#aside from the first one which was a test...

[asterrisms]

My absolute fatal flaw is i cant take pics while im working

[fingertipsmp3]

Things that happened in my sims game today that ✨just make sense✨

-My sim went on a date with his stalker

[emjaydoubleyou]

this post is fearmongering. the results of this study are concerning and should definitely be a matter of public discussion, but this is certainly not the conclusion the researchers came to.

the point of the study was to assess the risks of exposure to toxic metals- something one of the co-authors notes are “ubiquitous” fwiw- via menstrual products. Their research confirmed that these metals are indeed present in tampons, but no further conclusions are drawn. it is possible the metal entered into the cotton from the soil, which is a well-known phenomenon; cotton is so good at lifting heavy metals that it has actually been suggested as a part of the solution for revitalizing polluted ground.

the authors conclude with an acknowledgement that the study should be repeated- their sample size was 60 tampons- and a suggestion that further testing ought to be done to indicate whether or not these metals can even leech out of the tampon in the first place, let alone whether or not such leeching could occur at levels deleterious to human health.

there is, in fact, a body of research- too small, for sure, but much larger than this single study- indicating that long-term proper tampon use has no observable negative impact on health. i am grateful and thrilled that more research is being done and i hope that this study is the first of many on this line of questioning, but i am really frustrated at this post and the response it got.

obviously, if this study alters your approach to menstrual health, more power to you. consumers should be informed-risk-takers, and menstrual health is double-obviously a very personal choice. but it definitely wasn't the researchers concluding that you ought to “avoid using tampons at all cost," only this tumblr user did. the lead author of the paper, in fact, specifically says that she hopes people do NOT panic about the results.

(the notes of the post were disappointing. people affirming that they knew they were right to be suspicious of tampons all along, or even recommending alternatives that actually have very little to no research regarding the safety of long-term use, etc. it’s a different conversation, but categorical distrust of tampons is old-school misogyny. you certainly shouldn't wear them if you don’t want to, but there is nothing inherently scary or wrong about them, and people who prefer them are not being reckless or crass.)

((if you're really worried about exposure to heavy metals, you may want to turn a critical eye to fast fashion, as an aside))

[dilf-docs]

Atta Girl

old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel miller discovers the world, yes, the same world that has gone (been for a while) to shit, can still have surprises. like you, his sweet naive unexperienced girlfriend, being everything but that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (old joel miller my GILF!), smut, sighs this is pwp who am i lying to, inexperienced!reader (yet for some reason she's a pro sucker lmao i'm a virgin don't come at me besides this is a fanfic who gives af if it's realistic or not), dirty talk, fingering, breast play, pussy pronouns, oral (m. receiving) (need that geriartric cock inside my mouth), some fluff bc we gotta balance this thing or i'm going to hell (okay he's not mean i baited y'all. mean jackson joel miller piece is still in draft dungeon)

word count: 4,722 words

side note: hell-fucking-o????? 2K CITIZENSHIPS APPROVED!?! ,, ok gonna be honest when i started writing in here and my first fic (an old man logan one, do u guys see a pattern?) flopped, i never thought i'd make it this far and it's all thanks to you my lovely citizens :,) you may think this is silly but your support means a lot to me (especially comments n' rb I'M A WHORE FOR THEM). now, yapping aside, as promised, this won the poll for the celebratory piece, so here you go !!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Joel Miller is a man hard to surprise.

Years of weariness, trust and spirit broken by things that would kill anyone else, and overall, just surviving, you'd think that a man that was hardened by a rough past and of his age had seen it all.

Joel liked to think he was prepared for whatever life threw at him. Enter Ellie: how she had managed to break his shell, from cargo to soothing balm to heal old open wounds he refused to even speak of. But he was ready to burn the world for her, picking guns and taking lives to bring her to a home. His home. He settled, filial terms silent but felt, ready to take the second chance life had given him. Until the bond that united them turned fragile, loose ends tensing the silver string of found family.

He fell down the path of a familiar ache he hadn't felt in a long time, dormant, waiting for him to fuck up to show again with it's dull and hollow torment. He always did. So now he's spending too much time at the Tipsy Bison nursing a glass that could have his name by now, all to avoid going to a eerily quiet home where the room at the end of the hallway lies empty.

And then life decides to startle his track, albeit destructive, with a third chance: you.

Just thinking about you brings a certain tingle that an old rugged man like him should be embarrased about. One he shouldn't even feel.

But Joel loves you, he thinks. From the moment you showed up on his front door, rambling about some reparations at the school, were you volunteered.

"They were all scared of you" your sweet voice had said, some of that unreasonable fear laced within it, "so I came"

He scoffed at Jackson's ridiculous antics. Rumors spread fast in the small town, and suddenly, the hanging threat of who he was followed him everywhere like a shadow, which, given the dark nature of his now put to rest violence, seemed a proper description.

"They sent 'cha?"

You were clearly intimidated, given your shaky frame despite spring and the light tremble in your tone. But you were still here, gaze set on him as a determined child who wants to win the best prize.

"No. I chose to come"

His stomach does a flip at the stillness of your words, security etched in the statement as if you hadn't been in the verge of stuttering seconds ago.

Like you wanted to show him this is what it is, and whatever that was, you weren't running. But he testes the water, skin prickling intensely.

"And you ain't scared, kid?"

He laughed, the type of laugh that shakes your body with unease, but the one that shot across you didn't come from a place of distress, rather a more hidden one, between a pulsing press between your ribs, like it'd swallow you whole if you kept thinking about it too much.

"I am" you answered truthfully.

Something about your quiet admission made him falter the tiniest bit. Maybe it was how you had no problem voicing out loud any of your thoughts, or how you weren't afraid to be seen for what you were, the quiet of your answer out of a gentle place and not dread.

"Then why are ya' still here?"

Brows furrowed, like he, for some reason, expected you to yell at him for all the sins that colored his calloused hands red. Instead, you had looked at him as if he had all the answers in the world, big sparkling eyes staring deep into his tainted soul.

"Because I need you"

Yet, when you said it, Joel felt you weren't talking about the creaky drawers and old stairs anymore, but of the anchor you just found for yourself in the shape of Jackson's most respected and troubled resident, unknowing that, in that moment, he had chosen you too.

So, Joel may have forgotten about what feelings that feel too before world-ly feel like, but the quiet steady beat of his heart, mingling into a peaceful symphony with each soft breath past your rosy lips, head laying over his rising and falling chest, warm, feels exactly like love is.

He knew from the very first time you were his. Yeah, he loves you.

Joel just wants to give you the world, his world: the quiet afternoons, his rough limbs and aching joints, his face covered by spots and sun kisses that compliment his wrinkles, hair that gets curlier and softer and greyer, every figure he makes in his little shop and, of course, his bed.

Your Joel isn't exactly a pleaser, used of doing what he deems best without asking, yet, the moment you uttered those three words, he knew it was because he hadn't met you.

"Be my first"

He remembers the surprise on his face, how it grew red as the silence stretched on. The door bursting open, bed creaking under combined weight and your giggles. He too remembers the sweet cries past your lips, your taut muscles, the little strained breath you let out when he slipped inside of you. It all belonged to him because you let him, and that day, Joel Miller became the luckiest man in the world.

And yet, he still hadn't been as surprised as he was today.

The routine was the same from the past year: pick you up from the school after he was done at the office, taking some minutes to watch you with the toddlers, making voices as the same tender hands you used to jerk him off booped noses and carried children who made him think of getting one of your own, one with your grace and beauty, getting him painfully hard at images of filling you silly and your body changing to carry his seed. Fuck. He was a psychopath for such lewd thoughts on a place destined for education and infancy innocence, and here he was, cock uncomfortable inside his pants.

But then your mouth gets too greedy when your sickenly honeyed voice whispers his name, robbing him of air and only pulling away when his lips get swollen and his face a little flustered.

"Need help down there?"

There's always that problem and you're always the solution.

"Let's go home, sugar. Then ya' can help 'tis ol' man fix it"

Walking back home is always a hassle, hands intertwined, Jackson seeing a cute couple. But you're both aware of the throb that settles in between you like the tension, nobody noticing how hard you're trying to not just fuck on the middle of the street like two eager bunnies.

It's his fault, he thinks as you push the door of his house open, for making you like this.

The truth is, after taking your virginity, Joel's taught you things your unexperienced mind couldn't even imagine, and this past six months, you've complied with that sweet disposition that clung to you like the floral of the soap you used. And Joel loved that: how, despite having his dick stretching your tight pussy, you looked at him with those big eyes from the very first night, still round and innocent, like a doe and not a siren.

Which was surprising, because Joel, in a way, had corrupted you. Tainted the naive angel. And still, it was like he couldn't get rid of quiet shy you. Worst of it all was, instead of filling him with shame from robbing pieces and pieces of your integrity everyday, the older man felt some wicked sense of satisfaction and pride, to see how, despite his age and your soft nature, he was yours as you were his, and that he had taught you exactly how to enjoy that.

He knows you like the palm of his hand and the littered scars across his chest. The pattern you call stars, holding into a beauty only you see in the ugly marks, yet make him feel with each delicate trace, making such blunt and rough marks a galaxy; exorbitant. The same ones he thinks hide behind your adoring warm eyes. Joel just knows you, so even when things go the same way they have for a while, he's aware something is different when your fingers fiddle with his belt, trembling hands now struggling to free his aching cock.

He knows better than to think it's your arousal and impatience. No, this is something else.

"Sweetheart..." he warns. "Somethin' wrong?"

You shake your head, hands ready to take his underwear down.

"I'm fine"

He won't take that clipped sentence for an answer. Instead, his hands slowly remove yours from his hips before going to grab you by your chin, fingers pressing not enough to bruise but to make a point. His thumb presses lightly over your mouth, your bottom lip tugged down, parting your lips. You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes, eyelashes kissing your cheekbones. What a damn sight, he thinks.

"Talk to me"

"I want to suck your cock"

He almost chokes on nothing. Joel coughs a little, red painting his cheeks as a surge of lust and desire crashes through him. His eyes go wide at your bold and eager request, because one: it wasn't like you to talk like this, and two, you had never done it before.

Sure, you had jerked him off so many times he's lost count, but your lips wrapped around his length, mouth swallowing his aching cock? Just the image of it going past your pretty lips, the sensation of your spit mixed with his liquids... He already has a special place in hell, the blood rushing to his already hard member.

"Fuck, sugar. You wanna have this dick 'nside y'r mouth so bad? That eager and needy y'are?" he asked, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You nod, a little too excited as he sits in the edge of your shared bed, letting out a huff of effort. Old man sounds, you would tease. But not today, it seems, when your eyes are too busy looking at the pulsating silhouette under the grey cloth. He smirks, removing the layer, and he swears you begin to salivate like a starving dog.

"Y' think y' can take it?" his hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, giving it a few slow pumps as he watches you with a drowsy gaze. "Ain't it too much for a pretty lil' thing like y'rself?"

Wordlessly, you fall to your knees, looking up to him with those eyes of yours that drove him crazy. You caress his thigh, and despite being the one in control, Joel's eyelids feel heavy, fluttering at your soft and tender touches on his thick muscle, every hair rising at the reverence of your every move. You leave a little kiss in his inner thigh, making his heart skip a beat, breath a little ragged.

"I can" sounding so sure. Oh, his little angel.

"You gon' be a good girl then?" he whispers, voice hoarse and thick, looking down at you.

You nod, slowly.

"Let me taste it" you murmur, voice soft and breathy.

Your tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. You savor the salty taste of his arousal, moaning softly at the flavor. Joel's brown eyes darken in seconds.

"Quit 'da teasin'. 'M too damn old for that"

You smile a bit. "Impatient"

"Minx" he replies, voice thick.

It is indeed big, especially now that it was hard, and you do wonder for a second if you're biting more than you can chew.

"Y'asked for 'tis" like he can read your mind, "don't grow shy on me, doll"

He groans when your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, teasingly as you always do. He feels the heat building in his gut as you work him over, letting out a little groan.

"F-feels so good, sugar" he voices out, strained. "But I need'a know if y'r made fo' 'tis. C'mon, princess. Show me what'a good lil' cock slut y'are"

You lean in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his big cock, making him shudder.

"Let's see what y'r pretty mouth can do" while tracing your lips, idly.

For the first time ever, the warmth of your mouth takes him. He can see it dissapear past your lips, stretching around his girth. Joel can only watch with a breath he forgets to take how every inch of his thick cock is gone past your lips. Entranced, like this was a magic trick of some sorts.

"S' that all?" he lets out a tense chuckle. You narrow your eyes, feeling a bit of a gag and spit drool past your lips. "Don't worry, princess. I can be of help on that"

He moves a bit, groin almost on your face as he's dangerously close to fucking your face. Instead, you feel how it reaches the back of your throat, making you pause at the feeling of your eyes watering slightly as you adjust to the intrusion.

"S'okay, sweet girl. I know ya' can take it deeper" he encourages, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Relax, baby. You're doing so good-" his voice cuts off with a strained grunt. Then, he voices out in a more huskier tone. "Use y'r throat and take my cock like'a good girl"

You push forward, taking him deeper until Joel feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. He throws his head back, curls combed slicked now starting to dampen and fall disheveled, drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, muscles of his thighs taut with trepidation.

You gag slightly yet quickly recover as if to prove something.

"That's right. Why did we wait s' long to do 'tis? Fuck, baby, ya' were born for 'tis. Keep goin'. Y' mouth's drivin' me crazy"

Joel groans as you take him deep, nose pressing against his groin, his fingers tightening in your hair. Your throat constricts around him all while you fight your gag reflex. Then slowly, you pull back, lips sliding along his shaft until just the tip remained in your warm mouth.

"Don't be such'a tease" his voice reduced to a hoarse rasp. You just give him what appears to be a shrug and an apologetic smile, right before diving back in, taking him to the hilt once more. His hips rock involuntarily at the feel, your head bobbing. A guttural moan cuts through his throat, the only other sound in the room aside the wet sounds of your suckling. "S' real bad girl, hun. Wouldn't think a docile lil' doll like ya' would be s' mean"

But he watches you with such adoration in his eyes, completely captivated as you work him over, that you know his words carry no malice behind them. Without a word, he takes your hands, guiding them to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"Let's give 'em somethin' to do, don't 'cha think?"

Suddenly, the pressure ties his stomach in knots, his belly strained under his flannel shirt, slightly protruding in the middle, buttons as tense as his muscles. Joel feels his legs become shaky, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks down at you, taking in the sight of your sweet disposition. If he wasn't one lucky man.

"Y/n" he gasps your name in a choked breath, followed by a strangled grunt, his release building fast as he doesn't dare to . "I'm gonna..."

Joel tries to pull off, thinking having you wrapped around his shaft is enough sin for the day, but then your hands find their way to his legs, keeping him grounded. His eyes widen slightly at the insistent glaze in your determined eyes.

"God damn, doll. What're ya'-"

He doesn't get to finish, his words dissolving into a low, animalistic growl as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock jerks and pulses in your waiting mouth, spilling thick ropes of hot, salty cum down your eager throat, painting its back white.

"Baby, don't" Joel says through a worn down rasp, trying to pull out, but you, his sweet little girlfriend, grips his thighs with an unknown force, keeping him buried deep as you greedily work to milk every last bit of his cum.

"'S 'tis what ya' want, huh? You dirty dirty girl" his voice grows lower, a filthy snarl as his eyes darken a bit more. "Swallow it, then. Take all ma' fucken seed"

He holds your head in place, fingers tangled in your damp hair as he rides out the intense waves of his release. Joel's so inside of you, he can feel your throat working, gulping down every drop he had to give.

Finally, as the last spurts of his climax taper off, he releases you, his chest heaving with exertion. You pull back, a strand of saliva and cum connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his spent cock.

"Like that, dirty girl?" he grabs you by your chin, thumb wiping some of your saliva and his cum off. "Did ya' like the taste f' ma' cum?"

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him. "I did"

"'S that right? What happened to my angel?"

You laugh, the sound tired and hoarse. "I'm still here"

He pats his thigh, so you sit in there, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a free hand, you remove some curls that have fallen over his worn face.

