, his hips instinctively thrusting up in your hand, seeing more of your touch, to no avail.

“P-please, Pumpkin, please f-forgive me for my sins..” He started, your hand stroking his cock again, earning a pathetic whimper from him. “I-I am sorry for what I’ve d-done.. P-please forgive me.” You hummed, your lips tracing his jawline lightly, your hand continuing its slow torturous strokes.

“Please— ah! P-pumpkin-” His plea was cut off with a soft kiss to his chin, your hand picking up its pace slightly, keeping a firm grip on his cock, using his precum as lubricant. He moaned, his hips jerking up into your touch. Your hand was moving at a good pace now, not slow nor fast, just enough to keep him on edge.

He was getting close, so close. His hips jerked, searching for his ecstasy from your hand. You squeezed his cock, making him moan and look at you again. Your eyes never strayed from his face as you pumped his cock.

“Don’t cum until I say so.” You told him, earning a soft whimper from him. You moved your hand faster, stroking faster, your lips lightly kissing his jawline. His hands moved to your thighs, gripping tightly, an attempt to hold off from finishing.

But you wanted him to fail, to sin again, to disobey.

You nipped at his jawline, your hand squeezing his cock again as you stroked him, the knife long on the floor beside his head. He let more whimpers and moans spill from his lips, his hips moving in time with your hand, his fingers digging into your thighs. He couldn’t hold back anymore, not with the way you were with his cock.

“S-shit..!” He groaned out, his head tilting back onto the floor, his only warning until you felt his warm cum spill on your hand and his shirt. You sat up, looking down at your hand covered in his cum.

He panted heavily underneath you, his eyes dazed with love and satisfaction. You tsked, annoyed with him despite wanting him to cum.

“Didn’t I tell you to not cum unless I say?” You asked, looking down at him again. He gave you an apologetic look, watching as you raised your cumm-filled hand up to your face, watching you as your tongue darted out, licking your hand. He shuddered from the sight of his cum on your tongue.

“I-I’m sorry, Pumpkin..” He gasped out, but no amount of apologizing will save him now.

He’ll need only your forgiveness and praise for him to be saved, and he won’t get that. Not for a while.

ℍ𝕖'𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥.

[artsy-hobbitses]

First of all I definitely have to thank @elfdragon12 for selling me on the G1 humans and the potential they have for good storytelling!

So here are Spartacus 'Spike' Witwicki, Carlita 'Carly' Castellano and Charles 'Chip' Chase as they appear in TTB! Spike mainly works off-base with his father Stanislaw 'Sparkplug' Witwicki as mechanics on Autobot missions, while Carly and Chip are mainly on-base working in R&D and tech respectively. Witwicky is a name that exists IRL, and it's specifically an Americanised version of Witwicki, which is Polish, so Spike is a second-generation immigrant to the US with Polish---specifically as a member of the Lipka Tatar minority---ties through Stanislaw, and Turkish ties through his mother. Lipka Tatars are predominantly also Muslims who usually keep to a Polish naming convention/don't usually sport Arabic names, so Spike here also joins the the rising ranks of Muslims on the Autobot side!

Mexican-Italian Carly is a bottle blond who goes back to her original brown tresses near the end of the war. She runs on coffee and Monster Energy, and is what one might call a Type A personality. And for good reason—she’s a scholarship kid from an impoverished barrio, the first to ever get into MIT, and she’s determined to make a name for herself to bring back support and funding for her community so other kids like her have that opportunity too. She was a student in Dr. Harding’s lecture classes, and interned under Harding before graduation—the two still keep in contact with each other across the Atlantic. And Chip. We gotta talk about Chip (and the other two) under the cut.

Chip got the bad end of the deal here and his background is as messed up as his general health is on any given day. Energon hotspots exist in TTB and they’re still being studied and often irradiate local wildlife and extremely unlucky scientists conducting field research; one of them was Chip’s mother, while she was very early into her pregnancy (she believed she was properly kitted out, but this hotspot was more potent than the others).

He grew up sickly, but still relatively active and as Spike’s childhood friend, would still be able to play football with Spike. Spike and Chip’s relationship was extremely tight when they were children (Spike protected Chip from bullies and played with him since other boys avoided involving him in their games as he had problems keeping up due to his health issues, while Chip would help Spike with schoolwork and stood up for him if someone decided it’s pick-on-the-immigrant-kid day). It was to the point that, when Sparkplug was imprisoned for a short stint after being charged with inciting a riot (he was spearheading a workers' protest), Chip's residence was a second home to Spike, while his mother picked up extra shifts to make ends meet. However, when Chip was around 10, the radiation flared up/became aggressive in both him and his mother, and while his mother's condition deteriorated faster than his, it still wreaked havoc on his body and caused paraplegia through spinal metastasis. When his mother died, he had no blood family willing to take him in (as a child born out of wedlock who was piling up medical bills and was not expected to see his 18th birthday). The Witwickis, who saw him as family now, wanted to adopt him but could not pay for the care he needed as lower class blue collar immigrants.... at which point Zeta Prime stepped in as a benefactor who wanted to sponsor the child prodigy. This however, meant Chip had to be moved to New York, ostensibly for better treatment, and he and Spike last saw each other as children when they were 12.

