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babblydrabbly · 3 years ago

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You'll Understand When You Come My Way || A Valentine's Day Oneshot

F!Reader x Stephen Holder x Erik Heller x Rick Flag x Takeshi Kovacs

5.8k+ words

a/n - Happy Valentines Day, lovelies! This is obviously ridiculous and indulgent, so let's not think too hard about how they all ended up in the same universe. Inspired by that scene from Sense8 and the song Demons by Fatboy Slim. Enjoy!

warnings: poly!ship fic. smut. m/f. m/m. m/m/f/m/m lmao ok alright. reader's got two hands and three holes ykwim. language. food mention. smoking. drinking. fingering. kissing. oral. rimming. squirting. handjobs. penetrative sex. anal sex. dp. cum. creampie. we got it all bby, its v-day!

I do not give permission for my work to be translated or reposted.

Gifs: x x x x

Not all of them get along. In fact, tonight's truce is a bit of a miracle. But you've had a long day at work, and the boys want to make sure their gracious host still has a nice, pleasant Valentine's.

You lie back in Stephen’s passenger seat as he drives you both home. It’s been a long day. While your partner was out following a possible lead, you wound up staying at the precinct with a difficult witness. And after a small fight broke out in holding just as you were about done for the day, you’re ready to just take off your shoes and uncork whatever you can find in the kitchen cabinets.

Stephen’s in a strangely good mood the whole drive home, though. He bangs his thumbs on the steering wheel to the music playing on his vastly out-dated stereo.

“Ay, d’you even remember what day it is, girl?” He says, elbowing you. He reaches over and turns up the volume as a sensual R&B song fills up the car. “Do I need to put you in the mood?”

You snort, turning your head to him. He makes a valiant attempt at grinding seductively to the music in his seat and shoots you a smirk.

You had almost forgotten. The police station isn’t exactly big on decorations. The thought occurs to you that it's Valentine’s Day exactly once, when you slipped out of your office to buy some lunch and noticed someone selling flowers on the street outside today. You checked your phone calendar, shocked at how much of February had gotten away from you.

“The mood for what exactly?” You eventually ponder out loud. Stephen pulls into your driveway slowly and puts the car in park.

No one at work yet knows your living arrangements with Stephen Holder. Ever since he insisted on moving in to help you keep an eye on your guests, the two of you had grown to be so much more than partners. It was a tension that had always been there between the two of you. But after encountering Rick, Takeshi, and Erik, Stephen couldn’t keep his attraction silent anymore. Not with the way the others so obviously vied for you over these past few months.

Still, there were things you simply didn’t hold any expectations over. Romantic holidays for one thing. You and Stephen were both busy people with the same job. And considering you hadn’t remembered, you certainly had no intention of expecting Stephen Holder to.

Stephen leans over the center console and meets your lips with a kiss. You hum gratefully and grasp at his jaw as you move your mouth against his.

“You’ll see.” He muses after a moment. His eyes linger on your mouth. “But lemme keep you to myself for a second. ‘Fore you go inside ‘n see everyone.”

You chuckle curiously against a fresh onslaught of kisses. “They’re all home?”

The detective doesn’t elaborate. Instead, you feel his long fingers glide over the fabric on your thigh and slip between your legs.

You close your eyes as Stephen teases your center over your layers of clothes. You thread your own hand through his hair where it grows longer at his scalp, giving him an encouraging tug. You can tell from the way he delivers you a muffled groan he’d like to do a lot more than that.

You reach down and unbutton your pants for him. You guide his hand toward the zipper, and Stephen pulls his face away, shaking it into the crook of your neck. “Hold up- you need to get that sexy ass inside.” He mumbles, nuzzling your neck.

You pin his face there and earn yourself a hot, wet kiss just over your pulse. You whimper teasingly. “You don’t want to stay here awhile?”

There’s little Stephen can resist when it comes to you. You arch your back when his fingers slip past your waistband and make contact with your pussy. Stephen makes another wanton sound as he’s met with your folds already so warm and slick.

“Goddamn, mama.” He murmurs against your collar. He laves at your skin while you chase his firm touch with your hips. Stephen lets you grind on his palm. He slips his middle fingers inside your entrance, curling them as your clit seeks desperate friction. You were nodding off on your way home, and now you’re drawing Stephen’s face back up to yours, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss.

“A’ight, a’ight. You’re goin’ inside.” He grins as he pulls away. You’re incredulous when he slips his hand out from between your legs and plants one last firm kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Stephen!” You practically whine.

“C’mon.” He laughs. He quickly removes the keys and steps out.

Begrudgingly, you button yourself back up, still a little stunned that he was passing up the opportunity to have some fun in the car. Especially when he was just talking about trying to ‘put you in the mood’. You glance up in the rearview mirror as you gather your bag and your coat, trying to see what he was rummaging through in the trunk.

He shuts it as you step out. You arch a suspicious brow at him.

“What on earth are you doing?” You say, making your way toward him. Stephen stops you with his hands on your hips, his mischievous grin unmistakable.

“Yo I gotta bring some stuff inside. You go in first, yeah?”

You find yourself being spun around as a playful slap on your ass sends you on your way.

You enter your house through the garage. Immediately, you’re hit by the scent of something wonderful cooking. You stop to sigh at the warmth of your normally barren kitchen. Before you shared your home with anyone, it hardly saw any use.

Erik Heller stands at the island, chopping up leafy greens with deft hands. You take in the sight of his broad shoulders in a nice knitted sweater pushed up to his elbows, noting how well dressed he looks this evening, even for him. He pauses from the cutting board to take a sip of red wine and notices you standing in the doorway. He gives you that quaint smile that still dazzles you somehow.

“Welcome home.” He says softly. You smile back and set your things down, wandering over to the stove top. You inhale deeply over the saucepan bubbling with something bright red and delicious looking.

Erik joins you. Before you can ask about his day, he comes up from behind you closely and stirs into the pot with a wooden spoon. He takes your hip in his other hand and sways you while he continues cooking. You huff.

“Let me guess, you’re not going to explain anything about all of this either.”

Erik leans over your shoulder and takes a sip of sauce before offering the spoon to you.

“I’m told you’re an exceptional detective.” He smiles as you taste a bit for yourself. You give an appreciative sound when the rich combination of basil and tomatoes touch your tongue. Erik gives your hip a squeeze. “Surely you’ve figured it out by now.”

Slipping out of his grasp, you eye him as you wander over to the other dishes already prepared. You swipe your finger through a bowl of another sauce that looks warm and creamy, with slices of mushroom floating along the surface. Erik tuts at you as you steal a taste.

You smile. “I don’t know if I like all of you conspiring against me yet.”

Erik wipes his hands on a towel by the stove before planting himself in front of you. He nudges you against the counter, his eyes dropping to the finger that lingers, caught between your teeth. He reaches up, pulling it from your mouth, and your lips fall open as you watch Erik slip the digit past his own. His eyes fall shut as he hums, tasting you.

You swallow. You feel the wet warmth of his tongue slide along the pad of your finger.

Then, the gentle suction as he bobs his head ever so faintly down, til his lips brush your knuckles. The action is so soft, yet so electric, sending a jolt of desire down to your core. You watch him, hypnotized, until he opens his eyes again and pulls his lips off your finger with a delicate pop.

You always marvel at Erik Heller’s intense gaze. He often pinned you with silent looks across the room, while the others argued or bickered. His intimacy was unique- theirs all were. You loved the thrill of his quiet longing for you, though.

Erik’s lips find your knuckles again, this time with a simple kiss. He trails them around until he feels the fluttering pulse at your wrist.

You lean back on the counter as Erik presses his body into yours, then suddenly a mouth is on your neck again, shutting down any further inquiries still on your mind. You splay your fingers on his chest as he arches you back and your breath quickens. The thigh between your legs brushes against your aching center, eliciting a moan from you. You lift a knee, but it’s not enough friction.

You groan when Erik pulls away from you with a knowing smile.

You soon find yourself with a fresh wine glass in your hand. He pours you a generous amount of red. “I’m almost done with dinner. Why don’t you go sit and relax for a while.” He suggests.

You grumble as you’re politely shooed away with your glass in hand. Still, you take a sip, toeing your shoes off in the hall.

When you round the corner, you halt with another incredulous huff.

A flush creeps up your face as Rick Flag and Takeshi Kovacs turn to you from their respective spots on the sofa.

They definitely heard you in the kitchen with Erik.

“That smooth bastard.” Rick chuckles into his glass. The last of the amber liquid disappears past his lips in one swallow.

Takeshi sports a matching tumbler, though his sits emptied on the coffee table. You pointedly ignore the cigarette butt snuffed out at the bottom of the glass. How many times have you told all four of them about not smoking inside the house?

“Wonder what you two could possibly be talking about.” You say with an unimpressed glare. Takeshi’s smirk is smug, as always.

“She’s embarrassed.” He tells Rick, as if you’re not standing there. “She doesn’t want to sit down with us.”

Rick offers a hand to you, a little more sympathetic. “Come over here, darlin’.”

Your feet move toward them, but instead of sitting in between you like Rick wants, you take a seat on the armchair across from them. Still, Rick’s sly little smile is just as devious as the envoy’s.

But to their credit, they ask you about your day. You tell them about the miniature riot that broke out between all the men in the holding cell, and you raise your sleeve to show them both the purpling bruise on your forearm. Rick grins when you tell him how you clocked the asshole who gave it to you just before he tried helping himself to a handful of your ass in the middle of the fight.

“Should have broken his arm.” Takeshi muses. You didn’t have trouble imagining the damage he could have done if he had been there.

Eventually, you sit back with a sigh.

The sun is setting outside now, and you tell them you’d rather put all of that behind you for the night.

You ask them both what they’d like to watch as you reached for the remote, even though you know Rick and Takeshi rarely ever had a preference when it came to the television. It was usually you or Stephen who decided what to put on.

Rick turns to Takeshi with an arch of his brow. “The lady wants to watch somethin’.” He says. A knowing glance passes between the two men.

You cross your arms defensively, remote in hand. Again with the pretending you weren’t there! You expected it from teasing, smug Takeshi- but not the colonel.

You have half a mind to get up and simply go find Erik or Stephen, when the spark of something flashes between the two men. As if challenging one another, it’s Takeshi who makes the first move.

Your mouth falls open when he reaches out and pulls Rick into a sudden kiss by the collar of his shirt. Rick meets him with a muted grunt.

You sit, frozen, watching the two of them as they explore each other’s mouths heatedly. Rick and Takeshi are similar in so many ways, and you can tell even from the armchair, that their personalities are bumping as they fight each other for dominance.

Rick takes the envoy’s face in both his strong hands, forcing him to part his lips for Rick’s tongue. But it’s Takeshi who slips a hand between the other man’s thighs, eliciting a surprised moan from him. Rick jerks back in warning, nearly parting the kiss. But you watch as another stroke coaxes him to roll his hips with hesitation, a deep sound leaving him willingly this time.

Your wine glass sits on the coffee table, forgotten now. You squeeze your thighs together as you stare, helplessly unable to look away. That burning ache returns as you watch the two of them kiss for you. It rises to your cheeks again when Takeshi’s eyes slip open, shifting over to you with a burning gaze as he continues to swallow Rick’s tongue. You can’t help but to reach down. To run your hand up your thigh as you bite your bottom lip.

Your fingers dance dangerously close to the inseam of your slacks when Stephen’s voice draws you out of your trance.

“Ay, playas.” Stephen doesn’t look surprised at all by the obscene display in the living room. He leans on the wall over by the foyer with such casualness- it makes you want to jump up and ask everyone what the fuck is going on. Stephen meets your eye before you do, though, nodding back to the other room. “Heller’s got the chow ready.”

When they all wrangle you back into the kitchen, all your objections die on your lips.

Your eyes fall on several large vases of roses all scattered around every surface. The bunches of balloons tied to the chairs around the dining table set for five, shaped like red and white hearts, all say various cheesy phrases: Be mine, xoxo, Love Love Love.

Erik stands by the table with a half empty bowl of loose rose petals, the other half scattered over the tablecloth. There’s even a glass set of holders on the table for the taper candles now glowing softly against the disappearing light outside.

You stare between them all in stunned silence.

“What is this?” You ask finally, quietly.

Takeshi’s hand ghosts around your waist as he passes by you, his deep voice smug in your ear. “Had to distract you while they set up somehow.”

The kitchen fills with the sound of chairs dragging back and chatter as all four men get settled at the table, and you finally wander over to take a seat at the head.

“We thought we’d call a truce. For tonight.” Rick offers you. He pours himself a new whiskey, capping the bottle and tossing it precariously right over the table. But Takeshi catches the bottle with ease.

You continue to stare, still speechless at the ease with which everyone tucks into all the food. You’re finally pulled from your daze when Stephen passes you the salad bowl.

You dish some of the greens out onto your plate, feeling like you’re two steps behind everyone else as they pass each other everything. You hold up your plate as Erik serves you a few slices of the creamy chicken and mushroom you tried earlier, shooting him a small smile.

“Pink is for gratitude, you know. Not romance.” Erik tells Stephen. You look up again at the vases- three of them with big bouquets of velvety red roses, and the other three filled with bunches pink and white.

“Man, whatever. They’re still pretty, ain’t they?” He retorts, mouth half full of bread. He turns to you. You know Stephen well enough to see the hint of uncertainty in his expression now. “You like ‘em, right?”

“They’re beautiful.” You assure him. “It’s all gorgeous, really.”

“I think we owe you plenty of gratitude.” Rick comments.

You have reason to assume he means the way they’ve all been living in your home the past few months. How you helped Rick, Takeshi, and Erik without question when they needed a place to stay. And how you confided in Stephen about it all, who didn’t hesitate to support you either, after all the hardships you had helped him through in the past.

But part of you wonders if he’s talking about the other thing. The private, burning connections you’ve been making with all of them, in all their unique ways. How they all seemed to be pulling you in different directions, vying for you the way you’ve been vying for them. It wasn’t something you had all discussed. But clearly they were all far more on the same page than you had expected.

The five of you eat and toast until you finish with a few more drinks in the living room.

With your chest warmed by wine and a pleasant night, you sit happily in Stephen’s lap on the armchair as the others talk about their lives. Which has always fascinated you, admittedly, as much as you tried not to pry.

Erik, Takeshi, and Rick always seemed to get along when they were talking about the kind of shit a normal civilian couldn’t even wrap their head around. Hell, you and Stephen have seen some shit, and you could hardly wrap your head around it all.

But as it gets late, you sigh apologetically at them as you fight a yawn.

You shift in Stephen’s lap and get up. He keeps his hand wrapped around yours. “Where you goin’, mama?”

“I think it’s time for a shower and bed.” You smile.

It’s Erik who stands from the other armchair first. He slips his hands around your waist and draws you into his arms. You know it’s coming, but you still let out a soft ‘oh’ as he boldly kisses you in front of the others, not withholding a single ounce of his desire.

“Stay.” He murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.

Erik steers you over to Takeshi and Rick, who fall quiet as you obediently sit between the two large men without protest this time. Takeshi leans down to set his glass on the table and moves closer to you. You feel yourself flush as that intimidating smirk brushes across your jawline, his breath a pleasant sensation against your warm cheek.

Erik kneels in front of you. He pushes himself between your legs and pulls you down for another deep kiss. Your hands fly to his hair, your fingers pulling it from it’s careful style as you kiss him in return. The wine and ache between your legs convinces you to let go of your self-consciousness.

The sound of your kiss fills the room as the others watch, but soon you feel another set of hands on you as Erik works your mouth open with fervor.

Rick’s rough, calloused hand glides under the hem of your shirt and across your stomach. It flutters as the heat of his palm mixes with your heat. He curls his fingers around the fabric, and you lift your arms as he pulls it up over your head. He hums appreciatively at the black laced bra now exposed. He leans in and kisses your shoulder slowly.

Rick’s patient trail leads him to your neck. He plants his lips firmly to your throat and draws a deep moan from you.

You pull away to take a breath. You look down at Takeshi, who wastes no time to bend and dip his tongue between your cleavage. You shiver as his teeth drag along your sensitive skin, nipping at the swell of your breasts.

Your eyes flit to Stephen. In the armchair right across from you, He watches you with a dark look. It doesn’t escape you the way he’s got his knees spread out wide, the hard outline of his length visible and thick against his thigh. He grips the armrest with one hand, while the other brushes his knuckle over the seam of his lips as he keeps his eyes on you.

Through all the sensations, you’re vaguely aware of the pair of hands undoing your slacks. You suck in a sharp breath when Erik hooks a finger on your panties and pulls them down, pressing a kiss to your exposed mound. He levels you with a patient look, waiting for you to object. When you don’t he continues his slow, tender undressing.

He moves his hands over your hips, drawing your slacks down under your rear. You watch in a daze as he pulls them down your thighs next, your legs pliantly maneuvering for him to continue. One ankle out from the leg of your pants, then the other. He trails kisses down your exposed inner thigh, and you can’t help the way your knees fall apart.

He kisses down until he’s lifting the back of your knee over his shoulder, mouthing at your calf tenderly before retracing his path back up.

A sharp bite draws your attention away from Erik. Takeshi soothes the bite over your budding nipple with the lave of his tongue, his hooded eyes glancing up at you as he closes his mouth around it once more. The hard suck of his lips sends a spark of electricity through you. You reach up and give the envoy’s long, golden locks an equally sharp tug. He groans for you.

You melt when Erik’s mouth finally reaches your core.

The broken little cry that tears through the quiet living room seems to ignite something in the others; Takeshi and Rick surge on, pressing you back into the couch as you let the overwhelming feeling of so many hands and tongues and lips drown you.

Rick’s strong arm easily reaches down to hook around your other knee, spreading you apart further for Erik. Your back bows taut when you feel Erik’s tongue circle your clit before delving down into your entrance.

The wet heat between his lips makes your eyes roll up as he fuckes his tongue deep inside you, his thumb pressing over the bud of your sex over and over.

He replaces his tongue with two fingers soon. You whine at the loss of heat so quickly gone, but as his tongue travels down further your eyes shoot open. Rick and Takeshi keep you pinned down as you wriggle with surprise, “Erik.”