"Hard'a believe"

You click your tongue. "You were never a believer, Miller"

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. "I believe in you"

Joel revels in the delicate pink hues coating your cheeks. He's so weak for you.

"Now, doll. Be honest with y'r ol' man" he brushes a stray strand off your face, tucking it behind your ear with a delicacy so contrary to the roughness of his hands. "I know when ma' girl's goin' through somethin'"

You seem to grow shy all of the sudden. "You'd be right"

Needless to say, he's intrigued now.

"Care to tell?"

You hide your face on his shoulder, inhaling his sweat and natural odor, even the faint traces of soap. He combs through your hair, lazily.

"Promise you won't laugh" you say as you pull back, to face him.

He raises a hand, expression curious.

"I'd never make fun of 'cha, doll"

"I want you to cum inside me"

The room grows quiet for a minute, an by each second of silence that stretches so is the red across your face. Joel blinks slowly. Once and twice. By the third time, the crease between his brows has become prominent.

"What?"

Your face grows hot as you try to run away, but he stops you.

"Woah, hey. Where ya' goin'?"

"I told you you'd laugh" you pout your lips, flustered.

"I ain't even let out a goddam laugh" he defends himself. "'M just tryna process in here"

You huff. "What's so hard to understand?"

Joel looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Y' really gon' ask me that?"

"Maybe I want to try different things" you play with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

He obligues you to look by taking you by your chin, gently. A small warm smile adorns his face.

"Different's good"

You reciprocate his smile. Maybe it's that or the fact he can still see his cum glistening your lips, or the thrill of his seed seeping out of your tight walls. Either way, Joel surrenders.

"Ya' know I'll give 'cha anythin' you want" he says, voice low. "Just say da' word"

You gulp. "Yes"

Joel lets out a low, animalistic growl at your breathy acceptance. It was all the permission he needed. He crashes his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire as he grabs you by your hair, right at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and tighter. His other hand roams your body greedily, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"We gotta take 'tis out"

He shoves the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside.

"It's my shirt"

"It's a nuissance"

He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of your naked torso, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each anticipating breath.

"Told ya'" he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "'S fuckin' perfect to be hidin' all that"

Joel leans down, capturing one rosy peak in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, suckling and teasing until it pebbles under his touch. You let out a breathy choked moan, loving the wet of his tongue against your warm skin. Then, his hot breath ghosts over as he utters a simple word that has your core clenching at nothing.

"Mine"

His hand slide down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your jeans. Joel can feel the heat of you, the damp patch that had formed on the fabric of your panties. He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding lower, brushing against your clothed sex.

"Can tell she missed me. That ya' weren't lyin', baby. She's fucken wet" he rasps, his voice muffled against your skin.

Joel's fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingertips. He groans, his cock hard again, throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, sugar" he mutte4red, his voice rough and low. "S' ready for me already"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it swell under his touch.

"Ain't she know me s' goddam well..."

Then, he dips a finger inside your tight, clutching heat, groaning at the way your walls flutter around the intrusion.

"God, you feel s' good" Joel says, voice strained. "S' fucking tight and perfect. I can't wait to feel ya' wrapped 'round my cock, doll. Can't wait any damn longer fo' y'r sweet lil' cunt"

He pumps his finger in and out, thumb still circling your clit. He can feel you getting closer, your hips starting to buck against his hand.

"That's it, baby" he encourages, his voice a low, filthy rumble. "Fuck yourself on ma' fingers. Show me how much ya' want it"

He adds a second finger, then a third, making you yelp as he stretches you open.

"Relax, doll. We've done 'tis before. 'M just preparing her to take ma' dick. You gon' be a good girl and stop fucken squirmin'?"

You nod, pliant, your body starting to tense.

"'Tis ya' reward. Come on ma' fingers like a good girl, and then I'll give 'cha what ya' really want. I'm gon' fill 'tis greedy cunt with my cum an' pump 'cha s' full of it 'til 's drippin' outta ya'"

Joel curls his fingers inside you, rubbing that all too well spot that brings you to tears. He feels you clench down hard, crying out as you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over, body convulsing as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, he's bringing them to his lips, sucking off your essence from the digits, groaning at the taste of you.

"'S sweet as always"

After that, Joel is quick to shed what's left of his clothing, nearly tearing the old flannel in his haste. He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, his tummy pressing lightly over your abdomen, his weight sinking you down on the mattress.

He then looks down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, glistening parted kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

"I love ya', sweet girl" Joel blurts out, eyes are dark and intense.

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

"Say y'are mine" voice a low, demanding growl. "Say ya' belong to me, y/n, baby. Say it"

He pushes forward slightly, just the tip of him slipping inside your tight heat. He groans at the feel of you, at how your walls stretch to accommodate him. You let out a small whimper, yet still unable to form coherent sentences.

"I want to hear you say it, angel" Joel presses nonetheless, his voice strained.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing a little more of his thick length inside you with each thrust. He can feel you getting wetter, core glistening as if your body yielded to his.

"Please, y/n" he begs, voice rough and desperate. "Please, baby... say it. That 'am your first an' last. The only man who ever fucks 'tis sweet cunt"

"I'm yours, Joel" you choke out. "Only yours"

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the feel of you, letting out a long low groan.

"Fuck, doll" he gasps, hips starting to move, pistoning in and out of you. "She's just made f'me, ain't she? Gon' make ya' feel good. Give ya' what y'asked for. Lemme take care of it. I like to take care of's mine"

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under you, headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.

"Take it, sugar. Just like ya' wanted. 'Tis dirty mouth n' greedy pussy" Joel growls. "Take ma' cock like a good little girl. Fuck, y' were made f'r 'tis. Made't be fucked hard and deep and full of my cum"

He feels the tight coil of heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter; knows he won't last long.

"Please, Joel" you mewl, desperately clinging to him.

Joel lets out a feral growl at your plea, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He can feel you clenching down around him, body trembling as another orgasm builds deep inside you.

"Ya' want my cum, baby?" he snarls. "Want me t' fill her 'til it's drippin' down y'r legs?"

You nod, too eager.

"Look at that" he chuckles, pounding harder into you, forgetting for a moment he's sixty one. "Such a slut, beggin' for me to flood 'tis sweet pussy with ma' load. 'M gon' give ya' s' much you'll be leakin' for days. Gon' fill her up nicely. I know you gon' make sure not'a single drop goes to waste"

Joel reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Come with me, doll" he demands, growling. "Come on my cock like a good girl n' milk every last drop 'f cum. Show me just how much ya' want it"

With a final, brutal thrust, Joel buries himself balls deep inside you. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as his orgasm rips through him.

"Take it, baby. Let me make ya' mine" His cock jerks and pulses inside you, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum painting your insides. "Atta girl"

He collapses against you, hips still rocking slightly as the aftershocks of his release roll through him. He can feel you coming around him, pussy clenching and milking his spent cock, trying to pull every last drop of his seed deep inside you, just like you asked for.

Joel's chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, heart pounding against yours as he cradles you close.

"Not so bad for an old man"

He snickers, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

"Brat"

He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzles into your hair, traces of lavender up his nose.

"But you love me"

Joel sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then temple and finally shell of your ear. In that moment, he knows he'll never let you go.

"That I do"

You softly comb his hair, his eyelids fluttering.

"I love you too, Joel"

A beat of silence goes by.

"So..."

"So?"

Joel offers a tired smile, glint of mischief laced somewhere.

"Any other ideas ya' wanna say outloud?"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @iamasaddie

[tsukimirecs]

nekoma // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works + the synopsis for each fic belongs to the author who wrote the fic

kuroo tetsuro

taste test - kaientai

synopsis: when you taste the same thing as your soulmate, things get interesting

red all over - meldve

synopsis: you are trapped in an elevator with your work rival, kuroo. what else could go wrong?

your name - tsukisemi

synopsis: kuroo finds you really cute, too bad you keep giving him a fake name every time you come into the coffee shop he works at

public transit - orphan_account

synopsis: your heart pounded, knowing you were being touched, and he was watching you.

but when he loves me - sweetcandyliar

synopsis: there are so many ways that kuroo tells you he loves you.

somewhere only we know - wanderwithme (wanderlustt)

synopsis: four times kuroo proposes to you - and the last time he does

meeting the boys - orphan_account

synopsis: in which no one really believes kuroo could get a girlfriend as incredible as you

落葉 | rakuyou - deltachye

synopsis: maple leaves are most beautiful in which they have died, falling slowly, waiting patiently to be reborn

riverbank - itsleese

synopsis: you're reminded of the little boy you loved way back then, the riverbank you played at together. maybe you should go see it?

caring cats - haikyuu_philia

synopsis: nekoma is family

disrupted meetings - sansos

synopsis: dr. tetsurou kuroo’s research group has transitioned to hosting meetings online. what could go wrong?

cat ears - just__j

synopsis: kuroo approaches you, captain of the girls club, with a proposition of a bet for the losing captain

kozume kenma

change the channel - alkale

synopsis: "i want to buy your game from you"

kodzuken does not have a girlfriend - bunnytime

synopsis: it has been a running joke that kodzuken lies about having a girlfriend for years now. needless to say, his fanbase is convinced he doesn’t really have a girlfriend

second place - yourqueenhasarrived

synopsis: kenma forgets your anniversary and once again pushes you aside for his gaming career. how much can you take?

an inconvenient crush - the_only_iris

synopsis: kenma has had the biggest crush on twitch streamer, (y/n). what happens when their paths cross?

learning process - nomazee

synopsis: you and kenma always had an interesting dynamic. kuroo found it nice for everyone involved

thank you for being a friend! - heichoe

synopsis: ”if it helps: when you gave kuroo head in high school, he said it was great"

yaku morisuke

who dares speak aloud these words (intended for the heart to speak) - sunmoonstarsrain

synopsis: yaku bursts into her life like a hurricane, even whilst akaashi lingers on like the memory of a summer breeze

artists eyes - teapots_and_teacups

synopsis: yaku was used to being ignored on the court

if only i were selfish - this noodle writes

synopsis: yaku was anything but a selfish man, but being selfless had cost him you once before. so, when he gets the chance to see you again, will he finally be selfish enough to try?

note: as you can tell, i'm trying a different recommendations style- what do you think? do you think i should switch back to the first one or is this one better? would love to know your thoughts

[vexcraft]

okay. so. what we know about this whole exile and world border moving thing so far

grian teases the permit office exile program (in a very severance-style clip), saying that the world spawn has been relocated. he's talking to "another" grian who does not seem very excited about this whole thing

doc talks about the whole banishing thing in his video (since the permit office has permission to use his world border cannon), saying it would be funny as a one-time laugh as people sent to the world border could just die and be back at their spawns. he then says he's been informed the world spawn has been moved to the world border

the permit office crew shows up at the beginning of jevin's stream, demanding he give up his unused permit

jevin refuses so cub, grian, and scar attack him and he dies. jevin spawns at the normal world spawn. might be unrelated but after this he gets a message and briefly ends stream for a minute or so and he's back at his base with the permit office crew once he restarts stream. they briefly threaten him, talking about how this was "unsuccessful" and tell him to reconsider his stance on the permits (as jevin is the leader of no-poe)

jevin sets his spawn at his base

after this at multiple points of the stream, the permit office crew is killing each other (mostly scar...) and logging on and off multiple times (seemingly not for skin changes, aside from scar changing into his poe poe skin on one of the log-outs). this seems like they're probably testing things

grian kills scar and scar spawns outside the world border. jevin is just about to leave the end, and despite having set his spawn earlier, also spawns outside the world border (clip). grian tells them not to panic and after a moment tells them that they can respawn again and both jevin and scar spawn at the normal world spawn

then there's whatever this is. scar dies to a zombie almost immediately and spawns at normal world spawn

killing continues but this time scar's not spawning outside the world border!

something happens here

this time scar kills cub and grian, jokingly leaving after, which seems like he successfully sent them to the new spawn (or just sent them somewhere lol) and left them there (as without someone around the normal area, they wouldn't be able to teleport back through things like stasis chambers i'm pretty sure as there would be no one to trigger it). scar logs back on after a moment

when jevin leaves the end for the second time, he spawns back in his bed (in which he set his spawn again after the whole world border case). shortly after this jevin ends stream. during this whole thing it was only jevin and the permit office crew online

so.

it seems that currently the world spawn might be near the world border and if it's not, the permit office can move it there. having your spawn set prevents getting sent there even though for some reason that did not work for jevin the first time. i believe doc has talked about ender pearls in stasis chambers no longer disappearing when you die and joe tried it on stream moments ago, so a stasis chamber would be a way to get out of there

i believe this is all we know so far. i'll try to reblog this post with updates if there's more and feel free to reply/leave tags if i forgot something :D

[alg3a]

muffins

viktor x f! reader

3.8k, MDNI, no use of (y/n)

description: Viktor had been so kind as to agree to help you out with your midterm prep, so you thought baking him muffins would be a great way to repay him. However, an accidental secret ingredient gets in the way of studying.

warnings: Age gap, roomie smut, more story than smut, p in v, sex pollen/serum (with pretty explicit consent), overall jolly good fun, no harm no foul, yippee!

a/n: inspired by @the-hidden-pages story, Human Testing because it’s one of the first viktor x reader fics i ever read and i STRONGLY recommend!

Any student should feel lucky to have the smartest men at the academy as their roommates. Being an undergraduate biochem student who had to work to pay her own tuition, going to lecture wasn’t always an option. That’s when you’d bake a tray of brownies or do some extra dishes and call in a favor from one of your roomies.

It happened all the time, which made you incredibly thankful to have one people-pleaser in the apartment. Jayce was always willing to put aside whatever he was doing and help you out on your Arcane Studies homework or your Bioengineering project. Last semester, finals week consisted of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on the rug of the living room, paper scattered all over the floor as you tried to decipher the grading scale of your Organic Chemistry class to see what the lowest grade on the test you could get was and still wind up with a passing grade (something Jayce had done plenty of times in his undergrad years).

Viktor, on the other hand, had gotten somewhat tired of your constant requests for him to backtrack and dive into knowledge he hadn’t tapped for years now. He was never particularly rude about it, but you were very perceptive. When you asked him to repeat an explanation once or twice, you noticed the growing exhaustion on his face that bordered frustration and you stopped asking for his help going forward. It wasn’t to his own fault, you could be pretty needy sometimes, so more often than not, you just asked Jayce.

Only, Jayce was out of town for a Hextech press conference this weekend, the weekend before you had your Arcane Studies midterm. In a heartbreaking display, he had apologized profusely for not being able to help, inches away from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. You assured him none of that was necessary, and that you’d just stay up studying in the library or even reach out to your TA (who you’d never even spoken to before in class or outside of it, and who you were certain would be less helpful than Jayce).

To remedy your situation–even though you pinkie promised him you didn’t need him to–he took it upon himself to ask Viktor to help you cram study on Sunday night, the night before your midterm. While Jayce asked, you did your best to listen from your bedroom, the next room over. You heard some grumbling from Viktor and a muffled, yet compelling “She’s our roommate and she bakes us nice things” from Jayce.

Apparently that last bit must have been very rousing, because shortly after, Jayce was at your door telling you that Viktor agreed to a maximum of three hours of cramming that would begin no earlier than eight at night.

You worked for all of Saturday’s daylight hours, and then finalized your experimental serum for your Advanced Biochemistry project. For the biochem class, you’d been studying methods of enhancing senses for the first half of the quarter and your midterm project involved making a serum that could temporarily improve the performance of one human sense. Around three weeks ago, you and your classmates drew topics from a hat and your fingers emerged with “arousal” on a piece of paper. Needless to say, you were concerned. You thought the serum project would be fairly straightforward, and had already brainstormed ideas for vision enhancing serums or hearing aid serums, but arousal? You had to think out of the box for that one.

When you finished up your last touches to the serum, you were left with enough time at night to get ingredients to bake Viktor some muffins as a sign of your gratitude. You got enough stuff for twice as much as you would’ve made for Jayce and actually stuck to the recipe this time. Keeping Viktor happy was a very delicate ecosystem and there could be no tampering.

It wasn’t that he was a grump or even that he hated you, he was just too busy to want to help and too intelligent to want to backtrack. Once he had even looked at what you were studying and said, “I’d have to go too far back to help you.” That was inspiring.