They’d promise to write to each other, but Spike never received anything from Chip no matter how many letters he sent (Zeta had been intercepting them since he wanted Chip to be fully dependent on him/cut all ties to his past, and to focus on his tutelage under Dr Alcazar) The two reunited as adults when Spike and Sparkplug were enlisted as part of the team working on a top secret government project (Metroplex) on which Chip was the lead programmer and Carly was head of the R&D division. Chip however, started having doubts about Zeta Prime's motives for Metroplex's creation, and feeling both helpless and terrified for what he'd gotten himself into, confided his concerns to Spike that what they were building was not a space research titan, but a weapon and the US' largest mobile base capable of levelling small countries--which is exactly what Zeta plans to do with it. Carly eavesdrops, and is drawn into the situation.

All three of them struggled with breaking off their relationship with Zeta Prime, whose project brought the, together:

Chip knows that going against Zeta means he likely loses all access to the medical aid and experimental treatments keeping him alive. (He is lucky that he kept notes and an extensive medical record of himself, and that them fleeing across the Atlantic brought them right to Ratchet and Co.),

Spike knows going against Zeta means burning the olive branch of government acceptance Zeta held out to his father and their diaspora after their lifelong struggle to get the same compensation for their work as native-born workers, and better/safer projects.,

Carly knows going against Zeta means a stain on her record as a ‘model minority’ , and it will destroy Zeta’s promise of a scholarship fund for her community as well as government goodwill for them.

All three decide that they have to take a stand against him regardless, and they managed to sabotage Zeta’s control over Metroplex and allowed Metro to escape into the Pacific. Fleeing Zeta’s wrath across the Atlantic put them on the collision course with the Autobots via an SOS signal from Prowl which Chip decoded and answered, and this set have been stalwart allies since Chip still has a close relationship with Prowl here over many similar aspects of their life, quiet companionship and a love for strategy games. He is also rebuilding the relationship he had with Spike and Sparkplug, and Spike and Chip see each other more as brothers than friends these days.

[mitchipedia]

Stand up for your neighbors in San Diego

In light of recent ICE raids at the Federal Courthouse and Buona Forchetta Restaurant in San Diego and in Los Angeles, and the outrageous and dangerous Republican overreaction to Los Angeles protests, it’s important for all of us to find ways to turn our grief and outrage into action for our immigrant neighbors.

ICE raids are violent and excessive, but the community stepped up to fight back and block ICE’s departure. Here in San Diego, ICE responded with military tactics, including flashbangs and smoke grenades. As we write this (Sunday afternoon, June 8), it’s unclear how the situation in Los Angeles will play out. But it’s clear that Republicans want a mass, violent confrontation with protesters, and if they can’t find the occasion, they’ll manufacture it. And Republicans want to break blue states, starting with California.

Here are some things you can do to help preserve freedom and help your neighbors, compiled from local community organizations:

The No Kings March is Sunday, June 14, at Waterfront Park in San Diego. It’s part of a national day of action. See the link, preceding for information on that event and other No Kings events elsewhere in the county and online.

Volunteer to help elect Democrat Paloma Aguirre as County Supervisor in the July 1 special election. If Aguirre loses, the County Board of Supervisors flips Republican. The Aguirre campaign is asking people to canvass and phone-bank. While the district is overwhelmingly Democratic, Republican turnout is high, making this an at-risk election for us, as Democratic Party community leader Cynara Kidwell Velazquez noted at the recent June meeting of the La Mesa-Foothills Democratic Club.

What can you do if you see harassment? Sign up for bystander intervention training by Right To Be. That organization has classes to help protect against harassment of immigrants, women, disabled people, Jews, Muslims, LGBTQIA+ people, in public spaces, online, in the workplace, and so on.

Submit a public comment to your San Diego County Supervisor by June 12 to urge them to increase funding for immigration legal services. You can also email your county supervisor directly.

Also, tell the San Diego City Council that they should be funding community services, not surveillance tech. While our neighborhoods in San Diego are in desperate need of essential services such as libraries, parks and public restrooms, the city is cutting funding for those essential services, instead spending millions of dollars on a mass surveillance system: the Flock Automatic License Plate Reader (ALPR) and “smart” streetlight cameras—wasting money and threatening our privacy and civil liberties.

According to a petition on Change.org: “Flock ALPR tries to track the public movements of every individual in San Diego, 24/7, aligning with authoritarian agendas and the concerning trend of increasing surveillance. Instead of fostering community safety through positive and supportive measures, we are being forced into a society that values monitoring over meaningful safety solutions.” Sign the petition to oppose mass surveillance now.

Further resources:

Showing Up for Racial Justice is an organization for white people working for justice. The San Diego chapter is active and will next meet June 22, at a location to be determined. Sign up for email updates. SURJ’s Linktree lists calls to action.

The Episcopal Church Office of Government Relations' Migration, Refugees and Immigration webpage is a great resource, including an immigrant action toolkit. The Episcopal Diocese of San Diego’s Migration Ministry webpage provides useful definitions, Know Your Rights info, and links to partner organizations that offer a variety of ways to help immigrants.

Mobilize US and CBFDIndivisible list events, petitions and volunteer opportunities.

Take Action for San Diego Democrats is a web page run by the county Democratic Party with information on upcoming events, supporting the Aguirre campaign, learning more about running for local office, Planned Parenthood, how to make effective protest signs and more.

