#cause even removed of the text

[rainbowberriesandcookies]

"Orihime being afraid of Ichigo's hollow power shows she doesn't fully accept him."

I see this take and similar ones pop up from anti fans of Ichigo and Orihime and try to say that Orihime is bad, in the wrong, etc. for being afraid of his hollowfication powers when her first encounter with a hollow was her brother Sora.

I know the anime did a lot of damage to Orihime's character - especially by taking these scenes out and altering them compared to the manga - but when Ichigo begins to undergo the same process as Sora, it only makes sense that she's afraid.

Not because she's afraid of Ichigo but because what he can become.

And just like Sora said, "It would be [her] fault"

Also - this is to counter the whole "Ichigo and Orihime were never close/barely friends/just acquaintances" that I see floating around often too.

But all in all - Orihime was never afraid of Ichigo. She was afraid of what he could have become.

As Acidwire, Sora targeted Orihime because of her growing bonds with Tatsuki and Ichigo. He even says that he attacked them because they tried to tear him and Orihime apart and that she already knew why.

For clarity - what I'm about to say isn't me saying that Sora was abusive in life and I'm going to specifically try to use his name as a hollow "Acidwire" as much as possible to express the slight separation between Sora as he was while he was alive and Sora as he was when he became Acidwire.

Especially since early on, it established that hollows - while they were once former humans - often end up being twisted versions of the people they once were.

Now onto the point -

The "You already know why" isn't dissimilar from how abusers, manipulators, etc. often talk to their victims when they're angry or upset. It's similar to the silent treatment in a way where it implies that the victim intentionally made the abuser upset.

He references her prayers for him every day helped ease his own suffering before she became friends with Tatsuki and entered high school before she stopped praying for him altogether. He then says how it hurt him that when she got home, all she would talk about was Ichigo.

For one - the fact that Acidwire knows this proves that Ichigo and Orihime were at least already friends by the time the manga started. In contrast to the anime where Ichigo outright says to Rukia that they've "never had a real conversation"

Anyways - this here in and of itself proves Ichigo and Orihime at least knew each other beyond just acquaintances - because they were close enough for Acidwire to notice and be hurt by it.

She tries to defend herself but he cuts her off before attacking Ichigo again

Acidwire tells her to come with him back to when it was just the two of them. In the context of the story, this would basically be him killing her.

However, this is also a tactic abusers use known as isolation.

When she questions why she should go with him and why he'd hurt Ichigo and Tatsuki before saying that the brother she loved would have never done anything like this.

I feel like in the anime, it kinda breezed by these moments which are honestly heartbreaking in hindsight and key for the leadup to why Orihime was afraid when Ichigo would use his hollow mask.

but Acidwire's response to her refusal and saying that the brother she loved would never do this is to not just harm her, but blame her and say that he is going to kill her.

In the time that she's become friends with Ichigo and Tatsuki and slowly grew happier, Acidwire blamed her for his own despair and sadness.

The kind, loving older brother that she had always known became a monster that would kill her and everyone close to her, and it would be her fault that he did because she stopped praying for him.

Here, it shows how Acidwire views Orihime not as a person who should live her own fulfilling life, but as an object who should live for him because he gave up his entire life to raise and protect her.

Once again, not to say that Sora was an abuser or abusive person, but this line of logic is the same one that abusive and toxic parents often use when it comes to emotionally abusing their children. Saying how the sacrificed so much for their children to control how their children live their own lives when the child never asked to be born. Similarly, Orihime didn't ask to be born or ask for Sora to raise her.

Sora did because that's the kind of person that he is, but Acidwire turns these loving traits of Sora's into a manifestation of abuse.

And even though she has nothing to be sorry for... She apologizes to Acidwire because that's the kind of person she is.

It also shows how she puts on a smile so that way others don't have to worry about her. She didn't want Sora to think that she was sad and hurting, she didn't want him to worry about her so she buried and hid her own sadness.

She apologizes to Acidwire for making him sad and (in what she thinks are probably her last moments) says that she loves him and that she didn't mean to hurt him.

As he's slowly regaining himself, Sora admits that he already knew that Orihime was just trying to shield her sadness from him but still wanted her to pray for him because it was only in those moments that her heart was his.

Ichigo then tells him that it's the same, those who die and those who survive are just as sad as the other.

It's in this moment Sora had fully regained himself, enough to know that he couldn't stay in a form like this or else he'd come to hurt Orihime again. If he killed the little sister that he raised like a daughter over his own heartache, would he have been any better than their own abusive parents?

And finally, the two get to say goodbye properly.

Also - a side note - a lot of people criticize Orihime's passive nature and how she never seems to fight or argue with anyone but it's because the one time that she did have a fight with someone, they died and became a monster.

This entire sequence emphasizes why Orihime always tries to reach out to others in need and never argues or fights. She doesn't want her friends or even strangers, to become like how Sora became Acidwire.

Now, Rukia had changed/erased Orihime's memories following this event but it likely didn't work as intended since during the Rukia rescue arc, Orihime mentions that she's been able to see hollows and spirits ever since the encounter with Acidwire.

Now let's go ahead and jump ahead to VL Ichigo -

Going to Hueco Mundo - Ichigo already knew without having to be told or convinced by anyone that Orihime was in danger. Aizen did his best to make it look like Orihime was a traitor to the Soul Society and Ichigo never bought it

It's being put in plainer and plainer terms that Ichigo transformed as a response to Orihime's call for help.

Even if you want to argue that there was a mistranslation or that Ichigo doesn't directly reference Orihime, even if you remove all of the text the sequence of events goes

Orihime's cries

Ichigo began to move and get up - functionally coming back from being dead

Once again, even if you want to remove the text avoid arguing about whether or not it was properly translated - nevermind the fact that in Japanese pronouns are often omitted and there is a big assumption to just know who/what you are talking about -

Even without text, the images show Orihime crying, and Ichigo beginning to come back to life.

Both she and Ulquiorra question whether that is Ichigo

Now that said, I think that Ichigo vs Ulquiorra is one of the most brutal and best fights in the series. Both Uryu and Orihime know that this isn't Ichigo.

Yet remember how it is established that hollows often become twisted versions of the people they once were? This is a power that Ichigo can't control and yet uses it to protect the person who called out to him.

While I don't disagree with the notion that this is also White protecting Ichigo, it doesn't change the fact that Kubo intentionally drew Orihime and Ichigo rising side by side multiple times. Even without text, Kubo places emphasis on her and her cries for help against VL Ichigo - not White or Zangetsu.

And when Uryu tries to bring him back to his senses what does Ichigo do? Put a sword through him.

Once again, even if you want to remove any and all text, Kubo puts VL Ichigo paneled side by side with Orihime, and when Ichigo comes back to his senses

The first person that he sees is Orihime.

As much as I want, I'll save my yapping about Ulquiorra for a separate time.

But for a moment, even if only briefly, his desires to protect were twisted in a way that hurt those around him, and once again - Orihime was the catalyst.

Ichigo says that he didn't want to win like this - showing that he views fights as something more honorable than what White/VL Ichigo had done. His last memory being that he had a hole put in his chest, also shows that he more or less "blacked out" and had no control over his actions.

What is one of the things established when people become hollows?

That they lose control of themselves and their desires are twisted.

The difference between Ichigo and Acidwire is that Ichigo wants to protect Orihime while Acidwire wanted to own her - which is why Ichigo never directly harms Orihime even as he loses control of himself.

But - all of this yapping is to show how from Orihime's perspective, hollowfication and hollow powers aren't good. They turn people into monsters that hurt their friends and loved ones.

It's also established that Orihime is the type of person who will internalize her own thoughts and feelings (it isn't ""hubris"" as some people call it).

Whether or not you want to argue that it was an assumption that Ichigo became a VL because she cried for help, it doesn't change the fact that she still cried for help and that Ichigo became a hollow/VL.

From her own perspective, she blames herself regardless of whether or not you think that it is an assumption on her part that Ichigo became a VL to protect her.

And after all - why wouldn't she blame herself when her first encounter with a hollow - Acidwire - blamed her for the monster that he became?

I know I skipped over him using his mask in the fight with Grimmjow, but I already yap too much and wanted to try to keep an already long post short(er).

Anyway - all of this illustrates the trauma that Orihime has regarding hollows and hollowfication. It's not truly her fault - yet in both instances she blames herself.

And not just Kubo, but Ichigo himself is fully aware of this.

Which is why when he tells her not to worry and that he's still himself is so important - because it shows that Ichigo has learned to control that side of himself while at the same time, being aware that Orihime is someone who has been traumatized by hollows and hollowfication.

Ultimately - she doesn't want Ichigo to become a monster like Sora. For Ichigo, it's growth in his own ability while for Orihime it's comfort in knowing that Ichigo won't lose himself fighting to protect those he cares about.

In short, she isn't afraid of Ichigo - she was scared of him becoming a monster like Sora had.

[demon-country]

"Stolas shouldn't have portalled out Blitz during Full Moon" this and "Stolas should have stuck around and listened to Blitz in the garden during Apology Tour" that. Do y'all not realize how it sounds to demand that a domestic abuse victim stick around when someone is yelling at and insulting them? And on the flip side of that, do the other half of y'all not realize how it sounds to demand that someone, particularly someone from an oppressed group, never get loud or demonstrably angry just because it might scare someone?

Like Blitz had every right to air his grievances in Full Moon, and being angry when you're treated poorly is a perfectly normal, reasonable response. It's not inherently abusive to yell and stomp when you get mad, and it's completely unreasonable to say that Blitz is just because he did. But at the same time, Stolas does not have to sit there and take being yelled at when he's already had to suffer though someone doing it to him maliciously for at least 17 years. He does not have to take being grabbed, being screamed at, or having his clearly stated boundaries ignored either, like at the beginning of Apology Tour. Him getting upset when someone does that to him, when he's only just gotten away from his abuser and was almost murdered for it, is not some failing on his part or him playing the victim.

Blitz's trauma doesn't care that Stolas wasn't actually going to abandon Blitz, and it doesn't care that that the hurtful things Stolas has said and done have come largely from a place of ignorance rather than a lack of care. He's protecting himself the only way he knows how and is blinded by the sheer intensity and longevity of his self-loathing, but frankly it was a good thing for him to finally speak up about how some of the things Stolas does makes him feel, and it's a very good thing that he's actually trying to fight to keep Stolas rather than just booking it and throwing a grenade behind him on the way out.

Just like Stolas' trauma doesn't care if he knows Blitz is different than Stella and wouldn't actually hurt him, and it doesn't care that Blitz's anger comes from a hurt, scared, and traumatized place as opposed to the pleasure Stella took in hurting and scaring him. Stolas hasn't had any time to even begin to heal from the damage she did to him, and frankly if he's scared and breaking down like in Full Moon it's actually a step up if he's removing himself from whoever is triggering him, even if it wasn't fair to Blitz who was, in his own way, attempting to work things out.

Neither of them is the bad guy here, they're just very reasonably upset and having clashing trauma responses. You can be compassionate and understanding of both sides without saying that either of them should have to just sit there and take it when someone is greatly upsetting them. It's normal to get angry when you're scared and upset, and it's normal to cry and run away when you're scared and upset, and neither are wrong or bad just because in the moment when emotions were running high they each did several things that accidently set the other off, especially when they had no way of knowing it was a trigger beforehand.