You poured the contents of your tote bag on the counter.

On your better days, you and Viktor actually got along quite well. Those were the rare days when Viktor got more than three hours of sleep and ate a full meal before two pm. In his best conditions, the two of you were good friends.

The best days were when he and Jayce both come home early enough for you to make them a home cooked meal. Then you’d all curl up on the couch and watch a movie. The last time that happened, Jayce picked some superhero movie you’d never heard of and you and Viktor both fell asleep. You woke up the next morning asleep on Viktor’s chest with four blankets piled on top of you both. Jayce said he knew both of you ran cold, so he took the blankets from your beds. You and Viktor never talked about that night.

The exhaustion of your stressful Saturday had leaked into your studying Sunday, and in a tired stupor, you whisked together all the ingredients for the muffins and poured them haphazardly into the mold. They might not look pretty, but at least they’d taste good.

You pulled the freshly baked muffins from the oven and rested them on the stovetop. The sweet aroma of warm blueberry filled the apartment. It must have roused Viktor from whatever he was working on in his room, because he emerged a full quarter of an hour earlier than your agreed upon study time.

“Hey,” you said. “I made you some muffins as a thank you. They’re still hot, though, I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fine,” he said, setting himself at the kitchen table and sipping from a cup of coffee that had been there since Jayce was still in town. “Would you like to begin now?”

You grab all your study guides and homework assignments and your assortment of chicken scratch notes and slide them over to him on the table.

“Are your midterms cumulative?” He asked, finishing the remnants of his cold coffee.

“No,” you answered. Thank God. If you had to remember everything that was in the last midterm you’d be losing your mind right about now. “Everything past Arcane History will be on the test.”

“Mm. I see.”

He scans your notes for another five minutes.

“I’ll quiz you,” he decided, standing up to check on the temperature of the cooling muffins on the stovetop.

“Uh, okay.” You didn’t typically study by being quizzed, especially when you hardly went to lecture and didn’t even know most of the material. But you didn’t want to risk arguing with Viktor and have him decide to take his muffin to-go.

“Tell me why the Arcane can manifest in such unpredictable manners?”

“Because…” you started to think that maybe going to your TA wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Your TA was just a random graduate student. The roommate that was helping you study now was one of the inventors of Hextech, the researcher responsible for some of the greatest advancements in Piltover’s modern understanding of the Arcane. “...it reflects the intentions of the user.”

“Correct,” he says, affording you a rare Viktor smile. “Would you like a muffin?”

You had intended for the muffins to be entirely Viktor’s, but you hadn’t eaten all day and gods, they smelled good. Plus, it was like a reward for getting an answer right.

“Sure, thanks.”

You watch as Viktor plucks two muffins from the tin and comes back to seat himself at the table. He hands one to you and sorts through the papers you’ve scattered on the desk as he brings a small chunk to his mouth. You do the same.

Something tastes slightly off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s possible the ratio is off, and in your tired state you added too little vanilla extract or too much vegetable oil. Regardless, they’re not bad at all.

“Your notes are a little bit difficult to–” Viktor stops before finishing his sentence. He pulls out a sheet of paper from the pile and reads it, his eyes widening a bit as he does.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“These notes are from your biochem class,” he says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a few seconds over the piece of paper. “This is an interesting assignment…”

“Oh,” you feel your cheeks growing hot. “Sorry, that’s not supposed to be in there.”

You reach out to take the paper from him, but he pulls it back as you do. He’s still reading it. You’d really like him to stop reading about your own aphrodisiac serum, but your embarrassment is a bit unwarranted. After all, you didn’t make the serum because you wanted it, you made it because it was a graded assignment. Nothing more. So what if you did eventually garner interest in the topic. So much interest, in fact, that you did extensive research into the properties your serum could afford and spent long hours in your lab experimenting with it. Shamefully, yes, you had tried some of it. Mainly to test its efficiency but also out of plain curiosity. You had determined that it was safe, most importantly, but you’d also learned that it tasted horrible. To counter that, you’d added some–

“Oh fuck!” You shout as you scoot your chair so far back so quickly that it topples over. You stumble over your bag on the floor as you sprint to the kitchen.

“Is something wrong?” Viktor asks from his seated position.

“Don’t eat the muffin!” You exclaim as you run to the counter space next to the stove, your heart pounding.

You confirm your worst fear. The bottle of vanilla extract you picked up from the supermarket sits on the counter, the protective seal still intact. Your arousal serum, however, is halfway empty a few inches beside the extract.

You turn around slowly to face Viktor.

“It’s a bit late for that,” Viktor says, holding up the half of his muffin that remains. “Did something happen?”

You eye your own muffin on the table, half eaten as well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you scrambled back toward the table where Viktor sat, the serum held tight by your hand. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No,” Viktor says, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

Come on, just get it out already. You have to tell him, it would be morally bankrupt not to.

“I accidentally drugged you.”

Okay, maybe not like that.

Viktor just stared at you, his expression unchanged. You sort of just wished he would yell at you so that you could get the encounter over with, but no such luck. He just sat, unphased, until he picked up the notes he was looking at earlier.

“With this?” He asks. Even his voice is still even. You knew that if the roles had been reversed you would be fracking out, absolutely bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, but don’t worry I’ve done lots of research on this serum,” you say, taking the notes from Viktor and looking them over. You read the list two or three times, scanning for any sort of antidote for ingestion. You saw none. “How could I have not included an antidote?” You mutter, mentally beating yourself up.

“It’s okay,” Viktor said and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him from your notes. “It is safe, yes? It won’t kill us?”

“No, it won’t, but it’s a powerful aphrodisiac and I added half the serum to those muffins. If my math is right, you’re taking three times the recommended dosage.”

“But I only ate half the muffin,” Viktor counters. Again, you’re shocked by how unphased he is.

“Okay, then one and a half times the dosage,” you shrug off his comment as you look for anything in your notes that might reveal a way to undo this mess.

“I assume this means you no longer wish to study?” Viktor says.

“How are you so calm about this?” You finally burst out, slamming the paper down on the table to look at him.

Big mistake.

Once you see him, you become lightheaded and your knees buckle beneath you. You have to sit down to stop yourself from falling over.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asks.

“I-I’m fine,” you shake your head in an attempt to get some blood flowing to your brain. No luck.

“Since you’re obviously worked up about this, why don’t you tell me how it works and then we can go from there.”

“It’s a fast acting stimulant,” you say, burying your face in your hands. “The chemistry is irrelevant since I have no goddamn cure for it, but it works the same as any other aphrodisiac. It makes you susceptible to arousal and heightens it by three times at a normal dosage, and in our case… nearly five times.”

“Intriguing,” he says, eyeing the muffin that lays neglected on the table. “Such a strange class project. Aren’t there moral quandaries to be had for such a substance?”

“Yes of course there are, which is why I made it so that it only takes effect if there’s already a degree of attraction in place–”

You shouldn’t have said anything. Especially not when you’re so clearly affected by it in the presence of Viktor. Way to sell yourself out.

“So you’re saying…”

You groan out in frustration, but once you look at Viktor you’re reminded of why you had your face buried in your hands. Somehow every feature of his seems five times more beautiful than you normally regarded them. His perfectly angular nose, his narrowed amber eyes, his messy hair which fell in ways you could never recreate on paper…

“I have a feeling you know exactly what I’m saying.” You squeezed your eyes shut. If you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t torture you.

Or so you thought.

A tantalizing graze of his hand on yours shot shivers down your spine. You pulled away so fast that a few of the papers on the desk shifted from the shear force of the wind.

“Don’t do that,” you seethed, sucked your teeth as you pressed your eyes shut so hard that you saw stars.

“Because…it affects you?” His voice was raspy and slow, or maybe that’s just what the serum was making you hear. Every bit of what he was doing seemed five times as attractive as it would normally be.

You’d done such a good job at hiding your feelings for Viktor for almost a year now. Being roommates with someone you found incredibly attractive was no easy task. And now all of your efforts were thrown out the window because of a stupid baking mishap.

“You’re being cruel,” you furrow your eyebrows as you speak, your voice coming out whinier than you would’ve liked.

“I’m sorry,” he stifles a laugh. “Would you open your eyes?”

“I can’t,” you groan, shoving your hands against your face again. “It’s best if I just go to my room and wait it out. Thank you for trying to study with me but I’m just gonna have to accept a shitty grade tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and pulling them down from your face so that you had to look at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken biochemistry, and I certainly haven’t studied aphrodisiacs, but the effects should go away after the serum is put to use, correct?”

You thought back to your experimentation phase. All the nights you spent alone in your lab trying out the efficacy of the serum resulted in the effects dissipating once climax was reached. It had certainly been the least orthodox experimentation phase you’d ever undergone.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you say reluctantly. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to let your eyes explore Viktor’s face, then his long, narrow neck protruding his sweater, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a deep breath, then the sharp clavicle poking from–

Get yourself together.

“If you’re willing to retake the class–a class you should easily pass, given your access to the two most prevalent scientists in the field–then by all means, go to your room.” Viktor pulls his hands away from you, then picks up the muffin, peeling off the paper from the bottom. He picks off a piece and drops it onto his tongue.

“What are you doing? You’re just going to make it worse!”

He smirks at you, then sets the muffin back down. “It’s a very good muffin. You’re an excellent baker.”

Fuck.

“You’re playing with me,” you shake your head in disbelief.

“No, dearest, I am not playing with you,” he says, standing up from his chair, then moving toward you tantalizingly slow. He takes a seat on the table in front of you, then crosses his hands on his lap. “You’re smart enough to recognize the alternative I am offering to you.”

Your heart stops. You look at his half eaten muffin, although more than half is gone now with the addition of that last bite.

“You…” The idea is almost impossible for you to grasp, let alone put into words. “You want to expedite the process?”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Viktor laughs. He reaches for a strand of your distressed hair and pushes it behind your ear.

“But you’re not even attracted to me!”

“What makes you think that?” Viktor says, retracting his hand, only to place it over yours on the desk.

“Because if you were, you’d be much more affected right now. I mean, look at me!” You gesture to yourself with your free hand. “I’m a mess! I’m on the brink of breaking out in a sweat and my hands are clammy and you’re just sitting there!”

Viktor laughs to himself as if he’s in on some kind of inside joke that you know nothing about.

“I’ve had lots of practice in concealing my excitement around you,” he finally says, slowly, seductively, the words dripping from his chin as his cold eyes bore into you.

“What?”

You know what he said. In fact, you understand it perfectly, but you can’t be sure it actually came from his mouth because it seems so perfectly unreal. So dream-like, so idealistic, so fantastical.

“You’ve done a good enough job at hiding your attraction, too,” Viktor says. “I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for tonight’s incident. Which is exactly why I’ve felt the need to hide my own.”

“You’ve liked me?”

You still can’t wrap your head around the idea.

“I’ve admired you,” he smiles, rubbing circles on the back of your hand, reminding you just how potent your little sex serum really is.

In fact, it’s so powerful that you hardly have to put any thought into leaping up from your chair and pushing your lips against his. Before you can third guess his affection, his hands are interlaced with your hair, pushing you deeper into his lips as his tongue begs to be let into your needy mouth.

Now it was clear to see how much the serum had actually affected him. In mere seconds, his hands grabbed at your thighs and pulled you up onto the table to straddle him with strength you didn’t even know he possessed. His breathy little moans sent you further into madness and you yanked his sweater off of his head, forcing your mouth off of his for just a few seconds, but once that sweater was off, your lips clung together like magnets.

Deft fingers unbuttoned your long sleeve shirt and he pulled it off your arms so quickly that you worried for a second that he might have ripped it. But you didn't care. You couldn’t possibly be concerned with a silly shirt when Viktor was beneath you on the kitchen table like a meal.

The serum didn’t exactly allow either of your minds to comprehend much foreplay. You fiddled with Viktor’s belt and he pushed your skirt up to your waist. Once both of you were exposed, he didn’t waste any time positioning you above his cock.

“So wet for me,” Viktor whined against your bare chest. “Is that the serum’s doing or is it mine?”

“Yours,” you whimper as Viktor slides his tip beneath your folds. “If it were anyone else in the room with me when I took the serum, I’d be unaffected.”

“I’m flattered,” he smiles cruelly as he thrusts up into you.

“Oh fuck,” you whine as your rest your heavy head on Viktor’s shoulder.

He brings his hands to your waist and guides you up and down as his hips meet your core in long, languid thrusts. The serum sets every single nerve on fire, making it seem as if each of his thrusts has the impact of twenty.

You moan muffled strangulations of his name into his neck, which only urges him to persist with his cruel thrusts. The sound of your cunt being abused fills the kitchen and you’re wildly thankful that Jayce is out of town.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Viktor pants. “You have no idea.”

You really did have no idea. He hid it so well. You silently thanked whatever force had caused you to accidentally throw the serum into the muffin mix.

“So have I,” you whined against his skin. “Fuck…don’t stop…”

Each thrust is punctuated by the creaks of the sturdy kitchen table below you. His motions become quicker, shakier, and more intense and you can tell he’s reaching the end along with you. Your legs begin to shake and you feel that familiar tickling sensation in your core that the serum does a beautiful job at emulating.

“Viktor, I’m close, I’m so fucking close,” you moan as you lift your head from the crook of his neck. You bring your lips to his and he delivers his final thrusts. As he fills you, your moans echo on each other’s lips, a feeling you never thought you’d experience with your own brilliant roommate.

Your breathing steadies and Viktor wraps his arms around you, bringing you close to him as he tries to collect himself as well.

“You…” Viktor pants, “are forbidden from using that kitchen ever again.”

You laugh as you bring yourself off of him, pressing a kiss to his lips as you collect yourself. “That sounds fair to me.”

[chuxmy]

Hiii could I request Baku smut where reader is on the unions team and There’s a lot of tension between her and Baku

Smoke and Fire

Pairings: Park Humin (Baku) x Fem!Reader

Summary: The intense build-up between you and Baku finally breaks.

Warnings: Explicit smut, rough sexual tension, enemies to lovers vibes, dirty talk, dominance/submission themes, language, mdni

You could always feel him watching you.

Baku wasn’t subtle about it. Never had been. Not since you first walked into Baekjin’s inner circle and dared to speak without being told to. Not since you showed up to a fight with blood on your knuckles and that satisfied little smirk still sitting on your lips.

He hated you.

Which meant you had him exactly where you wanted him.

“You’re staring again,” you said one night, flicking your cigarette ash onto the floor like you owned the damn warehouse.

He didn’t respond. Typical.

You let your eyes drift to where he leaned against the wall arms crossed, eyes sharp, lips in that permanent scowl. His jaw twitched when your gaze lingered.

You grinned. “I should start charging you for the attention.”

“I should tape your mouth shut,” he muttered under his breath.

You laughed, slow and low, and stepped closer just to test him. “And miss out on all the filthy things you want to hear from it? Shame.”

That jaw of his tightened again. Bingo.

Later that night, Baekjin told the two of you to clean up after a fight just you and Baku, surrounded by blood, broken glass, and furniture in ruins. You were both banged up but still standing. And still stubborn.

You bent to pick up a broken bottle, your shirt riding up just enough to show skin. You could feel his eyes on you like a second heat.

When you stood and turned, you caught him midglance. He didn’t look away fast enough.

“Caught you again,” you teased, stepping right into his space. “You want something, Baku?”

He didn’t move. Just glared. “You talk too much.”

“You think too much,” you countered, brushing a hand up his chest. “Your problem is you’re scared to do what you really want.”

He grabbed the wall beside your head with one hand, trapping you in. Your heart thudded, but you didn’t let it show.

“You don’t know what you’re playing with,” he growled.

You looked him dead in the eyes, a wicked grin tugging at your lips. “I do. That’s why I’m still playing.”

And that’s when he snapped.

His mouth was on yours like a crash hot, hungry, furious. You kissed him back just as hard, your teeth clashing, fingers tangled in his jacket. He tasted like frustration and control barely held, and you wanted more.

His hands were under your shirt in seconds, rough palms sliding up your ribs, thumbs flicking over your nipples, making you gasp into his mouth. He yanked your shirt up halfway and bit down on your lip until you whimpered.