I wrote this for an upcoming issue of the newsletter of the La Mesa-Foothills Democratic Club.

[blackstarlineage]

25 Essential Principles for Black Conduct and Empowerment: A Garveyite Perspective

From a Garveyite perspective, Black people must uphold a code of conduct rooted in self-determination, unity, discipline, and economic independence to reclaim sovereignty and build a powerful Black world. Marcus Garvey emphasized that the liberation of Black people requires not just awareness but action, structure, and collective responsibility. Without a solid foundation of principles to guide conduct, Black people remain vulnerable to external control, disunity, and stagnation.

This analysis outlines 25 essential principles that Black people must adhere to for collective empowerment, ensuring that every aspect of life—from personal discipline to political strategy—aligns with Black self-reliance and Pan-African unity.

1. Prioritize Black Unity Over Petty Divisions

Black people must reject tribalism, nationality-based elitism, and class divisions that prevent global solidarity. Whether African, African American, Caribbean, or Afro-Latino, all Black people share a common struggle and destiny.

2. Be Loyal to Black Institutions, Not External Systems

Economic, educational, and political systems designed by non-Black entities often do not serve Black interests. Black people must build, support, and defend their own institutions to ensure self-governance.

3. Maintain Economic Discipline and Group Economics

Black people must spend, circulate, and invest money within their own communities rather than enriching non-Black businesses that do not support Black liberation. Wealth must serve the collective, not just the individual.

4. Reject Begging and Dependency

Garveyism teaches that self-reliance is the key to sovereignty. Seeking validation, reparations without self-building, or constant dependency on non-Black systems keeps Black people weak. We must create solutions, not wait for handouts.

5. Strengthen the Black Family Unit

A strong Black nation starts with strong families. Fatherhood, motherhood, and communal responsibility must be honoured. The intentional breakdown of the Black family is a tool of oppression, and reversing it is a revolutionary act.

6. Guard Black Cultural Identity Fiercely

Black culture must be protected from dilution, appropriation, and distortion. The global media industry manipulates Black culture for profit while degrading its revolutionary potential. Black people must reclaim their spiritual, artistic, and historical identities.

7. Reject Hyper-Consumerism and Materialism

Black empowerment is not measured by luxury brands, flashy lifestyles, or European standards of success. True power comes from ownership, land, and industry—not consumer status.

8. Develop Financial Literacy and Generational Wealth

Black people must prioritize financial education, investments, land ownership, and cooperative economics over short-term spending habits. Financial discipline determines power.

9. Master Self-Defense and Security

Black communities must be physically and strategically protected. Knowledge of self-defense, martial arts, and security strategies is essential to prevent exploitation, gentrification, and violence against Black people.

10. Respect and Elevate Black Women

Black women have always been at the forefront of liberation struggles. They must be honoured, protected, and empowered, while rejecting both misogyny and feminism that devalues traditional African family structures.

11. Reject White Validation and Seek Black Excellence

Seeking approval from white institutions, corporations, or governments weakens self-worth. Excellence must be defined on Black terms, not Western standards.

12. Eliminate Self-Hatred and Colourism

Black people must dismantle anti-Black programming, including colourism, texturism, and Eurocentric beauty standards. Loving Blackness is a revolutionary act.

13. Be Politically Aware but Not Emotionally Manipulated

Black people must engage in politics with strategic awareness, rather than blind emotional allegiance to parties that do not serve Black interests. Power is taken, not asked for.

14. Prioritize African Spirituality and Indigenous Practices

African spiritual systems have been demonized and replaced with religious systems that pacify Black resistance. Black people must reclaim ancestral knowledge and reject systems that promote blind obedience over empowerment.

15. Train Black Youth for Leadership and Legacy

Black children must be educated in liberation philosophy, economic empowerment, and self-discipline from an early age. The next generation must be trained, not just inspired.

16. Reject Degenerative Media and Narratives

Music, television, and films that promote self-destruction, hypersexuality, and violence against Black people must be rejected. Media that elevates, educates, and empowers Black minds must be supported.

17. Demand Accountability from Leaders

Black leaders—whether political, religious, or social—must be held to strict ethical and strategic standards. Personality cults and blind allegiance lead to betrayal and stagnation.

18. Build Pan-African Alliances Instead of Isolating Movements

No single Black community or nation can thrive alone. Black people worldwide must work together to secure land, resources, and industries.

19. Promote Self-Discipline and Mental Strength

A weak and undisciplined mind is easily controlled. Black people must master self-discipline in thought, habits, and actions to create a powerful global presence.

20. Reclaim the Warrior Spirit of Our Ancestors

African history is filled with warriors, revolutionaries, and empires that resisted colonization and slavery. Black people must embrace the warrior spirit rather than glorifying passivity.

21. Master Technology and Control the Digital Space

The future is digital, and Black people must own, develop, and master technology rather than being just consumers. Controlling media, cybersecurity, and AI is critical for sovereignty.

22. Protect and Defend Black Land and Resources

Black communities and nations must protect their land, agriculture, water sources, and raw materials from foreign control. Land ownership equals power.

23. Reject Integration as the Ultimate Goal

Integration into white society is not liberation. The goal must be nation-building, sovereignty, and Black self-governance, not assimilation.