None of this is say that the way things shook out was great or productive, and they definitely need to work on healing so that they're not letting their fear and trauma control them. If they're going to get to place of real understanding, then at some point these two need to sit down with the intent to talk things out and have an honest and open conversation with each other, without Blitz yelling or Stolas running or either of them letting their preconceived assumptions and biases get in the way of actually listening. Blitz needs to not self-sabotage and Stolas needs to not shut down, and that's going to be really fucking hard for both of them, because that's how they've been coping with their trauma for literal decades.

And to his major credit, Blitz got it right at the end of Apology Tour, the only thing he got wrong was the timing because Stolas was so drunk that I'll be honestly surprised if he remembers most of it in the morning. He wasn't in any state of mind to listen or pay attention, but at the same time, to his credit he's already been reflecting on what Blitz has been saying to him and trying to figure out where and how he fucked up and hurt Blitz. And also, he kept saying things like "right now", which means he will be ready to talk things out eventually if he's just given a little bit of space to put himself back together and think about things.

And guys, please. Just because some people will start crying to try to manipulate and guilt trip those around them whenever someone gets upset at something they did, doesn't make that what Stolas did. He was trying to get away so Blitz wouldn't see him cry. And just because some people like to fly off the handle and rage at every perceived infraction, doesn't make that what Blitz did. He had justifiable cause to be angry and in Full Moon he didn't think Stolas was listening, so he tried to make himself louder and bigger in an attempt to make himself be heard and his hurt be acknowledged. If one of their reactions made you uncomfortable, that's fine, there's nothing wrong with that. But the story isn't about those kinds of people, it's about two fictional demons who aren't trying to hurt or manipulate each other, they're just struggling to juggle trauma, ignorance, and the desire to be together. They're not able to yet, but that's what character arcs are for.

And just to head off any comments on it: no, the narrative is not villifying Blitz and it's not babying Stolas or trying to sweep any of the shit he's done under the rug. Blitz being angry and self-destructive doesn't make him a villain, and Stolas crying a few times and still being pretty ignorant of how he's come across doesn't mean they're trying to say he's done nothing wrong.

[missing-sock-misto]

At night, the two would curl up in the hollowed out record player they called a bed. Misto would fastidiously work at Tugger’s treasured mane, focusing on the soft undercoat that was prone to mats, and the spots beneath his chin and on the back of his neck that the tom couldn’t reach himself. Meanwhile, Tugger would comb at Misto’s iridescent fur, purring as he caught stray sparks with his tongue. They spent the darkest hours of the night working together in comfortable silence.

[wildsaltair]

me: to really understand the tragedy Maximus bears throughout Gladiator, we have to take into account the fact that his entire worldview is based on the idea that Marcus Aurelius was a good man and that everything Maximus had done up until that point was in the service of an empire whose values he could trust and support. I would even argue that, excluding the loss of his wife and son, the greatest loss Maximus has to grapple with is the loss of his unswerving belief in the goodness of Rome. once he sees its corruption and becomes its victim, he has to reevaluate everything he's ever done and believed in, which affects not only his desire to free Rome from tyranny but also—

the burglar who broke into my house: his guilt about his role in the fate of Rome and his service to a man who was indirectly the cause of all this corruption?

me: exactly. now,

[beautifulmorningstar]

Just saw an insta post of a plane crash and a bunch of mainly Americans commenting variations of "what's happening, why are there so many crashes lately" and like. Wdym...... It's your new administration is it not.... Why are there so many unaware people....

[vole-mon-amour]

it's so messed up that you have to choose just one thing to do at a time. writing. drawing. renovating. cross stitching. talking to other people. playing a video game. reading a book. watching a movie/TV show/video. sleeping. cooking. laundry. cleaning. doing chores.

like, I have so many things to do. I WANT to do so many things. and I gotta stick to just one activity at a time. 😩

(good thing audiobooks exist so I can listen to them while I fall asleep.)

[dmitriene]

skincare with blue collar simon riley, you know that if you hadn't noticed, he wouldn't have said a word, just as he wouldn't have seen it himself, but you're lucky enough to notice the clogged, almost darkened pores on his face and gradually forming pimples, as well as blemishes from the old ones because of all the dirt that gets on his face.

all his skincare is water, not even a bar of soap, and not only was his skin quite sensitive before, his work did not leave him a chance for self care at all, unlike you, with a good set of jars to moisturize and keep the skin in order, in case something goes wrong, and you needed them, your hands fully armed, as soon as simon got home.

you dragged him into the bathroom almost from the doorstep, forcing him to throw off his work uniform and climb into the already prepared, warm bath with fragrant foam, which you prepared a couple of minutes before his arrival, since simon has a habit of texting you once he gets on his way back home, and he will not refuse a few minutes of rest in the bath, especially when his darling drags him there.

of course, it takes more time, wiping off the excess dirt from his rough skin, which has crept under both his clothes and nails, relaxing simon by rubbing the washcloth against him in a circular motion, over his tense, broad shoulders, down his wide, meaty biceps, to the scarred chest, padded with a good layer of fat, his pale eyelashes quivering, tired eyes closed, letting you do your thing, especially when you get to work on his hair.

unkempt, locks outgrown and sticking from side to side haphazardly, a little coarse under your fingers as you rake your nails up and down his nape, wetting the top of his head before squeezing a couple of drops of shampoo into the palm of your hand, starting to wash his hair, pressing your fingers into his scalp, causing simon to make sounds almost similar to the loud purrs of a loving cat, tilting his neck back.

taking care of his face passes without any complaints, he obediently puts his face on your palms, practically burying his nose in them, enjoying a couple of warm kisses with an almost sleepy smile, all while you apply facial foam to his skin, stroking and then washing away with wet palms, cleansing his face before gently sticking black pore strips on his nose, warning that the removal process can be unpleasant.

simon doesn't care as long as you do it, pampering him after a hard day of work, continuing to massage his neck and then shoulders while waiting couple of minutes before you'll need to remove the strips away, maybe then you will join him, and he will definitely take care of you too, for example, cook dinner while you rest, tucked in the warm bed.

after being spread on his fat, girthy cock, clutched tight inside your pulsing walls, your moans breathy and silenced by the needy, insatiable kisses, each one biting and messy against your lips, as you hiccup, the thick tip of his head rutting in the same spot over and over, making you gush and claw at simon's wrists weakly, his hands busy palming at your breasts with pleased hums.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[makingqueerhistory]

":')))))))) you realise that gen AI is available to everyone though right??? Queer creators can use it just as much as anyone else??? I just don't understand this post... It really feels like a cheap way to get on the 'AI Bad's bandwagon, and coming from such a thoughtful and insightful creator that's incredibly disappointing... It's okay to not comment on subjects you're not an expert in y'know...?"

Y'all know the drill, I am replying to this publicly but that is not an invitation to send any negative messages to the person I am replying to.

Anyways, let me start by saying that the original context of the post you're replying to is discussing an event where a queer org used generative AI to steal an interview with Keri Hulme. So let's start there. To be clear I don't even know if the original interviewer was queer so let's put the identities of stealer and stolen from to the side. I want to explain the harm done in this example specifically and I hope this is illustrative of what harm generative AI can (and does) do.

The original place I saw generative AI was a queer org that explicitly says they are using generative AI "for good", and as a way to bring more queer history to light. So let's take them at their word, and assume they are not out to cause harm. This is the best example of generative AI that I can imagine, so I hope that makes it clear that I am not coming at this issue from bad faith in any way.

Here is the harm they are causing:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

The original interviewer is not paid, or given proper recognition: I get it, sometimes just copy pasting an interview doesn't feel transformative enough, but something that one would learn if they worked in the queer history field and weren't a literal robot rehashing what has already been said, is that not everything needs to be transformed. In those cases, we give credit to the person who said the original words (in this case Keri Hulme), and the interviewer who facillitated the conversation (in this case Shelley Bridgeman). This case (again a best case scenario), takes the attention and byline away from the original interviewer and gives it to an AI.

The original publisher of this story is deinsentivised from paying interviewers in the future: The original publisher of this interview has ads on their website. As a person who also has ads on their website, taking an article like this and rephrasing it for no good reason (the orginal word count was not prohibitive and the rephrasing did not make it more readable), takes money from the publisher. It's pennies, but it's also removing numbers could have been used to justify further interviews with asexual people and archiving of asexual stories. The org that stole from this publication does not interview people themselves so the money and numbers that could have gone to continue to preserve asexual stories goes to stealing them instead.

These are just the active harms that I saw in this specific case. As you said, I am not an expert in generative AI, and will not be speaking as if I am. But I will say that asking me not to speak out on active harm that is being caused in queer history spaces, is disrespectful to my many years in this field.

To illustrate this even clearer: if you were a patron, you would know I recently took down an old article. I have been rereading and editing our backlist of articles, and I found one that no longer fit my standards of sourcing. My standards had recently raised due to a video made by HBomberguy about someone in the queer history space who was stealing from other creators. I watched this video not as a work project, but because I watch most of HBomberguys videos, and this one made me think more critically about sourcing. An AI can't do that. All an AI has is what has been inputted, and it is right now impossible to input every available peice of information about ethics into an AI and get a coherent ethical basis on which it will function.

It is a distinctly human trait to absorb information and change in that way. AI can rephrase information that already exists, steal it, recontextualize it even, but it cannot create something altogether new.

Do I believe that there one day might be an ethical use for Generative AI? Maybe. Do I believe that coming into a queer history space, stealing the words of a Maori asexual author, rephrasing them, and giving the original interviewer and publication no form of compensation for their work, is accomplishing that? No.

On a more personal note: I am coming at this issue with a bias. As a queer history creator, I do not want AI in my space, because it is literally damaging to my financial prospects. It has been like pulling teeth to try and get patrons in the current state of the global economy. I don't blame anyone from that, but I feel very disrespected that I am being asked to compete with a machine now. Not only that, but I am being asked to shut up and be fine with it? No, absolutely not. I cannot and will not stay quiet as space that I have fought tooth and nail to create in mainstream discussions is taken and given to AI.

AI was not supporting me when I was sent gore to try and scare me off of discussing queer history. A person did that. AI was not there to tell me I had written too many sad stories, and I needed some happy endings to remind myself of the good in the world. A person did that. AI was not there when I was being harrassed for supporting and including asexual stories on my website. A person did that.

And after all that, I am being asked to lie down and take it when my ability to pay the people who supported me in those ways, is being threatened. Nope. Not going to happen.

An AI doesn't have to make rent. An AI doesn't understand what it feels like to have to stop holding their wife's hand in public. An AI didn't get calls from people needing comfort in reaction to the election. Pay me for my work, and get this AI nonsense out of my face.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Good evening to you. I thought about writing you many times but never had the courage to do so 😅 I saw a TikTok Trend some time ago and thought about the Reaction from our beloved task Force 141. How would they react when you "accidentally" sent them the message "He just left our house, you can come now. He'll be gone for some time". Basically pranking them by implying something shady. You can ignore this if it's weird of course. Thank you for your time and amazing writing 🙏😊

I'm so glad you finally got the courage to send in a request because I had so much fun with this one! Many many thanks because I pretty much cackled and giggled the whole time I wrote this. I'm not exaggerating. I adored this prompt. It not only gave me room for a little humor, but it also gave me the opportunity to be a little naughty!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): established relationship, pranks & shenanigans, suggestive themes, mild sexual content, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, swearing, possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Five minutes and you're already causing problems.