“You like being a brat, don’t you?” he muttered, lips dragging down your throat. “Just begging to be put in your place.”

“I like watching you try,” you said, nails scraping down his neck.

He lifted you like it was nothing, gripping your thighs tight and pinning you against the nearest desk. Your back hit cold wood, and papers flew as he shoved them aside.

You stared up at him your breath quick, heart racing, but still in control. “Come on, then. Show me how much you hate me.”

He didn’t hesitate. Your jeans were gone in seconds. So were his. You didn’t even take your underwear off, he just shoved yours aside and lined himself up, fingers digging into your thighs.

Then he was inside you in one deep, punishing thrust.

You cried out, head falling back against the desk, the stretch sending heat up your spine. He was thick, deep, and rough from the start.

“You’ve been soaked since the second you walked in,” he said, voice ragged. “Weren’t you the one acting like you didn’t want this?”

You moaned, hips arching up to meet his thrusts. “Didn’t say I didn’t. I just wanted to see how long you could hold back.”

His fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, teasing and relentless. Your head was spinning his rhythm brutal, his hand skilled, his mouth dragging along your throat with little bites that promised bruises.

He was everywhere. Inside you, over you, owning you.

“I should keep you like this,” he growled, thrusting harder. “Mouth shut. Legs open.”

“You’d miss my mouth,” you whispered, gripping his shirt as he pounded into you. “You’re obsessed with it.”

“Damn right I am.”

He drove into you faster, the desk shaking beneath your back. You were close so close your whole body trembling as heat coiled tight in your core.

When it hit, it hit hard.

You came with a strangled moan, legs locked around him, nails digging into his back. Your whole body clenched, and he cursed under his breath, fucking you through it as you pulsed around him.

Then he followed, hips jerking, body shuddering as he came deep inside you with a low, guttural growl that sent chills down your spine.

For a few seconds, there was only breathing. Skin against skin. The echo of heat still in the air.

Then you opened your mouth.

“Told you you’d snap first.”

He looked down at you, still catching his breath, and rolled his eyes. “Next time I bring duct tape.”

You smirked, lazy and satisfied, fingers still playing with the hem of his shirt. “You can try. But then you wouldn’t get to hear me moan your name.”

He growled and kissed you again rough, bruising, addictive.

And deep down, you already knew..

There would be a next time.

[jijournal]

CHARM ME UP | D.M

Summary: You’ve made it a habit to give small charms to those who need a reminder that they’re not alone. But there’s one person you keep finding reasons to give them to—one boy who always seems to need a charm.

Pair: whimsical!reader x draco malfoy

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It starts with a button.

Draco Malfoy is sorting through his school robes one morning before his Charms exam when he finds it—buried deep inside the lining. A small, copper button glints under the pale light of the Slytherin dorm. It’s not the sort of button that’s part of his uniform. He runs his fingers over the smooth surface, then turns it over, finding neat handwriting on the back:

“A charm for clarity. You’ve got more in you than you think.”

He stares at it, his brow furrowing as he wonders if it’s some joke. A prank. Who would leave something like this in his robes? He’s about to toss it aside when he feels a strange pull to keep it. For some reason, the button doesn’t feel like an intrusion. It feels like… like it’s supposed to be there.

Without much thought, he slips it into his pocket, and the moment passes. He heads to the exam, but as he stares at the test before him, something feels different. His mind, normally clouded with thoughts of his father’s disapproval or his next move, clears. The questions seem easier to answer. By the end of the exam, he’s finished ahead of schedule. He walks out with a sense of accomplishment, something he hasn’t felt in a while.

Later, he checks his grade: top of the class.

Draco doesn’t believe in luck. Not really. But as he stands there, staring at the paper, his fingers instinctively reach for the charm still nestled in his pocket. He doesn’t question it—he simply keeps it.

A few weeks later, the charm reappears again, this time at a Quidditch match.

Draco pulls on his gloves before stepping onto the pitch, and tucked inside his left glove, he finds something small and coiled. At first, it’s nothing but a slight vibration against his fingers, but when he pulls it out, he sees a miniature broom, made of green thread and silver accents.

He examines it briefly before noticing a tiny inscription hidden on the side.

“For steadiness. And aim.”

Draco rolls his eyes at the absurdity. It’s another charm, no doubt—one of those ridiculous little trinkets that had become a nuisance around Hogwarts, but there’s something almost soothing about the weight of it in his hand. He tucks it into his pocket with a sigh, deciding it can’t hurt to keep it for good measure.

The match itself feels different than usual. His focus sharpens. He plays with a fluidity he hasn’t felt in months, his broomstick gliding through the air as if it’s an extension of himself. The team wins, of course—victory after a clean sweep—but it’s the ease with which they’ve done it that lingers in Draco’s mind.

When he later pulls the charm from his pocket, it feels like more than a silly token. It feels like something that worked.

He still doesn’t believe in luck. But he starts to think that maybe there’s more to these charms than he’s letting on. And once again, he tucks it into his tin.

Over the following weeks, Draco notices the charms popping up more frequently. Each time, it’s something different, something subtle—an object that seems so small but always holds a significance that lands right when he needs it most. A paper crane, its wings unfolding and refolding in a rhythmic pattern whenever he’s about to get a question wrong in class. A smooth stone with etched runes of protection, just when his father sends another cold letter. A tiny moon made of thread, glowing faintly in his hands, during the rare moments he’s truly alone.

It’s like magic—real, tangible magic—that only appears for him, and only when he needs it most. He doesn’t know who’s behind it. Doesn’t know how they’re doing it. But as time goes on, he doesn’t question it.

Not really.

Instead, he starts paying attention.

He notices you one afternoon in the library, bent over a stack of parchment, fingers working methodically on a charm of your own. You’re quieter than most, a bit of a mystery even among the usual crowd of Hogwarts students. But Draco’s not the only one who notices that there’s something different about you. While most people bustle about, you’re always where you need to be, your hands always working, always helping.

You’re not flashy. In fact, you’re the opposite of attention-seeking. But when he sees you slipping something into Pansy’s cloak before her Defense class, and then sees Pansy humming softly to herself like her cold walls crashed down, Draco knows. He doesn’t need anyone to confirm it.

It’s you.

And somehow, that doesn’t feel like a surprise.

One morning, Draco wakes up to find another charm tucked under his pillow, folded neatly like a forgotten note. He hadn’t expected it—not after the intensity of his father’s letter the night before—but there it is, sitting like a small spark of hope. It’s a simple charm—just a tiny star, stitched in gold thread, but it feels warm in his hand as though it’s been waiting for him.

“For brightness on dim days.”

He doesn’t know how you knew. He doesn’t need to know. But for the first time in months, he sits with it, feels its warmth against his fingers, and lets himself believe that things might just be okay. That maybe he’s still allowed to be good.

That he’s still allowed to be more than just a Malfoy.

The charm stays with him longer than any of the others. He keeps it in his pocket for a week, letting the weight of it ground him. It becomes his little secret, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s light—somewhere, somehow.

By now, Draco knows where to look. He doesn’t have to search the hallways like he did before. He simply keeps an eye on you, watches as you slip in and out of classes, a quiet observer in the background, always stitching and folding and mending things that no one else notices.

One day, he catches you in the library, sitting by the window with a small bundle of thread in your hands, your eyes focused on your work. He knows better than to approach you immediately. He’s learned to wait, to observe, and so he watches you for a while, seeing the way you pause when someone asks for help, seeing how you always offer something when others least expect it.

He clears his throat when he’s close enough, making you jump slightly in surprise. Your eyes widen, but you don’t back away.

“Who are they for?” he asks, his voice steady but filled with curiosity.

You blink, surprised at the directness of his question. For a moment, you hesitate, then answer, “Depends who needs them.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “And who decides that?”

You smile, the kind of smile that makes him wonder if he’s stumbled upon a secret. “I listen.”

Something inside him shifts at those words. It’s so simple, yet so profound. You don’t just make the charms. You feel them. You understand them.

Draco finds himself leaning against a table, unable to break his gaze. He doesn’t say anything more. But from that moment onward, he watches you even more closely, noting the way your hands move with such intention, how your eyes flicker with understanding when someone comes to you for something more than just a charm.

And, in a way, he starts to wonder if he might need something more, too.

The next Saturday is sunny and warm—a rare break from the usual dreariness of Hogwarts. Draco finds himself walking through the halls, his thoughts preoccupied with the latest charm he’d received, a small coin that had somehow found its way into his pocket before a particularly tense conversation with his father. His fingers close around it now, absentmindedly, as he walks toward the greenhouse, only to stop short when he sees you.

You’re kneeling in front of a row of plants, your hands buried in the dirt. He watches you for a moment before he speaks.

“Got a charm for me?”

You look up at him, startled. Then your lips curl into a smile, soft and hesitant.

“I thought maybe you were ready for something different.”

You reach into your bag and pull out a small note. It’s folded neatly, no charm this time, just a scrap of paper with delicate handwriting.

Draco unfolds it carefully and reads the words:

“For when you’re ready to ask me to Hogsmeade.”

He looks up at you, his heart thumping in his chest, and for once, he doesn’t hide his smile. Not from you.

He holds out his hand, offering the same quiet invitation he’s kept hidden in his heart for so long.

“You free next weekend?”

And the smile you give him in return is all the answer he needs.

“Yes.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[2tarbell]

MEAN SOMETHING — KOOK!READER

only one person knew how to handle your drunk best friend…

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

you were going to end rafe cameron.

on the one night, the one night, you wanted some alone time and to be away from the boys, he decided to get sloppy drunk. of course, your other best friends have no idea how to take care of a drunk person and you honestly wondered how they even took care of themselves. which left you to slide on some slippers and drive over.

now as you stood before the front door in your victoria’s secret yoga pants and pink sweater, waiting for topper to answer it, you wonder why you let yourself get pulled into shit like this.

it’s rafe, that’s why. that’s always the reason why.

the door swings open to reveal a frazzled topper and kelce, you would’ve laughed at them if you weren’t so pissed. they took in your attire, the prissiness still evident even your pajamas. but you looked slightly disheveled, something they didn’t see often. both boys snorted at the sight of your bunny slippers but you quickly cut them off.

“say anything and i’ll chop your dicks off. where is he?” you seethed.

your tone brooked no argument and they both stepped aside to let you sashay in. kelce had his keys in hand as he mumbled something about rafe being ‘in his room’ and ‘on the floor’.

god was really testing you tonight.

you shooed them away, locking up the door behind them and stomping up the stairs. just praying he wasn’t choking on his own vomit or something.

the sight that greeted you literally made you pause and take out your phone, nails tapping the screen as you took a picture. rafe cameron, laying on his back and seemingly enthralled by the ceiling fan. it was genuinely amusing and kind of adorable. but the bottle of whiskey sitting next to him reminded you of your duty.

“rafe. sit up.”

his head snapped up at your voice, a boyish grin on his lips. he looked younger when he was drunk, stress and age having melted away.

“heeey, baby, whaddaya doin’ hereee?” he slurred, a low rumbly version of his voice.

you stepped closer, standing over him. hands on your hips as you looked down at him. his eyes were hardly open but you didn’t miss how they trailed down your figure.

“making sure you don’t die — get up.” the words were sharp in attempt to make him seriously listen.

he giggled and sighed, pushing up to rest on his elbows. the movement had his head spinning but he didn’t give a shit. just needed a better look at his pretty best friend.

“oh, y’know it turns me on when y’talk to me like that…”

you poked his side with your foot a bit harshly. patience wearing thin, you glared down at him.

“you’re such a pain in my ass—“

“mmm, love your ass,” he hummed but then groaned when you kicked him again, harder.

“rafe, i am so serious right now—“

with a childish huff of annoyance, he lifted himself off the ground but then immediately flopped face first on his bed. small victories, small victories.

you were happy to see dumb and dumber had enough brains to leave a water bottle with him. you grabbed it off the nightstand and perched at the edge of the bed next to the drunken 6’2 baby. a delicate hand rubbed his back; despite being annoyed at him for getting this drunk, you were still worried.

“hey, babe, c’mon — turn over. you need to drink some water…”

rafe unceremoniously flipped over, long legs dangling off the side of the bed. he sat up slowly and groaned at each movement. the room was nonstop spinning, so he decided to focus on one thing: your face. a smile worked its way onto his lips before he could stop himself.

you looked so beautiful, all worried and doting on him. blue eyes stared at your features (like he didn’t already have them committed to memory). the tent in his pant caught your eye and he watched as your eyes rolled. despite the memories of nights spent tangled up with him, you couldn’t believe the audacity he had.

“no way you’re seriously hard right now—“

“mmm, can’t control it around you.”

his smirk was frustrating you, in more ways than one. no, you wouldn’t do anything while he was this drunk. he knows that. yet he still tries to lean up and—

the water bottle presses to his lips, you trying to ease him into drinking and ignoring the bulge you’ve become all too familiar with. his betrayed expression made you snicker. this wasn’t the time to let fantasies run wild. kicking off your slippers and tucking your legs beneath you, you leaned closer.

“c’mon, rafe,” your voice was sweet, so sweet. he couldn’t do anything but take large gulps of water, trying to please you. he was a dumbass but you smiled at his eager approach.

“okay, okay — slow down before you jus’ throw it all up…” the giggle you let out settled right into his bones. rafe found himself wondering why you were just friends. he thought that a lot lately.

“go out with me.”

he definitely thought he sounded more debonair than he did. in reality, half of the words he spoke just flowed into each other. but he kept that low drawl that always sent you reeling. you couldn’t do this, couldn’t approach that territory. not now. you’d be happy if you never did.

“rafe—“ you tensed up.

“no, seriously. you’re— you’re gorgeous and y’put up with me. i mean, c’mon—“

the deep sting to your heart wasn’t something new. but it felt stronger this time, more painful. with a sigh, you set the water back down on his nightstand, brushing his hair back as he continues to rant.

“i think we get along great. y’know y’ten times better than— than any other chick i’ve been with— shit, any chick on the island—“

a bittersweet smile graced your lips. rafe noticed they were devoid of any pink or gloss. you really got out of bed just to come and take care of him? that’s gotta mean something.

“c’mon, doll face… gimme a reason y’shouldn’t.”

his words trailed off into contented hums when you started to scratch his scalp. boys are so easy. but boys aren’t rafe.

“i’m a bitch.” the resignation in your voice was telling. being a bitch, being called one wasn’t something new to you. these days you accepted the word with pride, reclaiming it in a sense. but you knew rafe, kook boys, and hell even pogue boys didn’t want a bitch. you were too much for most people.

the scoff he let out made you smile, cheeks dimpling and fingers twisting his hair. he shook his head with a frown and rested a large hand on your waist.

“nooo, y’not.” the words punctuated with a squeeze.

“i am—“

rafe reached up and cupped the back of your neck, silencing any chance to speak or protest. you know what that touch meant: ‘i’m talking now’.

“you’re beautiful. and— and smart and good.” his whispered words are drunken and mumbled. but you felt like your heart might explode, a heat pushing through your veins and replacing the blood with rafe.

rafe, rafe, rafe.

“best girl i know... yeah?” he urges, squeezing the back of your neck. your heart thumps faster at the pressure. you nod, because what else can you do when he speaks to you like that?

with a satisfied hum, he smiles. the action completely softens his face and it blows you away every time. you’re pressed closer, leaning over him, and he’s staring at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

“that’s my girl…”

you can’t tell who leans in first, but soon you’re locking lips with your best friend. something that shouldn’t be familiar and exhilarating as it is, but continues to be every single time. the kiss that you share is more gentle than you two have ever been with each other. in your complicated relationship, it was always hot and rough.

but this… this was slow and comforting. he tasted like whiskey and you let your lips part just slightly, a tentative lick of his tongue into the warmth of your mouth made you feel weak.

rafe was alight with want. he’d always wanted you. wanted to be in your presence. wanted to hear your voice. wanted to have you beneath him. wanted to be beneath you. he wanted it all. maybe it was the whiskey talking, but nothing had ever felt more right than when your hand cupped his cheek and your lips where on his.