24. Reject Criminality and Sabotage from Within

Internal destruction—whether through gang violence, betrayal, or corruption—keeps Black people weak. Code of conduct, integrity, and accountability must be upheld.

25. Make Black Consciousness and Excellence the New Standard

Mediocrity, victimhood, and aimless entertainment must be replaced with a culture of Black excellence, Pan-Africanism, and mastery of knowledge and power.

Conclusion: The Path to Black Sovereignty Is Discipline, Strategy, and Unity

From a Garveyite perspective, the liberation of Black people is not a dream but a responsibility. Without a strict code of conduct, discipline, and self-determination, Black people will remain vulnerable to exploitation, division, and external control.

Marcus Garvey built the largest Black organization in history because he understood that power comes from order, strategy, and a clear set of guiding principles. These 25 rules serve as a modern framework for achieving Black sovereignty, economic independence, and Pan-African unity.

The question is: Will we have the discipline to follow them?

[circeyoru]

Shadow and Void _ Part 6: Lurking Dangers

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Enemy Monarch!Reader]

Arc 1: Part 1 ― Part 2 ― Part 3 Arc 2: Part 4 ― Part 5 Arc 3: Part 6 (here) ― Part 7 Arc 4: Part 8 ― Part 9 ― Part 10 ― Part 11 ― Special Arc 5: Part 12 ― Part 13 ― Part 14 ― Part 15

“A monster colony with very high intelligence are targeting world-class Hunters. They are far stronger than many Hunters out there, and they do not care about weapons or ways of murder.”

“By monster colony, did you mean that the monster who killed Chairman Go Gunhee could be one of them?”

“These monsters specialize in blocking open space by magic, then isolating their prey. Thus, to those who believe that they are bound to be the prey, it is recommended that you stay around comrades who are willing to protect you. But to those who do not possess any comrades of my description. Please contact me through the Korean Hunters Association.”

The video ended and the feed stopped at the determined and vengeful look of Jinwoo who had singlehandedly declared war against the other Monarchs. You blinked and turned off your phone, placing it away as you leaned into the back of your chair. That had to have happened after that human’s death and during the time when you were held captive.

Your eyes glanced to the floor and saw your shadow. Your eyes narrowed as you thought back to your choices. Monarchs and Rulers, in their original forms, do not have a shadow, nor can they be turned into one of the Monarch of Shadow’s soldiers after death; they just cease to exist. You, however, still made a vessel to possess just so you could stay in the human world out of those other war-obsessed Monarchs’ reach.

“It’s about that time.” You muttered and got up from your seat. Though, it was only an astral projection of you that stood up, quickly retaining a misty form. Your human vessel or body continued to sit in the chair, still breathing and alive, but now eyes closed as if sleeping.

Without a word, you sank into a bed of mist and disappeared from your apartment to another realm. 

⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧

“Where… Where is the Monarch of Void?” Jinwoo balled his hands into fists. 

Igris shook his head, answering his Lord that he had lost you.

“How…” Jinwoo’s eyebrows furrowed as he plopped into his chair and sighed. He even tried asking the System, but nothing came up. Like a mist, you had completely disappeared. He held himself back from searching for you, he was a man of his words, you had won and Hae-In lost. So you had your free time away from him.

Away from him.

The thought alone made his blood run cold. If you could push Igris off your trails and leave no traces behind, how can he be sure you didn’t go to the other Monarchs and betray him? Right. The term ‘betray’ is only used when one considers the other as close. Does he already consider you so? With how focused he was on you during the duel between Hae-In and you, he’d think so. Why else would he only want you to join the guild and his raids that he would otherwise do solo?

It was initially thought that he only wanted you because of your powers and abilities. Yet, now… He saw the charm in you. You cared not for his strength, in fact, it wasn’t even enough. When the world saw him as the strongest, since he had even defeated Thomas Andre, you saw him as weak and vulnerable. There was no facade or strong persona that he needed to put up when he was with you because you didn’t care for it. Whatever and how ever he acted, you never cared. Not for his kindness or cruelty so long as you were fine.

Somehow, you were like him and not. He couldn’t describe it. There was this feeling that drew him to you. The moment you’re away or your attention wasn’t on him―good or bad―then he was close to losing it. If he could have you close to him, he wanted to be close to you. To give you a reason not to leave him. 

Would you let him stay by you if he was more lenient? If he listened to what you wanted? If he was stronger? If he was… like Ashborn? Right. Ashborn. The System did say you have a soft spot for Ashborn, hence the whole reason why you’re even here. As long as he held the title of ‘Monarch of Shadows’, you’d be here. Still. It wasn’t enough.

Jinwoo wanted and needed more. Jinwoo wanted you.

⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧

Meanwhile with you, you had reappeared, hovering over one of the taller pillars with your arms crossed and an expressionless look that made you appear as though you were detached. On the other pillars of your level and spread out were other familiar figures, their auras outlining them perfectly to tell who was who. You mentally sighed in relief when the one you hated to see wasn’t present yet. This was a meeting of Monarchs.

“The Shadow Monarch is on the surface of the Earth.” Sillad, the Monarch of Frost and King of Snow Folk, hissed. 

“Didn’t you say there was no vessel that could fully contain his true powers?” Yogumunt, the Monarch of Transfiguration and King of Demonic Spectres, mocked. “And isn’t that the exact reason why Dragon King can’t remain on the surface of the Earth?”