“You can take us, darlin’.” Rick says against your ear. You look over at him helplessly as he captures your lips with his own.

“T..Take you?” You repeat. Erik’s ministrations make your mind draw a blank. You moan as he pushes and curls his fingers in and out of your cunt, while his tongue languidly opens up your other entrance. Your toes curl when it feels as if he’s rubbing that white hot spot inside of you from both sides, the sensation almost making it hard to breathe.

You’re so lost in the building heat that rises, in the way Takeshi sucks on your breasts and Rick on your neck, that your orgasm wrenches you before you can warn anyone. You grasp at the couch cushions as the wetness surprises you. Erik groans deeply, lapping at you hungrily as you soak his face. He pulls away when you collapse back down with a lick of his lips. You redden, still panting.

Rick guides you up before you can catch your breath.

You mumble, eyes glazed, to ask what he’s doing. But Takeshi kneels up on the couch with you, his hands on your hips to steady you from behind.

You finally notice how they’ve stripped their clothes, their bare chests pressing you in. Rick cups your face to kiss you. Your body responds without missing a beat, already thrumming again at the feeling of Rick’s hot arousal pressing into your stomach. Takeshi’s length is a firm match against your lower back as he continues mouthing at your skin, placing kiss after kiss along your neck and between your shoulder blades.

Rick’s biceps flex as he drops his arms below your waist, palming you just below your ass. He lifts you with ease over onto his thighs. Your own wrap around his on instinct, and your wrap your arms around his neck with a yelp.

Your head falls back when Rick sinks you down onto his cock. Even with Erik working you open, Rick’s thick length pushes inside you til you whimper at the familiar pleasure mixed with that tantalizing stretch. Rick keeps still as you mold around him.

But it’s the hot press of Takeshi’s cock at your ass that makes you moan. His length is slick with lube, the liquid warm as it makes contact with you.

Still, you worry your bottom lip, darting an unsure glance up at Rick. “I- I don’t know if I can…”

Takeshi soothes you with a brush of his lips against your ear. “Tell me if it’s too much.” He says softly. It’s the patient, almost delicate tone you’ve only ever heard when the two of you are alone. That rare voice that reaches into you and calms you. You press your lips together and will yourself to relax.

Takeshi waits for you to nod before pushing into you slowly. Your head falls back on his shoulder as the two of you give a strangled sigh in unison. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full.

Rick begins the pace, his eyes never leaving yours as he fucks you with steady strokes. It’s an alternating pleasure. And you know despite the way Takeshi grunts and thrusts behind you, he’s making sure every sound that leaves your mouth is laced with nothing less than ecstasy. Soon, your eyes slip closed as they both slide in and out of you, fucking you til you’re moaning again.

You look over at Stephen. It’s incredible how your heart can speed up any faster at the sight of him. You watch as he fists his cock in his hand, eyes hooded and still on you. He presses his mouth closed tightly as he jerks himself off. His broad chest heaves.

You make a small sound and stretch your arm out to him and Stephen sits up.

“Go on,” Erik encourages the detective from his own seat on the coffee table. He’s in the same shape as Stephen. His palm glides over the bulge in his slacks as he seems content to watch. But you reach for him as well.

“You too.” You call to Erik.

It’s a blur of more touches, more skin, from there on. You wrap your fingers around Erik’s cock eagerly as they both join the rest of you, stripping themselves of their clothes too. You nudge your face against Stephen’s waistline. He’s barely out of his jeans when you reach for his arousal, guiding it to your lips. A groan tears from the detective’s throat as you hollow your cheeks around as much of his length as you can.

Erik’s cock twitches in your other grasp. His fingers thread through your hair, his steady hand a comfortable weight at the base of your neck as you close your eyes and swallow Stephen down.

“Fuck,” Rick grates out. His normally tan skin is flushed from his chest to the tips of his ears, a sheen of sweat forming over his body as he keeps fucking you vigorously. Takeshi, too, is reduced to grunts. And though you can’t see him, you can feel the way he grips your hips with bruising strength. Hear the way he pants and swears under his breath.

You pull off Stephen with a wet pop, uncaring about the small trail of saliva that follows your shining lips. You switch between Erik and Stephen like this until the familiar twist in their faces tells you how close they are.

Stephen reaches down and grips your fist around his cock, bucking his hips into you as he nears climax. You hum around Erik’s length, encouraging Stephen to come anywhere he wants. You whimper as the hot splash of spend lands on your jawline and your bouncing chest.

The sight elicits a groan from Erik. The first rope of cum hits the back of your throat and you draw your mouth off his cock to feel the rest paint your lips and chin. The man shudders with pleasure at the sight of you. And like a chain reaction, Rick warns you he’s close.

It’s Takeshi who reaches his fingers down and slides them over your slick clit.

You jump at the added pressure, your eyes rolling again. Erik drops to his knees, his mouth joining Takeshi’s to travel across your skin, lapping at the cum and sweat gathered on your breasts. He closes his lips around your nipple, still tender from all of Takeshi’s biting and sucking earlier.

Stephen’s mouth meets yours. He swallows your muffled little keens as the heat in your belly builds- more hot than you’ve ever felt before as Rick and Takeshi continue thrusting into you.

The colonel takes a moment to grip Stephen’s chin and drags his face away from you. He possessively leans in and steals a kiss from you right in front of Stephen.

But before your partner can object, Rick pulls away from you wetly and transfers the kiss right to him. You see the drunken smile form on Rick’s face as Stephen hesitates, surprised. Drunk on whiskey and the unbelivable fucking feeling of your cunt around his cock. Stephen grips the hand holding his chin, and it’s another little fight for control, right in front of you. The sight of their sliding tongues, of deep grunts mixing together, sends goosebumps over your skin.

Your thighs squeeze around Rick as you finally come. Your cry wracks through you with every wave, and Takeshi swears, soon following, as if he was waiting for the very moment to climax with you. Rick tears his face away from Stephen. His hips stutter as your walls flutter around him.

Rick comes last- deep inside you with a final thrust. They both do. Takeshi’s head falls to rest on your shoulder, and yours falls back on his.

You catch your breath. Erik pushes your hair from your face with a smile. By the way he’s leaning against you, you know his arousal is already back. Stephen, too, looks up at you with pupils wide and lustful.

They wait for Rick and Takeshi to remove themselves from the couch before joining you. It should be impossible, the way your mouth waters and your pussy twitches, ready for more.

The moonlight is dim outside when you crack open your eyes faintly. You can sense that you’re lying on the floor. Over the plush living room rug, you would guess. Someone spoons you from behind- their deep breathing lulls you in and out of your own sleep for a few minutes. You rub your legs against theirs, noticing a throw blanket has been tucked over your bottom half at some point in the night.

You stir again at the click and flare of a lighter.

Erik sits up and leans over Takeshi’s hand as the envoy offers a flame amicably. The small point of light illuminates Erik’s face for a moment, smoke curling into the still air around him and leaving shadows on the far wall. He takes a puff, before passing the cigarette down to Takeshi, who lies stretched out beside you, every inch of them both still bare.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Takeshi teases without having to catch your eye. He always seems to know when you’re awake, even now.

You sigh and stretch a little. “I suppose you boys have earned it.” You tease back. And they both smirk.

“Damn right.” Comes a deep rasp from behind you. Rick’s arms draw tighter around your midriff. He pulls you closer to him, if that’s even possible. You let out a soft giggle as he rolls you over himself and away from the other men.

You drag the blanket with you to keep yourself covered- though you don’t know why it matters now. No one has bothered dressing themselves again after your long night of celebrating. You all have never been closer than tonight.

You note how someone must have wiped you down with care as you slept, your skin clean where it had been utterly debauched. You could guess any one of them would have, at this point.

Rick presses his face into the back of your head, nuzzling you there.

That leaves you facing Stephen, whose head rests in the crook of his arm as he watches you with that lop-sided smile. Your eyes flick down to the serenity tattoo that stretches across his chest. You reach your hand out toward it, and Rick doesn’t seem to mind when the detective moves closer, slotting himself against you until you’re sandwiched between them, your hand over his sternum.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He murmurs sleepily, his tired smile filling you with warmth for your partner. Your someone far more than just a partner.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Thank you.” You whisper back.

It’s obvious by Takeshi’s tone that he’s happy to interrupt your little moment, even from out of view with his own, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Detective.”

Rick snorts behind you. “Happy Valentine’s Day, darlin’.”

“Alles liebe zum valentinstag, mein schatz.”

Stephen sits up on his elbow with an irritated scrunch of his face.

”Ay y’all can go back to fuckin’ off again.” You can’t help but crack up a little at the indignant glare he shoots at all the others, even in the darkness.

“What do you mean? I think we’ve turned a new leaf, don’t you?” Asks Erik. And when he reaches over to pass the cigarette to him, Stephen’s glare softens. Still, he scoffs before he takes a cautious pull from the cig. “I quite enjoyed tonight.” Erik muses.

Takeshi agrees. “I wouldn’t object to doing that again.”

Finally, you sit up, much to Rick’s sleepy objection. He keeps his hold on your thigh as he turns over onto his back, his thumb still massaging your skin absently.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You wonder with an impassive mutter. But of course, your chest swells just thinking about tonight. Not just the sex. But the dinner. The gifts. The way all four of them clearly value something more than their resentment toward each other. At least enough to play nice for tonight. Was that something really you? Was it really possible they could consider keeping this up?

Stephen sees the crease in your brow and the telling way your bottom lip juts out in a cautious pout.

He tsks, grinning at you. Reaching up, he swipes his thumb over that bottom lip. The gesture eases you.

“Y’already know who’s in charge, baby. You’re the boss.”

#rick flag x reader #Stephen holder x reader #Erik Heller x reader #takeshi kovacs x reader #'you can probably bang out a fic in one day' I say hours before valentines day #jfc #lets be real though I was always destined to write this fic #rick flag #takeshi kovacs #Stephen holder #erik heller #Joel kinnaman fanfiction #dont look Joel look away #mywords*

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thhimble · 4 years ago

Text

we’ve got one thing in common (it’s this tongue of mine)

Henry Cavill x Reader x Chris Evans

The night slides together with alcohol and laughter, with a building, body-thrumming heat trapped between the three of you and growing brighter.

There’s no hesitation, no doubt, the idea’s been in your mind since Chris pressed a kiss to the top of your shoulder and wrapped an arm around your waist while Henry leaned forward to say something into your ear, his eyes shifting from yours to Chris and back again.

Warnings: soft squirting (it’s a thing, okay) a little bit of manhandling, but nothing too rough. i don’t think. No DP in this part, but maybe the next one… maybe. not beta read but i did my best.

This is also 9.2k of pure smuuuut so…heads up for that?

Also, the working title of this fic was:

this ain’t a crossover, baby(but we are crossing swords)

But we didn’t quite have any, you know, crossing swords so i sadly had to let that title go. :(

This is a Christmas gift to the amazing @rocknrollphanda who requested some Henry/Chris/Reader smut and since I’ve never written something like that before and i liked the challenge… here we are. 9k later.

Also, I’m sorry in advance, I don’t write/read Chris Evans so I hope he comes across okay from what I’ve seen randomly on TV or in gifs on my dash.

we’ve got one thing in common (it’s this tongue of mine)

Henry Cavill x Reader x Chris Evans

You’re tipping into that tipsy that makes everything just that much smoother; that sheen, filter, ease to the world that makes everything just that much better.

You aren’t even sure how you ended up here.

Chris, just Chris, doll, forget the last name, is pressed up behind you, his hands on your hips and his breath in your ear as you move to the electric-tipped beat pounding through the bar.

Your fingers slide over the nape of his neck, scratching the short, prickly hairs at the base of his skull, his skin is warm, his hands are hotter. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, his mouth traces your pulse, and you can feel every hard curve, every shift of his muscles, from his chest pressing against your shoulders, his abs shifting along your spine, and the weight of his hips, that bulk in his jeans, rubbing against the curve of your ass every time you roll your hips back against him.

You can see Henry, through the shifting lights, your head tilted back enough to watch him the way he watches you. Drink in hand, leaning against the railing of the upper floor.

He meets your eyes, your heart pounds, Chris’ hand slides across your stomach to pull you tighter into the grind of his hips.

Distracted, he says and nips your pulse. You laugh a little, your eyes closing, trying to sink back into the beat, but you know Henry’s still watching, still there; imprinted behind your eyelids, dark-eyed, dark-haired with a voice like…

(It’s your smile, he says, leaning closer, voice just loud enough to carry, his hand coming up, his finger brushing into the curve of your cheek where you can feel the heat of your skin, that little ache of smiling too much.)

You open your eyes, Henry’s there, lifting his drink to his mouth, water, you think, just like you’ve switched to because you know where this is going.

You’ve known it for a while now, this burning bit of warmth in the bottom of your stomach, lingering between your hips with every glance, every laugh, every slick-fingered knock of a drink or a shot as the night went on.

Chris’ hand tightens on your hip and you grip the back of his neck, your eyes locked on Henry as you roll your hips back, letting your head loll a little, heavy-lidded, full of that alcohol-ease and something hotter, slicker, like the heat of Chris’ body, like the burn of a shot without any chaser.

Yeah, you think, you know where this is going.

There’s no preamble, there’s no, are you coming with, no, are you sure—

You slide from a bad first date to Chris’ laughter, to Henry offering you a drink and a smile, you could do better, to a round of shots and dancing, to the back of a black car and the gilded, too nice marble floors of a hotel lobby.

The night slides together with alcohol and laughter, with a building, body-thrumming heat trapped between the three of you and growing brighter.

And it’s not until the hotel door thuds closed and Henry’s hand is hot on the back of your neck, dragging you into his body, his thumb pressing up on the edge of your jaw to tilt your head higher, that you wonder if you’re making a mistake.

Not because you don’t know if you want it— not because of the alcohol or the bad date, (that left you feeling a little stupid and upset,) but because there— right there in the heat of his mouth, the sharpness of his teeth, the way he crowds you against the closed door and takes— just takes— like your breath is his and your mouth is his and his thumb slides over your pulse like he knows the exact moment your lungs are empty…and leaves you gasping, open-mouthed and swollen-lipped—

is the very real realisation that they might wreck you for anyone else.

His grin is sharp and he touches his forehead to yours while you’re still gasping for air. “Only fair,” he mutters, “Evans’ got the first.”

Chris snorts behind him, and it’s only then you register the lights coming on, a soft warm glow from the side table lamps, the clink of glasses, the shnick of the mini-fridge opening.

“Just ‘cause you don’t dance, old man.”

“You’re older than me,” Henry huffs, but he’s reaching down, his hands wide and heavy on your hips as he hauls you up into his arms, letting you wrap your legs around his waist as his teeth scrape your neck. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” Chris laughs. “But you act ten years older.”

“Not true,” Henry mutters, but he’s sinking back into the couch, manhandling you until you’re settled on his lap and you’re sucking in a breath, feeling the bulk of his cock trapped in his slacks.

You card your fingers into Henry’s hair as his lips brush hotly over your neck, as you squirm into the weight of his cock, pressing down and his voice is a rolling, rumbling sort of thing you can feel in your stomach, your cunt, your fucking toes.

“God, that’s good,” you breathe out and Henry smiles into your skin.

“This is a much better kind of dancing, isn’t it?” he hums into your skin and you nod, because yeah, it really is. Even if it has more to do with the man beneath you and the cock you’re grinding against than the idea of a lap-dance in general.

His hands slide, all thick and warm and heavy along your thighs, up under the edges of your dress, a long-slow stroke that leaves you grinding down harder until you get that pressure right against your clit, the zipper on his pants pressing against you, his cock thick and hot even through the layers, spreading your lips, dragging your underwear slick and damp between them.

Henry breathes out into your shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck, clinging on because holy shit it feels good— that perfect sort of pressure and heat that spills extra dirty, makes you think back, trip back, to being younger and grinding against your palm, a pillow, still trying to figure out what felt good.

You’re pretty sure he knows exactly how good it is for you.

There’s the clink of ice next to your ear and Chris is there holding out a drink, it’s something fizzy and clear when you manage to drag your head up from Henry’s shoulder, blinking at the other man and his hand.

Henry snorts into your neck, nipping your shoulder before his hands are on your hips, beneath your dress, pushing you back just enough to throw off that perfect bit of pressure.

You whine, your whole body wanting; Chris grins and rolls the glass a little. You glare at Henry and tell yourself there isn’t a pout on your mouth, but by the way his lips twitch up, you aren’t so sure you believe your own lie.

“Sorry,” he grins but doesn’t look at all sorry. You huff and hear the clink of the ice again, looking over at Chris.

“Doll,” Chris starts and when you pull in a breath and let it out in a sigh, trying to find some patience for that needy thing that’s hot and warm between your hips, you reach for the glass, only to have it pulled back, and instead you get Chris’ hand at the nape of your neck, tugging you back a little, an awkward lean that leaves you gasping, held in place by Chris’ hand and Henry’s grip sliding to your ass.

Chris kisses you hard, his mouth is cool, touched by alcohol and the fizz of the drink, his tongue slick against yours.

Your hands tighten on Henry’s shoulders, feeling his fingers press in, slinking along the edge of your underwear, bunching it up more over the curves of your ass until it’s just skin beneath his palms.

When Chris lets you go, it’s with a grin and another roll of the glass, his eyes dark and his hair mussed from your hands earlier. “All’s fair.”

“Didn’t know we were keeping score,” you say breathlessly, taking the cool drink and swallowing it down, only just realizing how thirst you are, feeling it slide, cold and bright down your throat to settle in your stomach.

When you drain it, you breath out, your hand hovering with the empty glass as you wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, feeling the heat in your lips, the swollen warmth in them.

Chris slips the glass from your fingers, laughing as he drops down unto the other side of the small couch, leaning back into the corner in an easy slouch; he refills the glass with something out of a bottle, holding it out again.

Henry tugs you back in for another kiss, hard and quick before he’s tapping your ass cheek and pushing on your hip, tilting you towards Chris. You go easily, crawling over the short distance until your sliding into Chris’ lap, only half aware of Henry taking the glass Chris had poured and downing it almost as quickly as you had.