“you should sleep…” your voice was hardly recognizable, soft and hesitant against his lips. he didn’t have to to ask, you knew he wanted you to stay. and you know you couldn’t have left if you wanted to.

so, you let him wrap his arms around you and nestled into his neck. and when he starts to snore like he always denies he does, you felt like things might be okay. despite it all, he was gonna be your rafe.

[maskedbyghost]

Simon knew marriage came with adjustments, but nothing could have prepared him for life with a writer.

It wasn’t just the weird questions—though there were plenty of those—it was the way your mind never seemed to slow down. You’d be doing something completely normal, like folding laundry, and suddenly stop, eyes going distant.

He’d barely have time to ask what was wrong before you’d rush off to scribble something down, muttering about plot twists and character arcs.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting up in bed, phone screen lighting up your face as you frantically typed notes because “this idea can’t wait until morning.”

It meant half-finished coffee cups scattered around the house, abandoned when inspiration hit.

It meant narrating your own actions under your breath, like “she sighed, stretching her arms above her head” while actually doing it, which always made him raise an eyebrow.

And then there were the moments that made him question everything, like when you casually asked if he thought someone could realistically survive being shot twice in the chest or how long a body would take to decompose in a swamp. He used to answer with concern. Now, he barely looked up. “For a book?” “For a book.”

At first, he thought the strangest part was the research, but then he realized it was how easily you pulled him into it. You used him for everything—testing out fight scenes by making him grab your wrist so you could figure out how a character would escape, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms as you mumbled about muscle structure and “what kind of build do you think my main guy should have?”

You studied him constantly, stealing phrases he said, describing his expressions in your notes, even admitting once that a few of your male characters had a bit of his attitude.

And then there was the way you used him for other inspiration. He figured it out one evening when he saw you sitting on the couch, staring at him with that look—one that usually meant you had something on your mind, but this time, you weren’t saying anything. Just watching.

He glanced over from where he was cleaning his gun. “What?”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head slightly. “I think I want to write a new scene.”

He raised his brow, setting his things aside. “What kind of scene?”

A small smile played on your lips as you stood, walking toward him. “Something a bit messy.”

Simon leaned back, arms resting lazily on the couch as he looked you up and down. “You need details, then?”

“Mhm.” You straddled his lap, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need to get it just right.”

He smirked, his hands settling on your waist. “That why you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to be put to work?”

“You don’t mind a little hard work, do you?” you teased, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

His grip tightened, voice low. “Not if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

Much later, when you were tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, you rolled over and reached for your phone. Before you could even unlock it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against Simon’s chest. “Nope,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You laughed. “I just had a thought—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was warm and heavy with sleep. “Whatever you’re about to write down, you can remember it in the morning.”

“But—”

A hand slid down your hip, fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I said, in the morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. Then, just to make sure you listened, he added, “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”

Your entire body heated at the words, your brain short-circuiting for a second before snapping into overdrive. Without a word, you bolted upright, nearly diving for your phone as you started typing furiously.

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, fingers flying across the screen. “This is really good.”

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah

[retiredteabag]

Sukuna culinary school au

masterlist

The band of misfits that you would find in the Culinary Arts department consists of high school dropouts, older returning students, and raging alcoholics. It was not difficult to be at the top of the class when the majority of your peers were unable to assist their children with math homework, but there was one person who was in nearly every one of your classes who always received higher ranks than you did on practical exams.

He looked just about as raggedy as everyone else, if he wasn't such a star in the kitchen, you would guess that culinary was a last resort for him just like it was for the majority of your peers.

He had a long frame pressed tight to his chefs' jacket, his sleeves were always rolled up, tattoos covered his forearms and just above the collar of his jacket, black lines peeked out. Tufts of spiky hair poked below his white pillbox chef hat.

"Ryomen, dammit, I told you to quit wearing t-shirts under your uniform!" The chef yelled from the corner of the kitchen, everyone looked up from their stations to laugh at the man.

"Chef..." Sukuna pulled a scandalized look and set his santoku on a cutting board. "Respectfully, I don't need you checking me out through my white coat." He brought his gloved palms to cover his pecs.

Guffaws.

The Chef circled around behind the tables and smacked the man on the back of the head. "And we're all grateful you cover up," The older professor rolls his eyes, "but no patterns under the uniform, hear me?" He looked around the kitchen.

A chorus of 'Yes, chef' came from every station.

"Plain undershirts, yes?"

The chorus of responses echoed back.

"Good." Before he heads to his office to look at photos of students shitty knife cuts, he faces Sukuna. "I'm taking points off your daily grade."

Sukuna tugs at the collar of his jacket.

You mix your crème anglaise on the stovetop.

--

Daily grades account for 60% of the final grade, which means that homework, tests, and presentations made up for very little.

You lost points from your daily grade for all sorts of witless, subjective reasons. Your participation was lacking? Subtraction. Your attitude wasn't respectable? Subtraction. Part of your uniform or knife kit was missing? A point for every item. You had a piece of jewelry in a piercing? Huge subtraction. Worst of all? If you were late, you were in for some serious public humiliation.

The tank your grade would take, even if you missed so much as one class, could only be made up by coming to the kitchens to help out in other classes. And with everyone working full time, a bunch of students being parents, and the commute to take into account-who had the time?

Here's the truth: you love food, you love to eat, and you love cooking. It was a huge passion of yours. Even considering this, when you weigh your skills to your classmates, you weren't all that great.

You did everything right, you followed the Chefs to a t, memorized every recipe, and read every textbook handed to you. But for some reason, your food just wasn't as good as you thought it should be. It wasn't as good as the stuff that was fed to you.

Baking was more your speed. Instead of recipes, you had formulas, very specific and hard to mess up. You thrived there! But when it came to cooking, no matter how much effort you put in, the Chef would simply hum and set your dish aside.

You never scored below a 90 on any assignment. Servsafe? No problem. But for some reason, your kitchen work was just never praiseworthy.

Don't get me wrong. You were a great cook, all your friends said so. But when compared to your classmates, your dishes were just...decent.

Ryomen Sukuna had the opposite issue. He never even looked at the recipe, he hadn't cracked open a single book, cooking or otherwise, since god knows when, and he hardly paid attention in lectures. He flunked his ServSafe the first time he took it and had trouble with even the most basic of assignments handed to him.

And this was culinary school, all the assignments were painfully simple.

But something about his food...It was undeniable, he had a gift that couldn't be taught.

--

Your parents had practically disowned you when they heard the words, "Culinary Arts" escape your lips. First, though, they laughed.

Surely you were joking. You? With the perfect test scores and college credits? You? With an acceptance to any and every school you could dream of attending. You? With "too bright a future" to waste yourself in that slag heap of a school.

Sukuna, ever your foil, had a family that was just proud he decided to further his education at all. It didn't matter what he did, as long as he was taking care of himself, they were happy.

You weren't jealous of the guy, please, he couldn't figure out a baker's scale, but when he routinely got top marks for his practicals with no practice, when guests at the school's restaurant praised him like a god, when he could whip up something just about anyone would fight for in just twenty minutes? You could say you were a bit...bitter.

It didn't help that he never seemed to care. The guy worried about nothing, how he was perceived, how his actions might affect him, or how his words might get him in trouble. One would imagine him a mess, and maybe there was something uncouth about the way he would slink into the classroom with his chefs' coat unbuttoned, the way he would brush his hair back before hiding it under his hat, the way he would spread himself out at a desk while taking a written exam. Glasses on with a palm to his forehead.

He never seemed fully prepared. But he wasn't unclean. You guess that's to be expected from the Chef De Partie of a locally famous dinner spot. His station was organized, he had his mise en place in order, and he never left dishes in the sink.

So what bothered you so much about him?

He didn't have to try. It came so easily to him. He wasn't just a natural talent; he had passion, and even if he turned assignments in late or got information wrong in the classroom, his food spoke for itself. He was respected for it.

He was content to be the best. Even if he couldn't answer a single question asked of him, even if he forgot basic conversions everyone else knew, and even if he struggled to retain exam prep. He knew food like no other. So nobody could look down on him.

--

You were sat in the break room between classes, laptop open, filing through the Google Slides nobody in your group had even touched. This was the same situation you had found yourself in all this week; nobody in your nutrition group could be trusted to pull their weight for an assignment, even if the importance of the presentation was rehashed every other day.

You know what that means: you were pulling the weight for them.

It wasn't fun eating a pack of spearmint gum for lunch three days in a row, but since you didn't have a class that ran through mid-meal this semester, you found yourself working on assignments before your afternoon lecture.

One of your classmates had joined you briefly to "look for ingredients in the dry storage." All while you ranted to her about the ratio of emails to responses you had from your nutrition group.

"Eh, fuck 'em." She shrugged, checking the clock above you, "Chef will be able to tell who put the work in and grade accordingly."

You knew she was right... it was just the principal.

"Hey, have you eaten?" She seems concerned for a moment, as if she's realized you hadn't anything with you. Waggling the sticks of gum you have left at her, she scoffs.

"There's something deeply ascetic about living off sorbitol in culinary school." You chain-smoke the last piece, using the wrapper to trash the one you were just chewing. She makes a disturbed face at you.

"You need serious help." She checks the clock one more time before waving you off, heading back to the garde manger kitchen.

You're looking over your notes again, trying to prepare yourself for this stupid presentation. You've got a headache, maybe it's the artificial sweetener, maybe it's the fact that you've missed a few too many lunches, but you almost miss him when he enters the break room.

You can't exactly miss the plate of hors d'oeuvres and canapés that are slid across the table where your gum wrappers lie.

"How are you planning to become a chef if you don't make time to feed yourself."

Sukuna is unusually tall in that moment; he's never been in such a state so close within your reach. You shift your eyes between him and the plate he's brought in.

You're quiet for a moment. "Are these for me?"

"No, they're for the other person here." He rolls his eyes, and you don't need to check that the two of you are alone.

Classic mom, your friend had gone and told everyone in her class that you hadn't eaten lunch. Looking at the food before you, you're not going to pretend you mind when you have all these little goodies.

"Just come down if you're hungry, we've got plenty of food." Sukuna is just about to round out of the room, his tufts of hair sticking out under his hat, his sharp tattoos licking up the back of his neck just thereunder.

The door has almost shut by the time you speak your thanks.

It only takes a couple of bites of the delicacies for you to be able to tell that the food was not prepared by some novice student. They were Sukunas. And he had brought them for you.

Your headache is gone, but now your brain is wrestling with the idea of the effortless talent himself being thoughtful.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Imagine mafia könig secretly beaming as his hostage wife made him a lunch box for work only for it to get ruined by a underling bumping into him or accidentally eating it thinking no way their boss woykd have such a cutesy lunch

You're finally coming around. Seriously, he checked all the ingredients three times over, and you didn't even try to poison him. He had his food testers test everything(and hot jealous they got to try it before he could), and he had you under supervision all the time...which resulted in a perfectly prepared bento with the most perfectly arranged foods. He didn't even know Austrian food could look this good, and not like a pair of fried shoe pieces - but you were too damn good at cooking. God, he adored it and adored you. Konig was just so ready to get to his office, kill some traitors, seal a drug deal and move some guns around from Hungary to Bratislava, and then finish the first half of the day with perfect lunch that his perfect wife prepared. The he sees one of the newest recruits - high enough in ranks to be on base, low enough to not know shit about boss's wife - already finishing with his lunch. Including pretty little fried pork bits in the shapes of stars, little Vienna sausages in form of octopuses, and the carrots shaped like hearts and bullets(which looked more like ball-less dicks, but you tried and it was the only thing that mattered). You even included a note, asking him to finally let you go and see your family - which he ignored, of course, reading between the lines and just knowing you'd love to have him. All of this was now tossed aside, into the recruit's endless stomach and... Konig had people trying to betray him, to destroy his criminal empire, and to kill him. Still, he had never drawn a shot as fast before as he did now - and with the poor recruit lying dead on his feet, he couldn't even care to toss the body aside, instead just calling for servants. You finally came around and did something nice for him - and he didn't even get to eat it! Oh, you will have his heavy, muscular body slumped on your lap, and you will feed him some bought sweets and listen to his grumbles, even if that means he has to literally chain you down and force you to stay with him. And, of course, you will cook him another lunch - and you will do it every day from now on. No good deed goes unpunished.

[wordsofwhimsy]

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part One

a/n: ok but do y’all see this BEAUTIFUL artwork commissioned by @gods-banshee?? not me crying over it T-T literal perfection; i'm fucking obsessed also WILDLY hype about this series. gonna be a slow burner for sure!!!

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life

Word Count: 2,835

Brief Reader Background: You have an ability to bring inanimate objects to life. After years of training and testing with the GDA, however, it's determined that your ability is maxed out at small, harmless things – think teddy bears, dolls, and the like. Your powers manifested a little after your 7th birthday, but prior to this you lived on the same block as Mark and were childhood friends.

Chapter Synopsis: After 10 years of being in the GDA’s custody, you're “emancipation” from them and start attending your first – and final – year of schooling as a high school senior. The story is gonna have time skip within the next chapter or so; don't worry you wont be stuck in high school forever lmao

It’s funny, isn’t it? The way you spend your entire life imagining a moment, only to have it feel completely different when it actually happens.

You stand at the entrance of the school, heart racing in your chest like it's trying to escape. You should be excited. This is it, after all! Your first day of typical, public academia. You were finally free; out of the sterile rooms where you were tested like some kind of lab rat. No more government buildings. No more men in white coats watching you expectantly, just to be disappointed. Finally, a chance to be... normal.

Except, standing here at the edge of this intimidating hallway, the weight of the moment hits you. This place, the one you thought would feel like a new start, feels more like a cage than a haven.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized hoodie, hiding your hands, as if making yourself smaller will make the world less overwhelming. You’re not ready for this.

Sure, you’ve spent the past decade in government custody. Sure, you’ve been pushed to test the limits of your powers since you were seven. But none of that prepared you for high school. No one ever taught you how to make friends or blend in with a crowd. How to pretend like you don’t feel like an outsider, a walking alien in a world that doesn’t want you.

Around you, the students swarm through the hallways with an ease you swore you’d never have. They laugh, they talk, they fit in. You’re invisible—something that should be comforting but now feels suffocating. What if you never fit in here?

You hug your books tighter, but it doesn’t help. You’re just another ghost walking down a hall full of people who don’t see you, don’t care to see you.

Your thoughts spiral. Should you talk to someone? Maybe try to make friends? No—don’t be stupid. You don’t know the rules. You’ve never been here before. All you know is how to stay out of sight.

As you drift along, your mind spinning, you notice a change in the air. The chatter and footsteps fade for a moment—an unnatural quiet falls over the space. It’s like the world just paused.

And then you see him.

Mark Grayson.

Your heart skips a beat. There’s no way—could that really be him? You haven’t seen him since you were a kid, but he’s unmistakable. The same messy black hair – albeit buzzed into a more alternative style. The same tall, broad frame. He is unquestionably the same guy.

But you quickly take note that he’s not the goofy, awkward kid you remember. Which of course he’s not; it’s been over a decade, after all. But even still, he seems… different. He walks through the space like he owns it, like everyone should step aside for him.

And they do. They part like the Red Sea. It’s as if they all know he’s something bigger than the rest of them.

The room feels like it freezes as Mark passes by, but you don’t care. You can’t care.

You have to talk to him.

Do it. Don’t think, just do it.

You take a deep breath and walk toward him, pushing through the crowd. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure everyone can hear it. You’re not thinking anymore. You just… have to see him, talk to him, maybe get that little piece of your old life back. Was then even possible?

“Mark!” you call out, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There’s no response, and you wonder if he heard you – how could he not though, when the building was deadly quiet?

“H-Hey, Mark!” you say again, louder this time, almost desperate.

His eyes flick toward you for a split second, but then he just… keeps walking. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even give you a real look. His face is set, cold, like he doesn’t care who you are or that you’re calling out to him like a scream in the void.

You freeze. His sharp eyes felt like ice water being dumped on you. He doesn’t care. He’s not happy to see you. In fact, he’s not anything about you. He doesn’t even seem to recognize you.

And just like that, he’s out of sight down the hall, leaving you standing there, utterly dumbstruck.