Not if you grow yourself a vessel with care. Of course, you didn’t say it aloud and only thought to yourself. You looked to the side still unable to accept the truth nor deny Ashborn’s prominent work now. Or raise a successor…

“I saw with my own two eyes.” Sillad spoke firmly, he pointed a finger in your direction, “The Monarch of Void can vouch.” Momentarily, eyes darted to your figure but you remained still and indifferent. So he continued, “He’s more of a threat than the Fragment of Brilliant Light. I will take care of him. Are you willing to help me?”

“By picking a fight against him, you are only looking for suicide.” Tarnak, the Monarch of the Iron Body and King of Monstrous Humanoids, logically refused. You seconded his sound thinking but never voiced out. “Your opponent is one of the strongest of the 10 Monarchs. Why not wait for the Monarch of Destruction, the Dragon King to return?”

Sillad gripped his heart area as if in pain, or perhaps he felt some phantom pain from his encounter with Jinwoo. “Although we are currently on the run, we are the Monarchs. And yet, all we can do is wait for the Dragon King? The only chance we have in defeating the Shadow Monarch is now, when he is still in the form of a human.” His gaze turned to you and directed attention to you once more. “The fact that the Monarch of Void is here proves Shadow Monarch is weak!”

Your eye twitched at the memory. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be in this stupid acceptance and denial. You would have just killed Jinwoo and had Ashborn return! 

“What does the Mist King have to do with this?” Tarnak questioned as if sensing your frustration.

“The Monarch of Void was there when I killed that chairman and the Shadow Monarch appeared, the fact that the Monarch of Void made it out alive and here is proof enough!” Sillad repeated his point like a parrot.

Yogumunt hummed thoughtfully, “So what you’re saying is that you left the Monarch of Void, our greatest ally, to a potential Shadow Monarch that turned against us alone while you returned safely?”

Sparks of magic and a burning aura erupted from Tarnak, “You are aware that the Monarch of Void is not just for your own usage, right?”

“It’s all fine now. The Mist King returned safely as well and is here! Don’t underestimate the Monarch of Void, if wanted the Shadow Monarch would have been long dead!” Sillad returned the scolding with a yell of his own. “Please help me. This time, I will take responsibility and return him to nothingness.”

“Count me out of this.” Tarnak declined.

“I also don’t want to become like the Monarch of White Flames either.” Yogumunt refused to help as well.

“Scaredy cats.” Rakan, the Monarch of Fangs and King of Beasts, scoffed.

Tarnak’s sparks didn’t die down, as if preparing to launch an attack at Rakan. “You should know what happened to the Monarch of White Flames after he was defeated. I don’t want to be caught by the Shadow Monarch’s Authority and suffer through an ‘Eternal Slumber’.”

“I don’t think he can make us, who are in our original forms, into one of his servants.” Rakan spoke.

“It seems that the Shadow Monarch and the Administrator are working together now. He can create a replica of us.” Tarnak said calmly, a total opposite to his aura. “I don’t want to turn into a tool in his world.”

Administrator? You blinked. Was this how Jinwoo was able to grow into such a fine specimen? In that case, Ashborn was serious and this successor plan of his was final. If Ashborn really picked Sung Jinwoo among all the other humans and threw the idea of doing what you did out the window, then aiding Jinwoo was the best option for you to repay Ashborn for everything he’s done for you.

When you came to, Tarnak and Yogumunt had left.

“And the evidence that he is still a human?” Rakan asked.

Sillad held up a dagger that belonged to Jinwoo, “He applied poison onto his dagger. It’s not something Ashborn, the Shadow Monarch, would do.” 

“Poison, huh…” Querehsha, the Monarch of Plagues and Queen of Insects, chimed in while petting the head of her giant mutant centipede that she was sitting on. “If the Shadow Monarch could fully control their human body, they wouldn’t have had to resort to such trickery.”

You wondered if Jinwoo thought that far. You think that he only has poison on his dagger just cause it had those effect and it works. Basically, the logic of if it works, it works.

“Will you be joining me?” Sillad asked once more.

“I will help you.” Querehsha grinned.

“We will kill the Shadow Monarch together.” Rakan smiled a toothy smirk.

You closed your eyes and fell into your mist, reappearing again in your apartment. After inhibiting your vessel, you massaged the brink of your nose. You laid on your bed and hugged your pillow, glaring at anything in sight. If the Monarchs—no three Monarchs—were determined to kill the Shadow Monarch, you’re not about to let Ashborn’s hard work be ruined like that.

“There will be a time where you have to pick a side and I mean your priority won’t be just yourself.” 

You hummed, looking out the window to the city of Korea, Sung Jinwoo’s home country and a place that will be the battlefield for the Monarchs in the future. Yes, Ashborn, I have to and had picked a side. Whichever side you’re on, I will be there as well. You rolled to face the wall, curling into a ball. I just wish I realized this sooner.

Note: This arc is short, but the next one would be longer~ Promise. Anyways, the next part of this arc would be out on Friday~ Welcome back to this short novel~

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST

*(regarding requests, check the Masterlist to see if it’s opened or not and other info related before sending one. Thanks.)