John isn't surprised. Not in the least. Sometimes, you enjoy being on your worst behavior just because it stirs him into a frenzy.

John is sitting at a stoplight, staring down at his phone screen. A car honks but he ignores it.

He's gone. Come over.

There isn't anyone else. John knows this explicitly. Not because he completely trusts you—which he does—but because he knows your exact location at all times. He knows what you search on your phone and what things you look at on the internet. And because he knows that, he knows you're just trying to take the piss.

Locking his phone screen, John turns on his blinker. A few turns later and he's back home, marching through the door. He's not mad. Far from it. You just need a good lesson—a good spanking. Over his knee with a bare ass. That way he can watch it bounce, watch as you wiggle and squirm, hear you whimper, and watch as your arousal grows with each strike.

Then, and only then, will he keep you under him. Which is what you want anyway.

John walks silently and with purpose, approaching you as you casually lounge on the couch.

"You're home early."

John ignores the jab. "You're on one today, cabbage."

"Whatever do you mean?"

John holds up his phone. "Think I'm going to believe this?"

Your eyes widen but John can see the bluff. "I meant to send that to—"

"To me," interrupts John. “You meant to send it to me.”

"To a friend,” you correct, but John notices the smile you attempt to hide. “I meant to send it to a friend.”

No. You wanted John to come home—to be a bit neurotic, even a little possessive.

"Fine," growls John. "I'll bite."

He places one hand on the top of the back cushion while the other rests above your head. He leans in, lowering his voice.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Show me you mean it."

You tuck your knees in, drawing back your top and removing your lounge pants. When they're gone, you spread wide, revealing your glistening pussy. Your arousal is clear, and John cannot wait to sink inside.

"That's my good girl."

John "Soap" MacTavish

You sent the texts not long after Johnny left for work.

He’s gone. Won’t be home for hours. Come over.

At first, you believed that Johnny would get those texts and immediately turn around, to head home and bust down the door. He did no such thing. He didn’t even respond. Not a peep from him. You spent the rest of the day in limbo, unsure if Johnny received the texts at all.

So, when he does come home, you expect him to say something.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Good,” he replies, heading down the hall to the bedroom. “Had a briefing. We’ll be heading out for a mission next week.”

“Do you know when exactly?” you ask.

“Tuesday!” he calls back.

Nothing. This man is completely glossing over the fact that you sent those texts to him. When he reappears in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you nearly swoon at his bare chest and stomach.

“What did you get up to today?” he asks, sauntering over to grasp your hips and pull you close.

“Nothing much,” you reply, and Johnny hums in reply, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know,” he says after a beat, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “You did send me a few odd texts earlier.” He taps away at the screen at turns it around to show you.

The texts you sent are right there, glowing brightly.

“Oh, those—”

“I checked the cameras.”

“Cameras?” you choke. “What cameras?”

Johnny grins and then he’s tapping away at his phone again. When he shifts the screen around, you see yourself and him in real time. You turn to the corner of the room from where the feed is coming from.

“I never saw anyone come over. But I did see this.”

Tapping again, he changes to an earlier time during the day. It’s a feed of the bedroom, and you’re masturbating. Johnny ups the volume and you hear yourself moan.

“There’s this, too,” he says, switching to the night before when he had you on all fours, ass in the air.

“Johnny!”

He tightens his hand on your hip, keeping you close. Lowering his voice, Johnny grins. “Try again, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You watch from the window as Simon’s car pulls out of the drive. You wait until he turns the corner before unlocking your phone and selecting his name.

He’s just left. Come over.

With a wicked grin, you hit send, knowing that the texts will reach Simon any second. Leaning against the window, you wait, and then smile wider as Simon’s car sharply turns the corner and speeds down the street back to the house.

He’s hardly parked the car before he’s exiting the vehicle, storming toward the house, malicious intent clear with every step. With a triumphant giggle, you rush to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, pretending that you’re up to nothing at all.

You hear the front door slam, then Simon’s thunderous footsteps followed by doors opening and closing. Sprawling out across the bed, you tap away at your phone, acting like you're not bothered at all.

When he appears in the doorway, you deliberately ignore him for five long seconds before you casually turn your head and smile.

"You're home early," you observe.

Simon looms in the doorway. "What the bloody hell was that text about?"

"What text?" you shrug, all innocence.

Simon, deadpan, replies "He's just left. Come over."

"Oh. That was for a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A friend."

Simon slowly walks up to the side of the bed. "You're fucking with me."

"Don't know what you're on about, Simon."

The murderous demeanor you saw earlier melts away, leaving behind a mischievous glint that you know all too well. With a viper-like quickness, Simon grasps your ankle and yanks you to the end of the bed.

"Simon!" you shriek, but he's already flipping you over onto your stomach.

He plants both knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped beneath him, his large hands coming down on your wrists to pin them above your head.

"Was last night not enough?" he asks, voice a gruff whisper. "Or do you need another lesson?"

You lift your head as Simon transfers both wrists beneath one hand. He has his phone, tapping away at the screen.

'What are you doing?"

"Telling Price I'm not coming in."

"But you're scheduled."

Simon locks the phone and then tosses it to the side. "He'll understand." Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice drops to a breathy whisper. "I have a woman to breed."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It's cruel, perhaps. Even mean. But getting Kyle worked up is so goddamn sweet.

He’s protective, sometimes even a bit possessive, and nothing is hotter to you than watching him stake his claim.

Which is why you sent those texts in the first place—a way to make his heartrate spike.

He just left. He'll be gone for hours.

Kyle bursts through the bedroom door, his chest heaving as if he just ran several miles.

“Where are they?” he asks, voice a growl.

Kyle heads for the bathroom. Throwing open the door, he storms inside, but finding nothing, retreats back into the bedroom.

"Where's who?" you ask in mock innocence as Kyle opens the closet, pushing aside clothes as if he’ll find someone hiding there.

Kyle exits the closet, hands on his hips. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” You casually retrieve your phone, already knowing what you’ll find there. Opening up the messaging app, you click on Kyle’s name, and laugh.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “I meant to send that to a friend.”

Kyle’s eyes shut, and the sigh he makes is so loud you laugh harder. Clutching his own phone in his hand, Kyle shakes it in his fist.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says.

"No," you giggle. "Just a mistake."

That thin line becomes a smirk. Kyle tosses his phone onto the bed and you immediately know you’re done for.

“I know you, love. Think you’re clever, yeah?”

He saunters forward, and you push up onto your hands, sliding back along the bed.

“Kyle,” you warn.

“Tricking me just to get me home. For what? Think I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I think.

You scoot away, sinking into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Kyle matches your movements until he’s nearly horizontal over you.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I will.” His gaze roams over your body and then returns to your face. “But first, I’m going to train you into never making a silly mistake like that ever again.”

[eikotheblue]

How do you *accidentally* make a programming language?

Oh, it's easy! You make a randomizer for a game, because you're doing any% development, you set up the seed file format such that each line of the file defines an event listener for a value change of an uberstate (which is an entry of the game's built-in serialization system for arbitrary data that should persiste when saved).

You do this because it's a fast hack that lets you trigger pickup grants on item finds, since each item find always will correspond with an uberstate change. This works great! You smile happily and move on.

There's a small but dedicated subgroup of users who like using your randomizer as a canvas! They make what are called "plandomizer seeds" ("plandos" for short), which are seed files that have been hand-written specifically to give anyone playing them a specific curated set of experiences, instead of something random. These have a long history in your community, in part because you threw them a few bones when developing your last randomizer, and they are eager to see what they can do in this brave new world.

A thing they pick up on quickly is that there are uberstates for lots more things than just item finds! They can make it so that you find double jump when you break a specific wall, or even when you go into an area for the first time and the big splash text plays. Everyone agrees that this is neat.

It is in large part for the plando authors' sake that you allow multiple line entries for the same uberstate that specify different actions - you have the actions run in order. This was a feature that was hacked into the last randomizer you built later, so you're glad to be supporting it at a lower level. They love it! It lets them put multiple items at individual locations. You smile and move on.

Over time, you add more action types besides just item grants! Printing out messages to your players is a great one for plando authors, and is again a feature you had last time. At some point you add a bunch for interacting with player health and energy, because it'd be easy. An action that teleports the player to a specific place. An action that equips a skill to the player's active skill bar. An action that removes a skill or ability.

Then, you get the brilliant idea that it'd be great if actions could modify uberstates directly. Uberstates control lots of things! What if breaking door 1 caused door 2 to break, so you didn't have to open both up at once? What if breaking door 2 caused door 1 to respawn, and vice versa, so you could only go through 1 at a time? Wouldn't that be wonderful? You test this change in some simple cases, and deploy it without expecting people to do too much with it.

Your plando authors quickly realize that when actions modify uberstates, the changes they make can trigger other actions, as long as there are lines in their files that listen for those. This excites them, and seems basically fine to you, though you do as an afterthought add an optional parameter to your uberstate modification action that can be used to suppress the uberstate change detector, since some cases don't actually want that behavior.

(At some point during all of this, the plando authors start hunting through the base game and cataloging unused uberstates, to be used as arbitrary variables for their nefarious purposes. You weren't expecting that! Rather than making them hunt down and use a bunch of random uberstates for data storage, you sigh and add a bunch of explicitly-unused ones for them to play with instead.)

Then, your most arcane plando magician posts a guide on how to use the existing systems to set up control flow. It leverages the fact that setting an uberstate to a value it already has does not trigger the event listener for that uberstate, so execution can branch based on whether or not a state has been set to a specific value or not!

Filled with a confused mixture of pride and fear, you decide that maybe you should provide some kind of native control flow structure that isn't that? And because you're doing a lot of this development underslept and a bit past your personal Balmer peak, the first idea that you have and implement is conditional stops, which are actions that halt processing of a multiple-action-chain if an uberstate is [less than, equal to, greater than] a given value.

The next day, you realize that your seed specification format now can, while executing an action chain, read from memory, write to memory, branch based on what it finds in memory, and loop. It can simulate a turing machine, using the uberstates as tape. You set out to create a format by which your seed generator could talk to your client mod, and have ended up with a turing complete programming language. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

[rookiesbookies]

The boys catch their ladies reading smut, originally this had the books I was basing this on in them but I hadn't got the time to read the books so I remove the book titles and authors. I hope you enjoy <3

Price: Yeah, she’s younger than him. This book is like 100% just breeding kinks. So she was reading this book about a man breeding his young woman and being super obsessive and clinging… while sitting in their living room… with her fuzzy, super obsessive, newlywed husband. “What are ya readin love?” He said, swiftly snatching the book from her grasp as he sat down on the couch next to her. He kicked his feet up on the couch and laid so his back was against her shins under the blanket she was bundled in. “Nothing important! But you really should give it back!” She panicked, reaching for it. “Holy bloody Jesus, love. This is a casual read for you?” “... yeah.” He wiggled his eyebrows while looking up to see her. She put a hand in his face and took her book back. “You almost made me lose my page.”