The students around you are still watching. Some are whispering, others are glancing at each other and back at you. You can feel their eyes on you like a heavy weight, and all you want to do is disappear.

You take a shaky breath and try to calm yourself. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, you say in your mind. Maybe he’s just having a bad day. But then again, maybe Mark had just changed. Maybe he was a different person now.

But that didn’t matter, did it? You weren’t here to find pieces of the past. You were here to start something new. Right?

But even as you think that, a worse thought settles in your stomach. You could never belong in a place like this.

But then you catch yourself. This isn’t you. You’re not some weak pushover who would just let herself fall because of a bitter glance. You’ll figure this out. You have to. You won’t let this place swallow you up like everything else in your life has.

You push your shoulders back, block out your doubts, and start walking again, the noise of the hallway beginning to buzz again in your ears. This new chapter of your life is just beginning, and you’re not going to let it be the end of you.

—

It’s been months since that first day, and nothing has really changed. You’ve kept to yourself, as usual. You go through the motions, your head down, eyes on the floor, trying to blend in with the crowd. It’s easier that way. The loneliness doesn’t sting as much anymore. You’ve grown used to it, the way you’ve grown used to all the other parts of your life that never quite fit.

At lunch, you find your usual spot—the quiet corner near the window, where it’s easy to pretend you’re somewhere else. You unpack your lunch, but your mind is elsewhere, and you catch yourself absentmindedly playing with the small dragon charm that hangs from your bookbag. It’s one of the few things from your past that you still carry with you. You loved the way the charm sways in the light, like a tiny piece of magic you can hold onto.

A chuckle pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance up to see a guy, someone you’ve seen before—a jock—standing a few feet away with his friends. They’re all looking at you, and you feel the familiar heat of embarrassment creep up your neck.

“You know, I thought you were kinda cute at first,” the guy says, grinning like he’s just discovered a new joke. “But then I realized... you’re just a fuckin’ freak.”

He laughs, his friends joining in. Your face flushes with a mix of surprise and embarrassment, your fingers tightening around the charm in your hand.

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck. You don’t know how to respond. You just want to disappear.

But then, something happens. Something that you can’t quite believe.

The jock freezes, his face suddenly contorted in pain, as if something is crushing him from behind. He lets out a whimper, and his friends stop laughing. The cafeteria falls into an eerie silence.

You look up to see a hand gripping the guy’s shoulder. It’s large, powerful, and the grip is tightening. The jock’s face goes pale, and his friends are frozen, unsure of what’s happening.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?” The voice is vaguely familiar; cool, detached—it’s Mark’s voice.

The jock tries to turn around, but he can’t. Mark’s hand is practically crushing him, and it’s clear he’s not letting go until he’s had his say.

“Go ahead. Tell me,” Mark continues, his voice a low threat. “I wanna laugh too.”

The entire cafeteria is watching now, all eyes on Mark and the guy whose face is turning red from the pressure. The tension is thick, the kind of heavy silence that only comes when everyone knows they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be.

An administrator, a stern woman who’s been standing by the door, steps forward, trying to break up the confrontation.

“Mark Grayson! What do you think you’re doing?” she says, her voice sharp.

Mark doesn’t look at her. He just gives the jock’s shoulder one last squeeze, and the guy winces before Mark releases him. The jock stumbles forward, clutching his arm, too humiliated to speak.

Mark turns his gaze on you next, his expression unreadable, before he starts to walk away, heading for the exit. The cafeteria slowly returns to its usual noise, but you’re still frozen in your seat, doe eyes watching him as he went.

You can’t help it. You’re in shock, your heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands are shaking slightly, and the dragon charm still dangles loosely from your fingers.

For a moment you sit there, struggling to process what just happened. Did Mark really just stick up for you? Your brain turned slowly in confusion. You’d already given up on the idea that the so-called friendship you once shared would ever come back, but now, with him standing right there, was this… some kind of invitation?

The jock is still rubbing his shoulder, trying to regain his composure, but Mark is already gone.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and before you can second-guess yourself, you shove your things back into your bag and rush to your feet. You’re not going to let this chance slip away.

You move quickly, pushing past the crowd of students who are still staring at the scene. You can’t help but feel that familiar mix of nerves and excitement twisting in your gut. He’s not gone yet. You can catch up. You will catch up.

“Mark!” you call out, your voice a little louder than you intend. It’s shaky, but there’s no turning back now.

Mark doesn’t stop. But that’s okay. You won’t stop either.

You break into a jog, your shoes skidding slightly on the linoleum floor as you make your way down the hallway.

“Mark, wait!” you say again, a bit more forcefully now. You’re not going to let him just walk away this time.

Finally there’s a hesitation. Mark pauses just for a moment, not turning around, but long enough for you to catch up. You hadn’t really thought about what you’d say if you got to him, but now that you’re here it really all just comes pouring out. The words tumble over each other, as if they’ve been stuck inside your throat for years.

“Hey! Mark! You remember me, right? [First Name]—[First & Last]. We used to play on the swings together, remember? You’d always try to push me higher, and I’d scream for you to stop, but you didn’t listen, and I’d cry. That was such a good time—do you remember?”

You continue to ramble, not even giving him a chance to respond, the words coming faster the more you talk. You try to force yourself to slow down, but it’s like the floodgates opened, and you can’t stop now.

“I mean, after everything happened, I never thought I’d see you again, you know? I wasn’t sure if you remembered, but I always thought about you—about us. I-I didn’t really have anyone else to think about, you know? I was stuck in those government buildings, just being tested and waiting and then more testing and more waiting… It was awful, Mark. I mean, just really fucking shitty, y’know? I didn’t get to go to school or… be normal. I didn’t even get to be a kid, really. And don’t even get me started on puberty—talk about a nightmare. But then they didn’t want me anymore so I ended up here! And—well, obviously, I don’t exactly fit in. But I thought, maybe we could talk, you know? I mean, we were friends once, right?”

Your rambling was out of control, the words an awkward mess as you take quick and uneven breaths. You’re not even sure if what you’re saying is making sense, but you can’t stop.

Mark had finally stopped walking, and you stood only a few feet away from him now, the hallway otherwise empty. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, before muttering, “Jesus Christ, I don’t remember you talking this much.”

The sound of his voice, a full sentence—an actual, coherent sentence directed at you—makes your stomach flip. You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face. He’s talking to you!

And your attachment to him is immediate.

“I—I—well, I have a lot to say, obviously! It’s just, you know, after all that time and stuff, I wasn’t sure if you—if you remembered anything about me, or if you even wanted to—" You keep going, voice a little higher now, eager and breathless. “But anyways here you are, talking to me! Hey, do you remember—"

“Whoa, whoa,” Mark cuts you off, rubbing his temples slowly. “I literally can’t understand a word you're saying. It all just sounds like… mouse noises. Like you’re just squeaking at me.”

You stop mid-sentence, your face falling slightly. The silence between you two feels like it stretches on longer than it should. Mark’s eyes flick to the side, and for a moment, you can see him tense up, almost like he thinks he might’ve hurt your feelings—not that he would care. But then, before he can say anything, you burst out laughing.

“I forgot how funny you are!” You can’t help it. The awkwardness, the tension, everything melts away as you laugh. You laugh because this is Mark, the same guy who used to make dumb jokes and laugh at all the stupid stuff you said. The same Mark who wouldn’t let the other kids on the playground kick over your sandcastles, even if he looks a little different and acts a little… rougher now.

Mark stares at you, wide-eyed, blinking like he doesn’t quite get what’s happening. But for a second, his lips twitch. It’s the barest hint of a smile—almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Maybe it’s because he didn’t expect you to laugh at his insult. Maybe he didn’t expect any of this.

Then, he finally speaks, his tone dry, laced with that familiar sarcasm. “Y’know, this is why that fucking meathead called you a freak.”

You rock back on your heels, hands clasped behind your back as you tilt your head and stare at him with an almost innocent expression. “That’s okay. I might act the part, but you definitely look it,” you say, giggling a little. Mark’s brows furrow, and he gives you a look that would’ve sent any other student running for the hills. You, however, are completely unfazed.

You step closer to him, and, moving with the quickness of someone who’s truly bad at reading the room, you rise onto your toes and curl a lock of his mohawk around your finger, studying it with exaggerated interest. Mark, of course, could’ve easily grabbed your wrist the second you made a move toward him. Any other person would’ve found themselves nursing a broken limb, but for some reason, he remains as still as stone under your touch.

Your finger lightly tugs at the end of the strands. “What’s with the hair, by the way?” you ask, genuinely curious. “I mean, you did always act like punk-ass when we were kids, but this is like... next-level.”

Mark glances down at you, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether you're serious or just messing with him. “You’re a nosy little shit, aren’t you?”

You shrug, still not taking your finger from his hair. “You think so? I dunno, I guess I’m just kinda surprised by this version of you,” you say, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “You’re, like, all tough guy now.”

Apparently having had enough Mark abruptly smacks your hand away with the back of his own. He tsks through his teeth, eyes closed as he turned his head away. You furl your lips inward, eyes wide as you stare at his face. You wait a second, then murmur,

“… Did I make you mad?” He hopes you don’t notice the way his lips twitch upward. “Anyways what’s your schedule! Maybe I can switch into some of your classes.” Mark opens his eyes again, glancing down at you with almost disbelief. Were you for real?

He starts to walk away, hands shoved casually in his pockets as he went. And you stayed right beside him, a shadow to his every step.

——————————

Part Two!

[wosospacegirl]

Stuck with you - part 1

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: y/n has a complicated relationship with Alexia (she's more like a parental figure here); angst; Kika and Yn are just so social awkward it physically hurts; Olga and Alexia being in love ewwww.

Word count: 4.4k

MASTERLIST

notes: Commemoration for 500 followers yay - this was a request!

|PART 2|

..

Y/n was the apple of Barcelona's eyes. The 19-year-old girl had grown up in La Masia alongside other Barça players. Although she was different,  a prodigy, that’s what they called her from a very young age.

She was a defender and had been trained by her family to be one since she was in diapers. Y/n never considered another position to play before and undoubtedly never contemplated doing anything besides becoming a professional footballer. 

Spain media spotted Y/n when she debuted for the Women’s National team at just thirteen years old, starring in the Under 15 World Cup. Since then she began rising higher and further in La Masia.

At 14 she moved in with Alexia Putellas and her then-girlfriend, now wife, Olga Rios. It was weird at first, Y/n didn’t know how to act around the two women, and they certainly didn’t know what to do with a fourteen-year-old girl who played in the La Masia.

It didn’t take long for Barcelona to offer her a senior contract; at just 15 years old, Y/n was playing on Team B but was briskly established as a starter for Team A next to Alexia Putellas and Aitana Bonmati and other amazing players. 

When she was transferred from La Masia to Barcelona, her relationship with Alexia got better. They had more things in common to talk about, and having Alexia both at home and during training was comforting, something that eased her very nervous personality.

Their routine was easier too, before Y/n got into the senior team, either Alexia or Olga had to drop her off at school, which sometimes meant they would passive-aggressively argue about who was going to take her to school because they were all so busy.

Now as a senior member, Y/n did both training and School inside Barcelona, which made her life much easier. So whenever Alexia was going to training, she would just give Y/n a ride.

Aside from Y/n’s closed-off personality, she didn’t have any major thing happening to her growing up with Alexia and Olga, everything was okay.

That was until she got older.

As time went by she and Alexia started to clash more and more, either in training or at home for the dumbest reasons.

When they were in training, Alexia would go full-on Captain mode on Yn, which made her annoyed because why was Alexia screaming at her when Y/n just saw her having a meltdown hours before because Olga had eaten off of her protein bars?

When they argued at home, it went smoother mainly because of Olga, who tried to calm both of them down.

Y/n remembers a specifically bad fight they had a few years ago. She got a bad grade on two important Spanish tests because she didn’t read the books the teacher required.

Alexia was called up by the teacher who worked in Barcelona's education sector and Y/n got the biggest earful of her life when they got home. 

Alexia kept going on about how school was important, even for a footballer while Y/n sat at the dining table, just listening. No reason to argue with Alexia when she was that angry.

Y/n wasn’t a crier, but Alexia was getting so angry that she felt tears building up in her eyes. And that’s when Olga, who was in silence in the corner of the room, stepped in.

She placed a firm hand on Olga, which made Alexia shut up right away, the frown on her face still on.

Olga stepped closer to Y/n and wrapped her arms around her while sitting on her side. 

“I’ll help you get back on track in Spanish, okay?” Olga had said with a sweet voice. “We can study every Saturday night together, how does that sound?” 

“You have dates with Ale Saturday night,” Y/n said in a whisper, eyes looking down at the table, trying not to make eye contact.

“I’m sure she won’t mind moving them to Sunday nights.”Olga held Y/n’s chin in her hand and cleaned the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re just a kid, it’s okay to mess up sometimes.”

Y/n now, at 19, wasn’t just a kid, but she still messed up. 

Thankfully, Alexia never gave her such stern talking before. Y/n was sure Olga made her feel guilty about it afterwards because she randomly showed up with a basket of Y/n’s favourite chocolate and just left them in her room, without saying a thing.

But that was the moment Y/n realised how atypical her life was, especially when it came to Alexia. How was her team captain, but also acted like a big sister most of the time…but also as a mother when she needed to. 

That made her act even more closed-off towards other people, especially people her age. She felt like an outsider whenever she talked with other young people who weren’t into football life,  I mean, she didn’t even have the experience of having a normal parent for half her life. How was she going to be able to bond over other, less normal, things?

She had Vicky and Jana as her friends, and they were more than enough, although Olga and Alexia didn’t agree on that. As if Alexia’s best friend wasn't her own sister.

What was the difference between being friends with your teammates and being friends with your sister? Y/n wouldn't know, she was an only child, but she was sure it was probably the same thing, right? 

Y/n and Alexia were humming softly to the song playing on the radio while Alexia drove them to training. As she was done with school, Y/n didn’t need to bring her training bag and school bag, which made her life very much easier.

“The new girl is coming today, Estrellita,” Alexia said, looking up through her sunglasses.

“Don’t call me Estrelitta,” Y/n mumbled, rolling her eyes. “Is she a Portuguese girl? Kika?”

“Yes,” Alexia said. “I’m the one introducing her to the team, to the staff, etc”

“As always,” Y/n added. “It’s literally your job as the captain.”

“And,” Alexia continued, ignoring Y/n. “She’s almost your age, so you could try and be friends!”

Alexia said as if Y/n was in pre-school and all she needed to have a friend was to share her toys. Y/n wasn’t good at making friends, she always made them uncomfortable and awkward. 

She already had two friends, and they didn’t mind her personality, so she felt like it was enough already.

“I’m impressed you want me to be friends with her right away,” Y/n teased.  “You are always so protective with who I interact with…”

Alexia hummed in response.

“What if this kika is like…a sociopath in disguise?” Y/n teased, but when she looked at the side, Alexia had a fearful expression.

“You’re right, Estrelitta,” Alexia said, “Don’t go near her until I have her in the clear for you.”

“Alexia, please,” Y/n face palmed her face.”I was joking, have you ever heard of a joke?”

“Well, I am not joking and you certainly never joke around.” Alexia shot back, looking at the rearview mirror. “How would I know?”

“Maybe because I’m not five?” Y/n muttered, rolling her eyes “You never joke around either, Olga has to explain the punchlines of her jokes to you all the time, it’s annoying.” 

“Well, she doesn’t mind explaining them to me,” Alexia said with a grin.

“Yeah she does mind,” Y/n argued. “She's always muttering about how explaining jokes to you is her full-time job and that you don’t have an inch of humour on your body.”

“Well, I guess we–,” Alexia pointed to herself, and then did Y/n. “–are more alike than we thought”

“Why are you insulting me at–” Y/n looked at her watch. “7 in the morning?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Saying you look like me is an insult?”

“Of the worst type,” Y/n nodded.

“Next time you can take the bus to training, then,” Alexia said, rolling her eyes. “Well, anyway don’t go near the girl until I talk to her first,” she warned. “Just stay close to Jana and Vicky.”

Y/n felt the words slip out before she could stop them, but it was too late now. She could see Alexia’s face tighten in the rearview mirror. 