Taglist: @rozuburedo @ariseverdark @skylar896 @o-qi-shisme @stoats-a-dork @2021animeandwebtoons @mochinon-yah @rai-xxx @lilliana-14 @larettajudith @r3va-dwme @my-arietta @sikyulioness @sabrina-senpai @bubera974 @weaponxgames @m00n-estelle @beyond-the-stars-fairy @angelkazusstuff @soft-dots @snowy-violet @dxprived4-starboys

[prokopetz]

Your long and arduous journey has led you to this, the final confrontation. You thought you knew what to expect, but just as you struck the final blow, your ultimate foe's eyes gleamed with unnatural light as they proclaimed…

THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM

A game for 4–6 players

Introduction

This Isn't Even My Final Form is a GMless tactical minigame for 4–6 players. You'll take on the roles of a party of heroic adventurers nearing the end of a world-spanning quest to defeat a great evil, the Final Boss. Unfortunately for them, each time they think they've won, the Final Boss assumes a new, even more horrifying form, and the struggle begins anew. Is there any end to this conflict? There's only one way to find out!

What You'll Need

This Isn't Even My Final Form requires a dozen six-sided dice, as well as a way of keeping track of a few important numbers – a shared text document or some scrap paper will suffice.

Update 2023-10-30: Print-and-play card decks are available here:

http://penguinking.com/this-isnt-even-my-final-form/

Character Creation

Choose two of the following actions to be your Party Member's Class Actions: Strike, Heal, Buff, Debuff. If you'd rather determine this randomly, roll on the following table.

1. Strike, Heal 2. Strike, Buff 3. Strike, Debuff 4. Heal, Buff 5. Heal, Debuff 6. Buff, Debuff

Give your Party Member's Class a name which suits your Class Actions. Also give your Party Member a name; it is traditional but not obligatory for your Party Member's name to have exactly five letters.

Playing the Game

Play is divided into a series of Phases. During each Phase, one player takes on the role of the Final Boss. That player's Party Member does not participate in this Phase; they're trapped, lost, incapacitated, or otherwise separated from the party or unable to act for the duration of the Phase. All other players take on the roles of their Party Members.

The Final Boss player's first order of business is to describe what the current Phase looks like. The Final Boss player can roll 1–3 times on the following table (re-rolling duplicates) to decide on a theme, or use it as inspiration for their own theme. To use this table, roll a six-sided die twice, treating the first roll as the "tens" place and the second roll as the "ones" place, yielding a number in the range from 11 to 66.

11. Beasts 12. Bells 13. Blood 14. Bones 15. Chains 16. Chaos 21. Cubes 22. Eyes 23. Fire 24. Flowers 25. Food 26. Games 31. Gears 32. Glass 33. Gold 34. Hands 35. Holes 36. Ice 41. Iron 42. Light 43. Mazes 44. Meat 45. Mirrors 46. Music 51. Orbs 52. Order 53. Plague 54. Shadow 55. Slime 56. Space 61. Spikes 62. Teeth 63. Time 64. Trees 65. Weapons 66. Wings

Once the Phase has been defined, set the party's Momentum to zero. Momentum is a value which will increase or decrease over the course of the Phase; it has a minimum value of zero, and no particular upper limit.

Play proceeds in a series of rounds, as follows.

The Final Boss Attacks

The Final Boss always goes first in each round. Roll one die:

1–3: The Final Boss chooses one of the following actions. 4–5: The Final Boss chooses two of the following actions. You may not target the same Party Member twice; however, you may use the same action on two different Party Members if you wish. 6: The Final Boss does nothing this round. On its turn next round, it does not roll and instead uses its Ultimate Attack.

Wound: Inflict the Critical Condition on a single Party Member. If the chosen Party Member already has the Critical Condition, it's replaced with the Down Condition and the party loses one Momentum.

Imprecate: Inflict the Cursed Condition on a single Party Member.

Envenom: Inflict the Poisoned Condition on a single Party Member.

Bewilder: Inflict the Confused Condition on a single Party Member.

Counter: If you're targeted by the Strike or Debuff actions this round, after resolving that action, perform the Wound action on the Party Member who targeted you. You may counter any number of actions in this way.

Dispel: Remove the Buffed and Protected Conditions from any number of Party Members.

Enrage: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the better result on its next action. The party may cancel this benefit with a successful Debuff action; doing so removes the extra die instead of forcing the Final Boss to roll twice and take the lower result.

Ultimate Attack: This action can only be chosen by rolling a 6 during the previous round. When the Final Boss uses this action, choose Cursed, Poisoned, or Confused: you may perform the Wound action AND inflict the chosen Condition upon any number of Party Members, in that order. (i.e., Wound each targeted Party Member, THEN Curse/Confuse/Poison any who remain standing.)

The Final Boss player describes the outcome of the chosen action(s) in as much or as little detail as they like; control then passes to the other players.

The Party Acts

After the Final Boss has attacked, each Party Member who doesn't have the Down condition chooses one of the following actions, in any order the players wish. After choosing any action other than Defend, the player rolls their dice pool, which is a handful of six-sided dice constructed as follows:

Start with a number of dice equal to the party's current Momentum (initially zero, though it will grow over the course of the Phase)

Add one die if you're performing one of your Party Member's Class Actions

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Buffed Condition

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Critical Condition

Roll all of the dice together, and find the highest result. Ties for the highest result have no special significance; for example, if you rolled four dice and got 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 5. If you'd ever end up with zero or fewer dice for any reason – either because your dice pool was empty to begin with, or because some effect obliged you to discard every die you rolled – you receive an automatic result of 1.