Soap: Being bent over and defiled by a hot Scotsman in a kilt? Oh hell yeah. How could you refuse?

“Jesus, Bonnie, why are ye readin about this shit when ya could get the real thing with me?” He chuckled, flipping through the book she had poorly hidden in her nightstand. “My kilt is in the closet, give me less than 10 minutes to get me socks and straps on and I’ll rock yer world harder than some words on a page ever could. You’ll see, donnae worry.”

He did indeed rock your world harder than pages ever good.

You claim and cry that you want to finish it for the plot, he says you can only read “that filth” when he’s away on deployment.

Says its a waste if you have a real heavy, hairy, and thick Scotsman at your disposal on the daily.

Ghost: Reading a story about a man whose face was painted like death and has charm that causes hormonal riots? Sounds exactly like her Simon. She lay on their shared bed as he packed up for their walk to the park. Her legs kicked up in the air as she read. 

He raised an eyebrow at what could have her so giddy so he effortlessly snatched the book and was met with a nasty surprise when he looked over the words. “Take it you’d rather stay home than go to the park,” he mumbled with a smirk before bending down to kneel in front of her now with a red face. 

“No- no I think a walk in the park will be fine.” She nervously chuckled.

Konig: Hot giant caveman dragging a woman away to have his way with her? Basic Konig when he comes back from missions.

Grabbing his sweet girl and pulling her into the dark cave that is their bedroom, only letting either out once he’s had his way with her and showing her just how much he’s missed her.

His face was red flushed as he read over her shoulder though.

“Oh meine gut, Schatz."

The scream she let out even made him fall back.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He pressed a kiss to her temple in apology. 

“This book made me horny, can we fuck?” She asked straight up, knowing Konig preferred her blunt. She didn’t need to ask him twice.

Gaz Hot british guy? Her standards were so low for her choices in literature as long as it was someone she could imagine her Kyle as. Hmmm easy.

So when she was leading her walk with her audio book in her headphones she was more than busy. When he got a hold of one of her airpods while at the gym and she forgot he had the other one, he looked over at her with wide eyes. He texted her, “I didn’t realize you were interested in being folded like that.”

[mereyapalais]

JE SUIS LÀ POUR TOI

Modern Stack x Reader

Ignore the fire in the picture pls. Lol

Excuse any errors. Enjoy

Ghosting was your defense mechanism. Having been hurt countless of times in the past made it hard for you to completely trust anyone that came in your life and show interest.

No matter house much they show up and show out, that little voice in your head is always ready and armed with all the wrong words to convince you that it’s all for show. They’re just doing it cause they want something from you.

They don’t really like you, just passing time.

You’ve fallen victim to the little devil in your mind. Sure it cost you a few great relationships but the lack of effort put in to to truly trying to keep you in their life always made you believe that you were actually right. No one truly likes you.

That’s until you met Elias, alias Stack.

It’s almost like someone out there, it be God or any other Divine Creature, knew exactly what you needed in that moment. Stack was truly a blessing. A gift.

Your biggest criteria for your partner was that they had to be funny. Someone with whom you can share hearty laughs mixed with some deep conversations.

With Stack, you found all that and then some.

That man could laugh you out your panties. But once he got you in that bed, nothing was funny anymore. Your previous laughs turned into cries of pleasure. Lips singing a totally different tune which translated the state of euphoria he had you in.

Never had you met a man with a skilled mouth inside and outside the bedroom.

Every thing was copacetic. Until you started going ghost on him.

It started with you taking hours to respond to his text messages. Purposely missing his calls. Engaging less in conversation.

Until you started to actively limit your rendezvous. Each day of the week had its own unique excuse.

Despite him trying to be understanding and giving you time, Stack could notice something was wrong. Sure you’ve only known each other for a fraction of time, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t been paying special attention to you.

You really came into his life and transpercer son coeur like a cupids bow.

When he found himself thinking about you at random times of the day, loosing interest in his little pass time ladies. That’s when he knew he wanted you in life. At least for a little while longer.

He tried to practice patience with you. Be understanding. Don’t smother you too much and be annoying. Lord knows he’s never felt such strong feelings for someone before. But after a few days of you ghosting him, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He didn’t even put much thought into what he was going to do. All he knew was that he hasn’t seen you in a minute and he was gonna see you today.

———————————————————————

There you were in your small bubble. Just enjoying the quiet of your home. At least you were trying to.

Before Stack, staying alone in silence for a prolonged period of time was not a problem. But things have changed. You don’t remember when they changed. They just did.

The silence in your home right now is just an indication that something’s missing. Someone’s missing.

Whenever stack was around, silence was a rare guest in the domicile. Whether it was the booming voice of his off key singing. Him telling you stories about all his multiple adventures. Even sharing some stories of his past crazy situationships.

Other times, his soothing voice was the only thing that could get you back to earth. Whispering sweet words in your ear. Cradling you in your arms so as to shield you from your thoughts. Sometimes he wished he could get in your head and remove all the weeds that have been growing there. Replace them with beautiful, colourful flowers.

Seven loud knocks in interval came to your door. The first few knocks were faint. But as the seconds passed without you opening up, the knocks became louder and louder.

At this point you feared your nosy older neighbours would be disturbed.

Approaching the door on your tippy toes so as to not reveal any human activity and alarm the other person of your presence, you looked through the peep hole.

“You don’t even gotta look. You already know it’s me, love. Open up.”

He was right you already know who stood on the other side of the door. You didn’t think he’d show up this soon. That’s a record. Normally they just get used to your absence. And vice versa.

“Aye, you better open up ‘fore I cause a scene for your bougie ass neighbours.”

You sighed proceeding to open the locks. As the door swung open his hand was in mid air as if waiting to knock again.

At the sight of you, he dropped his hand and with it went the wrinkles on his forehead. His face relaxed. Heart beating a bit slower when he saw you were still in one piece and breathing.

The both of you just stood there. No one uttering a thing. Simply contemplating each other.

No matter how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t miss him, seeing him in front you made all the feelings you tried so hard to hide away came springing up to the surface.

“You really thought you could get rid of me that easily? I told you, you’re already in my system.”

“You not even gonna let me in?” His question was out of the ordinary. Any other time he would’ve already let himself in the minute you opened the door. Problem was, this wasn’t any other time. He knows he has to go slowly with you. Take his time so as to not push you away even more.

You didn’t give a verbal answer. Just stepped aside and he took the hint. Besides you couldn’t trust your voice in the moment. Your brain was running a thousand miles per minute trying to find the right excuse you were going to dish him.

Now inside the house, you were waiting for him to unleash his anger. Tell you how foul you were. Get all the things he has to say ofc his chest before storming out.

That didn’t happen. He looked at you with the softest expression in his eyes before meekly declaring “I miss you.”

Now that’s..new. Not knowing what to say since he caught you off guard. You simply stood there looking at him. You wanted to tell him how much you share the same sentiment as him. How much he has been occupying my mind lately. The word’s didn’t make it to your lips.

“You don’t even gotta tell me anything right now. Just let me be there for you. Please?”

Yeah, that did it. First it was the slight expansion of your nose, then you lips quivering lightly, like a child ready to cry, throat constricting, then finally your eyes stinging before they became blurry.

———————————————————————

You don’t recall how you got here. You body completely enveloped by a warm blanket, body melting in the comfortable mattress.

Looking outside the window, obscurity had taken over the sky. Time had really passed. How long have you been out?

Your senses started to awaken slowly but surely. One thing captured your attention. The aroma of some good home cooked meal seduced your nostrils. That’s when your stomach decided to announce itself with a loud grumble.

You left the comfort of your bed as you headed for the kitchen.

The sight in front of you tugged at your heart strings. There in your decent size kitchen was Elias, wiping down the kitchen that was visibly messy after his cooking. He was so focused on his task he couldn’t even hear you come in his space.

Not knowing how to announce yourself, you let out a small “ahem”. That caught his attention.

Turning around, he smiled as soon as he saw your face.

“You’re awake. I wanted to get done here ‘fore coming to wake you up. I know you don’t like eating when the kitchen’s messy.”

Good lord. He couldn’t get more perfect than this. Here he was taking care of you. Not once has he shown you his displeasure with

“It’s fine. The food actually directed me here. It smells nice.”

“Yeah I figured you’d be hungry after you wake up so I decided to throw something together for you.”

“Thank you.”

He plated your food before pulling out a chair which you thought was for you until he sat down. He patted his knees inviting you to sit on him instead.

“Are you sure..?” Came out your hesitant voice.

“Come on.” He said simply with a small smile on the corner of his lips.

You missed the proximity. You know he did too. Stack is the definition of touchy feely person. You will never find yourself close to him without him finding one way or another to touch you. Nothing sexual. He just constantly needs to touch you. You weren’t complaining.

You sat there in silence. Enjoying each other’s presence. You couldn’t help the sounds coming from your mouth. The food was

“You gonna have to slow down on those sounds. I know the foods not that good.”

“But it is though. What did you put in it?”

“Just some of my love and a pinch of salt to taste.”

“Corny.” You said flicking his ear slightly. Both sharing a laugh after.

“Stack, I’m really sorry about going ghost I-“

“Shh, we can talk about it tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere, you hear me? For now I just want you to enjoy your meal and rest some more. We gon’ talk about everything tomorrow.” With that he placed a kiss on your forehead. One on each cheek. On your nose before finally landing on your lips.

Yeah, you can’t comprehend how you were able to make it through the past few days without his lips on yours.

The kiss got hungrier. Messier. Each one pouring their all in the kiss. Hand’s roaming all over. Gropping, kneading, massaging the flesh.

As his hands found your breast and left a squeeze you couldn’t help but moan in his mouth. The vibration shooting straight to his member.

Breaking the kiss for air, your lips found themselves leaving open mouth kisses on his neck, sucking licking. Trailing up to his ears as your hands simultaneously found themselves going south, straight in his pants.

At the contact, his thighs jolted as your soft hands found him.

Your fingers found themselves playing with the his bulbous head. Spraying the already present thick liquid all over it. His thick leg’s spread apart to give you more access.

By now you, were straddling only one of his thick thighs. Rotating your hips chasing that sweet friction. You were definitely high off the pleasure.

Retracting the hand that was in his pants, you brought it up to your lips, licking around the digit. Sucking it like honey. He watched intently. Eyes narrowing lightly.

He took the finger that was in your mouth, coated with your saliva, and put it in his own mouth.

You proceeded to get on your knees ready to present him your excuses the only way you knew for now and show him how much you missed him.

“Wait, wait, what’re you doing?”

“What it look like?-”

“Nah baby, you don’t gotta do none of that.”

It wasn’t rare for you to use sex as a means to escape whatever mess going on in your head. Stack knew that. He never wanted you to feel like you were obligated to do anything.

“I want to. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Mhhm” You said eagerly. Mouth already salivating at the thought of what was about to happen.

Who was he to stop you. Sure he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do any of that but also if you wanted to he wasn’t going to stop you. Lord knows his body missed you bad.

One things for sure, it was going to be a long night.