“Maybe it’s time I handle my own friendships, huh? I don’t need a babysitter.” She crossed her arms, waiting for Alexia to bite back. “I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”

Alexia bit her lip. 

"I know, Estrellita. But I’m not just your captain...I’m family.” she said in a low voice, clenching her wheel. “I care about you, about Olga…not everyone has the best intentions when they want to get close to us; you remember Laura, don’t you?”

Y/n knew Alexia was very aware she was overstepping, but it was like Alexia couldn't help herself. 

La Reina meant well, although it felt like she only saw Y/n as this fragile thing that needed constant monitoring. 

Alexia never trusted anyone to get close to Y/n and Olga. It was just her super protective nature, but it was still annoying, nonetheless.

 It even had been the reason for a lot of arguments between Alexia and Y/n and Alexia and Olga in the past.

This protective behaviour only got worse after Y/n dated Laura. She was seventeen–almost eighteen- just like Y/n, but unfortunately, Laura didn’t like Y/n, not truly. But she enjoyed everything that came with dating Y/n.

Alexia would always take them and Olga on double dates in expensive restaurants, or take them on vacations on tropical islands. 

Laura loved it. She loved the luxury that came with being a ‘Putellas’, even if Y/n wasn’t truly one. 

During one of those vacations, Laura left her phone unlocked while she and Y/n went swimming; and that’s when Alexia saw: more messages than she could count from different girls all over Spain, all of them with the same flirty undertone.

Olga told Y/n that Alexia had gotten very mad, but that she had been able to calm her down until the trip was over because they couldn't just leave Laura–an underage girl– to fend for herself in another country, even if she was a cheater.

When they got home from the trip, Olga and Alexia sat her down and showed the pictures they had taken of the girl's phone. Y/n was devastated. She already had a very hard time with people, and being cheated and betrayed by Laura was one of the hardest experiences in her life.

Laura was her first and only friend outside of football, and of course, her first girlfriend ever. She didn’t just lose her girlfriend, but she also lost her friend that day.

After that Alexia became properly paranoid with anyone Y/n or Olga got close with. Alexia was scared they would just end up hurt afterwards, just like it was with Laura.

Alexia made herself even more present in Y/n’s life after that, it was like she wasn’t able to live without having Alexia constantly breathing down on her neck.

It wasn’t even the protectiveness that bothered Y/n; it was that she had never gotten the chance to figure things out for herself because Alexia’s presence was so constant all the time.

And since Y/n didn’t have much of a life besides football, Alexia was always there. 

Always.

It was hard to know where Alexia ended and Y/n began.

Y/n pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the cars as she started on the streets of Barcelona. 

..

When Kika arrived at the training ground, a shy smile on her face, everybody already knew she was the sweetest person ever. The Portuguese girl had everyone wrapped around their fingers. 

Alexia wasn’t a hundred per cent sure she trusted the girl yet, but she was open to getting to know the new midfielder. Alexia had already talked to Kika while she showed her the Barcelona training centre. She seemed genuine, came from a small, but loving family and–as everyone on the Barcelona team–loved football since she was a kid.

Alexia asked everyone to speak with Kika in either English or Spanish since Kika said Catalan was harder to understand. Alexia couldn't help but feel bad when she spoke in Catalan to introduce herself and Kika began sweating.

Y/n watched from afar as Alexia talked with Kika. She saw that the Portuguese girl had brought a Tupperware filled with pastries.

Kika seemed nice–but so did Laura.

Kika had told the team it was Pastel de Belém, a traditional Portuguese pastry, it was an egg custard tart with a creamy filling of eggs, milk and cinnamon inside. She had made and brought them to the team as a present for welcoming her.

When Kika gave one to Y/n, she accepted it shyly, murmuring a thank you.

When Y/n was ready to take a bite, Alexia popped up by her side.

“What do you think are the chances of this being poisoned?” Alexia asked seriously, looking at the sweet and analysing it carefully. “She wouldn't do that on her first day, right? Poison everyone? Maybe she’s a true real Madrid fan and–”

“Ostres, Alexia,”[Damn] Y/n whispered-yelled so no one would hear them. “Please go to therapy! You weirdo. That’s why I don’t have any friends besides Vicky and Jana, only those two can put up with you.”

Y/n left Alexia with a confused expression on her face as she walked to the other side of the pitch, where Pina and Patri were getting ready to start training.

“Bad day with La Reina?” Claudia asked teasingly.

“La Reina was raised by wolves,” Y/n murmured, sitting down on the grass as she gave her first bite of the pastel de belen. “And then she raised me and now I have to deal with this.”

It was sweet and….impressively very good. It had a lemon in it, making it have a sour aftertaste, so it wasn’t overly sweet and sugary. 

Y/n liked it a lot. Maybe Olga would agree to try making those for them at home.

Alexia was watching carefully from the other side of the pitch as Y/n ate her pastry; it was almost as if she was waiting for the girl to drop dead at any second.

Y/n decided to ignore Alexia, for the good of her mental health, instead, she put her eyes on Kika, who was still giving everyone on the team small Pastéis de Belém; even the staff got some.

Cute.

Kika was cute too.

She had dark eyes and dark hair, her skin had an olive undertone. And she looked good with the black training kit.

Y/n was almost sure she had already met the girl before, maybe in the U15 Cup, since Spain had played a match against Portugal during the quarter-finals. Alexia had told her the girl was the same age as her, so the chances of them having disputes in some international games were very likely.

Y/n hadn’t googled Kika–not yet. But Alexia had–like the freak she was– and saw that the girl played for Benfica, a club in Lisbon, Portugal before signing with Barcelona. 

The club had good statistics–Y/n had googled the club–and it was second in Portugal's women’s league, so Y/n wondered why Kika decided to leave. She was doing very well at Benfica if the number of goals she scored meant anything.

Y/n watched Kika from afar, almost as if she were a mystery. Kika had finished distributing the sweets to everyone and was not sitting on the bench getting her boots ready to start training. 

Kika looked a little nervous, her hands were fidgeting with her jersey and she kept pulling her hair with her index finger, something that Y/n did a lot of times.

If Y/n wasn’t such an antisocial person, she would go to Kika and offer some pep talk, but knowing herself, she would just say the wrong thing and make the situation worse.

As if on cue, Jana sat by her side on the pitch and began to scratch, laying her leg on the grass and reaching her feet with her hand. 

Y/n nudged Jana’s ribs, almost making the girl fall to her side,

“Ouch,” Jana complained, a frown on her face. “What?”

“Kika–the new girl–looks anxious”, Y/n pointed at Kika with her head, trying to be subtle. “Why don’t you go there and talk to her? Or get Vicky to talk to her, everyone loves Vicky.”

“Why don't you go?” Jana asked, coming back to her stretching. “And hey people love me too. okay?”

“Yeah, everyone loves you, now go,” Y/n rolled her eyes. “If I go I’d say some shit like ‘don’t worry, it only gets worse’ or something similar”

Jana thought for a moment, finger in her temple.

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Jana agreed, wiking. “Leave it to me.”

Jana got up and headed in Kika’s direction. Y/n watched as Jana smiled at the new girl.

It was like  Kika’s shoulder seemed to light up to the interaction. Y/n smiled to herself, happy that Kika was starting to feel at ease. Y/n knew very well how awful it was to feel anxious around people, especially new people.

But then Jana pointed at her, and Kika’s face turned to where Y/n was sitting.

Their eyes met and for a moment Y/n did nothing, only stared. She felt her ear flush and her cheeks getting warm by the sudden attention.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat when Jana made a very classical ‘come with me’ signal to Kika. And then Jana and Kika walked in her direction. 

Y/n began to sweat. She wasn’t good at talking to new people, she was awkward and grumpy and–

“Hi! I’m Kika, it’s nice to meet you. I mean, obviously. You’re—you’re good. Like, really good.”  she said, standing in front of Y/n, Jana on her side, smiling as if Y/n wasn’t dying inside.

Y/n was silent as if she had forgotten all her words. She hoped, really hoped, that Kika wasn’t like..her fan or something like that.

Jana kicked her shin, not so gently, which made Y/n talk.

“Right... Well, welcome to Barça.” Y/n mumbled it was all that she had to offer.

No more words were exchanged, Kika looked at her as if waiting for more, but Y/n just looked down and began stretching.

“Well,” Jana said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “This is our Estrellita, she’s a defender, but it seemed like you know her whole life story already, she’s the Princess of Barcelona, bla bla bla–”

“Jana,” Y/n said in a warning. “Stop it.”

She didn’t like it when people were introduced like that. As if her only personality trait was having grown up in La Masia, becoming a good footballer and being some sort of Alexia Putellas’s shadow.

Y/n was way more than football, although she was still trying to find who she was without it.

“Okay, sorry,” Jana crossed her arm. “You’ll know very soon that Y/n doesn’t like when people call her Estrelitta, but I get a free pass because I love to annoy her.”

Jana stuck her tongue playfully at Y/n, who rolled her eyes but smiled.

She couldn't help but notice Kika’s firm gaze on her.

Their awkward conversation was cut short as the manager blew his whistle and said they were going to do training in pairs. Y/n was ready to catch Jana’s arm when Vicky showed up–out of nowhere– and took Jana with her.

Y/n watched Vicky and Jana go to the other side of the pitch, feeling her cheeks blush when she realised Kika watched the whole scene too.

“Would you mind?” Kika asked, a small smile on her face.

“Mind what?” Y/n asked, slightly grumpy.

“Ugn, pairing with me?” she said, changing the weight between her feet.

Y/n felt pressure on her chest. Guilty for not being the most welcoming person around.

“Oh yeah, sure,” Y/n said, trying to smile. “It’d be great.”

They didn’t talk during training, instead focusing on the instructions of the manager. Today’s training was about speed. Person A had to run to the other side of the pitch and take an object that was put there and bring Person B said object, then, person B would have to run to the place the object previously was and put it back.

Y/n and Kika were good at it. They were the fastest. Y/n felt that the victory tasted even better because Jana and Vicky went third overall. That’s what they got from stealing each other from Y/n. But what could they do? That was the downside of being a trio.

Y/n lay down on the pitch, water bottle in hand as she tried to get her breathing in another. Then she felt a shadow on her face, she opened her eyes and saw Kika, a rather awkward smile on her face.

“Hi, can I get one?” Kika asked, pointing at the Gatorade cooler Y/n was next to.

“Hm, yeah,” Y/n said, moving her hand around and pointing at the team. “It’s for, um, everybody, like a–collective cooler.” 

Y/n wanted to rip all of her hair out. She didn’t know how to interact with people.

Kika smiled and took Gatorade, sitting next to Y/n.

“You have really nice... uh... running form. Yeah. Super smooth. Like… like an animal, you know.” Kika said, out of nowhere.

“Huh?” Y/n asked, confused, noticing how Kika’s cheek began to red. “An animal?”

“Oh, I mean,” Kika began to stutter, probably realizing what she had said didn’t make any sense. “Like a fast animal, not like a gazelle, more like a–lion? Or better yet… hm.”

“Kika, I think we can both agree we are a little socially awkward,” Y/ said, trying to take the girl out of her misery. “I won’t mind when you say something weird, and I hope you don’t mind when I do it as well.”

Kika laughed shyly as she rubbed the back of her back. “Ok, I agree.”

The manager, again, blew the whistle, cutting their conversation.

“Let’s get back,” Romeu said. “Same pairs as before, we’re going to do some pass training.”

“I guess I got stuck with you again,” Kika said smiling, before getting up and going back to where the girls were.

..

When training was over, the sun had already set in Barcelona, and the cold air of the evening was setting in. Both Alexia and Yn had taken their showers and were heading home, Alexia was the one driving–again–because she refused to let y/n do so.

Alexia unlocked the front door of their house, stepping inside first, Y/n trailing behind, holding both hers and Alexia’s training bag, since the blonde was carrying in some groceries they had bought on their way home.

The house felt warm–the scent of the chamomile candle Olga had burning lingered in the air. Olga was sprawled across the couch, laptop on her lap and earbuds on, probably working.

She looked up. “Hey, my girls!” She greeted them happily. 

Alexia stepped closer to her and kissed her softly on the lips while Y/n rolled her eyes–as she always did. Too much PDA.

“Ew, can you guys stop, I’m right here,” Y/n whined, sitting on the couch as Alexia also rolled her eyes.

“Remind me why didn’t you move away when you were eighteen?” Alexia asked

“Olga didn’t let me,” Y/n said, putting her head on Olga’s lap and pushing Alexia away. “She said she’d miss me too much.”

Olha laughed, caressing Y/n’s scalp.

Olga was one of the only people Y/n let be physically close to her. She was comforting. Almost like a mom. 

“So, who pissed you off today’ Olga asked.

“Take a guess,” Alexia huffed out a laugh.

“I’ll give you three guesses, Olguita,” Y/n said, using the same nickname Alexia called Olga. 

Olga snorted. “I’m going with Jana, Vicky and…” she squinted her eyes, mocking seriously. “Putellas right here.”

Y/n grinned, feeling relaxed for the first time since training. “Bingo,”

“Tontas.” Alexia shook her head with a small smile on her face. “You’re both ridiculous.” [idiots].

Alexia walked towards the kitchen, tossing some of the grocery bags over her shoulder. “You could tell how it was training instead of gossiping.”

“You know how training was, Ale.” Y/n scoffed. “You were there.”

Alexia vanished into the kitchen, and Olga put her laptop to the side and urged Y/n to sit down, before leaning herself forward, the grin on her face widening. 

“Okay, but I  wasn’t there,” She said. “So spill it, give me something entertainment that doesn't have anything to do with bad clients.”

“Bad day at work?” Y/n guessed.

“Yep,” Olga nodded. “But forget about it, tell me.”

Y/n hesitated a little. “There’s the new girl, Kika–”

“Oh, the Portuguese one?” Olga perked up and asked. ‘The one Alexia talked about?

“Um yeah,” Y/n said, feeling shy suddenly. “She’s mine and Vicky’s age, she’s a bit awkward and she tried to say hi but then she went all nervous.”

“Poor thing was probably terrified,” Olga said. “First days are scary, especially when you’re playing with…what? Three Ballon d'Or and  miss FIFA’s prodigy.”

“FIFA’s prodigy, really?” Y/n asked deadpan.

“Oh that’s how people see you cariño,” Olga said, waving off. “You have to accept it someday–but keep going, what happened?”

“Yeah, well, I dunno… She’s kinda funny, too. Like, not on purpose, but…” Y/n shrugged. “I think she’s alright.”

“Alright, huh” Olga's smile turned sharp. “That’s a glowing review from you."

“Olga,” Y/n groaned, feeling flustered. “Don’t start–it’s nothing like that, she was just very nervous, like fidgeting with her shirt and all that, so Jana went to talk with her and we ended up pairing up for training.”

“Oh, and you noticed all that?” Olga teased, but there was something softer in her voice now. Less playful, more... knowing. Her fingers brushed through Y/n’s hair again, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I just think she’s alright,” Y/n muttered, stubbornly staring at the ceiling.

“Sure,” Olga said lightly, but her smile lingered like she knew something Y/n didn’t yet.

..

|PART 2|

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Notes//2: I’m planning for this to have around 3 parts. I’ve already written over 11k words, so just let me know if you guys are interested in it! Otherwise, I can focus on my other fics.

[mindmelter]

Felix The Perfect Toy

Felix was the hottest jock in my school. Everyone knew who he was and everyone wanted to be his friend.

And I was no different; I was obsessed with his good-looking face, his fit athletic body, and his loud yet charismatic personality, and he had this casual, effortless way of carrying himself like he didn’t even realize how perfect he was.

But it’s not just the looks. Felix is different. While the other popular guys are absolute douchebags, Felix is kind, even to people like me. He could have anyone he wanted—everyone wants to be around him—but he never treats anyone like they’re beneath him. That’s what makes him even more attractive: he’s not just the best-looking guy in school, he’s actually good. It’s maddening how perfect he is.

I dreamed of having him all for myself, but I could barely approach him without having a full-blown panic attack. I knew someone like him would never pay attention to someone like me.

He was the captain of the school's swim team which gave him a fit athletic body to fantasize and drool all about.