If an action requires you to target a specific Party Member or make other choices, you can wait and see the result of your roll before making those decisions.

Strike: You attack the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: Nothing happens – either the attack misses, or the Final Boss turns out to be immune to whatever you just did. 4–5: The attack strikes true. The party gains one Momentum. 6: Critical hit! The party gains two Momentum.

Special: If you roll triples or better (i.e., at least three of the same number) on a Strike action, the Final Boss' current Phase is defeated, and you move on to the next Phase. It doesn't matter what number comes up triples.

Heal: You attempt to restore the party's strength. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may remove the Critical Condition from a single Party Member. If no Party Member has the Critical Condition, nothing happens. 4–5: You may remove the Critical Condition from any number of party members OR you may remove the Down Condition from a single Party Member. 6: You may remove the Critical and Down Conditions from any number of party members.

Buff: You attempt to bolster a party member. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from a single Party Member. 4–5: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member AND remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from that Party Member, if they have one. 6: You may grant the Buffed Condition OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down to any number of Party Members. You may choose a different option for each targeted Party Member.

Debuff: You attempt to weaken the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1-3: Nothing happens – it turns out the Final Boss was immune to that effect. 4–5: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action. 6: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action AND the party gains one Momentum.

Defend: You may grant the Protected condition to a Party Member of your choice. Do not roll.

Based on the outcome of your roll (if applicable), describe the outcome of your action in as much or as little detail as you wish.

Once each Party Member has acted, return to "The Final Boss Attacks" to begin the next round.

Ending the Phase

As noted above, rolling triples or better on a Strike action results in the immediate defeat of the current Phase. Alternatively, if all Party Members simultaneously have the Down Condition, the Final Boss player's Party Member suddenly breaks free or arrives on the scene and rescues everyone in a stunning deus ex machina; this also ends the Phase, but does not count as defeating it.

In either case, reset the party's momentum to zero, remove all Conditions, and move on to the next Phase. The role of the Final Boss passes to a different player, with preference given to those who haven't yet had a chance to be the Final Boss; the previous Final Boss player resumes playing their Party Member.

Continue until the party has defeated a number of Phases at least equal to the number of players, or until mutual agreement has been reached that all this has gone on quite long enough.

Conditions

Some actions can impose Conditions upon the individual Party Members. Conditions can be positive or negative, and last until specific conditions for their removal are met.

Buffed: Your strength has been boosted. When rolling your dice pool, you roll one extra die.

Confused: You've lost your wits. When the party acts, your action is determined by rolling a d6 – 1: Strike; 2: Heal; 3: Buff; 4: Debuff; 5: Defend; 6: do nothing this round AND remove this Condition. This Condition is also removed if you gain the Critical Condition while under its effects. You may choose targets normally if the rolled action requires them. Confused Party Members always act before their un-Confused peers; if there are multiple Confused Party Members, the Final Boss decides the order in which they act.

Critical: You are badly wounded. Desperation lends strength, and so this Condition adds one extra die to your dice pools; however, if you suffer the Critical Condition a second time, it becomes the Down Condition instead.

Cursed: You've been afflicted with misfortune. Discard your highest result after rolling your dice pool, but before applying your chosen action's effects. If there's a tie for the highest result, discard all of them; for example, if you roll four dice while Cursed and get 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 3. If the Condition causes you to discard your only set of triples of better on a Strike action, the Phase does not end.

Down: You are incapacitated by injury or foul enchantment. When the party acts, you may not choose an action; your action remains lost even if this Condition is removed before the end of the round. When you gain this Condition, remove all other Conditions, and the party loses one Momentum. (This is not in addition to the Momentum loss noted by effects which inflict this Condition – those are just reminders.) You may not gain other Conditions while this one persists.

Poisoned: You're afflicted by a poison, plague, or death-curse. If you have the Poisoned Condition after resolving your action for the round, you gain the Critical Condition. If you already have the Critical Condition, you instead gain the Down Condition, and the party loses one Momentum.

Protected: The next time you would gain any Condition other than Buffed, remove this Condition instead. You also remove this Condition if you take any action other than Defend on your turn.

[kaibutsushidousha]

What are your thoughts on orihime?

Ichigo's little group of friends exist to be basis of Bleach's arcs. The Soul Society arc is envisioned as Rukia's arc, which is a no-brainer because Rukia is a Shinigami. The Lost Agent is envisioned as Chad's arc, and even if it fails that role, the choice is understandable due to Chad being a Fullbringer. The Blood War is envisioned as Uryuu's arc, obvious again because Uryuu is a Quincy. But Orihime is a Fullbringer, so realizing what makes her fit at the center of the Arrancar arc requires a little more thought.

Well, I'd say the answer can be found about as early as possible. Orihime simply isn't like any other character in the good side. A whole lot of characters in Bleach have tragic pasts, but only Orihime is shown having a tragic present. The other Karakura people have comfortable houses with providing families. The Seireitei is a high class place directly contrasted with the poor Rukongai. The Visored and Xcution are united communities. Unclear about the Quincies in Silbern because we never the status quo there before the times of war.