Chris’ lips are shiny with the drink and you lick the taste out of his mouth, letting him wrap his arms around you; the feeling of his beard, when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, prickles inside of your belly like it does on your skin.

For a minute, it’s just like you’re back at the club, with the weight of Henry watching you and Chris dance, the feeling of Chris around you, his hips twitching up as yours roll down… but it’s too quiet, just your breathing and theirs, the very distant sounds of late-night traffic so far down below the hotel room.

It trips inside of you, like the fizz of the drink, being here, suddenly—

You aren’t really sure you believe this is actually happening.

“Distracted,” Chris says, mouthing over your cheek. And you aren’t sure how he knows every time, but he does and you groan a little as he bites and sucks down your neck, tilting your head back and trying to gather your mind.

His hand eases up your thigh, under your dress, feeling how Henry left your underwear. He grunts into your neck and palms your cheek in a hard grip.

You look to Henry, who’s in that same sort of easy slouch Chris was, turned a little towards the other end of the couch, his back in the corner of it, watching you.

“Have you guys done this before?” you ask him, because your curious, because they seem so… calm, sure, confident in a way that’s broad-shouldered and steady. Sharp-toothed and hot-mouthed like every kiss you get swept up and swallowed by.

Henry laughs and shakes his head. “Can’t say I have.”

Chris laughs and nips your neck. “That’s a nope from me, too,” he says and when you look back at him, he sits a little straighter, wrapping the thick of his arms around your waist and hugging you to his chest and looking up at you.

“Really?”

Feeling your own smile on your mouth just at the way he’s smiling at you, you run your fingers through his hair, tilting his head a little higher before kissing him.

His heart beats against yours and there’s something easing about it, that physical closeness that isn’t just sex.

Until his hand smacks down on your ass and you yelp, jolting in his grip and huffing at his laughter.

“Really, really. We don’t make a habit of picking up girls in clubs in clubs just for a good ol’ tag team.”

You laugh. “I think we missed the tag team bit already,” you tease and steal a quick kiss when he lifts an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s more… you know, one of you and then the other. You two have basically kissed already.”

Chris’ face scrunches with laughter and you hear Henry’s echoing behind it, his head tilting back onto the couch.

“True, true!” Chris laughs. “Supes and Cap have swapped spit, it’s official.”

“Crossover of the century,” Henry laughs and you grin at him, sliding out of Chris’ lap and crawling back over to him.

You hear Chris’ hey— behind you, but clamber back onto Henry’s lap and grin at him as Henry kisses your jaw. “No tag-teaming,” you pout when you look at Chris. “It’s about equality.”

Chris laughs and raises his hands in surrender as Henry huffs into your neck. “Can’t argue with that.”

“And no high-fiving,” you say, your eyes flicking to Chris and back to Henry, leaning back to look at you, his eyebrow tilting up. “That’s a rule.”

“High-fiving?”

You nod. “No high-fiving, like good job, bro—Got ‘em!”

Chris’ laugh is loud and deep, got ‘em— his hand touching his chest as his head tilts back and Henry’s is deep and rolling against your body, nipping at your jaw as he tugs you closer, his hands on your hips, letting you find that same spot as before.

“Alright,” he forces out around a slowing laugh. “But I think that means I should get a dance, too.”

You look to Chris, who lifts his hand and gives it a little ‘go on’ sort of roll, wiping a hand over his face and still chuckling. “Equality,” he says and lifts his own drink to his lips with a smirk. “Since we’ve been banned from high fives.”

You grin and laugh, your hips winding until you feel that bump of the seam of Henry’s pants, the weight of his cock beneath it. Your body hums for the feeling of it, your mouth opening to pull in a breath as it sparks through you, grinding down right against it to chase that feeling.

It kills the laughter and replaces it with that heat that’s been building between the three of you all night; a swell of it, like it was a little dormant ember in your belly and all it took was a little spark to bring it back to life.

Henry palms your ass, gropes it to tug you tighter before his hands slide up the back of your dress, over your hips— you can feel your dress climbing, the cool air on your skin, but Henry kisses you and his mouth is so hot that you can’t pay much mind to the exposure until you hear Chris next you, his voice rough.

“That’s a fuckin’ sight.”

You can only imagine it, as Henry’s hand slide up your sides, your dress caught, bunched up over his wrists— the rolling grind of your hips, the shift of your ass, the bunch of your underwear stuck between your cheeks, the damp spot you can feel growing along the front of Henry’s pants on every slow-weighted roll of your body.

You feel Henry’s hand inching along your spine, his fingers gathering up the silky fabric of your underwear, bunching it tighter to pull tighter, dragging through the slickness between your legs, adding even more pressure to your clit every time you grind down.

You whine into Henry’s mouth and grip onto him tighter, pressing against his chest as he tugs it again, his mouth hot on your cheek, his voice rough and warm.

“Can you come from this?”

No, you think, because it’s not that easy— but he winds the fabric around his fingers once and it pulls it tighter, and every tug, every roll of your body, every grind down against that teasing, thick weight of his cock trapped beneath the layers of his clothing.

“Yes,” you choke out and he grins against your cheek as you turn your head to look at Chris, his eyes burning, moving from your body to your face and back again.

He moves then, standing from the couch and moving behind you. You feel his hand on the straps of your dress, his fingers grazing along your skin, pushing the straps down your shoulders.

You tilt your head up, and the kiss is awkward but his mouth is hot as he leans lower to lick into your mouth, his fingers on the zipper on the back of your dress, easing it down your back. Your dress pools open, Henry sucks a mark into your neck, his hand gripping your hip tighter, urging the roll of your body as Chris works the band of your bra open.

You feel it loosen, feel Chris’ hands sliding over your shoulders, down your arms, tugging your bra out from between the press of your body against Henry’s.

Your nerves flair for a second, just one sparking second at the idea of being naked between two men— but Chris’ hands are cupping your breasts and Henry’s tilting you back and his hips are twitching up just this little bit— inching rolls that tease the idea of him fucking you, of the weighted roll of his cock moving inside of you and there’s nothing but the grind of your hips, that slick, wet glide of your cunt against his lap, the tug of his fingers pulling your underwear, sliding it against your clit every time your hips roll back.

His thumb slides over your nipple, trapping it against the side of his finger as he gropes you, adding this sparking, tingling surge of pleasure like a spark, winding through your body.

You hitch a moan, feeling yourself spilling closer and closer to that edge, you head falling back against Chris’s shoulder, and it can’t be comfortable for him, leaning down the way he is, but his mouth is hot on your neck and he sucks a mark, worries your skin, pinching and rolling your nipples between slow, hot-palmed gropes at your breasts.

You aren’t even sure when your eyes shut, only that they do, sometime around the time a slick noise starts up between the sound of your moans and their breathing; the sticky grind of your cunt against your soaked underwear and Henry’s lap.

You spill closer to the edge, your cunt throbbing with it, clit aching, it’s right there, right there—

And your lips are moving, your voice a whine, a hitching moan, oh god, oh god—

One of them groans, and you wonder if it’s enough to make Henry come too, but he’s still hard beneath you as you lose your body to the sparking rush of the orgasm he grinds you into; a slow-building, slow-easing one, thighs trembling, toes curling, chest quivering as Chris groans into your neck, gripping harder on your breasts.

He tilts your head back as Henry’s fingers ease out of your underwear, giving it a few more little tugs until your whimpering, twitching your hips against his lap; Chris kisses you with his hand on the back of your head, tilting over you a bit more.

Henry strokes your thighs, your sides, palming your ass as you hum a soft moan into Chris’ mouth, your body still sparking on every stickier, slower roll of your hips against Henry.

“Doll,” Chris grins, kissing your cheek with a laugh. “That was hot as fuck.”

Your head lolls against his shoulder again, but he’s pressing another kiss to your cheek before standing straighter, letting Henry pull you back into a seated position on his lap, his hand sliding up your spine to keep you steady until you can get your body to work.

As good as you feel when Henry licks into your mouth, his kiss is the sort of hard and demanding that makes your insides spark up again, like all your orgasm was was a slow exhale over a flame and Henry’s mouth is the fire feeding itself brighter.

You reach between your bodies, feeling the shift of the couch as Chris sinks back into the other side, your fingers finding the skin-warmed heat of Henry’s belt. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head to kiss you harder— the first clink of his belt, the slide of leather—

Henry’s hand slides down to cup your throat, a little bit of building pressure as he breaks the kiss and pushes you back, sitting you straighter. Your spine tightens, your fingers curling along his belt as you suck in a breath, your pulse tripping, his thumb sliding on the side of your neck.

“Not there yet,” he says roughly, his hand tightens just a little more before he kisses you, stealing what little breath you have and there’s a building pressure as his hand flickers tighter— just before his mouth breaks away and he turns you and pushes you back roughly, dropping you back against the seat cushions.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush, pulse sparking; your head lands on Chris’ thigh and you blink up at him, his hand already slipping over the same spot Henry’s was, his thumb pressing into your pulse point.

“Hey there,” he grins and leans down to kiss you. It’s distracting, shifting from kissing one to the other, feeling the softer slide of Chris’ hand along your throat, palming your breast again, thumb sliding slowly over the peak of your nipple.

It winds through you, a teasing stroke, and you’re distracted enough by his mouth and hand that you’re only half aware of Henry moving between your thighs until Chris breaks the kiss and you both watch as he pushes your dress up over your hips, leaving it bunched around your middle, exposing the slickness between your thighs the way your underwear is stuck, sticky and twisted between your lips.

It’s a perverse sort of hot, even to you, and if the resounding groans that tumble out of both of them are clear enough, you’re not the only one who thinks so.

Henry’s finger slides right down the middle of you, right along the bunch and twisted silk covering your cunt, just brushing, just teasing over the swollen, damp heat of your clit beneath the silk.

You whimper and twitch and Chris’ hand twitches on your throat, keeping you still. You’re all watching as Henry slides his thumb along the soaked edge of your underwear, his thumbnail this little sharp spark that makes your insides twist.

“You gonna eat her out?” Chris asks, his voice rough. Henry nods, his eyes flicking up to yours as his thumb presses that much harder along the side of your cunt, slipping just a little beneath the twisted-up seat of your underwear, his thumb slick and hot, stroking through the mess of your release.

“Been dying to,” he says, watching his thumb slide along your cunt before looking back up at you. “Yeah?”

You nod eagerly, your insides burning with the idea of him thinking about it, your mind tripping back to the bar, the way he looked at you…

“He’s got a thing for eating pussy,” Chris says like Henry isn’t between your thighs with this look on his face that makes your cunt clench. “You learn some things about a guy when you drink together enough.”

Henry grins. “True.”

You watch him shift closer and you wonder if the front of his pants are as wet as you feel, and it’s a hot little thought, that you’re soaking into his lap still but that he’s shifting and kneeling on the floor, dragging your hips to the side as he tugs at the twisted-up underwear on your hips and yanks them down your legs.

Chris pulls you up a little, his hand sinking over your stomach and over your mound, his fingers push over it, pressed together until they split into a v, spreading your lips open between his fingers. “Fuckin’ pretty.”

Chris, you whine, your face burning, your hips squirming against nothing as the cool air brushes the wet heat of you, as they both just look—

And then Henry’s mouth is on the inside of your thigh and his teeth are sharp and deep and you’re crying out this tripping sort of whine as your knees jerk up and Chris’ fingers find your clit.

It’s sudden and too much and your eyes clench shut for the feeling of it all, for Chris’ thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek, but his fingers hot and weighted, rubbing this perfect sort of pressure over the sensitive, swollen heat of your clit.

Your face turns into Chris’ lap and his cock is right there, hard and thick in his pants and you move trembling fingers, trying to get your body to work because—

Someone— one of them— needs to get a dick out.

Chris laughs and you realise you said it out loud. He looks down at you, lifting a brow, but lets you fumble with his pants; he shifts back, sinking lower in the seat, his fingers still stroking your clit and distracting you.

Henry’s mouth comes off your thigh, but he’s licking, kissing, nipping along the inner curve, his thumbs stroking closer and closer—

Chris rubs you again, a heavier sort of push of his fingers before they slip wetly over your mound and up your stomach to cup your breast again; sliding a sticky finger over your nipple. A grin on his mouth as he tilts a brow at you when you yank at the button of his pants in frustration.

“Having some trouble?”

“C’mon,” you whine and then gasp as Henry hikes your leg over his shoulder and his mouth— his tongue— the heat of him is right there.

It steals your thoughts, making your spine arc, your body squirm— his tongue heavy and wide, licking you up from leaking core to swollen clit, rolling over you until he presses his face harder into you and sucks.

There’s nothing in you but that feeling, your hips twitching into his face, a jerky roll of your body to chase that pressure. Your face twists, your body burns, Henry’s mouth is—

“F-fuck—” you sob and feel Chris’ hand soothing over your cheek, his breath warm as he leans closer and kisses your forehead.

“Oh doll,” he rumbles into your skin. “You should see yourself.”

His hands slides over your stomach, gathering the bunched-up of fabric of your dress around your waist, and you can only imagine what you look like, hair mussed, body burning up, muscles trembling, hips rolling against Henry’s face.

You turn your head into Chris’ lap and he tugs on your dress; it’s this weird sort of binding around your middle, a pulse-spiking reminder that they’re strong enough to move you, manhandle you, to keep you where you are or make you go where they want you to go—

God, you shouldn’t like that as much as you do.

His hand strokes over your head, and it’s almost soft as he cups your breast again, playing teasingly with your nipple while Henry nips your clit with the sharp of his teeth and makes you insides twist tighter when he chases that nip with the flat of his tongue.

You get Chris’ pants open, but he has to shift to get his cock out, taking over for your unsteady hands as you try to focus, but with Henry’s mouth on you, it’s nearly impossible.

“G-god—” you hitch, giving into another burst of pleasure that pushes you closer to the edge as Henry’s thumb slides along the inside of your thigh, brushes along the slick curve, that tense, shaking tendon… brushes closer edging along your entrance, sliding thick and warm around it.

“Fuck— Henry,” you whine and you swear he smiles into your cunt, pushing his thumb that much closer, edging around your hole, a teasing weight, the tip of his thumb just edging in. “Asshole—” you choke out, your hips hitching down, trying to chase his thumb, to fill that ache between your hips, that need that leaves you clenching around nothing.

Chris laughs, low and warm and it’s only then you open your eyes to the sight of his cock right next to your head, his hand stroking it, slowly, thick and long and Jesus, Jesus— you think, how is that fair?

You reach for him, and it’s an awkward angle and you can’t really breath right, not with the way every breath is broken by the noises Henry drags out of you on the tip of his tongue.

But you curve your hand around him, revelling in the thick throb of his cock in your palm, that iron-hard heat beneath the smooth skin.

Chris groans, his head dropping back against the couch. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, the thick of his throat as he swallows, the shift of his shoulders as you stroke him… his hand gripping harder onto your breast.

“God, babe—” he groans at nearly the same time you feel the slip of Henry’s thumb dipping inside of you.

It’s just the tip, just enough to tease, circling your hole wetly, before sliding up and out and circling along the edge again.

You whine, you don’t even care how wanting it sounds. “Henry—” you choke, and roll your hips, searching for more. “Fuck— please—”

Henry hooks his thumb inside of you, stretching you, his tongue hot and wet and dipping inside along with it, stroking up and over the spread of you as his thumb presses a little deeper. He does it again, easing his thumb back to circle you before sinking it in… this slow steady rhythm that’s maddening, mind-tripping, pulse-spiking.

You can’t stay still, trying to roll further onto his thumb, gripping at Chris’ cock, your head turning toward it and you think about having it in your mouth, the weight of him on your tongue, but everything is wrapped up in that thumb, hooked inside of you.

“Distracted,” Chris teases, with this crooked smile that’s undone by the heat in his eyes. “Poor baby.”

“You do it,” you say, because the idea of it… of him using your mouth is hotter than anything you’ve really ever thought about. (Just a late-night, stomach-tensing fantasy, your fingers on your clit, your head pushing back into your pillow: a cock in your mouth, another inside of you, being taken apart, being wanted that much. That’s it, they’d growl, look at how good you take it.)

Chris looks down at you, his eyes narrowing, glancing at your mouth and then back to your eyes. It’s a moment to make sure, you think, to make sure you both understand what you’re asking for—

And you do, you think, you really, really do.

Chris’ hand knots into your hair, twisting your head a little more before he takes over your grip on his cock and feeds it into your mouth.

He’s hot and thick and you taste that bitter edge of precum, but he’s hitting the back of your throat and stretching your mouth wide and it’s perfect and perverse when his hips start to inch up as his hand tightens to hold you still.

It’s not hard, not like that deep-throat fucking you’ve seen in porn, because you aren’t sure it’s even possible with how your lips are stretched and your jaw is already as wide as it can go… but Chris rolls his hips up in these little pulses and you breathe as best as you can around the thick of his cock, pressing your tongue along the thick shaft, moaning around it when you feel Henry’s thumb push a little deeper.

It’s better than any slick-fingered fantasy.

You feel Henry’s mouth easing back and you almost whine for the loss before you hear him spit—

And your body burns bright at the feeling and idea of it, but he’s pushing two wet fingers inside of you and all you can do is moan around Chris’ cock, your body straining, back arcing as his fingers push in, curving up and rubbing right against that bundle of nerves.

You can’t suck in the breath you need, and you choke a little, moaning around his cock, but Chris soothes a hand along your cheek and your hips shift up in these needy pulses, trying to ride that cresting, burning wave of pleasure that fills up your body, sparking out from Henry’s fingers inside of you.

Chris’s other hand weighs down on your breast as your body trembles and squirms, half to get more, half to get away, until Henry curves his arm over your hips and pins you down.

You reach for Henry’s head because it’s almost too much— but his mouth finds your clit again, and there’s no escaping the build of your orgasm; an electrical wave of it, like a cracking flame between your hips, burning through your limbs, sparking inside of you as his fingers rub and stretch and rub and stretch—

You choke around Chris’ cock as you come; broken whimpers and choked moans, shoving at Henry’s head with the unsteady tips of your fingers.

Chris eases the roll of his hips, his cock slipping hotly out of your mouth using your spit to stroke himself right over your lips; his eyes moving from your face to your cunt and back again.