Don’t forget to comment and reblog. Thank you for reading! 💋

[pbandnoj]

PartnerToji who had never regretted his vasectomy… until you came along. Having it done was great, sure he didn’t like someone being all up in his business but it was affective. To him Megumi was more than enough, actually he could barely handle the kid. Plus it was easy to mess around and not have to worry about rubber or a scary missing period text.

Oh but sometimes, sometimes you made him question it. You had been together a few years, gotten accustomed to Megs, who sometime even preferred you over his dad, teaming up with you against him. And Toji knew you’d be a permanent thing ever since he cut off all his women he used to visit, and started working a real respectable job.

And the fantasies that filled his head when he looked at you were enough to fill a whole book series, you had made him consider having a second kid… but wait that’s right, he can’t have one. Every time you bent over, wear something even partially revealing, or hell when you took especially good care of Megumi he knew he wanted to make you a real mom, even if you did convince him you were fine with just Megs.

The idea of seeing you all round and plump, with his baby inside of you, god it made him rock solid. And you felt his wrath in the bedroom. He was making you work double time. Wishing, praying somehow, his sperm could make it past the little procedure, yet it never happened.

One day you got home from wherever you went, Toji didn’t pay much attention when you were telling him. Slipping your shoes off and walking up to see him on the couch, Megumi sitting on the floor fiddling with a new toy train he got, but it was odd… the tv wasn’t on. And he was on his phone? Honestly you couldn’t remember the last time he even spent more than a few minutes on it, that being pretty much only to text you or email his boss.

Slipping your arms around his shoulders from behind the couch as you looked down, “Watcha looking at Toj’?” You asked, only to have him grunt in response. A brow raised as you looked down catching a glimpse of what he was reading… a medical page? Was something wrong with him? Did something happen?

“Baby what’s wrong?” You cooed out as you softly ran your hand over his collarbone, he huffed shaking his head, “Nothin’” the one letter response making you roll your eyes. He huffed upon seeing the look on your face, “I’m looking at a reversal.”

A reversal? Reversal of what? “What’s that sweets?” You asked a raised brow, before he smirked, “I wanna be able to put a baby in ya.” Choking on your spit, removing your arms so you could quickly cough up a lung.

“What?” You half yelled, partially startling the quiet boy sitting on the floor. “My vasectomy doll,” You grumbled… so that’s what this was about? Why he’d been actin so weird.

“Toji,” you huffed out as you looked back at him, “You seriously wanna have to go back to using condoms just so you can put one baby in me?” You asked, a brow quirking up. A soft snicker leaving your lips before he cursed under his breath.

“Besides, I’d rather put my attention on Megumi right now,” You noted, causing Toji to nod. “Yeah besides my insurance ain’t gonna cover it and I’m not givin up what little luxury I have,” he huffed out, “See? You should stop worrying about it.”

And with that the vasectomy debacle was solved… at least for now. That man has crazy baby fever.

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

93. “You didn’t just wake me up at 2am because you were ‘in the mood’.” ‼️ With Jack Hughes 😏

Thank you for requesting. 🫶🏻 this does seem very on brand for Jack

"You didn't just wake me up at 2 am because you were 'in the mood.'

Tossing and turning for hours, you always struggled sleeping when you knew Jack was actively traveling during his roadies. Something about knowing he was on a plane or a long bus ride kept you on edge until you got the text he got to where he was safe. So, not being asleep at 1 AM, you could easily blame it on that or maybe it was a little excitement knowing he was on the way home to you after a little over a week.

Somehow, even though you fully planned at this point to just stay awake until he got home, suddenly you're eyes were starting to get heavy and you started yawning. It felt like only a minute before you felt Jack crawling into bed.

"hi baby." he whispered knowing you were always a light sleeper and woke up every-time no matter how much your body needed sleep. He pulled you towards but somehow ended up on top of you, resting his weight on your body bringing that cozy feeling in the pit of your stomach spread.

"Hmm Jacky." you mumbled moving slightly to give him more access as he started kissing your check down to that spot on your neck, lightly nipping at you're collar bone. You felt yourself immidately react pulling him closer.

"missed you baby." he whispered in your ear before attacking ear and suddenly you were no longer floating between dreamland and being awake. Immediately, opening your eyes, turning your head to the little clock you kept on your bedside table. Shocked to find out you had only been asleep for about 30 minutes. Sighing and your voice heavy with sleep still, your eyebrows scrunched down in confusion, as you mumbled. "Jack whhyy are you on top of me?"

"I missed you is all." he mumbled, digging his face further into neck, softly rolling his hips, you could feel his fully hard dick as he sighed in relief.

"uhhh huh, yup you just missed me?"

"yup"

"So you didn't wake me at 2 am because you were 'in the mood'? Just cause you missed me?" you asked teasingly a small smile on your face.

"well if you're offering." he was quick to answer teasing your nipples through your thin shirt your nipples immediately hardening due to not wearing a bra.

You couldn't help but laugh at his response. "I wasn't offering." pulling him closer. "But I guess I can be a team player" you joke.

"I love you." as he sat up and removed his hoodie quickly.

"I know." you smiled up at him as he started pulling your shirt over your head.

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 4

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: The lines of your agreement begin to blur with one simple word: sweetheart.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented and/or followed me!! I truly appreciate each and every one of you💜(I’m screaming with joy on the inside)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: age gap, alcohol, mild fluff, feelings, foul language, hospital stresses, some angst thrown in because what the hell, slowburn, they AWKWARD (I love them)/bad jokes, idk Robby’s a hockey fan because I could totally see that (baseball too)

not beta read

When one of your co-workers had asked you on a date the following week, you had turned him down. It had come as a surprise, not having said much more than pleasantries to each other when you passed in the hall. He was nice, attractive enough to have caught your attention before, but you told him you were not looking to date. Too busy, gotta focus on school, just not for me right now, were all valid reasons. Not because of Michael. Nope. That would be stupid.

You tried to remove yourself from getting too wrapped up in your imagination. Frankly, because it was making you incredibly anxious. You texted Erin and Marsi to hang out, to come study, to go out for brunch, anything to get you out of your apartment. You worked longer hours. You even joined a random study group with some other accounting majors.

You believed you had it all back on track just two weeks after your dinner. But it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever he called. You kept telling yourself it was still the anxiety around the arrangement and not the person on the other end.

Michael called late one Tuesday, exhausted from his shift. You began to think that perhaps he did not enjoy returning to an empty, quiet apartment to be alone with his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, rougher than usual.

“Long night?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, laying down on your bed after changing into some pajamas.

He let out a long sigh, “Perhaps another time.”

You were smart enough to pick up on the deflection, but you hummed, “Sure.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt stupid for getting upset over his deflection, annoyed that it was likely just going to be another night you filled the void with your voice. Was it stupid and unjustified to get frustrated with him? More than likely. Did you feel that way anyways? Definitely. You kept trying to remind yourself you were both barely acquaintances, and this was exactly what you had signed up for.

“Can I ask you something?” You ventured, glancing at your nails.

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you become a doctor?”

There were several moments of silence as he digested the question, and you anxiously bit at the side of your nails.

“I wanted to help people.” He told you, but there was something in his tone that suggested it was just a reflex answer. In the quiet that followed, he cleared his throat, “It wasn’t easy. I was tested at every turn, still am. But it meant something. It mattered.”

Something so large went unspoken between you — I mattered. You did not dare speak on it.

“That’s very honorable.”

“Honor’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Well, I find that very honorable. Selfless.” You stressed, staring up at your ceiling.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “how was your day?”

Despite wanting to push, you realized that perhaps you had wandered into territory far too personal for your arrangement, which made your cheeks flare with heat. You found yourself wanting to get to know him more than was likely appropriate.

You launched into your day, discussing a few minor details about work and the new system they were slowly beginning to implement. You paused after he yawned, causing you to mirror it.

“Goodnight,” you said first, eyes heavy.

“Goodnight,”

—

It was easily your busiest day all month. Between onboarding a bunch of new employees, cashing out a handful of ones that had quit, studying for an exam, a project and a few prior commitments to hang out with your friends, you were stretched thin. You left your apartment early and were not set to return until late.

Hunger ate away at your stomach as lunchtime came and went without stopping to eat. Thankfully you had left a granola bar in your desk drawer, but it did little to satisfy you.

After clocking in overtime, you left the office just after 6 — moving into your car and finally taking a breath. You quickly went through a handful of notifications, before finding a text from Michael timestamped at 2:23.

Can we talk tonight?

You debated it. You wanted to, but you still had things to do and you were starving.

Raincheck?

I had the busiest day and I haven’t been able to eat yet.

Your phone buzzed with an alert not even a moment later, while you sat still in your car, trying to take a moment for yourself.

We could grab food instead?

. . .

New Thai place opened up near me

Your stomach grumbled, making up your mind for you. Smiling to yourself and deciding the last details of your project could be edited the following morning, you agreed, asking for the address.

You were far too hungry for the nerves of seeing him again to invade — instead trying to freshen up with the aid of your sun visor mirror and whatever you could find in your bag. Lipgloss and a tiny bottle of perfume were going to have to make it work. You studied your reflection, and tried to fix your hair as much as you could given the circumstances.

The Thai place was busy, which considering they had only just opened, should have been expected. You found a parking space near the back and sent a text to let Michael know you had arrived.

Smoothing out your work slacks and blouse once you were out of the car, you pulled your blazer tight — the evening having grown chilly. You saw Michael waiting near the front door, dressed in jeans and a casual zip-up sweatshirt, a festival t-shirt peeking through.

You smiled as you approached, “Hi.”

He smiled in return, taking you in, putting his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Hi.”

You glanced in the window to see how busy the place was and your stomach protested.

“They said the wait to sit down was likely going to be an hour,”

You frowned, glancing around at the other buildings on each side of the street.

“There’s a Chinese place just a block away, we could try that?” He offered.

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly, bringing your arms across your body. “I’d still like to check this place out, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

He smiled easily, “Not at all.”

You stepped into pace with him, heading down the sidewalk towards the Chinese restaurant. You were away from the more central part of Pittsburgh, but traffic still whizzed by, undisturbed by the darkening skies.

“Did you work today?” You asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye.

“No, but I have a swing shift tomorrow. Haven’t had to work one of those in awhile, but we’re short staffed.” He explained with a tiny shrug.

You absorbed the new information. “You usually work days?”

“Normally, yeah. Sort of a perk of…my job title.” He chuckled.

Part of you wanted to ask what exactly that title was, but realized it would likely give away too much information. From everything you knew about his job, it definitely seemed like he worked in a hospital as opposed to a clinic or private practice — ICU perhaps? Emergency room? Curiosity ate away in your mind, picturing him in a white lab coat, but you tried to shake off the thought.

He held the door open for you, and you stepped into the restaurant, taking it in. The smell of food was overwhelming until it was all you could consider, your stomach making it painfully obvious how empty it was. You took note of the vending machines against the wall and the two tables — both occupied. You turned back to him and watched as he noticed the lack of seating as well.

“We could just get take out,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “My place is just a few blocks away.”

You swallowed, and genuinely considered it. You were far too hungry to try someplace else and you turned to look at the menu. Fuck it.

“That was—that was forward of me. I didn’t mean—just so we have a place to sit down and eat. We can—”

You looked up at him and smiled, “No, that’s fine. Killing me would be so hypocritical of the whole ‘do no harm’ thing.”