Meanwhile, Orihime lives alone thanks to cutting ties with her parents at age 4 and losing her brother at age 12. She survives out of part-time jobs and financial support from distant relatives who determine how much money she gets based on her grades. The status quo of Bleach is pretty rough on her, and if I'm not forgetting anyone, her alone. She's doing what she can to survive under a constant threat of hunger, which is something Bleach otherwise only portrays as the lifestyle of a Hollow. I'll get back to this later.

The point here is that Orihime's life sucks. But that's not a thing that ever shows. Orihime in public is just a silly airhead constantly presented as the most cheerful person around. Her screentime in normal school situations is marked by her filtering her unpleasant reality with outlandish imagination. Her antics make her look really stupid, but we're shown that she isn't as she has 3rd best grades in their school. Intentional as her silliness is, she can't afford to be a bad student because that affects how much bread she gets to every month, as mentioned above.

And Bleach wastes no time explaining why she's like that. Still in volume 1, it's already established that Orihime spent her whole life being protected by others. First Sora, then Tatsuki, and now Ichigo. And because she grew up like this, her greatest wish is to not be a problem.

She let Sora bite her because life going on without him was being a problem to him and having to protect her was being a problem to Ichigo. She puts on a smile at school and keeps her conditions a secret to avoid being a problem to anyone who could care about her living situation. She let Ulquiorra take her because she didn't want to be a problem to anyone willing to fight Aizen for her sake. Her experience in Soul Society should have told her that this last one would backfire tremendously, but in her moment of weakness, she couldn't fight against her ingrained habit of avoiding being a burden.

Another key point of her early characterization is obviously her relationship with Ichigo. He was just a cool funny guy at first, until Sora's incident made him interesting, so she asked Tatsuki about him, and only really started caring after hearing about Masaki's death. This happens in a volume where she takes the cover and her opening poem is "If I were the rain [...] could I tie hearts together?". The rain is the symbol of Ichigo's grief, and Orihime falls for Ichigo by associating the lost of his mother with the loss of her brother. She connects best by relating to suffering, which shows later in the many, many, many times she's shown healing Arrancars after years practically living like a Hollow when in the world of the living.

This is kinda of a sudden change of topic, but things are sorta moving in chronological order here and the next big checkpoint is Orihime's first fight, so I'll conclude the talk about her position there and now talk about her powers.

Orihime gets Shun Shun Rikka, a Fullbring centered around rejection of events. Like Bleach abilities tend to do, this power goes incredibly well with Orihime's established characterization. Reality sucks for her but she keeps things by rejecting it through her filter of imagination. She can attack with this power, but it's best suited as a shield (preventing causing problems for others) or healing (making people forget their problems).

She then proceeds to not do much in Soul Society, then early into the Arrancar arc, she loses to Yammy and gets to negatively compare herself to Rukia, who did well in her first on-screen fight ever. Her feelings of uselessness pile up and compound into the 5 lives scenes, which as I already told you before, I consider the emotionally powerful dialogue Kubo has ever written. Not much to comment on it, the moment speaks for itself.

For Orihime, the bulk of the Arrancar arc is spent interacting with Ulquiorra. It's a really challenging experience for her because Ulquiorra has zero emotional depth. He was an ancient Hollow with no eyes, ears, nose, or mouth, being unable to perceive the outside world until Aizen broke his mask. Starrk, Barragan, and Grimmjow's backstories establish that Arrancars inherit experiences from their Hollow selves. Breaking their masks didn't change who they are. But Ulquiorra has no experiences because his Hollow life was spent entirely in the nothingness of himself.

Orihime has always been engaging with people through a smile-shaped web of lies, social conventions, and bravado, but Ulquiorra still haven't experienced humanity enough for that to work on him. He responds only to cold truths, so Orihime's typical conversation strategies are proven useless. It forces her to change her ways. She can only teach him about the heart by being honest and direct. Arrancars are about literal broken masks, but Orihime makes herself part of their story by having her metaphorical mask broken.

After that, we have the Lost Agent arc, which doesn't really take Orihime further (and doesn't really need to since Arrancar was her main focus arc) but does an amazing show of progress for post-Ulquiorra Orihime by introducing Riruka, a tsundere who hangs with Orihime a lot. While Riruka is as full of walls and bravado as Orihime originally was, this Orihime gets to be effortlessly vulnerable, recapping her horrible backstory to her new friend, being called creepy for her apparently fake smile, and clarifying that she actually can smile for real because she was already saved from her past.

The final arc doesn't do much with her aside from putting her in the final boss battle, so I guess I'll use this space to talk about how her progression in combat participation feels really well-paced. She goes from being squarely away from major action in Soul Society to not interfering with the fight but making a point to stay near the battle vs Grimmjow to start tactically throwing shields vs Ulquiorra to getting Ichigo actively ask for her help vs Ywhach.

Ok, that last is probably more about Ichigo himself having learned to ask for help 10 minutes ago after cringing at Uryuu's inability to rely on his friends and taking him as an antithesis model (pun intended).

But still, I love this kind of step-by-step character growth model, it reminds me of how Yugi and Atem's dynamic grew from Yugi unaware to Yugi aware to them starting to talk to them working together vs Pegasus to Yugi dueling alone to Yugi defeating Atem. Always great to see an author commit to a flowchart of development like that.