You pull in uneven breaths, feeling the heat in your lips, the tingling feeling of his cock rubbing over them. Your spine twitches up, your fingers twisted into Henry’s hair, your whole body trembling as you whimper every time Henry licks slowly, hotly over you, his fingers still buried deep.

“My turn,” Chris says and it’s the only warning you get before your being manhandled, Henry pushing your legs up and towards Chris while Chris pushes your upper body up and over to Henry’s side of the couch.

Your find your head in Henry’s lap, and you can barely blink at him before you feel Chris’ mouth on your clit.

There’s no warning; Chris sucks at your clit and sinks his fingers inside you, two sinking deep, pushing hard and steady right against your cunt like he’s fucking you with them, before pulling them back and doing it again.

“Sh-fuck—” you cry out, pushing at his head, but Henry catches your hands and pushes them together against the arm of the couch.

His mouth is hot and his tongue is slick with the taste of your cunt, his cheeks slippery beneath the rougher brush of his stubble…and it’s hot— weird, perfect to lick yourself out of his mouth until you’re groaning out over his cheek when Chris sinks a third finger inside of you.

“Come on, angel, one more,” Henry says roughly, his hand sliding along your jaw, his thumb under your chin, keeping your eyes on his.

It’s a lie, you think, it’s not going to be one more.

“Please,” you sob, your thighs trembling around Chris’ shoulders. You aren’t even sure if you mean please, it’s too much, or please, just fuck me. Because his fingers are wide but his cock is thick and you can’t think about anything else but feeling it, clenching around it… filling that bit of hunger low in your gut that even their fingers can’t quite sate.

But you’re already too close to the edge, still strung-out and wound-up by Henry’s mouth, and Chris’ focus on that bundle of nerves inside of you shoves you right back over the edge. You come hard and fast, your cunt clenching around his fingers, hearing the slick rush of your orgasm as he works you through it.

There’s no word for the sound that comes out of you, some whining sob, over-sensitive with every nerve on fire, your body strung tight, your mind completely consumed by the sparking edges of it racing through your whole body in a way you’ve never felt before.

“I think she just squirted a little.” Chris laughs into your cunt and curves his fingers. You kick his shoulder with an unsteady, shaky leg.

“Fu-ck off— did not,” you groan and Henry huffs a little laugh, looking to Chris and then back to you, his eyebrow tilting.

“Can you?”

You shake your head, because no, you think, I’ve never— that’s not possible— but your words are trapped in your throat and beneath the drum-beat of your pulse in your ears, that full-body hum of your orgasm and you can’t get your brain to work enough to say any of it.

But Chis lifts his fingers and holds them out for both of you to see and watch as your orgasm drips off of his fingers and splatters against your belly.

“You sure?”

You suck in a breath, watching it slide over your stomach, shiny and wet and so obvious it makes your body burn.

Henry groans a little, pressing a kiss to your hot lips. “Guess we’ll find out, huh?”

You whine in your throat, shaking your head again, even if your cunt clenches at the idea of it, as Henry’s hand slides down your throat and over your chest until he cups your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

It’s a softer spark compared to the ache between your hips, but it’s a little, tingling burst of heat prickling through your body, keeping you wanting.

Kneeling on the couch, Chris tugs off his Henley, his muscles shifting, abs flexing— and it’s a sight you’ll remember, you think, the way he shoves down his pants with one hand while ripping open a condom with his teeth.

He has more tattoos, you realise, more than the glimpse of the one you saw in the ‘v’ of his shirt, more black ink on his chest, that you can’t quite make out, an eagle on—

You’re on your belly before you can register Chris’ hands on your hips. Your face in Henry’s lap and his cock hard against your cheek. It makes your cunt clench, your insides spark, rubbing your cheek along that bulk, your nerves sparking because it feels thick and heavy and too fucking big.

Henry groans and his hips twitch up as Chris hauls your hips up almost as quickly as his palm smacks down; the slap is loud and sharp and you cry out and bury your moan into Henry’s lap.

“Fuck,” one of them says, but your too— sparking, caught up, lost in the moment to figure out who said it when Chris’ palm smacks down again.

“Fuck, doll, your ass,” Chris groans and then you feel his cock, nudging along the soaked heat of your cunt, thick and hot and pressing in. It’s a slow press, the stretch steals your breath and leaves you gasping, open-mouthed at Henry’s cock; his hand bracing on the nape of your neck as you curl your fingers into his belt just for something to hold onto.

You feel like a doll, you think, held in place as Chris’ cock splits you open, his hands bruising on your hips, Henry’s cock beneath your cheek, his thumb stroking soothingly over your skin. You can’t get your body to work, too strung out by the feeling of Chris pushing inside of you so slow and steady.

His hand slides from your ass cheek to your lower back, and he presses down on the arc of your spine, tilting your ass higher as he bottoms out, his hips pushing tightly against your ass.

You gasp and try to shift forward, because he’s long and thick and you feel stuffed by it, this sharp little spark deep in your gut…

“Maxed out,” Chris says with a breathless laugh that’s more like a groan. “Fuck that’s good.”

You’re panting on Henry’s lap, turning your face to gasp for cooler air, letting out a jolting curse as Chris’s palm smacks down again before he rubs over the heat of your skin his palm left behind.

“Okay, babe?”

You nod, your cheek rubbing over Henry’s cock, and it feels so perversely good that you do it again, turning your head to rub your mouth over it, letting your tongue press hot and damp at the material of his pants.

“Christ,” Henry curses and he shifts, working open the front of his pants, his hands sinking inside the open front to tug his cock out. He strokes it in front of you, and your cunt clenches for the sight of it, thick and long and—

Jesus, you think, you aren’t sure you’re going to be able to walk tomorrow.

Chris groans behind, his hips twitching forward. “Felt that,” he says and then pulls back—

The first thrust tips you forward, your chest pressing hard into the thick width of Henry’s thigh, your breasts rubbing against the couch, you cry out, gasping at the feeling of being filled up so quickly.

“Sh-hit,” you whine. “F-fucking— Chris—”

You grab at Henry’s cock, half for balance and half for the want to have him in your mouth the way you did for Chris. But all you can do is grip on, your breath puffing against it, Henry watching your face twist and your voice break as Chris sets a steady, unrelenting pace.

You were wrong, you think, this— this is mind-wiping: the steady, almost too hard stroke of Chris’ cock inside of you, every knock of his hips against your ass, every bright flare of being too full before being emptied out again.

There’s a hand on your cheek, soothing over your forehead, right along your hairline, you can feel the heat in your face, the burn of your cheeks, but Chris’ cock is hard and thick and dragging in and out of you so perfectly that there’s nothing you can do but give in to it.

Every thrust in nudges that too much edge of fullness, that brief flicker of a sharpness, maxed out, just like he said. Every dragging pull back is this moment of clawing desperation and anticipation for the next, stretching, filling push in.

Your back aches in the angle as Chris pulls your hips up a little higher, but it’s so good, that little counterpoint to the pleasure burning and building and dripping out of you.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Chris groans. “You’re soaked.”

And you are, you can feel it, a slickness between your thighs, and when Chris’ hand slides beneath you, his fingers rub slippery over your clit, soaked and over-sensitive and you can’t stop the pitching cries breaking out of your chest.

It’s God and Chris and please— drawn-out whines you get lost in it, sparking and too hot, your back arching more, Chris’ strokes deep and steady and just bordering into too hard, shoving you down until it’s just your ass arched up, needy and trembling, your legs boneless and shaking.

Henry’s cock is thick, right against your cheek, but you don’t have anything in you to do more, your muscles quivering, burning up until that aching heat inside of you that’s building on every stroke of Chris’ cock, every smack of his hips against your ass, is bursting—

You tense up just before you come, your eyes squeezing shut, breathing in hot damp air in the curve of Henry’s lap and his cock in your hand, pressed against your cheek, his belt digging into your forehead.

Chris curses behind you as you lose your body to your orgasm and all it’s sparking edges, your hips winding up, pushing your ass a little higher, your feet hitting the arm of the couch like you can push away from that endless, prefect stroke of his cock—

But you can’t. Chris fucks you through it, harder than before, his arm wrapping beneath your hips to hold you up, Henry’s hand on your nape to keep you still—

Your near sobbing through it, strained, pitching cries as your toes curl and the nails of your other hand sink into Henry’s thigh.

Chris’ hips shove down, his voice rough and groaning as he comes, his cock twitching and pulsing on one last too deep, grinding thrust of his hips; pushing his weight against your ass in these slowing pulses just like his cock.

When he pulls back, the thickness of his cock leaving you makes you whimper, and he laughs, this rough, breathless laugh before his palm smacks down on your ass again and he drops back into the other half of the couch, dragging your legs into his lap.

You’re boneless, mindless, lost to that feeling inside of you, breathing hard— but you’ve barely caught the blown-apart edges of your mind before they’re flipping you over and manhandling you to face the other way.

You blink up at Chris.

“Fu–ck you guys,” you say breathless and weak, body still quivering. “Holy shit.”

He grins down at you, sweaty and dishevelled and your sure there’s some sort of dazed look in your eye because he breathes another laugh and leans down to kiss you. It’s awkward and messy, you’re both breathing too hard, but it distracts you for a moment until you hear the crinkle of foil and feel the stretch in your thighs and the grip of Henry’s hands on your hips.

“Oh god,” you whine because there’s no way you can go again, you think, but Henry’s mouth is on your breast and there’s this rolling sort of sound of his chest that’s a sure you can, darling— as his teeth scrape your nipple before pulling it into his mouth.

Chris grins and brushes his hand over your forehead, and his eyes move from you to Henry and back.

“You felt so good, doll,” he starts and you blink up at him, your chest hitching up as Henry bites your nipple again before sucking a hard, bruising mark into the curve of your breast. “And your sounds—” he groans a little, dropping another biting kiss against your lips. “I can’t wait to hear them again.”

Your breath trips, your eyes flutter closed as that stupid spark in your gut starts to burn brighter.

You feel Henry’s hand slide along your thigh, sinking between your legs, his fingers slip over your clit and you twitch and gasp, squirming for the feeling tripping through you, but his hand turns and his fingers brush over the soaked mess of your cunt before they sink inside of you, steady and deep.

“Fucking soaked,” he groans roughly.

Your back strains up. “G-god—” you moan, the sound stretching into a whine as two of Henry’s fingers stretch inside of you, pushing deep and pulling back only to widen, working you open until he slides another finger along your entrance and you tense up, on edge for that stretch—

But you’re so wet it sinks inside of you like the sweetest sort of ache, leaving you gasping and hitching for air, pulling in little breaths as he curls his fingers, stretches them out, a teasing burst of electricity up your spine before that little ache of him stretching you out more.

You get a little lost in the rhythm of it, his mouth on your chest, kissing up your neck until his licks into your mouth— and it’s a distraction, this slow and deep kiss, until he’s leaning back on his knees and yanking you a little bit closer to his body until your head is just barely on Chris’ thigh and your legs are over Henry’s shoulders.

He strokes his cock and you can’t not watch. Thick and heavy, his fingers shiny, spreading your slick over the length of his cock, and then he’s scooping his fingers through your cunt again, getting his hand wetter, before stroking them once more over his cock—

You and Chris both choke on a groan, but it’s Chris who manages to get his brain to work. “Shit,” he laughs. “This is way better than porn.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow, a crooked grin on his mouth before he hauls your leg a little higher on his shoulder and feeds his cock into you.

You tense up almost at once, hands gripping at the couch, nails scratching at the fabric, your head tilting back with a curse in your throat as Henry’s hips inch forward in these slow little pulses.

“Ohgod,” you choke, ohg-god—shi-tshit—

It’s too much you think, there’s no way— no fingering of fucking or any amount of orgasms are going to make that less overwhelming, mind-consuming, holy shit—you might just come just from that achingly good sort of pain, that too full, too bright stretch.

You try to cling onto the edges of your mind, biting your cheek and breathing hard, your chest quivering and whimpering when Chris gropes at your breast, kneading it and rolling your nipple along the side of his finger and thumb.

“You gotta let it out,” Chris says. “Come on, let us hear you.”

You shake your head, trying to breathe through it… but here’s no escaping it, Henry’s works his cock into you in little inching pulses— until you can feel the slicker glide of it, the easing stretch… the thick of his head is just brushing the end of you. And it hurts in that good way that leaves you trembling, caught on the edge of wanting to pull away and dying to get more.

His eyes meet yours, he presses in a little more— eases back and does it again and again until you’re squirming to feel more. Until that ache is a softer thing, lingering beneath the weight of his cock inside of you.

When he hooks both of your knees over his shoulders, it drags your lower body up higher, leaving your head on Chris’ thigh, but letting you both watch the thick of his cock sinking inside of you as he drags his hips back and pushes in.

Your pretty sure that’s a sob in your throat and that Chris is saying something too you, but all you can feel is Henry’s cock, hitting you deep and steady as he sets this relentless, grinding sort of roll, his cock staying deep, keeping you stretched and full and pushing you right into that hazy fucking mess of too much and don’t stop.

“Babe,” Chris groans, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Look at you.”

Your mound is soaked, your skin shiny all the way to your belly button, a slickness between your thighs that leaves a sticky shine on Henry’s abs on every rolling grind.

Your thighs are trembling on his shoulders, toes curling, legs quivering over the broadness they’re hooked over, but Henry leans back a little more, holding your thigh on his shoulder, the other curving to grip your ass cheek to hold you up higher, to keep you where he wants you.

Jesus, you think, or sob, you aren’t sure. Your body trembles, your voice breaking out of you as he pushes in again, deeper this time, his cock pushing against your cervix and leaving this ache between your hips that feels like your so fucking full of him he’s in your fucking lungs.

There it is, one of them says, but you can’t do anything but breathe and hold on, swallowed up the feeling, the ache, the burn of pleasure that’s less sparking and more like liquid heat, like you’re being consumed one slow, deep, too thick roll of his hips at a time.

He stays steady and deep, it’s not even really fucking you think—there’s no ebbing tide, no room to breathe, his cock pushes steadily, thick and deep right against that too-deep ache that turns your insides into something molten and too hot… until your sure you’re almost sobbing with it, your spine winding up, higher and higher, the back of your head rubbing on Chris’ thigh…

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Henry holds you steady, grinding into you, making you take it without any mercy. Without any real thrusts. Just a steady, little inching roll of his hips, almost this little, controlled-bounce of your ass against his lap.

Your thighs clench, muscles tensing as his cock burns you from the inside out, leaves you choking for air, hitching noises that you can’t describe, until everything’s burning brighter. Until your spine strains up, your chest shaking, your nails scratching at Chris’ forearm, clinging onto him as Henry fucks you through that building, consuming thing that feels like it’s going to eat you alive any second now.

His hand bruises into your thigh and ass as you lose your body to the fire, the thick of his cock pushing that ache deep in your gut, holding you still as you come apart. Cunt clenching as you sob, clamping down around his cock— and you’re choking for air as he fucks you through it, grinding into you, sending a sharper, deeper bust of that ache through your body.

“Fuck,” he growls, fuck— and it’s too much, you think, too much—

But he tilts forward and pushes into you, swallowing those sounds that you can’t hold in, a sloppy kiss that leaves you breathless, nails sinking into his ribs as his hips shove up in a rough grind as he comes.

You feel surrounded, Chris’ arm trapped between your body and Henry’s. Henry’s breath hot on your mouth when he kisses you one last time before pushing back and sinking back into the other side of the couch.

Your mind hums or the room does… or maybe it’s just your heartbeat in your ears, your body lost to the waves of whatever the fuck that was that’s still flowing through you.

Someone’s hand strokes over your stomach and it feels weird and too wet, and you have to tilt your head up and blink down to look at it to make sense of the feeling.

Chris trails his hand through the shine on your skin, the pooling liquid that gathers in your belly button and fucking soaks the couch beneath you.

You blink at it, trying to make sense of it when Chris’ voice breaks the quiet.

“See,” he says roughly, hid fingers sliding through it. “You can absolutely squirt. Fuckin’ look at that.”

You groan, feeling Henry’s hand on your leg, his thumb stroking your skin slowly. “Next time we’ll try for an actual squirt, yeah?”

You’re pretty sure you whimper, your stomach tensing with the idea of it, with the words next time burning through you, but the silence stretches again; the wetness on your skin and soaking the couch, cools and makes your shiver. You don’t know if you have enough willpower to move out of the wet spot, let alone take a shower.

“Wait, we almost forgot,” Chris starts, and before you can squint up at him, his hand is up and Henry’s breathless, low laugh rolls through your still-boneless legs resting in his lap.

The slap of their hands echoes in the quiet and you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“I hate you both, oh my god.”

Lies, one of them says, but you’re all laughing tiredly, stuck together with no desire to move and you know it’s not true as Henry’s thumb strokes your ankle and Chris’ hand trails slowly, smoothly, through the mess on your stomach.

Not true at all.

Got ‘em, you think, and let your eyes close.

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans x reader #henry cavill #chris evans #holy moly

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stressedkitkatttt · 5 years ago

Text

Just Like Old Times

In this fic, you are from the Dominican Republic, which is how you know the Camacho Brothers. I had the same idea for Joel before I decided to also write this, so go check that out - same premise, different story. Also, Richard and Yashua only spent a few years in D.R. but in this story, I'm gonna say they stayed until their late teens(maybe 17).