He blinked and your face instantly heated, digesting your own words.

“That was a terrible joke, oh my god—”

He laughed. He laughed.

All your fears washed away at the sound of it, and you smiled sheepishly before turning towards the counter at the end of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a breath, grin still stretched across his face, “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“No! I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to insinuate—”

He waved off your concern, moving towards the counter. “No harm done.”

You both ordered, and you got your usual and Michael ordered orange chicken — but you both moved to pay. You stared down at each of your cards, catching just a glimpse of his full name on the front — Michael C. Rob — the rest covered by his thumb. You glanced at his face.

His brown eyed gaze was on you, too, holding steady for several beats of your heart, and it took the sigh from the woman behind the counter for you to move again.

“I got it.” He said.

“Thank you.” You whispered, putting your card back into your wallet.

The woman informed you it would just take ten minutes, much to your relief. You moved off to the side and leaned against the wall to wait, Michael leaning next to you. It was a small space, filled with the sounds from the kitchen seen behind the counter, and the light conversation from the five other people sitting down.

Thoughts moving from your hunger and the food, you absorbed the information that he lived near here. It was a considerably nicer part of Pittsburgh, you knew you could never even afford a studio in the area, but it made sense. He had money — he had money to burn, considering your monthly stipend.

The walk back to his place after you had collected your food was quiet, and you savored the sound of his street — off the main streets, it was nice. You had long grown used to the white noise of cars outside your window in your own apartment.

There was a doorman when you arrived at his building, and you craned your neck to look up at it. Red brick and large windows, and your shoes clacked! on the clean tile once you were through the main door. It was immaculate, and gave you the sudden intrusive thought that you did not belong. It worked up your throat like bile and you turned your eyes to the floor.

You took the elevator up with him to one of the top floors, and you stared at yourself in the mirror on either side of the elevator. His reflection watched you, until the elevator doors opened. The hallway was empty and quiet, and you reflexively reached for the takeout bag so he could get his keys.

21B

His apartment was beautiful. Even before he flicked the lights on, you knew — late evening light spilling in from the windows along the far wall. It was an open floor plan, his front door opening into his living room with a tiny entryway. His kitchen was laid on the right side, with a quaint dining room set up, large windows and a door to a balcony. There was an archway that led to a hallway along the wall to your left — presumably to his bedroom and bathroom.

The brick accents did wonders for the space, and the furnishings were modest. Not fancy or flashy, but clearly not second-hand. There was something distinctly lived in about the space, a discarded book on the end table and scattered coasters on the coffee table. There was a dip on the L-shaped couch, a favorite spot undoubtedly, with the remote haphazardly discarded on one of the cushions.

He removed his shoes in the entryway, and you followed his lead before you followed after him.

“I don’t have much in terms of drinks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, I’ve got water and iced tea…wine, I also have wine.”

You smiled at him, placing your bag on the granite countertop. “Water’s just fine, thank you.”

He nodded, putting the takeout bag next to the sink, when he reached into one of the cabinets to get a glass. While he sorted through the bag, and got your drink, you wandered over to the windows, glancing at the city sprawled out before you, the sunset burning behind the buildings. The sky was a fine array of oranges and reds, and you found you loved the view.

Michael cleared his throat behind you, making you jump. He smiled sheepishly, handing you the glass of water. You took it with a smile of your own and sipped it.

“You have a really nice place.” You found yourself saying, still looking over the walls and wood finishes.

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked back into the kitchen with him and followed his lead bringing your food into his living room. You glanced at his dining table, but did not question it — not being able to argue to sit down on a very comfortable looking couch after you had been running around all day.

You both began eating with a Penguins game in the background, and you did your best to be polite and not inhale your food.

“Did you want to talk about your day?” He asked after a few bites of his orange chicken.

You looked over to him, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Me?”

He looked amused, “You.”

You blinked, “I mean, aside from it being an incredibly long and busy day, there’s not much to say. A shitshow, but hey, that’s showbiz, baby.”

The corners of his lips rose into a grin, “Yeah? I didn’t know accounting and show business were related.”

You held up your hand and crossed two of your fingers, “Incredibly intertwined. You could play ‘pick the narcissist’ with either profession, and you’d be right either way.”

Michael laughed, “Run into a lot of those today?”

You shrugged, but your lips were inching upward, “Without delving into company secrets, yeah, my boss can be a bit of a megalomaniac. It’s all a numbers game, even at the price of employee satisfaction. There’s been a high turnover rate recently.”

Michael nodded like he fully understood what you were talking about. “Have you considered leaving?”

“Frequently. Once I graduate, for sure. Only a few more months.” You chewed a bite of your food, the hunger in your stomach ebbing away, “How has work been for you?”

“Admin has been on my ass,” he told you, eyes flickering to the tv and back to you. “Patient satisfaction scores, you know?”

“You have satisfaction scores?” You asked incredulously, confusion knitting your brows together. “That sounds like some shit they do for a fast food chain.”

He gestured wildly with his hands, “That’s what I said.”

“I mean, sure, satisfaction is important in any industry — but that wouldn’t be my main concern in a hospital environment. How is employee satisfaction?”

“Down,” Michael said with a frown. “Understaffing is a big problem. Nurses, attendings, techs, you name it. Wait times are high, and I just don’t have the staff to bring it down.”

“Damn,” you breathed out, “I guess I can’t say I’m surprised, especially not after the pandemic.”

He looked down into his food, nodding, “The pandemic hit us hard. There’s definitely a distinct difference in life before and life after for most of us.”

You watched him, noticing the smallest wince in his cheek at the mention of it. And to think just the other week that I had been thinking how nice it had been to work from home. You swallowed your guilt with the last bite of your food, noticing how the mood shifted.

Your knees brushed when he turned his eyes back to the television, a faraway look in his eyes. You bumped his knee purposefully the second time, gaining his attention.

“I don’t know how to help you, or even if I can, or if you even want me to. But I’m always here if you want to talk, or if you need a distraction.” You offered with a small smile.

His face relaxed at that, “And that’s enough, sweetheart, thank you. Being able to talk, or think about anything else has been incredibly helpful.”

While you absorbed everything he said, the word sweetheart bounced around in your head, making your palms clammy.

“Of course, yeah,” you looked away from him, unable to hold his gaze.

“I mean it.” He said, gaining your full attention, “Thank you.”

A genuine smile appeared on your face, soft and gentle.

Hours passed with simpler conversation, both your attentions on the hockey game. But you would be lying if you said you missed the way his touch lingered on your skin, or how warm his body felt next to you, throwing your thoughts in a frenzy.

You were thankful that he was talking about simple, mundane things, because you were having a hard time focusing on it. You felt like a stupid hormonal teenager sat next to him, stuck in your own head rather than the moment.

When the game ended at a brutal 3-0 against, you could not help but yawn.

“I should probably call it,” you said, glancing at the time on your phone.

He nodded, moving to sit up, rolling his shoulders with the softest groan that short-circuited your brain. He held his hand out to you and you took it, gathering your scattered thoughts, trying to remember to grab all your things.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He said, putting on his shoes.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Well, I’m going to anyway. It’s late and your car is several blocks away.”

You grabbed your bag, cheeks heating, “Alright.”

Once outside, you absentmindedly looped your arm with his, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. Neither of you spoke on it, his eyes only lingering on your face for a few short seconds. You enjoyed the warmth of his body, pressed into his side — the thoughts in your head momentarily quieting.

You felt like the walk to your car had been far too short as opposed to the walk to his place, and it took a moment to finally let go of him.

“Thank you for walking me.” You said, looking at him. “I had a good time tonight.”

“I did, too. Spontaneous. It was good.”

Nodding in agreement, you stepped toward your car. “I’ll let you know when I get home?”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly at you. “get home safe.”

You parted with a lingering goodbye.

—

It had only been a few days since you had heard from Michael, though that wasn’t uncommon. Part of you felt antsy about it — fingers itching to send him a message or call to check in on him. You felt foolish, a tiny part of your brain aching to connect with him. Every time the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it back down, desperate to discard it. He wasn’t looking for connection — that was the exact opposite of what he was looking for.

Sweetheart echoed in your head even now, the rough timber of his voice burrowing deep, making your heart flutter.

Huffing a long sigh, you focused back on your report, but your eyes seemed to look straight through the screen like it wasn’t even there.

When your phone buzzed, you quickly reached for it. You tried not to feel the disappointment flood through your system at the text from Marsi.

I had the worst day. Let’s go out tonight?

You pursed your lips, debating it. It surely would get your mind off a certain someone, and maybe even help you get your thoughts back on track.

Please

You sent back.

—

The bar was pretty busy. It had been a long time since you had been out on a Friday night. Marsi clearly had been through it, her numerical analytics presentation for her computer science masters had gone terribly when she had misunderstood a pretty large part of the project. She had the weekend to correct it — the professor not wanting to fail her.

But she had needed a night off, and you decided a night off would be good for you, too. It was nice. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Marsi ordered shots, downing hers as quickly as it came. You hesitated, staring at the clear liquid. You debated it, but then decided a shot and a drink wouldn’t throw off your weekend too much.

“Alright, you’re so off. Spill.”

Your eyes went wide, looking back to your friend. “What are you talking about?”

“That! That look right there.”

You pursed your lips and frowned, sipping your drink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is it a guy?” When she received no immediate answer, she continued, “Oh jeez, did he find out about that sugar daddy thing?”

“No! What? No, of course not.” Speaking quickly, you turned her eyes away from your friend, hoping she wouldn’t notice you flustering. “There’s no guy.”

Marsi did not look even slightly convinced, narrowing her eyes over her jack and ginger. “You suck at lying.”

Flustered, you tried to change the subject. “Did you catch the Penguins game last night?”

“What?” Marsi laughed, “Don’t try to change the subject!”

“There’s no guy.” You huffed, stressing your words.

She quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t believe you. Is it a taboo thing? Is it a co-worker?”

You tried to quiet your friend, hushing her. Give it to Marsi to see right through you. At least it’s not Erin, your mind commented.

“Professor?” Marsi shooed away your hands, “Jeez, stop that!”

“What? Ew, no!”

“Oh fuck.” Marsi said after a moment's realization. “Is it the sugar daddy?”

“No!” You protested quickly, too quickly, before adding with your nose scrunched and face ablaze, “Don’t call him that,”

Marsi groaned, “Jesus. Didn’t Erin warn you about that?”

You tried to collect yourself, taking a deep breath to steady your heart, your thoughts hazy from the questions. “Please don’t get it twisted. It’s not like that.”

Marsi gave an unconvinced hum, sipping her drink. “Do you wish it was?”

“I don’t—I—uhh—no!” You closed your eyes tight, leaning your head back trying to stifle your annoyed groan. You looked back at your friend, “No.”

Marsi was quiet, watching you closely.

“Look, I don’t want that. He’s nice. I enjoy talking with him, but that’s it. It’s not complicated like that.” You told her, gulping the last of your drink.

“Whatever you say,” Marsi waved off. “That guy across the bar has been eyeing you up for the last ten minutes. Maybe you should get laid.”

Your face burned, not even bothering to check. “I’m not into one-night stands.”

“I’m sure that’s the reason you haven’t looked.” Marsi said with a smirk.

You groaned in frustration. “Can you just drop it?”