Every time I watched him swimming, my mind would wander, fantasizing about licking the water on his body, tasting his hairy armpits, or finally seeing what he hides under those speedos. Unfortunately, that was all he was to me; a fantasy.

When my parents died when I was twelve, I moved in with my very wealthy grandfather. At first, he seemed like a frightening and enigmatic figure—an imposing man of few words, as people would say. But as the years passed, I gradually grew accustomed to his unique personality.

I never knew what he worked for, how he became so rich, or why he was always traveling, which consequently would leave the mansion all to myself. It was lonely, I will admit, I had no one else to share that beautiful mansion with.

One day we were having breakfast together. He was wearing a black robe, flipping through the newspaper with his usual silence, rarely acknowledging me. I sat across from him, stirring my coffee absentmindedly, my mind wandering back to Felix, as it often did.

"You seem distracted," my grandfather said without looking up.

I froze, unsure how to respond. I never talked about my feelings, especially not around him. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who cared about teenage crushes.

"Just... thinking about school," I muttered.

He lowered the paper slowly, folding it neatly before setting it aside. His cold gaze fixed on me, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat. “You’re not a very good liar, boy. What’s on your mind?"

“It’s… this guy,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel my face heating up.

He already knew I was gay, so that wasn't a surprise to him.

“A guy?” he repeated, almost as if testing the word. "Go on."

"Yeah, a guy from school," I said, avoiding eye contact with him, “Felix. He’s... I don’t know, he’s just... perfect. And completely out of my league.”

My grandfather remained silent, his eyes never leaving mine. I couldn’t tell if he was judging me or just waiting for me to keep going.

“I mean,” I continued, unable to stop myself now that I’d started, “he’s popular, everyone loves him. He’s the captain of the swim team, and… well, I like him. A lot. But there’s no way he’d ever notice me. I’m... no one compared to him.”

For a long moment, my grandfather just watched me, his expression unreadable. Then, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I see,” he said slowly. “So you have feelings for this... Felix. You wish you could have him?"

I nodded, feeling embarrassed for even admitting it. "Yeah. But like I said, he’s way out of my league.”

There was a strange look in my grandfather’s eyes, a glint of something I couldn’t quite place. He stood up from the table, smoothing his robe as he moved toward the door.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” he said cryptically before disappearing into the hallway.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. I thought maybe he was just being his usual mysterious self.

A week later, it was my 18th birthday, but it could as well be any other day since I had no one to spend my birthday with, not even my grandfather, as he was still traveling.

That day at school, I noticed Felix had missed all his classes. That was odd since he had swimming practice that day. I was sad because I was eager to watch him getting all wet in the pool that day; it would be my birthday gift.

Later that day I came back home from school. The house was eerily quiet, as it often was.

When I opened the door to my room, the sight stopped me dead in my tracks. There, in the middle of my room, was a large and long box. Confused, I approached it cautiously, there was a red present lace on top of the box, I pulled it off and slowly opened the box, and inside I saw... I let out a scream and fell to the floor.

My breath caught in my throat.

Felix?

He was motionless with his eyes open, while he was wearing a white tank top and black shorts. He looked perfect, too perfect—like a doll.

I backed away, my heart thudding in my chest. "W-what the hell...?"

This couldn't be Felix; it must be an identical replica of his body, I thought. There was only one way to find out. I slowly approached him and ran my hand on his face, and I felt his soft and warm skin. It was really him, but somehow... different. His eyes were empty, and his body was unnaturally stiff. I gently placed my hand on his chest and felt a heartbeat. It was very slow... actually, too slow for a person—one beat for every five seconds—but at least he had a heartbeat.

A low chuckle came from the doorway. I turned and saw my grandfather standing there with a grin on his face. He stepped inside the room, his cold eyes drifting between me and Felix.

"I see you’ve found your gift."

I swallowed hard, "What... what did you do to him?"

"Consider it your birthday present," he said, "I couldn't let my grandson put himself down over a dumb boy, now you have him."

I stared at him, speechless.

"You don’t have to be alone anymore. He will keep you company when I'm out traveling. He’s yours now, exactly how you wanted."

"But... he’s not... he’s not real, he can't be real!" I stammered.

My grandfather smiled. "Oh, he’s real. But let’s just say I’ve made some... modifications to his brain." He stepped closer, looking down at Felix with a clinical detachment. "You can do whatever you like with him. He won’t resist. He was programmed for obedience only. He sees himself now as a toy, and you as his ultimate owner. Isn’t that what you wanted?"

*Programmed for obedience?* The thought of it sent a shiver down my spine, but not in a bad way.

I glanced up at my grandfather, and for once, I didn’t feel like I had to hide my feelings. “You... did this for me?” My voice cracked. I could barely believe what I was seeing. Felix—*my* Felix—was lying right in front of me, his perfect body ready and waiting.

My grandfather nodded, his expression still cold, but there was something else in his eyes—satisfaction.

"Of course, the way you spoke about him, I know what it means to desire something so deeply, you feel powerless. So I decided to remove that powerlessness for you."

“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered, my eyes never leaving Felix’s perfectly still body inside the box, “I’ve... I’ve wanted this for so long, but I never thought...”

My grandfather chuckled, “No need for words, boy. Just enjoy your present, he’s been prepared for you.”

I stepped closer to the box, Felix's features were serene while he stared at nothing. He wasn’t just a fantasy anymore—he was real, and he was mine.

I reached out, my hand trembling as my fingertips brushed against his handsome face. Warm. Awake. And yet completely not.

“He won’t... fight me?” I asked, almost breathless.

“No,” my grandfather replied. “He’ll do exactly as you say. He’s been modified to please you, to follow your every command.”

I turned to my grandfather and smiled. “Thank you,” I said.

My grandfather gave a small nod. "I knew you'd understand. You're my blood, after all. Just remember to never let him out of the house. He's still missing as far as everyone knows. You're 18, so he's your responsibility now."

I looked down at Felix again, feeling a sense of ownership, of power, that I had never felt before. My fantasies were no longer just in my head—they were right here, ready to be made real.

As my grandfather turned to leave the room, he paused at the door, giving me one last glance over his shoulder. “Oh, and there's a manual in the box, enjoy your present."

Once he was out of my room, I locked the door for privacy. Then I picked Felix up from the box. His body was heavy, as expected, but after some hard effort, I managed to drag him to my bed.

Just for fun, I posed his right arm, making him flex.

He looked so serene, so peaceful like he was asleep. But his eyes, those beautiful eyes that I had dreamt about, stared into nothingness. They were the only indication that something was wrong—or right—with him.

I couldn't hold any more second and started to undress him, first taking off his white tank top, then I pulled down his shorts. I was surprised to see he was wearing his swimming speedos.

He probably was abducted after his swimming practice. His body was even more amazing from closer, and to think that for so long, I just watched him from afar...

The realization of having Felix lying on my bed made me start leaking.

I lifted both his arms into a flexing pose.

A smile crept onto my face as I buried my face into his armpits and took a deep sniff, but I was disappointed; he didn't smell like I was expecting to. I wanted to smell his sweaty, musky armpits, but instead, he smelled faintly like a factory or a lab.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I had to figure out how to make him more 'alive'; I needed him to produce the sweat I was so looking forward to sniffing and lick. I wanted him to act more like the real Felix.

That's when I remembered about the manual my grandfather talked about, the instructions were surprisingly detailed. It was like a manual for a very expensive, very human-like sex doll. But this wasn't a doll; this was Felix. After searching for a while, I found a section titled "Activation and Customization."

"To activate your toy, you must press a button installed in your toy's nape. This will initiate the awakening process," the instructions said. I quickly started searching Felix's stiff neck for the button, finally, my fingertips found a small, unnoticeable button hidden under his skin at the base of his neck.

I took a deep breath and pressed it. Nothing happened at first until his eyes fluttered and started to roll in circles as if it was imitating a loading icon.

Suddenly, Felix's body jerked to life. He looked around the room with a vacant expression, his pupils dilating as he took in his surroundings. I watched, frozen, as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"H-Hello, Felix," I managed to say, my voice quivering.

He stared at me, his gaze unflinching and his movements mechanical. "Hello, Master," he responded in a monotone voice. "I'm your toy, Felix. How may I serve you?"

"Ummm, can you... Can you act more like the old... umm, real Felix?"

I watched as his eyes started to swirl again; he then looked at me—the same look that I had seen countless times at school when he was about to tease someone or when he was flirting with the girls. "I'm sorry for acting weird, dude," he chuckled, his voice sounding so much more natural, he then smirked and looked around my room. "That's a nice room you have, did you win the lottery or something?" He joked.

"Well, kinda... ummm... but you are definitely my best prize so far," I said, It was funny how I was still nervous about talking with him, even though I knew he was my brainless toy now. "So, how do you feel?"

Felix rubbed his head and chuckled. "I feel fine, man. A little stiff, but I guess that's to be expected after being in a box all day." He looked down at his body, then looked at me with an eyebrow raised, "But, dude, what the fuck? Why am I in only my speedos?"

I blushed and stumbled over my words. "Well, you know, you don't have to wear clothes around me, you're my toy now."

Felix relaxed, "You're right, I don't have to wear clothes around you." With that, he stood up and pulled down his speedos, revealing his big soft cock. I gasped at the sight.

"W-what are you doing?" I stuttered, my eyes glued to his cock.

"You said I don't have to wear clothes around you, speedos are technically clothes, aren't they?" He said with a cheeky smile.

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

He walked over to me, his cock swinging gently with every step. He was so close that I could feel his warm breath on my face. "So, what do you want to do with me, dude? I'm your toy, and as a toy, I deserve to be played with."

"I-I would like you to do push-ups for me, p-please," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Felix nodded and dropped to the floor, his muscles rippling as he pushed himself up and down. I watched, mesmerized, as he performed the task with ease.

"Is this what you had in mind?" He asked, looking up at me with a smirk while still doing push-ups.

I nodded, my cock now rock hard in my pants. "Yes," I managed to say. "It's exactly how I fantasized for so long," I pulled my hard cock out and started jerking off to the sight of my crush, obeying my every command.

For so long I had jerked off to Felix's photos, and now here he was, in the flesh, doing push-ups in front of me. The reality was so much better than any of my fantasies. I couldn't believe this was really happening.

After almost one hour of nonstop push-ups, Felix's amazing body was glistening with sweat. The smell was starting to fill my room, it was heavenly! He looked up at me with a hint of exhaustion in his eyes, I kinda wanted to know how far he could keep doing pushups, but I didn't want to break my new toy.

"That's enough Felix, sit on that chair over there with your hands behind your head. I want to taste your sweaty armpits."

"Yes Master." Felix obeyed immediately, sitting down with his arms behind his head and looking up at me expectantly.

My cock bobbed as I walked to him and sat on his lap; I leaned down and took a deep breath, filling my nose with the musky scent of his armpits. I then slowly stuck my tongue out and licked the saltiness from his skin, savoring the taste of the most popular jock in my school. His body tensed, but he didn't move away.

"That's so disgusting dude, how can you get off by licking the dirty armpits of another dude?!" He exclaimed with a mix of shock and confusion, but he didn't resist.

I chuckled and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "It's not just any armpit, Felix. It's yours."

After spending the entire evening sniffing and licking every inch of Felix's sweaty body, I decided it was time to take things to the next level. "Alright, Felix," I said, getting off from him, "I want you to lift your legs and spread them, keep your hands behind your head."

Felix looked at me with a mix of curiosity and confusion, but he did as he was told, his body now programmed to obey his new owner.

"That's so humiliating," he murmured.

My heart was racing. This was it—the moment I had been dreaming of for so long. I looked down at him, his body now mine to explore and use as I wished. "Don't worry," I whispered, trying to reassure him, "you're going to enjoy this, I promise."

I leaned in between his legs and kissed him softly. His body tensed up, he clearly wasn't happy about kissing another guy, but he didn't pull away and just let me explore his mouth. Encouraged, I deepened the kiss, my tongue sliding into his mouth and exploring it as he lay there, unmoving. "That's fucking gross.... uuurrghh, I'm not gay," he mumbled against my lips.

"It doesn't matter if you are gay or straight, Felix," I whispered as I continued jerking him off, "You're my toy now."

He stared at me, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and anger. "What the fuck, man? I'm nobody's toy!" He breathed out, his voice cracking slightly.

The programming really did a good job at mimicking Felix's real straight personality. Ignoring his protests, I reached down and grabbed his cock, stroking it gently, but he wasn't getting hard, of course he wouldn't, I thought with a chuckle.

"Get hard for me," I commanded, watching his cock swell in my hand. "Does this feel good?"

Felix let out a moan, his body betraying his protests. "No, it...uurrghhh... it doesn't," he gritted out, his voice filled with need.

"Then let's try this," I aimed my cock against his tight ass, I felt his body tense up, but before he could react, I inserted the tip, feeling his muscles clench around me.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, trying to sit up, but I pushed him back down gently.

"Don't move," I whispered, "I want you to love this. Remember, you're not just my toy, you're my sex toy. Your purpose is to give me pleasure."

I watched Felix's eyes rolling in circular movement for a few seconds, then he suddenly looked at me with needy puppy eyes.

"Aawwwwwwghhh! This feels so fucking good! I love how you fill my ass, dude!" He moaned.

I grinned and pushed deeper inside him, feeling his tight straight ass envelop my shaft. I began to thrust in and out of him, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. His moans grew louder and louder; the command for him to love it was really proving to be effective.

As I fucked him, I couldn't believe how perfect it felt. Soon I was fucking him real hard, my hips slapping hard against his ass, the sound echoing through my room. As I thrust inside him, I leaned in and buried my face in his armpits. I took deep sniffs as I heard Felix's moans grow louder and more desperate.

"You're mine Felix, forever!" I moaned against his armpits as I came inside him.

While I was still inside of him, I commanded him to cum, but just when he was in the middle of his orgasm, I pressed the button in his nape, and he froze mid-orgasm, his face now frozen with his eyes rolling back and tongue sticking out.

But I was surprised to see his cock was still shooting cum all over his abs, some even landed on his face and tongue. I guess the programming isn't able to stop an ongoing orgasm.

Pulling away, I looked down at him, lying on the chair with his body covered in sweat and cum leaking from his ass. His handsome face, was now distorted in a mindless dumb expression.

I decided to give him a bath, to clean off the sweat and cum that covered him, but also because he still had some of the "factory" smell on him.

I filled the tub with warm water and called him to get inside the bathtub. He was in his mindless, obedient state; that was his default mode. I wasn't in the mood to bathe a loud and rebellious toy.

His eyes were glazed over as I cleaned his body, it was so cute.

As I washed his pecs, I couldn't help but playfully pinch his nipples. I continued my exploration, moving down to his abs and then to his hard cock, which was still hard since I first commanded him to be.

"You're such a good toy," I praised, giving his shaft a gentle tug. "I've always loved you, Felix, yet you never noticed me," I whispered as I washed his hair with shampoo, "you were always surrounded by so many friends and busy with girls, why would you notice someone like me, right?" I said, washing his pecs and abs. He didn't respond since he was in default mode, but I wasn't expecting him to. "I'm so glad we have each other now. I promise we will have a lot of fun together."

When I was finished, I told him to step out of the bath and sit so I could dry him. As I was drying his muscles, an idea suddenly came to me. I pressed his nape and gave him a command...

After I was done with the command, he tilted his head and smiled at me.

"Why use a towel, Master? Use your tongue to dry my sexy body." He then pulled the towel from his lap, giving me full access to his throbbing shaft, "And I think you should start with my cock."

__________________________

I've been enjoying my new toy for months now.

Felix's disappearance is commented on to this day, no one knows what happened to him after he left the swimming practice. Somehow, the organization in which my grandfather worked managed to clear all the evidence of his disappearance from that night.

I was back home after a boring day at school, and like every day since I got Felix as my toy, I spent the day looking forward to coming back home to him.

As I walked into my room, I was greeted with the sight of Felix "sleeping" on a chair.

He always spends the day "Inactivated" when I am out. I walked to him and pressed his nape, activating him.

When he saw me he gave me a warm smile and stretched his arms, teasing me by showing his armpits.

"Welcome back Master, please come take your daily dose of your toy's armpits."