Joel's Version - Childhood Friends

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: lmao where do I begin SMUT, threesome, dp, oral, this is dirty and I am proud of it

DISCLAIMER: Do NOT think it is okay to take my stories and post them somewhere else without my EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Do NOT think it is okay to take anyone else's stories and post them somewhere else without their EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Giving credit does NOT count as permission. You may reblog my stories, you may NOT repost my stories without MY PERMISSION.

~~~~~

You are a good friend of Richard and Yashua Camacho. You three grew up together in D.R. and when they moved away, you all promised to keep in touch. And you did for a little while. You even saw them on La Banda and congratulated them through a video; since you could not visit them in person. There was a joke running around the Camacho brothers when the boys saw the video, commenting on how pretty you were and how they never believed it when the Camacho brothers denied ever sleeping with you. Truth is, you have. With both of them. At the same time.

Soon, all three of you get busy with life and you lose contact with the brothers. Up until a few years later and soon you're talking to them through Snapchat. It doesn't take long to say enough is enough; you're tired of just talking to them over the phone or through Snapchat. You decide that you're going to see them. You get into contact with their mom through social media. You make a plan to visit them on their day off, their mom giving you a date to come down. You fly to New York and surprise the brothers you hadn't seen in years. They are very excited to see you.

Everyone has grown up and you were no exception. You had definitely grown into your body and the Camacho brothers are very appreciative of it.

You all celebrate and soon its two a.m. and neither you nor Richard nor Yashua are anywhere close to being tired. You're lying down on Richard's bed squished between the two boys looking at the ceiling.

"Recuerdas cuando éramos niños?" You say, breaking the silence.

The boys smile and think back to a time where there were no worries, no problems to get in between the three of you. "Y todos los buenos momentos que tuvimos..."

You close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of being so close to the brothers again. God you missed this feeling so much. You suddenly feel the bed shift. You feel more of the boys weight on you and you open your eyes, looking into two pairs of lust-filled eyes.

Richard's hand lands on your thigh and slowly moves upward, keeping his eyes on you. "Y recuerdas lo que solíamos hacer cuando no podíamos dormir?" You bite your lip as you feel another hand come up to rest on your breast, gently squeezing the soft tissue through your shirt, creating a soft moan that falls from your lips.

Yashua leans down to suck marks onto your neck, practically gluing himself to your side. You feel Yashua's hard-on through his jeans as he begins to move his hips, seeking friction against his dick. His hand moves down and slides up under your shirt, reaching your bra and dipping his hand to cup your breast in his hand.

Richard takes advantage of your exposed skin and settles himself between your legs, kissing your navel and making his way down. He slowly unbuttons your jeans and drags down the zipper at an agonizing pace. Hooking his fingers into the belt loops he drags down your jeans. Once they're off, he throws them somewhere behind him, leaving your lower half in just red lace panties. Richard looks up from his place between your legs to see that you've locked lips with Yashua and were in a heavy makeout session.

He rubs your thighs and asks, "Siempre usas encaje?" You pull away from Yashua and a small string of saliva connects your lips for a moment before breaking. You turn to face him and smirk.

"Qué puedo decir? Es cómodo." You reply before Yashua uses one hand and drags you back into a fiery kiss. Richard watches you and his brother for a moment before focusing on the treasure between your thighs. He leans down and his hot breath fans over your clothed heat, making you squirm a little. He takes one hand and teasingly runs a finger over your clit, applying slight pressure. You moan into the kiss and clench around nothing.

Richard smirks when he notices a wet spot on your panties and decides the panties need to go. He hooks his fingers into the thin fabric and drags them down your legs rather aggressively, almost ripping them in his haste. You attempt to make a noise of protest but Yashua keeps it muffled. Richard groans at the sight of your glistening pussy, deciding not to waste any more time and he leans down to lick a stripe up your clit.

Your legs begin to close around his head to keep him there. Not that he planned on moving from his spot anytime soon. He places his hands on your thighs to keep them open as he wastes no time in digging into you like a starved man. You're forced to break the makeout session Yashua is so keen on keeping, both your lips swollen and red. You moan and let your head fall back into the pillows, eyes closing as pleasure begins to take over your body. Yashua looks down and watches as his brother devours your pussy, feeling himself getting just a little bit harder at the obscene noises.

He moves off the bed and quickly undoes his belt and zipper, tossing them away along with his boxers. He decides to leave his shirt on and climbs back onto the bed, settling himself beside your head. You open your eyes as the bed shifts next to you and you see Yashua, lower half exposed and hand stroking himself. He has definitely grown. You lick your lips and reach a hand out to replaces Yashua's on his dick. You grip him firmly and begin to stroke him. He tilts his head back, mouth agape slightly and breathy moans escaping his lips. You twist your upper body slightly to motion for him to come closer. He scoots closer until his dick is right in front of your face.

You gently kitten lick his tip, making him moan and thread a hand through your hair, gently gripping a handful and pulling you face closer. You suddenly lean forward and take half his length into your mouth. He grunts at your sudden move and can't help but buck his hips, shoving another two inches into your mouth. You relax tour throat and take in breaths through your nose. "Fuck baby," Yashua praises, massaging the back of your head.

Richard now has added his fingers to the mix, twisting and stretching your walls out, making you moan around Yashua, the vibrations only sending him closer to the edge. One of your hands pulls away from Yashua's thigh and quickly tangles itself in Richard's hair, tugging. Richard groans and bares his teeth against your nub, sending a shock up your back, making you buck your hips.

The way you're clenching around his fingers he knows you're close. He finds your sweet spot and takes advantage of it, rubbing the pads of his fingers over it repeatedly. You're a moaning mess between the two brothers. You feel the knot in your stomach building and building until Richard teases the tip of his tongue into your soaked entrance alongside his fingers and you were on cloud nine.

You pull off of Yashua, much to his disappointment, and toss your head back, burying both hands into Richard's hair, thighs tensing and shaking. Richard works you through your orgasm and licks up your juices as they flow out. You relax into the bed, panting. Richard sits up between your thighs, gently rubbing them as he watches your breasts jiggle through your shirt. "No hemos terminado contigo, nena."

You open your eyes when you feel Richard shifting. He stands up to pull his shirt over his head and begins to work on his pants. Yashua sits beside your head, gently stroking himself. You notice he still has his shirt on and you reach up, tugging the hem. You look up into his eyes, seeing how dark they've become. "Quitatelo papí." You see his eyes darken even more at the nickname and he quickly takes it off. You focus on Richard as he settles between your legs again.

Richard motions for you to sit up. You do so as he shifts so he is on his knees. He makes quick work of pulling your shirt over your head and his eyes zero in on your breasts, barely covered in the thin red lace bra that matched your panties. He quickly unclips your bra, letting it fall down your shoulders and tossing it behind him with all the other pieces of clothing.

He helps you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs. You feel the tip of his dick nudge your entrance and you whimper, wanting so badly to sink down onto him but hands on your hips prevent you from doing so. You hear and feel Yashua moving behind you, finally settling down after presumably opening a drawer and pulling something out. You hear the cap of a bottle being opened and the sound of liquid being squirted out. You're about to turn your head when you feel fingers tap at your back entrance.

You know to relax and take a few deep breaths before Yashua slowly pushes in one finger. You wrap your arms around Richard's neck and moan, finding his lips and kissing him. You feel Yashua wait a few moments to let you adjust before pushing in a second finger. You gasp this time and Richard leans in to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, letting his hand tend to the other while his mouth is preoccupied. Yashua leans in a peppers your back with kisses while he stretches out your hole.

He finally feels you're ready and gently pulls out his fingers, stroking himself and adding to the lubrication on his cock. He lines himself up with your back entrance and whispers, "Estás lista, princesa?" You nod and he starts to push in slowly. You groan and tense up for a moment, willing yourself to take deep breaths and relax. He waits until you relax before beginning to push into you again. The sensation doesn't hurt but it's been a while since you've let anyone do this.

Finally Yashua is buried to the hilt and you're panting. He leans his down on your shoulder, holding back his urges to pound you into next week. Richard pulls away from your breasts and straightens his back. He lines up with your soaking cunt and looks at you for approval. You nod and he pushes into you, your walls clenching and practically sucking his him in. You grip his arms and groan when they're both inside you. You missed this feeling.

"Listo cuando tú está, hermosa," Richard grunts into your shoulder. You take a moment to prepare yourself before replying.

"Dale," you whine. Richard is first to move, slowly pulling out and pushing back in. Yashua follows suit and they find a rhythm, one brother filling you at any given time. It doesn't take long to get lost in the pleasure and you want more. "Rápido, por favor." You don't have but a mere moment to prepare yourself as the boys follow your demand. Richard has to adjust under you, thighs tensing.

"Fuck baby," he grunts into your ear, attaching his lips to the side of your neck Yashua hadn't marked up. Yashua is moaning into your ear and gently biting marks here and there on your shoulder, whispering sweet nothing's to bring you closer. You feel the knot in your stomach begin to build again and quickly. You clench around both brothers and they falter in their rhythm.

"F-fuck, no puedo contenerme mucho más," Yashua groans as you tighten around him, the feeling in his stomach and the tightening in his balls getting closer to snapping while his thrusts become uneven.

"Yo también," Richard responds. You were now on the verge of incoherent as you tried to speak but the wind was repeatedly knocked from your lungs. All that came out was a mess of words that made no sense and the brothers gave each other a look. Yashua places one hand on your breast, the other holding your hip. Richard takes one hand and places it on your hip, opposite of his brother, and the other slides between your slick bodies and finds your nub, rubbing fast circles. Both boys are moaning and praising you to let go for them.

You finally give in to the pleasure, throwing your head back onto Yashua's shoulder. Your mouth is open and you scream. Thankfully, Richard quickly takes his hand from your hip and places it over your mouth, silencing you from waking up his family. Yashua gives a few more thrusts before emptying himself inside you, biting your shoulder to silence himself, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer to him. Richard follows, the tightness and heat of your walls are too much for him to handle anymore. He also bites your shoulder, opposite of his brother.

All three of you collapse into the soft bed. You close your eyes and you feel the brother's cum leaking from your holes. Finally your breathing evens out and the bed dips. A warm washcloth gently cleans the mess between your legs before being tossed. You don't bother to open your eyes as the bed dips behind you, a body spooning you from behind, wrapping their arms around you. The person in front of you shifts before pulling you into an embrace as well. You three quickly succumb to the warm embrace of each other.

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@papichriscnco @cracraforfandoms

#cnco #cnco smut #cnco richard #cnco richard smut #richard camacho #richard camacho smut #cnco richard camacho #yashua camacho #yashua camacho smut

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aurorajay · 5 years ago

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I love making costumes but I always feel bad about my skill level being far below everyone else’s. Even though I love making costumes they never look good quality. Any advice?

It's easier to answer specific questions about a project vs. a general "how to be good”, but I'm gonna give it my best shot.

First off, go easy on yourself, you're learning! I know I'm still learning. Hell, the seasoned pro of 3 decades is still learning! Every fuck up and mediocrity is a step of improvement. I won't tell you that practice makes perfect, because it doesn't. It will make you better, great even. But it won't make you perfect. No one ever achieves perfection. And that's okay! Literally every single piece I've ever made has multiples elements I would change if i could. Even the ones that look good, like the now-popular moth cape. I will do lots of things differently when i make my next one.

Also, I know from experience how hard it is to avoid comparing yourself to others, especially online. So when we (inevitably) do, I think it's important to remember that there can be a BIG difference between in person and photos. That cool looking cosplay armour? Upon closer inspection it might be held together by hot glue. That pretty formal gown? It might have a real shitty fraying seam down the back. All we see is a carefully curated version of reality.

It's hard offering practical tips without more info to go on, but hopefully some of this will help. I think what makes a good looking costume can be broken down into 4 basic elements, so here’s what I think are the most important things to consider

Design: This is the part that people seem to have the easiest time with, and I can help the least with. Coming up with the idea. And when you’re costuming just for the pure enjoyment of it, there are no bad ideas! Now everyone approaches this differently, whether it's sketches, moodboards, or diagrams. Unless someone else is executing the concept, it doesn't even need to look remotely good! As long as you understand what the design is supposed to be, it works.

I will say to design with practical considerations in mind though. Think about where, how, and why it will be worn. Plan for things like zippers and buttons to get in and out, the weather where it will be worn, how much movement will be required, etc. You don’t want to end up sweaty and stuck in a polyester bodysuit that can only be opened with the help of two assistants in say, an outdoor summer event in LA.

Materials: This can be tricky, because it’s dependant on your resources. Materials are expensive, and quality ones even more so. But researching options and picking the best fit for your project is important. Making a historical piece? Stick to natural fibers. Cosplaying a superhero? You're gonna need spandex.

If you're short on funds, going through second hand stores can be real handy. Bigger ones will sometimes have actual yardage, but you can find sheets, curtains, saris, and all sorts of things to take apart and use. Get familiar with the properties and names of different textiles. You'll eventually develop a skill for spotting the nice stuff.

More specialized tools/materials like say fosshape or sewing machine attachments are harder to stumble across, but there will be online sales. If i find something good for cheap I buy it and hang onto it for later projects. If possible, take advantage of sales and rare finds while you can. You're a dragon and materials are your hoard!

Construction: Obviously you want your costume to be well-made, but this means knowing and mastering different techniques. It's a slow process, but one everyone is capable of undetaking! Firstly, you need to familiarize yourself with technical terms to make finding the actual tutorials easier. One of my go-to resources for this is The Sewing Book, by Reader's Digest. (There’s also a newer version available, I’ll include it below). It covers a wide variety of techniques, materials, etc. and has fantastic diagrams. Can’t recommend it enough

Companies that sell specialized stuff like thermoplastics or casting resin often have tutorials on their websites which can be indispensable to learning to use them properly. As well as very important safety precautions. They will also sometimes list external how-to sources or sell instructional books.

Take a close look at clothes and costumes you own to understand how they are put together. Figure out what techniques are appropriate to use where. A flat fell seam is great for jeans and french seam is perfect for chiffon, but try the reverse and it will be a pain. Take pictures and make sketches of interesting details that catch your eye. You can come back to them for ideas later.

I try and incorporate at least 1 new technique into every project I make, that way I'm always learning. But don't jump straight to trying it out on the final piece! Always make a sample (or several) beforehand. And keep the samples for later reference! I'm trying to amass a big scrapbook-style binder of samples, which is sooo so handy to come back to when it's been a while since you've done something.

Fit: This is the final, and possibly most difficult element of costuming. No matter how cool the design, how fancy the materials, and how good the construction, if something doesn’t fit right it’s going to look and feel wrong. Most of us here are making costumes for ourselves, which means you're going to need help. Measuring and fitting clothes on yourself is a nightmare, so enlist a friend or family member to give you a hand.

The other thing you can do it is to get a dress form/mannequin. These are pricey, and will probably need to be customized with padding and such anyways, so I recommend you DIY it. Again, you will need a helper, because the easiest way to get a custom dress form it to just straight up duct tape yourself into a crappy old shirt, cut it off, then stuff it. There’s tons of tutorials online for this, it’s a tried and true cheap method.

I highly recommend learning some basic pattern drafting, and that’s honestly the hardest part. You can rely on store bought patterns, but they are extremely variable in quality, and unless you’re in the rare minority who are a sample size, it will need some altering to fit you right. They can be a good starting point, but ultimately I think pattern drafting from scratch is much faster and more adaptable, if you're able to learn it. This is where you will need some good books or video instructions. I don’t have one single resource to recommend for this, but I will list some books at the end. If you personally know ANYONE with this skill, try and get them to teach you everything they know, because they are worth their weight on gold.

It’s important to note that some pattern drafting is easier than others, Stretch fabrics are MUCH more forgiving in this area, and that’s how i got started. Because the fabric will accommodate your form, the pattern requires fewer parts and darts, and there’s more leeway for mistakes. The one downside is that stretches can be more difficult to sew. Personally, I feel like they more than make up for it by being simplicity of drafting. The resources I’ve linked are geared toward drafting for non-stretch, but if you’re not following a similar tutorial i recommend stretch.

One last thing in regards to fit. ALWAYS MAKE A MOCKUP. You can work out so many fit issues just by making your costume in crappy material first, taking note of the fit issues, and adjusting them with pins, marking them with a sharpie, etc. Then you can change your pattern accordingly. Whether it’s a breastplate made of cardstock or a dress done in old sheets, you should always make a mockup. Sometimes several! The material doesn’t matter as long as it behaves roughly like the good stuff you plan on using. Don’t use a heavy blanket for if your costume is going to be a gauzy nymph robe, for example. But it doesn’t have to look nice. It just has to be wearable.

Resources:

*These are mostly tailored towards women’s garments. A lot of the same principles apply, but making men’s costumes will have some separate considerations not covered here. Just something to keep in mind if you want to draft for guys. These are all just starting points anyhow. There’s tons more out there