“Sure, sure,” she sipped her drink. “You’re awfully flustered for it being something that’s not complicated.”

“Please.”

When you opened your eyes, Marsi was frowning at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

You sighed, “Thank you. I just don’t want a lecture right now.”

Marsi nodded, “You’re right, we came out to have fun! Let me tell you about this—”

Your phone buzzed on the bartop, Michael’s name lighting up your screen. Marsi’s eyes flickered from the tv above the bar to your phone to your face. She gave a wry grin.

Exasperated, ignoring the butterflies in your gut, you grabbed your phone. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Marsi laughed, “I didn’t even say anything!”

You gave her a dry look, “I’ll be right back.”

You were out of your seat, moving quickly towards the entrance of the bar. Your heart picked back up, worry ebbing into your excitement. He never called this late without warning you first.

Not wanting to risk missing his call, you answered, “Hold on.” You moved out onto the sidewalk, moving until you were under the streetlight. “Hey.”

“Am I interrupting? I’m sorry—”

“No, no. Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to—I thought—” Michael sighed. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re clearly busy,”

“I want to talk to you, too.” You said, I wanted to talk to you all day went unspoken.

“Oh.”

You smiled gently, staring down at your feet, ‘I’m just not home yet. Can I call in like an hour?”

“Please do.”

—

“So…night out…uh, solo?” He asked after you greeted each other.

Was that jealousy in his tone? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah, one of my friends really needed it,” you explained, kicking off your shoes and moving into your bedroom. “She had a bad day.”

“Oh.”

“I’m glad to be home now,” You said, removing your dress, placing him on speaker. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging out with her. Just Friday nights out aren’t always my thing, not much anymore, anyway.”

“I get that,” he said, his tone raspy. “I wanted to check in about work. I know the last week has been stressful for you.”

You pulled a pajama top over your head. “Some of the new staff is picking up the slack, I just hope they don’t leave before I do.” You chuckled.

He let out a breathy laugh.

You crawled into your bed, stretching out with a long yawn. “Admin still up your ass?”

“More than usual, yeah.”

It did not take long into your conversation for the light snoring on the other end to start, indicating that Michael had fallen asleep. His soft breaths in and out brought a comfort to you, enjoying the simplicity of him. Instead of ending the call, you placed your phone on the nightstand next to your head.

Closing your eyes, you laid back on your pillow and went to sleep.

[ Next ]

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study buddy part 2

ingrid engen x mapi leon & engen!reader solstråle engen ft @wileys-russo 's fresa sol and fresa try again, despite fresa's broken foot and grouchy attitude. sol's wrist causes her problems.

—

“She slipped on blood?” You echoed, feeling lightheaded at the vague image in your mind. Mapi chuckled, rolling her eyes at your squeamishness. 

“Yes, and then she fell again in the shower, but I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part. Anyway, her ankle is completely broken, so maybe you can offer to drive her to your next study date?” 

“It’s not a date María.” You said immediately, though your insistence only seemed to make Mapi’s grin grow. “And fine. I can drive her.” 

You could drive Fresa, no problem. It wasn’t like you were already anxious about seeing her again. And even if you were anxious, it was just about how horribly the first study session had gone, and how important getting good grades going forward was. Nothing else. 

“Good. That saves Fresa the embarrassment of Alexia fireman carrying her into the library.”  

That was another part of it. You were sure Fresa hadn’t mentioned to her eldest sister how rude you’d been at your first meeting with her, or you would no longer be breathing. You’d asked a few of your sister’s teammates about Fresa, and they’d all had nice things to say. Above all, though, they’d mentioned that Alexia was fiercely overprotective of her baby sister. If you messed up again, it was possible Fresa would tell Alexia and Alexia would… kill you, probably. 

You reached for the coffee Mapi had made for you, contemplating how you were really going to have to be on your best behavior this time. Ingrid walked in, then, running a minute late as she always seemed to be in the morning. 

“Are you talking about your study date with Fresa?” She asked, stopping to kiss the top of your head as she spoke. 

“It’s not a date!” You repeated, grimacing at Ingrid and Mapi’s exchanged smirks. 

“Ready, amor?” María asked, opening the drawer, getting out a tide to go stick and holding it in your direction just as a few drops of coffee dripped off the rim of the mug, right onto your shirt.  

The corner of Ingrid’s lips twitched as she watched you grab the stain remover, grumbling as you tried to get the dark stain out of your white t-shirt.  

“Yep. Bag, coffee, watched Sol spill. I’m good to go.” 

They chuckled as they headed for the front door, Mapi pausing to slap your hand down just as you raised it to flip them off. 

“Enjoy your date!” Mapi called, but the door shut before you could shout back that it was not a date. 

You pulled out your phone, typing out and deleting the text as least five times before you settled on something. 

Heard you broke your ankle. I can drive you to the library? 

Dropping your phone back onto the counter, you checked your watch, trying to judge if you had enough time for a trip to the climbing gym before school started. You didn’t think so, especially considering you’d been late to your first class everyday this week because the new kid’s locker was right next to yours and he’d needed help getting the combination lock open. 

Just as you were about to leave [so you’d have enough time to help Marc get into his locker], your phone dinged. It was a relief that neither Ingrid nor Mapi were there to see how quickly you picked your phone up. 

That would be lovely, thank you! 

You frowned. Lovely. That did not sound like Fresa. The easy acceptance didn’t seem like her, either. Before you could analyze further, another text appeared. 

Sorry, that was my friend with my phone. She thinks I have an attitude problem. You can drive me. I guess.

That sounded much more like Fresa. 

Well I’m not arguing with the attitude thing. I’ll pick you up at 4:15. 

You hit send before you could think too hard about what you’d typed. Mapi had told you to be yourself, that she was sure you and Fresa would get along if you just relaxed a little. That’s all you were doing. 

Your car better not be as unorganized as your backpack. 

Somehow, it didn’t seem as critical as it had the other day, when Fresa had insulted your organization skills. 

As you wish, Dr. Putellas 

With a final few pets and kisses for Scout, you left the house and locked the door behind you. Maybe Mapi was right.

—

Expecting the school day to drag, you were surprised to find that it flew by. Especially considering that it wasn’t often that you… remained at school the whole day. Before you knew it, you were pulling into Fresa’s driveway, curiously studying the house that one of the world’s best footballers grew up in. Though you lived with María and Ingrid and knew how talented they were, you were always a bit in awe of Alexia. 

Before you had the chance to grab your phone and text the Spaniard that you were there, the front door swung open. You watched, amused, as Fresa’s distinctly irritated face appeared in the doorway, both of her sisters hovering behind as she crutched her way out of the house. There was a brief pause as Alexia seemed to be trying to lift Fresa down off the front porch, and you bit back a smile as Fresa pointed aggressively back to the door, and hopped down the step herself. Alexia and Alba watched from the porch as Fresa neared the car, much like a parent would watch their baby take its first steps. On instinct, you got out of the driver's seat and walked around to open the passenger door. You missed the look of surprise on Fresa’s face, awkwardly saying hello as you fixed your attention on the ground. 

“Solstråle.” Alexia called, hurrying over and trying to steady Fresa, though her hands were slapped away. 

“Alexia, go away.” Fresa hissed, hopping into the front seat and trying to shove her crutches in with her. 

“Hi Alexia.” You said quietly, wrestling the crutches away from Fresa and throwing them in the backseat of the car. 

“She isn’t supposed to walk without the crutches, and make sure she elevates her ankle once you get to the library.” 

You bit back a smirk at the choice words Fresa mumbled under her breath, turning to Alexia. 

“Don’t worry, Mapi briefed me. We’ll be good!” 

Fresa was still grumbling, this time something that sounded like kiss ass, but you ignored her knowing very well how frustrating it could be when your sister treated you as if you were a baby. 

“Bueno. Be careful, Fres, te quiero.” Alexia said with a satisfied nod, reaching past you to pinch Fresa’s cheek. The younger girl looked as though she wanted to bite her sister’s fingers, but instead she just grimaced. 

“Te quiero, idiota.” Fresa replied grumpily. 

—

The car ride started off quiet. And awkward. You knew you’d been too quiet last time, mostly because you were embarrassed at how lost you were with your schoolwork and because Fresa’s attitude hadn’t exactly put you at ease. Now, you were trying to be less quiet but started to overthink every single thing you could say. It had been 7 minutes, and you'd opened your mouth to speak at least 10 times before shutting it again. 

You hated talking. You wished you were back at home, curled in the cozy chair in the corner of your room with Scout, finishing the nature documentary on elephants you’d started last night before falling asleep. Fresa was silent, too, which didn’t really seem like her. Last time, she hadn’t really stopped talking. She seemed to be in just as bad of a mood though, which you decided to attribute to her broken foot and not your presence. You’d been horribly grumpy when you’d broken your wrist, so you could understand. 

“How long in the moon boot?” You asked, so suddenly Fresa jumped a little in her seat. 

“A month.” Fresa replied shortly. 

You nodded, fixing your eyes on the road. “I broke my wrist a bit ago and I was in a cast for a while. It sucks.” 

“At least you could walk.” Her voice was more casual, now, which you took as a good sign. 

“Yeah, but Ingrid wouldn’t let me do anything with either hand. She wouldn’t let me hike or cut my own food up with a fork and knife or walk the dog–”

“You have a dog?” Fresa interrupted. 

For the first time, your face broke into a wide smile as you nodded, eyes flickering to the passenger seat. “I do! Scout. He’s a border collie.” Pulling to a stop at a red light, you tapped your phone screen and showed Fresa your wallpaper; Scout at the top of your favorite hiking trail, his mouth open as he panted almost as though he was smiling. Fresa smiled then, too, softening slightly as you clearly swelled with pride talking about your Scout. 

You pulled into the parking lot of the library, then, parking as close to the doors as you could so Fresa wouldn’t have to go far on her crutches. You were out of the car so fast after turning it off that Fresa didn’t have time to unbuckle her seatbelt before you were opening the back door and grabbing her crutches. You opened her door, then, holding the crutches steady as she got out of the car, and she was all ready to yell at her to stop hovering when you turned, letting her shut the car door behind herself and follow you towards the entrance. If there was anything you were clear on, it was that Fresa’s sisters had surely been suffocating her since she got hurt. You weren’t about to make her angrier by doing the same. 

—

You hated how hard it was to focus. This infuriating, smart, beautiful girl was just about talking your ear off, but nothing felt like it was processing. Your knee bounced, and you tapped your pencil rapidly against your notebook, your attention not on the formula Fresa was taking you through, but instead on the lighter golden streaks of hair framing her face, no doubt from time in the sun. The freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, and the way her fingers curled around the pencil in her hand-

“Engen!” She said, louder this time. You snapped out of whatever trance you’d been in, feeling your cheeks flush. “Are you paying attention?” 

You nodded, somehow unable to find your voice. 

“Is it hard for you to focus?” Fresa asked, her voice a touch softer now. There was concern on her face, and it made you want to squirm. And run. Run far far away. Away from this pretty girl and the way she seemed to see right through the mask you put on for strangers. 

“No. I’m fine, this is just fucking boring.” You snapped, wanting to snatch back both your words and the tone they’d been said with as soon as they were out of your mouth. 