https://www.amazon.ca/Sewing-Book-Alison-Smith-2014-02-03/dp/B01JXQQ9Y2

https://www.amazon.com/Complete-Guide-Sewing-Step-Step/dp/1606522086

https://www.handimania.com/diy/your-own-shape-sewing-mannequin.html

https://www.fearlessmakers.com/measurements-for-pattern-making/

https://opensourcestitches.wordpress.com/2010/07/14/pattern-drafting-101-drafting-the-basic-bodice-block/

https://opensourcestitches.wordpress.com/2011/02/17/pattern-drafting-101-the-mens-shirt-block/

http://isntthatsew.org/pattern-making-101/

https://sewing.wonderhowto.com/how-to/draft-basic-pant-pattern-0126850/

https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/063206501X/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_image_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1

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madamemalfoywrites · 5 years ago

Text

Professor Carter is Up to No Good

Commission done for the lovely and amazing @mzuul ! Girl thank you so much for letting me write your fucking amazing OCs!! This has got to be my favorite AU of them ^^ Warning for DP and just overall nsfw-ness lol. Enjoy ;D Also its 12k so...this one kinda got away from me lmao. Enjoy!

Alan Wilson had made three mistakes that day.

The first being that he may or may not have left his textbook behind on purpose. Anything to have just a few minutes more with Professor Sullivan. It was silly, he knew, to have developed a crush on a teacher, and a man at that. But Alan couldn’t help himself. There was something about the potions master that was just so…rugged, so cunning, so manly. Perhaps that simply came by virtue of being a Slytherin.

Alan was a Hufflepuff himself. And rather garbage at potions, so it went without saying that he’d never catch the professor’s attention even though he really, truly wanted to. It didn’t help that Professor Sullivan was so young, nor that Alan was now in his 7th year. It opened his mind up to possibilities that shouldn’t exist.

He managed to shut himself down though, every time. Because with looks like that, and with such obvious charm (the female professors were always flocking him), there was no chance in hell that Professor Thomas Sullivan would ever be gay.

Or at least, that was Alan’s full fledged belief, until he stepped into the classroom that day, Professor Sullivan’s back to him, legs spread over one of the tables, and though Alan had no experience with such things, he’d watched enough muggle porn to know that the professor was receiving a blowjob.

What lucky witch had been chosen to do that??

Alan swallowed, frozen, knowing he should run and yet entirely unable to look away, settling for crouching behind the back row of desks. Such had been his second mistake. He should have left when he still had the chance.

“Do you only ever shut up when there’s a dick in your mouth?” Professor Sullivan growled, in a tone that was not his own, hands gripping the girl’s hair with such rough control that it left Alan wondering if this was truly the same, gentle professor he’d always admired.

“I can be louder if you want,” came the reply, and Alan’s blood ran cold.

Because that was no girl.

Wasn’t even a student. In fact, if he’d heard correctly, then that voice belonged to—

“Shut it, Carter. Any more than this and we’ll—” his voice broke off in a groan.

“Isn’t that what makes it exciting?” Professor Carter returned with a moan, and Alan had to throw his hands over his own mouth. His body shouldn’t be reacting to this. Knew that this was wrong, and that he should leave, but those moans held him there, the lewd sounds of Professor Sullivan thrusting into Professor Carter’s mouth.

He’d never thought of Professor Carter in that context before. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was a bit of a bully, particularly so against the Hufflepuffs, and what with his sarcastic manner of speaking Alan hardly ever paid him much attention.

But now here he was, on his knees, sucking off the man who’d been the cause of Alan’s sexual awakening.

This far surpassed any type of awakening, though. He was drowning—could hardly breathe—his dick so hard against his pants he was worried the belt might just start to cut into his flesh.

He wanted to join.

It was so wrong but he wanted to join—he didn’t even care if Professor Carter stayed, just wanted some sort of relief to the ache between his legs, some attention to his parched lips and a voice in his ear that promised praise.

He whimpered at the thought, rubbing his thighs together.

That was his third mistake.

Because silence fell upon them, the eerie quiet of the room striking fear into Alan’s very core.

“Oh?” Professor Carter clicked his tongue, shuffling about as Alan assumed he stood up, “Have we a mouse in our midst?”

Professor Sullivan hissed, cursing under his breath and muttering something else that shook the desks, everything in the classroom parting to reveal a trembling Alan. Professor Sullivan was still not decent. And Alan couldn’t look away.

Professor Carter clicked his tongue, wagging his finger at him, though he was so far away, “My, my, what a naughty little Hufflepuff we have on our hands—”

“Leave it, Ven,” Professor Sullivan tucked himself back into his pants, the sound of the zipper causing a shiver to run down Alan’s spine. Then, Sullivan turned to Alan, those usually brown eyes looking black, and Alan had never been so thankful for his robes in his life, otherwise the two professors would have definitely seen his…reaction.

“What you just saw, Mr. Wilson, will remain between us. Is that understood?”

Alan’s voice failed him. He opened his mouth, and yet no sound came out. His head felt numb, muddled, and if he weren’t feeling so lost in his haze, with those sharp eyes that Professor Sullivan was looking at him with, Alan would have sworn the professor could read his mind.

“I—“

“Is that understood?!”

Alan had never heard Professor Sullivan speak so harshly. It was almost enough to make him cry. “Yes,” he bowed his head, “I’m so sorry—”

“You may leave,” Professor Sullivan continued, with a wave of his hand fixing the desks, and a gust of wind pushing Alan towards the door.

Feet finally finding their movement, Alan dashed for the door, and ran down the hall, not stopping even when he hit the stairs, not stopping even when he made it past his common room, not stopping until his face hit his pillow with full force.

He didn’t know what to do.

Back in the potions classroom, Ven stood beside Thomas, adjusting his robes, “You just let him go,” he said.

“I did,” Alan replied, curtly, with a hint of a growl.

Ven hummed, sliding his hand around Thomas’s waist, “That’s not very much like you. What’re you up to?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Eyes widening, Ven let go, “Oh my~ Don’t tell me you went into that poor Hufflepuff’s head?” Thomas looked at him, though he said nothing, which was enough of a confirmation for Ven. “You sly devil! Talent doesn’t give you the right to intrude upon our students~” Even as he said so, however, his voice held no inklings of condemnation. “So, what did you see?”

The sing-song of Ven’s voice was perhaps what Thomas hated the absolute most.

“Once again, my answer is that it does not concern you.”

“Oh, but it does concern me, doesn’t it? That little mouse was looking deliciously flushed, don’t you think—?”

“He’s our student—”

“He’s of age,” Ven smirked, fingers dancing along Thomas’s collarbone, “but you already knew that, didn’t you? Professor Sull-i-van~”

…

Needless to say, Alan did not get a hair’s amount of sleep that night. After witnessing what he had, he’d spent most of the night wandering aimlessly around the hallways, blush burning holes into his cheeks at the memory that had been imprinted into his brain. When he finally made it to his bed, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the afternoon’s exchange over and over again.

He’d always had feelings for Professor Sullivan. He was a kind and gentle teacher who took the time to answer his students’ questions, and not once was he ever condescending or demeaning about it. It made Alan feel comfortable in his class, and best of all Professor Sullivan always gave credit where credit was due.

It felt good to be praised—to be recognized, every once in a while.

But now that image was wholly ruined. The teacher he’d so admired—for him to be cursing—to be engaging in such activities—in a classroom—with a fellow teacher, no less…

Had it truly ruined his image of the professor, or had it simply enhanced it?

Because as much as Alan tried, he couldn’t help but want to replace Professor Carter, to have Professor Sullivan grabbing at his hair instead, to have him cursing at him because it felt so good, to watch the professor’s head throw back in pleasure and for Alan to feel that hot heat in his own mouth, because how long had it been now, since Alan had begun craving that exact sort of thing?

He covered his face in his hands. Just what was he thinking? How was he supposed to face Professor Sullivan in class tomorrow—or rather, later today? He didn’t even want to look at the clock. The last he’d checked it was well past two in the morning.

But he couldn’t sleep. Because as if all that weren’t bad enough, he was now thinking of Professor Carter as well. Which was as surprising as it was disgusting.

Alan didn’t care much for Professor Carter. A rather rude man by nature, he was. But there had to be more to him—had to be more, if Professor Sullivan was choosing to engage with him in such a way. And Professor Sullivan seemed to be enjoying the pleasure Professor Carter was giving him quite a bit.

Was that what it was? Was Professor Carter skilled in that department? With such a sharp tongue and his loose manner of speaking, Alan had always assumed him to be more of a playboy, but…

Had Professor Carter seduced Professor Sullivan? Had he perhaps placed him under some sort of spell?

No, not likely. Professor Sullivan was a Potions Master. They were a rather cunning sort of lot, potions professors. But then that meant they were both doing this out of their own volition. That meant that whatever Professor Carter was doing—Professor Sullivan wanted it done to him.

Which sent Alan’s mind reeling. Just what, exactly, was Professor Carter doing that Professor Sullivan was so desperate for? To the point that they couldn’t even wait to get behind closed doors, choosing to risk it in the middle of the classroom instead?

Did Professor’s Carter mouth feel that good…?

Alan shivered, half wanting to know, half cursing himself for the fact. Professor Carter was tall—had rather long fingers, in fact. No doubt they felt good, if he were to caress someone. The men hadn’t been kissing from what Alan had seen, but he was sure they were quite skilled in that regard as well. To be kissed by both of them at once…

No no no, what was he thinking? That was disgusting! It was obnoxious! It was selfish! It was—it was cheating. His heart belonged to Professor Sullivan and Professor Sullivan only. To also be thinking of Professor Carter now in such a way, when he never had before—that was adultery. He should be looking to Professor Carter as a rival, not as a potential boyfriend.

Though, then again, if Professor Carter was his rival, then Alan didn’t stand a single chance. The two couldn’t be more different. Alan had neither the charm nor the wit that Professor Carter had. He was a Slytherin who was confident in every regard, who was playful and fun and sure of himself and—the complete opposite of Alan.

Alan was afternoons in the library and leaving quidditch games early because there were too many people in the crowd.

Still, he couldn’t shake the sounds from his memory, of the images that he’d only half seen—that his mind had been only too eager to complete. How would it feel, exactly, to be in Professor Carter’s mouth?

No no no!! NO! What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he so depraved? Did he not jack off enough on his own? Was it just because of the exchange he’d seen that his mind was reeling like this? Of course it was different than just watching porn, but he hadn’t expected it to be so…raw—so real.

Everything that had happened in that room—it’d all been so real. Maybe that was why Alan couldn’t seem to comprehend, could seem to wrap his head around the fact that it had actually happened, that he’d actually witnessed it, that Professor Sullivan had let him leave with nothing more than a feeble warning.

Because it was a warning at best. There were no guarantees that Alan wouldn’t spread the rumor.

Maybe…maybe he could use this as leverage to get Professor Sullivan to go on a date with him…

No. No, Alan wasn’t capable of something so underhanded. His feelings for Professor Sullivan were real. And so he wanted Professor’s Sullivans feelings to be real, should he ever decide to reciprocate them. Because Alan…Alan had been feeling like this for quite some time.

Fourth year, was when Alan probably realized it. When he just happened to see Thomas Sullivan returning from quidditch practice, shirt all askew as he laughed with his friends, the lot of them only half dressed because the weather had been uncharacteristically boiling that day.

The seventh year’s laugh had been absolutely captivating to Alan. His confidence more so, and the gleaming stretch of toned skin even more than that.

But Thomas was so much older, and Head Boy at that, and Alan was nothing but a measly Hufflepuff, so the times they ever ended up passing one another, Alan could count on one hand.

He’d never expected the seeker to return to Hogwarts as a professor.

That was just like him, though. Thomas had been brilliant from the start. And regardless of whatever had happened that afternoon, even if his partner was a man, and a fellow professor, Thomas Sullivan deserved more peace of mind than Alan’s sputtered words.

Which was precisely why that next afternoon, Alan went into potions with the intention to apologize. Thoroughly. Only, he never got the chance, because Professor Sullivan began the lecture right away, and then they jumped straight into recreating a recipe, of which Alan always greatly struggled with, and so most of his focus became dedicated to that.

That is, until Professor Sullivan came right up behind him. Alan could tell from the scent of his cologne, and that intimidating heat that was smoldering against his back.

“Juniper leaves?”

Alan swallowed, “Yes, sir.”

The Professor hummed. Alan’s heart pounded. Had he gotten it wrong? The recipe was written partially in riddles. But he was almost certain the directions called for juniper.

This potion wasn’t about to blow up in his face, was it? He’d heard stories of students having their eyebrows burnt off. But then came the strong hand on his shoulder, the subtle squeeze from Professor Sullivan’s large hand, his hot breath on the shell of Alan’s ear, “Well done, Mr. Wilson.”

It wasn’t quite a shiver, that went down Alan’s spine. More like a chilled trickle, one that threatened to leave tremors in its wake, but was wholly outdone by the professor’s heat radiating against Alan’s back.

His ear burned.

“Th-Thank you, Professor.”

“However, if you’d like to make your potion more effective…”

Professor Sullivan was talking. Was certainly talking but it was muddled in Alan’s ears. Despite that the tone of his voice was perfectly clear, dulcet as velvet, straightforward and assertive and yet still hopelessly caring, because Professor Sullivan genuinely wanted his students to succeed.

Professor Sullivan eventually left, without so much as a single word as to everything that’d happened yesterday evening.

Which should have been the end of it.

But Alan had Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch. And he had a feeling Professor Carter wouldn’t be nearly as docile as Professor Sullivan had been.

Alan spent the entirety of his lunch hour mulling over the fact. He didn’t know much about Professor Carter, but he was about as Slytherin as they came. How he and Professor Sullivan could belong to the same house was a tragedy at best. Professor Carter—Ven Carter, that was his name, even the sound of it was snake-like—was supposedly one of the most brilliant wizards of his time. One had to be, to teach something like Defense Against the Dark Arts, but you’d hardly know it, what with how carelessly he taught his classes.

No, well, perhaps carelessly wasn’t the right word. He allowed his students to make mistakes. Or rather—he pushed his students towards mistakes. Because in order to defend yourself from dark magic, “you must always stay on your toes.”

Alan didn’t quite agree. There was no use being on your toes if you didn’t know what to do in the first place. A vagrant few managed to pass his class with high marks, but the overwhelming majority got through scraping with the lowest possible scores.

Professor Carter’s class was, in all respects, a nightmare.

Which made it all the more terrifying, Alan thought, when Professor Carter did nothing to him. Said nothing to him, gave away nothing, said not a single sentence that might have held malicious meaning. Alan had remained as invisible as ever.

In many ways, Alan was relieved. In others…annoyed.

Exactly why he was annoyed he couldn’t particularly pinpoint. Had Professor Carter not cared enough to remember? Was Alan so forgettable and insignificant that he wasn’t even worth a brief moment of torment? It was one of Professor Carter’s favorite pastimes, after all. Making students noticeably uncomfortable in front of their peers. It was why no one dared act out in any of his classes. The man had an uncanny ability to read into his student’s weaknesses.

Was Alan so…bland?

No, well, he already knew the answer to that. Alan would hardly be worth anyone’s time.

Unless…Professor Carter actually felt threatened…?

No, no no, what was Alan thinking? A man like Ven Carter couldn’t possibly feel threatened by a student like Alan. There was nothing to be threatened by.

Although…

Alan was aware of the number of complaints the Headmaster received in regards to Professor Carter. About how his class was impossible to pass and how he would single students out. If the Headmaster were to receive news of inappropriate sexual conduct, then…

Wouldn’t that be the end of Professor Carter’s stay at Hogwarts?

And…following that logic…wouldn’t it be the end of Professor Carter’s relationship with Thomas…?

Alan could never threaten Professor Sullivan. He was simply too good of a person. But Professor Carter was an entirely different situation. If the blackmail only concerned Professor Carter, then the man was simply getting what he deserved.

It was gutsy, and risky, and horrifically uncharacteristic, but Alan stayed after class. He’d never had leverage over anyone before—let alone a professor, of all things—but if nothing else came of this then he could at least get some decent marks on his upcoming Dark Arts exams.

“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?” Professor Carter dropped a book right in front of Alan, the sound making the Hufflepuff jump, “Class is over.”

Chewing his bottom lip raw, Alan cleared his throat, “I-I wanted to talk to you—”

“If you’re going to stutter through it don’t bother. I’ve other things to do—”

“Like blow Professor Sullivan?”

He regretted it the moment it left his mouth. In all honesty, Alan didn’t know where the words had come from, or why they’d been so quick to jump out. But all he knew now was that he was most definitely going to die.

Professor Carter’s expression didn’t darken, however, the way Alan thought it might, like a villain on all of those muggle television shows. His lips did, however, curl into a smile that sent shivers down Alan’s spine. Objectively, Alan didn’t quite know which was worse.

“Precisely.”

That was terrifying. Professor Carter wasn’t even trying to deny it. Was acting like it was completely normal to be discussing such a thing with a student.

“Now if you don’t mind,” Professor Carter continued, “Thomas doesn’t like to be kept waiting—”

“No!” Alan shook, his fists trembling at his sides. He’d begun to sweat, but he was too far in now to simply walk away with his tail between his legs. “Wh-What you two are doing is indecent. It’s wrong—! If you—i-if you don’t want me to say anything to the headmaster, then—”

A chair clattered, making Alan jump. Professor stood up, outstretching his arms so that his robes looked like wings. The man towered over him. “Forgive me,” he continued to smile in that unnerving way, “my hand must have slipped.” He reached for the chair, putting it right-side-up again. “Do continue,” Professor Carter sat in it, crossing his right leg over his left. He motioned with his hand, “I believe you were just about to threaten me.”

Alan licked his lips, swallowing down again. He couldn’t stop shaking. Even if Professor Carter seemed perfectly calm, even he had to have some sense of fear regarding the headmaster, right?

“I want high marks on my next three exams!”

“Do well, and I’ll happily grade them as such—”

“I-I know you know what I mean! I-If you don’t—don’t pass me with high marks then—then I’ll—”

“Aw,” Professor Carter pouted, scooting on the chair so that it scraped against the floor, leaning over Alan with an absurdly dark aura, “or what? You’ll report me? And what will you say, Mr. Wilson? ‘I saw Professor Carter sucking Professor Sullivan off and I wish it would have been me instead’—”

“That’s not true—!”

“Isn’t it?”

Something happened. Alan wasn’t sure what, but it felt like a punch to the stomach, all air knocked straight and clean out of his lungs. His head was spinning—or maybe his body was—but he didn’t think Professor Carter would go so far as to hit him, especially when…

He could hear himself breathing. And when he finally took a moment to look around, he realized he was no longer in Professor Carter’s class. He was still in Hogwarts, certainly, but it felt blurry—as if his eyes weren’t fully focused—as if he’d been crying.

“Hey cheer up,” Professor Sullivan—no—Thomas was in front of him, giving his shoulder a quick pat, “maybe Hufflepuff will win the next game.” He laughed, that large hand ruffled his hair, Alan feeling that pleasant warmth in his cheeks again, “You first years get so emotional.”

Alan remembered that. That was from his first year at Hogwarts. It was the night of the final quidditch game, but that hadn’t meant anything to Alan. It just so happened to be the same night he’d lost his mother’s necklace. It was all he really had left of his parents. He was so relieved when he finally found it again that he’d begun to cry. Thomas had happened to run into him, then.

But that was Alan’s memory. Why did it feel like he was reliving the event?

“How quaint,” Professor Carter’s voice sounded in his head. “But let’s fast forward a bit, shall we?”

The scenes whirled as though Alan were truly traveling through his own memories. Was Professor Carter a Legilimens?

They made it to Alan’s fourth year, on that day with the sweltering summer heat, where Alan finally noticed the sweat dripping down the seventh year’s stomach, to that very same night when Alan…

Professor Carter saw everything. Saw Alan completely exposed, saw how the Hufflepuff had defiled himself over and over again, Thomas’s name on his lips, the endless days Alan spent in his fourth year trying to see as much as he could of the seeker, his failed attempt to join the quidditch team, the day where they happened to brush shoulders in the hallway, the one time Alan nearly fell in the middle of the Great Hall only to be held up by Thomas, the endless confession letters Alan wrote and then threw away, and the very last day of school, where he didn’t even get to see Thomas, and spent the entire day in his room being miserable about it.

And then came the first day of Alan’s own seventh year. Where he walked into potions, thinking he was in one of his own fantasies, thinking that it was fate and yet knowing it wasn’t, wanting to blurt out everything all over again and yet knowing he was too much of a coward to do anything of the sort.

And all of it—every single memory—was bitterly mocked by Professor Carter’s vile tongue.

When the Professor finally got out of his head, a huge burst of air rushed to fill Alan’s lungs, and he was back in the Professor’s classroom, bones feeling like mush and head positively spinning. He knew he was breathing—but it hardly felt like it.

After finally catching his breath, he still found himself leaning against the desk for support. “You can’t—“ he exhaled, “That’s illegal! What you’ve done is an entire rape of my consciousness! The Headmaster will have you sacked—!”

Professor Carter only laughed. But that was demented. Alan had the upper hand. He was sure of it.

“Oh? Is that what you’re going to do? Report me? I’m quivering.” He laughed again, kicking his feet up onto the desk.

Alan swallowed, “You’ll lose your credibility. Your profession, your rank, everything you’ve ever worked towards—”

Again, Professor Carter began to laugh. He was far too relaxed. The laugh far too carefree. Just what had he gotten himself into?

“If it will make you that happy, then go ahead and report me. I am a firm believer that people should always follow their base desires.”

“I will,” Alan retorted. “And this isn’t a base desire! It’s a matter of illegal magic use an-and inappropriate conduct—”

“I do wonder though,” the professor drawled, “what will Thomas think of you, when he realizes you’re the reason he’s been fired?”

Alan blinked. Became unsure of what to do. Because none of what the professor had just said made any sense at all. He tried to laugh, though it came out dry, “Are you daft…? The only one to be fired will be you—”

“If you report me,” Professor Carter interrupted, “I’ll have no choice but to save my own skin. As a Slytherin,” he grinned, tongue curling over his teeth, “it’s what we do best. Given that you’re threatening me with my own job, I’ve no choice but to threaten you with your beloved Thomas. Report me to the Headmaster, and I’ll accuse the two of you with a student-teacher relationship.”

“But that’s not true—!”

“You know the funny thing about the human mind,” Ven—because the man no longer looked like anything that even remotely resembled a professor—outstretched his legs, standing up and appearing much taller than Alan ever remembered, circling around Alan and giving him a quick touch on the forehead, “is that it’s hopelessly unstable. Everything is fragmented and therefore terribly fragile. In fact, human beings are quite stupid. They can create memories that never existed in the first place.”

Alan wasn’t entirely sure where Ven was going with his speech, but he didn’t want to know. Even still, he could’t bring himself to move. The professor was still circling around him like a shark, and the steady movement of it, the silent threat of it, kept Alan in place.

Fear was a hopelessly immobilizing thing.

“It’s true, I went into your head. But how could I,” he put his palm flat on his chest, “a concerned teacher not do what I can to help one of my prized students? If you even think to breathe a word to the headmaster, I’ll explain that Professor Sullivan has had quite the inappropriate relationship with you, and I merely used my skills as a Legilimens to confirm my suspicions and gather evidence. To help my darling student, of course.”

“But you have no proof! There’s never been anything between Professor Sullivan and I—”

Clicking his tongue, and wagging his finger in Alan’s face, Ven hummed, “You never were good at properly paying attention, Mr. Wilson. Did you not hear me the first time? When it really wants to, the mind can create memories. And you,” he motioned to Alan, pulling out a grey, milky vial from his robes, “have such intricate fantasies that I hardly had to do any work at all.”

The smile that curled his lips was like a snake slithering through grass, Alan’s heart pounding in his chest as he tried to process the professor’s words.

“Do you understand now? The Headmaster will have no choice but to get rid of Thomas—”

“Th-That’s not—“ Alan shook his head, “That can’t be—!”

“You’re about ten years too early to try and threaten me,” Ven barked, for a moment Alan thinking he might strike him, but instead the professor put the vial back in his robes, tucking it away for safekeeping. “Now,” he patted his robes down, “here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go and confess to Thomas, the way you’ve always wanted to but were far too meek to do. You’re going to tell him all of those naughty fantasies that vile little head of yours has managed to come up with. And then, you’ll sit there and listen to him as he rejects you.”

That was just about the last thing Alan wanted. He’d come to terms with his feelings long ago—and he’d also decided long ago that he would never burden Thomas with the knowledge of it. Because Thomas didn’t deserve to have his time wasted by some no-name Hufflepuff.

He folded his hands in his lap, trying to steady his breathing which still hadn’t returned to normal since Professor Carter had first entered his head. “What do you get out of this?” he asked, refusing to look up.

“As I said,” Professor Carter lilted. “People should follow their desires. And right now, watching you squirm—that is my desire. Naughty brats should be punished. Especially a peeping one like you.”

“I wasn’t peeping! If you hadn’t forced Professor Sullivan to do something so unabashed in a classroom then I never would have seen—”

“Ah-ah-ah. Don’t begin to place blame when you’re wholly ignorant. Thomas asked me to do so. Now. You have twenty-four hours to confess to him. If you don’t, I’ll be sending this memory,” he patted at his robes, “to the headmaster. Do we have an agreement?”

Could that be true? Had Thomas truly asked for something like that? But Thomas had always been so composed, so upstanding, so proper…

Perhaps Alan didn’t know much about Thomas at all.

With a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach, Alan nodded his head, silently agreeing to Ven’s terms.

He may as well would have made a deal with the devil.

…

Mulling over what to do didn’t exactly amount to much. Either Alan agreed to throw up his insides and place them at Thomas’s feet, left to forever be scrutinized by the man, or, he refuses to do so, and in doing so, cost Thomas his career, left to be hated by him forever.

And the latter was certainly worse.

Alan rolled over in bed, hugging his pillow to his chest.

He’d never needed Thomas to like him. He was nearly six years his senior—Alan had never hoped for that. The only thing he wanted—he just needed—he didn’t want Thomas to hate him, no matter what. And he certainly didn’t want to be the reason Thomas would never again be able to teach potions. Because it was clear to any and everyone—potions were the man’s passion. He’d always been skilled in the subject. Alan remembered once, towards the end of Thomas’s seventh year, when he received an award for being one of the youngest wizards to compete in a national competition.

He was simply brilliant.

There had to be a way around this. Professor Carter was too horrid of a man. Regardless of Alan’s own feelings, Professor Sullivan deserved much better than him.

He sat up. Maybe that was precisely the solution. Misunderstandings and blackmail only continue to happen when things continue to be misunderstood. When information is continuously and purposely occulted. If Alan went to Professor Sullivan and confessed everything that’d just transpired, then maybe the two of them could figure out how to report Professor Carter to the headmaster and have him banished for good.

Yes—! That was it!

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he damn near stood up. But stopped. Gripped the edge of the mattress. Even if he explained everything to Professor Sullivan…to Thomas…then Alan would still have to admit his feelings. He wouldn’t be able to explain everything that was going on without that crucial detail.

He swallowed, knuckles ghosting from his grip on the bed. That was fine, he decided. This would be momentary embarrassment. Between his embarrassment, and Thomas’s passion, obviously Thomas was more important. Alan would be able to live with that. He’d been mortified plenty in his life. At the very least, this time he knew it would be serving a decent purpose.

With newfound resolve, he got out of bed and put on his shoes, making his way towards Professor Sullivan’s office.

Professor Carter may have been a cunning Slytherin, but Alan was a Hufflepuff; he wasn’t afraid to take the harder, more beaten-up path.

The staircases seemed all the more scrambled, today, as Alan tried to time himself, to keep his feet from slipping, to run through in his head what he planned to say to Thomas.

He didn’t have the slightest clue. He’d begin at the beginning, he supposed. And then work his way from there. Of course, there was no guarantee that Thomas would believe him. Perhaps he’d take Ven’s side. Because Thomas was virtuous like that—maybe he would side by his lover.

Alan hadn’t considered that. But despite it, even Thomas had to be aware of Ven’s nature. The accusation wasn’t so much of a stretch even if they were lovers. And more importantly, what Alan had to say was the truth. And Alan believed that the truth always had a way of shining through to people.

His heart sped up the closer and closer he got to Thomas’s office. For a moment, he thought to turn back. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to gather the courage to come all the way back here, so with a shaky breath, and an even shakier fist, Alan knocked politely on the door.

“Come in,” came the muffled voice from inside.

“Mr. Wilson,” Thomas acknowledged when Alan walked in, “to what do I owe this visit?”

There were papers scattered along the desk, and a few splotches of ink on what Alan could only assume to be drafts of new potions. A cat rested on the right side of the professor’s desk, its tail hanging over the edge, swinging lazily back and forth. It glared at Alan when he entered, but Alan had never quite been very good with animals to begin with.

Out of nervousness, he licked his lips before beginning to chew on the inside of his cheeks. He’d originally thought to stay standing, but his knees were buckling and threatening to give out. So he sat down on one of the chairs in front of Professor Sullivan’s desk instead.

“Um,” he swallowed, squeezing his hands in his lap, “well—y-you see…um…it’s about…um, Professor Carter—”

Professor Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, and Alan felt cold fear drip down his spine.

“I thought we agreed to keep this between ourselves, Mr. Wilson—”

“I-It’s not that—!” Alan was quick to say, practically lunging forward in his seat, “I just think—I don’t think you should see Professor Carter anymore! He’s not a very good boyfriend. I know this isn’t my place but he doesn’t even care if you lose your job. It’s my fault because I tried to threaten him but to get back at me he doesn’t even care if you’re the one who ends up suffering! If you love someone you shouldn’t do that! A-And if we don’t do something then Ven is going to report you to the Headmaster and you’ll be removed from Hogwarts and—!”

“Mr. Wilson,” Professor Sullivan held his hand up, giving a long, tired sigh. “From the beginning, please. Just how does Professor Carter intend to have me removed?”

Again, Alan swallowed. This was it. He’d no longer be able to hide it. “I…” he began, but then found himself unable to meet Thomas’s gaze, and so he lowered his head. “I’ve always had feelings for you, Professor. But please know I never intended to act on these feelings! I merely…” he closed his eyes, shaking his head to look at Thomas again. “I’m entirely at fault. Professor Carter is quite strict in his classes. I thought I could use what I saw the other day as leverage but it didn’t work. A-And Professor Carter is a Legilimens. Since I threatened him, he came into my mind and planted a fake memory and then somehow extracted it. The…” he paused, his face burning up with shame, “The memory he created…has to do with you and I. It’s…it’s inappropriate, and so Professor Carter said that if I didn’t…” he stopped, because the tears were prickling at his eyes. He never should have said anything from the start. Never should have approached Professor Carter, never should have gone back to Professor Sullivan’s room that day, never started liking Professor Sullivan in the first place.

“If you didn’t what, Mr. Wilson?” Professor Sullivan nudged gently.

Alan let the tears slip, “If I didn’t admit my feelings for you then he would reveal the memory to the Headmaster, and you’d be fired.” He gasped, choking on his silent sobs, “Please, Professor Sullivan, you have to know I never intended for any harm to come to you in any way! I only wanted,” he wiped his face, “I don’t even know what I wanted—I never should have tried in the first place—”

“Mr. Wilson,” Professor Sullivan folded his hands over his desk, a pillar of calm, “what I am about to say should quell your worries.”

Alan was quick to nod, sniffling and wiping at his eyes again. He knew Thomas would have a solution. That was just who he was. A brilliant, admirable wizard.

“Implanting fake memories is not possible. By that reasoning, extracting such a memory is all the more impossible.”

Alan’s eyes widened. Was that true? “But—”

The cat meowed, it’s open mouth stretching and stretching until the figure became human, Ven sitting with his long legs extended across the desk. “Boo, Thomas. You’re no fun at all.”

“Have you had quite enough tormenting our student—?”

“Not nearly enough,” Ven waved at him. “He couldn’t have cried for more than two minutes. I was quite enjoying his tear-stained face.”

“Ven,” Professor Sullivan chastised, but Ven didn’t stop.

Crossing his legs over the desk, Ven motioned at Alan, “I did you a favor. You know how he feels about you. Will you leave him without an answer to his pitiful confession?”

“I won’t lay my hands on a student,” Thomas barked at Ven. Then, turning to Alan, “I’m sure you understand—”

“No,” Alan shook his head, “I mean yes! Of course! I wouldn’t ever—that is, we wouldn’t—”

“Oh but you do,” Ven chirped, and for a moment, Alan thought the professor was talking to him, until he realized Ven was speaking directly to Thomas. “You’re as hot for student as he is hot for teacher.”

Alan stood up, “That’s not true! Don’t accuse Professor Sullivan of being as debauched as you!”

With that chilling grin, Ven hopped off the desk. “You know,” he trilled, “it’s quite the shame Thomas here is an Occlumens, or I’d show you myself. Your feeling are mutual.”

The sentence alone had a strange tightness bursting in Alan’s chest, Alan unable to sit still, “You—You just like playing with me…”

“You’re right about that,” Ven licked his lips, “but I like playing with Thomas more. Which is why, if you’ll excuse me,”

Alan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he certainly didn’t think Ven would lean in and kiss him—would remain kissing him, would draw his tongue out and—

A yelp parted Alan’s lips when he felt Ven’s tongue, or maybe it was the fact that Ven was ripped off by Professor Sullivan, the man’s expression curled in a snarl. Alan didn’t know what to do, save for try to slow down his racing heart, but he’d never seen Professor Sullivan look so angry before.

Anyone would be, Alan supposed, if you saw your lover kiss another person. The thought did nothing for his heart, however, only added a twisting feeling in his stomach, Alan licking his lips to try and apologize.

But before he could say anything, Professor Sullivan was hovering over him, that warm hand outstretching to cup Alan’s cheek. His thumb slid down, brushed over Alan’s bottom lip.

“He’s dirtied you.”

“I-I’m sorry—” Alan tried, thinking the Professor meant he to Ven, but was silenced with a softer, much more delicate kiss to his lips.

Ven sneered, “What happened to not laying your hands on your students?”

“That is as far as I’ll go,” Professor Sullivan affirmed, nodding at Alan, “I will show you out, Mr. Wilson.”

Alan’s head was reeling far too much to truly comprehend anything that anyone had said, but his body responded regardless, functioning on autopilot as Mr. Sullivan showed him out of the office.

He accompanied him all the way out into the hall, the Professor pulling the door behind him so that save for sliver of a crack, it was closed. “I meant what I said, Mr. Wilson. I will not lay my hands on a student.”

Alan nodded, hanging his head ever so slightly, “I understand, Mr. Sull—”

“However,” he interrupted, “I will look forward to the day of your graduation.”

Red blossomed over Alan’s cheeks, spread all the way up to claim his ears and most of his neck as well. “I-I’m—”

“Until then, Mr. Wilson.”

With that, Professor Sullivan slipped back into his office, leaving Alan in a heavenly daze. Was it possible that all of this, just now, had been a dream? That everything, from the very start, had been a dream? Because it hardly seemed real, the ghost of the touch left behind by Professor—by Thomas’s lips.

He was looking forward to graduation day…did that mean…?

No, it couldn’t, could it? But it had to. To what else could Thomas be referring? But then that meant that their feelings were mutual. And if that were true then come graduation day…

Wait.

What would happen to Professor Carter?

“Oy, Doll Face!”

Alan jolted, turning around. Professor Carter was strutting up to him, and Alan scowled, “I have a name. And my face doesn’t at all resemble a doll.”

“You say that like I’m aware of your name—”

“It’s Alan Wilson! I’ve been in your classes for two years now—!”

“Besides you’ve got a doll’s face. So pale. Is it the ‘face’ part that bothers you? Doll is shorter for me anyway—”

“It’s Alan. Or Mr. Wilson—”

“So Doll,” Ven continued, “I need to try something, if you don’t mind. Because this has been bothering me for a while.”

He said nothing more, took a bold step forward, and kissed him.

“P-Professor Carter—!” Alan brought a quick hand to his lips, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“What?” the man shrugged, “The one who said he’d wait until graduation was Thomas, not me.”

“But that’s not—it’s not decent—!”

He was pinned to the wall by that tall figure, Alan worried the professor might be able to hear his heart beating. “Have you not figured it out yet? I don’t care.” He made to kiss him, but Alan turned his head away. “T-The one I like is Professor Sullivan. This has nothing to do with you.”

Ven grabbed at Alan’s chin, turning it so that they were face to face. “I don’t care about that either.”

He managed to kiss him this time, keeping Alan in place with nothing but a simple touch of his fingers.

It wasn’t a very strong hold. Alan could have broken it, if he wanted.

If he wanted? Did that mean he didn’t want to push him off? Professor Carter’s lips were somewhat pleasant on his own, Alan would admit, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to kiss him. The only one he wanted to kiss was Professor Su—Thomas. And he’d stay true to that. Yes. He’d definitely push Professor Carter away and then tell him off.