Fresa gazed at you, unimpressed. She had the aura about her that her sister did, one that meant business and took absolutely no shit. It was intimidating… and something else that you weren’t quite ready to admit. “Again, I’m doing this as a favor. You could be less of an asshole.” 

You blinked. Had you been an asshole today? You knew you’d just snapped at her, but otherwise you’d remained quiet and done everything she’d asked you to. 

Again, something in the Spaniard’s expression softened, and it felt like something inside your chest was melting. “You’re just… quiet.” She amended. “It feels like you aren’t really listening.” 

“I am.” You promised. “I’m trying, this is just boring and confusing and I don’t remember learning any of this.” You gestured wildly to the formulas Fresa had listed out on top of your piece of paper. She’d put them on there like you should have known them all already, and though you didn’t, you kept that to yourself. 

Fresa’s carefully manicured eyebrows furrowed. “Do you recognize this?” 

You shook your head, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

 “This one?”

Again, you shook your head. Fresa went through all of them, realizing quickly that she’d jumped into a topic that you were not familiar with, assuming that because you were working on the unit in school now, you’d learned the prior information needed. She shifted gears, beginning to talk you through the first formula, noticing that you paid a lot more attention now that the math wasn’t as complicated. 

Once it seemed like you had a handle on the first few formulas, Fresa showed you how to apply them to what you were learning now in class. It was much easier, now, or it was in your head. It was slightly difficult to focus on the numbers in front of you when you knew Fresa was studying you, as if trying to figure something out. 

“What’s school like in Norway, anyway? Did they forget to teach you basic algebra?” She teased. 

You stiffened, forcing a very fake smile onto your lips. You didn’t want to talk about Norway, yet you still felt like you owed her some kind of explanation. 

“I didn’t really pay attention. Or try very hard.” The way you said it made it clear that you wouldn’t be saying anything else, and luckily, Fresa seemed to get that. 

“Well, you’re trying now. That’s cool.” She said casually, flipping the page of your textbook before she began to talk you through another set of problems.

Once again, your eyes were stuck on her face, but your brain focused on her words. She’d simplified it so much, yet it felt like it rang true when she said it. You were trying now. And that was more than you’d ever done before. 

The rest of the study date seemed to fly by. Maybe it was because your school work was coming easier or maybe it was because the tension between you and Fresa was lessened. Either way, you found yourself sitting across from her in the study room with nothing left to do, but you had the strangest feeling that you didn’t want to go just yet. 

“Are you going to the final?” You wondered. Fresa had begun to pack her bag but she paused, leaning back in her chair and nodding. 

“Yeah, with my family. You are going?” 

This time you nodded. “With María and Ingrid, but I’m sitting with Mapi’s parents and her brother.” 

Fresa’s brow crinkled, and you could tell she wanted to ask why you weren’t sitting with your own parents. She didn’t, though, quietly thanking you as you stood and handed over the crutches that were propped up against the wall. 

“Well, I’ll see you there then, before we meet to study again. If you want to study again.” 

It was an effort to make sure your response was measured, not overenthusiastic. “I’d like to. This was helpful even if it was boring.” 

You moved closer to the Spaniard, extending a hand though you didn’t think she’d take your offer of help. Fresa reached out, seemingly without thinking about it, allowing you to help her to her feet. You were eye to eye for a moment, or as eye to eye as you could be with Fresa being several inches shorter than you. The brunette cracked a smile, rolling her eyes.

“Boring,” she scoffed, “boring is watching you try to multiply double digit numbers.” 

She began to crutch out of the room and you followed her, mind searching for the perfect witty reply. A small smile sat on your face as you held the door for Fresa, a smile you didn’t even know was there. 

—

Something was wrong. You’d been dancing around it for weeks. Maybe months, more likely years, but you couldn’t deny it any longer. Something was wrong with your wrist. The doctor at the hospital had tried to tell you back when you’d broken it a few months ago, but you hadn’t wanted to hear it. If you ignored it, the problem would go away. That had been your approach to a lot of things in life, and your wrist pain was one of those things. 

Mapi had asked, once, after the doctor brought it up. Carefully, calmly, she’d inquired as to whether your wrist caused you pain. As confidently as you could, you told her it didn’t bother you much. Mapi had dropped it, then. You weren’t sure if she believed you, or if she just knew better than to try to get you to admit to it, but either way, you hadn’t discussed it with her or Ingrid since. 

But the pain… it was getting worse. You did a lot more climbing these days than you used to. Before, your go to activity to relax was a hike, but it stressed Ingrid out if you went hiking too close to dark or when she was away for a match, so you spent more time in the climbing gym. And climbing always made the ache in your wrist more pronounced. So did writing for too long and sometimes if you picked something heavy up with your bad hand, it would give out. The list of things that bothered it was getting longer, and the pain was getting more intense. 

It was becoming increasingly clear that whatever was wrong with your wrist wasn’t going away anytime soon, no matter how much you ignored it. Your next plan was not to see a doctor. Of course not. That was the worst case scenario. In fact, you’d almost rather cut your hand off yourself than go see a doctor. No, instead you did some googling and took matters into your own hands… well, hand. You got a wrist brace that alleviated some of the pain while climbing; a wrist brace that remained hidden at the bottom of your gym backpack lest your sister or María find it and give you the third degree. When you got home from the gym, or from really anything that made it hurt, you iced. This was more difficult to stick to because Ingrid and Mapi were always hanging around downstairs in the living room when you got back from the gym, and they’d begun to notice that you were grabbing ice after you showered. You said it was for the callouses and burns on your hands from the holds, and they hadn’t pressed. 

Until today, when the pain was worse and your wrist felt a bit swollen. You’d gotten back from the gym a couple hours ago, having stopped there after school. After quitting early because your wrist ached, you’d come home, hopped in the shower, ate dinner with Mapi and your sister, before scurrying upstairs with an ice pack to hide away in your room. 

Either Ingrid had grown suspicious, or she’d just come to check on you like she sometimes did. Either way, she pushed your door open after knocking, [though she didn’t wait for a response, something she did when she thought you were hiding something], and found you lounging on the floor with Scout, your wrist carefully wrapped in the ice pack as you pet your dog with your other hand. 

“Sure, come in, Ingrid.” You called sarcastically, resisting the urge to shove the icepack away from your and hide your wrist somehow. Scrambling to hide now after she’d already seen would only make her more suspicious. Turning to look at your sister, you saw her eyes zero in on your extended arm. 

“What’s wrong with your wrist?” She asked, not even bothering to defend that she’d come in without knocking. 

“Just a bit sore. I twisted it weird at the gym.” It was a lie, and somehow you felt as though Ingrid knew that. Your anxiety began to grow as you searched for something, anything to say, before noticing that while the sweatshirt she’d paired with her favorite pair of sweatpants was very familiar.  “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” 

Ingrid ignored your accusation, stepping forward and motioning for you to stand up. Though she was wearing your sweatshirt, she very clearly saw that you were trying to distract her. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” 

“I want my sweatshirt back.” You grumbled, getting to your feet and sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“Solstråle.” Ingrid said seriously, her hands finding her hips as she raised an eyebrow in your direction. It was the ‘tell me what’s going on right now’ look, but you weren’t giving in. Not about this. 

“I didn’t think about it. Relax, Ingrid, it’s not a big deal.” You whistled for Scout to join you on the bed, the black and white dog eagerly bounding over and hopping up. You ran your fingers through his fur, purposefully using your bad hand. It took everything in you not to get defensive and start yelling, to act casual and fine, especially when Ingrid was staring at you so intently. 

“You didn’t mention it hurt, and you hid away in your room to ice it. That feels like a big deal to me.” 

“I didn’t hide away, I always come up here after dinner.” You scoffed. “You’re being a bit dramatic, Ing.” 

Ingrid’s nostrils flared, her face flushing as she grew frustrated. She didn’t reply, simply turning on her heel and heading for the hallway. Naively, you thought maybe you’d won. Maybe she’d give up. Instead, she poked her head into the hall, calling out for her girlfriend to come upstairs. By the time María made it up to your room, you and Ingrid were fully in a standoff; Ingrid’s eyes narrowed in your direction as you sat stiffly with your arms crossed, trying not to wince at the pain the position caused. 

“What’s up?” Mapi asked carefully, stepping into the room as though there was a bomb that needed to be diffused inside. 

“Ingrid’s paranoid.” 

“Sol’s wrist is hurting her and she didn’t say anything and I think it’s a much bigger deal than she thinks it is.” 

Mapi blinked, looking between the two of you for a moment. She stepped forward, holding her hand out in your direction. You rolled your eyes, knowing what she wanted, but put your hand into her outstretched one anyway. Her fingers probed around your wrist joint, and you had to concentrate hard so you didn’t wince or cry out. 

“What happened?” 

“I twisted it on the wall. It’s fine, just a bit sore.” 

Mapi looked doubtful, pressing her index finger into a particularly painful spot. You yelped, wrenching your hand away. Ingrid stepped closer, no triumph on her face even as she’d clearly been proven right. She wished she was wrong. 

“Just twisted it?” Ingrid questioned. 

You glared at the two of them, cradling your wrist close to your chest. “Yes. Twisted it. It hurts a little bit. More when you poke it like that. It’s not a big deal, it doesn’t matter, now get out of my room.” 

It was harsh, even for you. Mapi sighed, shaking her head slightly at you. She hated when you yelled at Ingrid, and she hadn’t heard you be so irritated in a while. Your sister, though, didn’t look discouraged. Her eyes were still fixed on yours, and you almost wished she looked angry instead of the worry clouding her features. 

“Do not speak to me like that. I’m just worried about you.” Ingrid began, your guilt increasing.

It almost worked, but the pain in your wrist and the guilt in your chest didn’t compare to the anxiety you felt at the prospect of admitting what was wrong. You were strong enough to handle this yourself. you’d done it before, and you’d do it again. You didn’t need anyone’s help. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been rude. But I’m fine, Ingrid.”

Some of the tension left your sister’s frame, her eyes softening in a way that almost made you break. 

“Then promise me your wrist is fine, that you just twisted it.” She asked calmly. 

You only hesitated for a moment. “I promise.” 

The lie left a bad taste in your mouth, and what was worse? You could tell from the disappointed looks on both Ingrid and María’s faces that they knew you were lying. Neither of them pushed further, though. They knew how stubborn you could be. You wouldn’t talk to them until you were ready, and there was nothing they could do to speed that process along. 

You unequivocally did not deserve the hug Ingrid wrapped you in, but you let it happen anyway. She squeezed you tight, pinched your cheek like she always did, and stepped aside.The routine repeated, María giving you a searching look before hugging you as well. They said goodnight every night; there wasn’t an evening you went to bed without them checking on you. It felt like you were throwing that care back in their face by lying, yet you were completely powerless to do anything else. You couldn’t tell the truth. You wouldn’t. 

As they left your room, you flopped back onto your bed. Your wrist hurt, and your sister was probably still upset with you. But your mind was lingering on neither of those things. Instead, you were thinking about the Champions League final coming up. And who you’d see there. 

—

😁🫶🏻🙂🥰 🍓☀️🍓☀️🍓☀️🍓☀️🍓☀️🍓☀️🍓☀️ [i hope you enjoyed!!!!!!!]