He certainly would have, if Professor Carter hadn’t pulled away first.

“I don’t understand what Thomas sees in you. You’re rather…feeble. And naive.”

“At least I’m not vulgar or a cheater.”

“Oh?” Ven lilted, “Well I don’t spend my time spreading false accusations about others. Thomas and I are in an open relationship, you wannabe know-it-all. And the primary reason for that is you. But again, I don’t see the appeal, lanky thing like you.”

“I can’t help being la—“ Alan shook his head, “Did you say I-I’m the reason you’re—“ he motioned from Ven, to Professor Carter’s door, “But I’m…we’ve never even talked.”

Ven smirked, “And yet you fell for him anyway.”

How could he not, Alan thought. “But that’s different! Professor Sullivan is—”

Ven kissed him again, and Alan pushed him away, making a disgusted sound and wiping his mouth, “Would you stop that! I don’t know if this is all some large joke to you but I—if you think I won’t report you—!”

“Threats don’t suit you. And you’re not the kind to carry them out anyway. So stop getting your knickers in a twist. I’m just here trying to have some fun. As soon as I figure out what Thomas sees in you I’ll leave you alone.”

…

Ven did not, over the course of the remainder of the year, leave him alone. In fact, annoyed him all the more, what with his relentless teasing and side comments and calling him out in the middle of class and…the occasional….kiss every now and then.

Though it was perhaps much more often than just every now and then, because Alan had grown so terribly used to them. To the point where he no longer flinched, when Ven approached him. Rather, parted his lips slightly instead, so that it’d be easier for Ven, so that the professor could glide his tongue just over the top of Alan’s bottom lip.

It was embarrassing. And, though Alan could no longer say he disliked it, exactly, that didn’t stop him from feeling terrible about the whole thing. Because his feelings for Professor Sullivan were still very much there, and graduation was only just a few measly days away now, but not once had Professor Sullivan approached him in any sort of way.

So, Alan was under the impression that this was all still one large joke at his expense. Two Professors feeling bored and wanting to torment one of their students.

Graduation came and went, confirming Alan’s suspicions. That is, until the second evening after Alan had already returned home, when an owl flew in through the window to his messy room. The servants always offered to unpack his things for him, but Alan preferred doing it himself.

He thought nothing of the letter, thinking it one of his distant relatives, until he opened it up to see Professor Sullivan’s neat penmanship inside. Alan nearly screamed.

It was an invitation. An invitation to the Professor’s home—no—to Thomas’s home, to “properly congratulate you on your commencement.”

Alan’s heart pounded in his ears. What did that mean? Surely the joke had already ended, hadn’t it? Unless it’d never been a joke from the start. But then that would mean that Professor Sullivan—that Thomas—that he intended to—did he intend to…?

Frazzled, and rushing to the bathroom, Alan decided he should look his best, just in case. He left all of his clothes sprawled out across the room, wanting to focus on his hair, which was always bland and never quite curled in the way he wanted to. Even after a shower and styling it properly, it didn’t quite turn out how he’d been hoping.

But the clock was ticking, and Alan didn’t want to keep Thomas waiting. He briefly informed the servants that he was going out as he rushed down his staircase, reaching for the pot of floo by the fireplace. He spoke loudly; clearly, and with a toss of the floo, he was no longer staring into his own living room, but into Thomas’s instead.

And it all felt a bit like a dream.

Thomas was standing there, as if he’d been waiting for him, a glass of fire whiskey in his hand, not at all looking like a professor but rather more like a very adult man, and Alan began to feel his fingers start to itch.

“I’m glad you decided to come.”

Alan cleared his throat, realizing he was still in the fireplace, silently screaming at his feet to please move. “Yes. Um, thank you for inviting me.”

“We have a lot to discuss,” Thomas motioned towards the two chairs beside him. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” Alan nodded, feeling hopelessly meek. Thomas offered him some whiskey, but Alan declined.

“I suppose we should start with the obvious. Am I correct in assuming that you’re here because we both still have feelings for one another?”

Alan did all he could to not grind his teeth in an overtly obvious way. But he couldn’t well help it. It was either that or let Thomas see him dig his nails into the arm of this very expensive looking chair. “I-I…” he hesitated, looking at Thomas’s knees, rather than his face, “I’ve always liked you, but…I don’t know why you would—I mean I’m not really much of a catch, exactly…”

Thomas smiled, “You’ve always been so insecure. Even when your parents were still alive.”

At that, Alan’s head shot up, confusion blinking into his features, “My parents? Did you know them?”

The glass of fire whiskey clanked when Thomas set it down on the table, the professor bringing his hand up to his face to hide an embarrassed smile, “As I thought, you don’t remember.”

“Remember?” Alan leaned in, blood rushing in his ears, stopping entirely when Thomas took his hands into his own. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Alan Wilson. We used to play together while our parents discussed business affairs.”

Slow, rapid beats rose and then fell in Alan’s chest, like those unstable rides at town fairs. Was that true? From the look in Thomas’s eyes, Alan knew it had to be true, but that was part of what made it all so unbelievable to begin with. Alan did have vague memories of an older boy that would sometimes come to play, but it almost felt like the memory wasn’t quite there, like it turned into smoke the moment he reached out to grab it.

“I think I might, but…I’m sorry my memory has never been very good,” he lowered his head, heart racing when Thomas squeezed his hands.

“Whether you remember or not is fine. You don’t have to. What matters is what you think of this now. I’m a professor and yet I was unable to…are you not disgusted by it?”

“No, no of course not!” Alan squeezed Thomas back, “I’d never think ill of you! The fact that you even noticed someone like me is,” he laughed to himself, looking up to meet Thomas’s gaze. “Besides you’ve a lot more decency than Professor Carter.”

The grip on his hands became tighter, Thomas’s eyes darkened, “What did Carter do?”

“N-Nothing—!” Alan’s breath caught in his throat, “I think he was trying to make fun of me, mostly—”

“No,” Thomas growled. “That’s not likely.”

“What do you—”

“Listen to me, Alan. I need you to understand something. Ven and I have been in an open relationship since our 7th year at Hogwarts. If you wish it, I’m willing to become monogamous once again. With you.”

They’d been together since their 7th year? That was quite a long time, whether the relationship was open or not. And it meant that whatever Thomas and Ven had, it wasn’t something as flippant as Alan had originally thought. He licked his lips, biting the inside of his cheeks, “No, somehow…if the two of you split up because of me…that would feel wrong…”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed, and Alan thought he’d said the wrong thing, until he felt a chill go down his spine.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Didn’t I tell you to wait in the dining room?” Thomas barked, keeping a tight hold on Alan’s hands. Ven walked around them, finishing off Thomas’s fire whiskey, “I got bored. You two were taking too long in here.”

“Ven. The dining room.”

“What’s it matter? He’s already seen me! Besides, its obvious this not-so-innocent Hufflepuff wants us both.”

“Um,” Alan tried, “I—”

“What do you say, Thomas?” Ven’s hand snaked around Alan’s neck, his lips brushing against Alan’s cheek, “I don’t mind if this little thing comes between us~”

“Let him go,” Alan threatened.

“No.”

“Alan,” Thomas snapped, causing Alan’s spine to straighten, his pulse quickening under Ven’s palm. “What is it you want?”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He wanted Thomas, of course. Had always wanted Thomas. But lately Ven was also capable of making his heart race, and with the three of them all together in one room, how in the world was he ever supposed to admit that what he really wanted was to—

Ven squeezed Alan’s cheeks together, popping his jaw open and making to kiss him, only to spill some sort of elixir into Alan’s mouth. Thomas yelled, but Alan didn’t quite catch it, his head starting to spin.

He felt strange.

“I want you both,” he blurted, nausea settling in his stomach. “I want Thomas to kiss me. Ven always kisses me but Thomas never does.”

Thomas’s eyes were so black that it sent shivers down Alan’s spine, and yet in that moment he wasn’t the least bit afraid.

“Very good, Doll,” Ven praised, giving his cheek a chaste kiss. “What else do you want Thomas to do?”

A rush of adrenaline raced through Alan’s veins, the hair on his arms raising in excitement. Ven hadn’t ever praised him before. Perhaps it was only the potion making him feel this way, but telling the truth felt…good.

“I want him to hold me!” Alan gasped almost desperately, nails curling into Thomas’s palms, “Ever since my fourth year I’ve always wanted him to hold me—!”

“Truth serum?” Thomas interrupted. “Do you always feel the need to stoop to such low measures—?”

“I find low measures speed things along,” Ven smirked, Alan not having to look at him to know that his cheshire smile was curling his lips upwards.

Alan’s head pounded. Everything sounded muddled and yet hopelessly clear at the same time. He hoped Ven wouldn’t ask him any more questions and yet he hoped he did, wanting to be praised again, to be kissed on the cheek again.

Thomas noticeably swallowed, bringing a hand to Alan’s cheek, “Forgive me, but I’ll ask again.”

Alan nodded, wanting to tell Thomas that he need not pay it any mind.

“What is it you want?”

“Anything you’re willing to give. Either one of you.”

“Then,” Thomas kissed him, tugging ever so slightly with his teeth, “you aren’t allowed to regret what comes next.”

Ven laughed, finally releasing Alan’s neck as Thomas took him, carrying Alan bridal-style.

“You’ve done it now, Doll. There’s no stopping him when he gets like this~”

They apparated into what Alan could only guess was Thomas’s bedroom, which only made his head spin all the more, Alan wondering why they couldn’t have just walked instead.

He was laid gently onto the bed, shifting only when Ven slid his thighs beneath Alan’s head, to create a sort of pillow. Heat rose to Alan’s cheeks. “What’s wrong, Doll?”

Alan made to say nothing, but his mouth opened on its own, “I’m embarrassed.”

Thomas had just made to get on the bed, leaning over Alan to give him a kiss on the lips.

“Why are you embarrassed?” Ven pressed, hand running through Alan’s hair.

“Because I’ve never done this before,” Alan whimpered, biting back the urge to say more.

Thomas smirked at that, lips dragging down Alan’s neck, “First time with two men?”

“First time ever,” Alan corrected, before Thomas had even finished his sentence. He wished he would have been able to stay quiet, to not give so much away, because Thomas stopped the moment the words left Alan’s mouth.

“I’m sorry I’m not experienced,” he blurted. “I’ll do my best—!”

“Oh, Thomas,” above him, Ven smirked, still stroking his hair, “doesn’t this make it all the more delicious?”

“No,” Thomas pulled away, and Alan’s heart sunk. “We should do things more slowly. Properly.”

Alan sat up, panic making his heart race, “Um! I-I know I’m not—but I really will try—!”

“Don’t worry about him,” Ven’s arm circled his waist, pulling Alan towards him. “If that’s what he wants then I’ll break you in. How does that sound?”

“Um—”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Thomas barked, reaching for Alan. “He’s never done this before—”

“Alan,” Ven’s teeth brushed over the shell of his ear, “tell Thomas what you want him to do.”

“I want him to kiss me like he was before. And to not stop. I want him to—”

“I understand,” Thomas huffed, running a hand through his hair, “but that doesn’t change the fact that—”

“Oh Thomas,” Ven sighed, gripping Alan’s chin and forcing him to face Thomas, “you’re gonna make the poor thing cry.”

Thomas kissed him. Took him from Ven and held him, warm tongue brushing over lips and curling into Alan’s mouth, Alan unable to help the moans that bled into Thomas’s mouth.

“You’re quite noisy,” Thomas stated, but it didn’t sound very much like a complaint, so Alan made no effort to keep quiet.

“Do keep that up,” Ven encouraged, starting for Alan’s pants, “he likes them loud.”

“I’ve no preference,” Thomas tried, but Ven refuted the fact. Not that Alan cared either way, at least, not when he was between the two men he’d been wanting most.

Even though he was kissing Thomas, it was difficult not to notice Ven, particularly so when the man’s hand slid down Alan’s pants, warm ripples flushing Alan’s skin at the of feel Ven’s hands on him, a full on gasp nearly making him choke when Ven finally grabbed his cock.

“Be gentle,” Thomas warmed through gritted teeth.

“I’m nothing but,” Ven countered, beginning to stroke Alan, peppering teeth-filled kisses onto the back of Alan’s neck.

Alan’s eyes were closed, but even if they were open he knew he’d be equally as dizzy. Naturally he’d taken care of himself before, but it felt so different having another person’s hands on him—so much better, and somehow he found himself wishing Thomas would touch him like that too.

He deepened their kiss, silently asking for the same from Thomas. The professor grinned into his lips, “What is it?”

“Touch me,” Alan blurted, the potion still very much in effect and entirely indifferent to Alan’s embarrassment.

Thomas looked from Alan to Ven, a single brow raised, before motioning at Ven to move. They swapped positions easily, Ven pulling Alan to his chest, so that he was in between Ven’s legs, back pressed against Ven’s chest, Alan able to feel how hard Ven already was against his lower back. In front of him, Thomas lowered himself, pulling at Alan’s pants, Alan shivering when his skin felt the sudden cold, heating up all over again when Thomas’s hands touched the skin of his legs.

The shivers weren’t from the cold, anymore. He could feel Ven biting along his neck some more, the demonic man nibbling at him every few moments, Alan knowing he would certainly bruise come tomorrow. But he hoped he would. He wanted those bruises. Wanted proof of any and everything Thomas and Ven were about to do to him.

At one point Ven had grabbed him by the chin—Thomas still massaging his legs with those large hands—so Alan didn’t see the way Thomas crept forward, until his mouth was already pressed against Alan’s boxers. He whined into Ven’s mouth.

“Oh,” Ven smirked. “Did you want to watch?”

Alan wasn’t given time to reply, Ven forcing his head down, so that he could watch Thomas start to peel his boxers away. Ven’s hands snaked across Alan’s chest, stopping only to tease his nipples, Alan’s dick twitching in reaction.

That felt good. But not nearly as good as watching Thomas open his mouth, seeing his tongue slide out and lick the tip of Alan’s already crying cock. He moaned, legs twitching, but Thomas didn’t allow it, held Alan’s thighs in place when he went in again, this time taking Alan into his mouth.

“He likes that, Thomas,” Ven chuckled, “his back arched right into you.”

Alan wasn’t sure if that was or wasn’t true, but one thing he knew for certain was that he was melting into Thomas’s mouth. Hot, and wet, and tight, Thomas took all of him, Alan gasping and bucking his hips though he didn’t quite mean to, feeling the edge of Thomas’s throat and wanting to feel it again. And when Thomas began to move, to bob his head up and down, to suck all around him, Alan couldn’t help but toss his head back, moaning into Ven’s shoulder.

“Oh my,” Ven purred, trailing Alan’s neck with a cold finger, “he really likes that.”

Thomas glared up at both of them, which only caused Alan to shiver, but Thomas didn’t stop, continued to work Alan’s length until his legs were trembling to the point of collapse, Ven keeping them spread so that he had no means of escape. “Th-Thomas,” he begged, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for, his arms curled up into his chest, fists closed with white knuckles.

Ven was pinching his nipples again, though Alan still felt hands on his thighs, and somewhere in his muddled brain he realized they had to have been Thomas’s, but hardly anything registered aside from the fact that he was being touched in every which way, a very specific heat starting at the pit of his stomach and rising and rising, getting tighter and tighter and tighter until his thighs tensed up so much Alan could no longer stand it.

“Oh Thomas,” he whined, “Thomas I’m—”

It was Ven who grabbed Thomas by the hair, yanked him away and brought Alan’s spinning pleasure to a terrible screeching halt.

“No—” Alan scratched at Ven’s arm. “N-No, please—”

“Patience, Doll,” Ven kissed his cheek. “Good things to those who wait.”

“You could’ve let him have at least that,” Thomas smirked, wiping his mouth with his arm, Alan entirely entranced by the motion.

“Let’s get to the main attraction now, shall we?” Ven licked his ear, muttering an incantation that Alan didn’t quite catch. Without warning, he was facing the ceiling, back on the bed and Ven hovering over him. “This is my favorite spell,” he licked his lips, fingers sliding down between Alan’s thighs, and pressing a finger in.

Alan gasped, back arching up off the bed, hands shooting down to grab at Ven’s wrists. That was strange. Was it supposed to go in that easily?

“Thomas,” Ven called, “look at how wet he is.” He pulled his finger out, holding it just beneath Thomas’s lips. To Alan’s suprise—horror?—delight, Thomas licked Ven’s finger, Alan shivering upon watching. “That’s dirty…” he tried, but Thomas refuted the fact, bringing his hand over to brush Alan’s hair back. “Relax while Ven stretches you. Do you want to taste yourself?”

He nodded eagerly, because Ven had just put the finger back in, and although it wasn’t exactly painful, it was hopelessly embarrassing, and just ever so slightly uncomfortable.

Having Thomas kiss him made all of the embarrassment go away. Especially so when Thomas slipped his tongue in, and Alan was allowed to taste himself, the way Thomas had promised. Alan wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting it to taste like, but somehow it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as he originally thought it might—

He squealed, Ven having curled his fingers inside him, Thomas grabbing his chin and forcing him in place, not letting him move though his legs kicked beneath him.

“Jittery little thing,” Ven breathed, holding Alan’s stomach down as he continued with his ministrations. “Don’t you think he’s just about ready?” Thomas said, somehow managing to not pull his lips from Alan’s.

“I’d say so,” Ven smiled, unzipping his pants. The sound alone made Alan tense. Thomas grabbed for Alan, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ven frowned, “I took the trouble of preparing him. I think I should be given the first taste.” He grabbed for Alan as he said so, but a blast came, knocking Ven to the opposite side of the room. Slowly, Alan turned to look at Thomas, horror and amazement making his jaw drop.

He’d never seen wandless magic in person before.

“I wish we could have done this more slowly,” Thomas apologized, “but that won’t hold him for long. And I’m afraid I’m already quite distracted.”

Before Alan could come up with any sort of sorry reply, Thomas was hovering over him, kissing him, their clothes vanishing instantly, Alan only briefly wondering where they might have disappeared to, not quite caring the moment he felt Thomas’s heat against his stomach.

“Th-Thomas—“

Hand on Alan’s cheek, Thomas kissed the top of his head, “Try to take a deep breath.”

Alan did as he was told, looking up at Thomas expectantly, “N-Now what?”

“Take another one.”

“And then?”

“One more.”

Alan nodded to show he understood, preparing for his second large breath. Only, when he did, Thomas pushed in, Alan’s breath catching in his throat, his arms shooting up to grab at any piece of Thomas that he could. “Thomas—!”

“Does it hurt?”

“N-No but—”

“Did you not hear me?” Thomas smirked, pressing their chests together and placing a chaste kiss on Alan’s cheek. “I said to take a deep breath.”

Alan didn’t know how deep breaths were supposed to be possible when Thomas was as big as he was. When Thomas was as thick as he was. When Thomas was as hot as he was. How was he supposed to ever breathe again, knowing that this was what it felt like to finally be connected with the man that he’d loved for so long—

His thoughts were cut, the moment Thomas began to move. Because Alan could feel everything—every ridge and bump of Thomas’s length, could feel the low groan rumbling slowly in Thomas’s chest, could feel the depravity of his own hips, wriggling ever so slightly to match Thomas’s movements.

“If we’re all quite done with this sap fest—”

The bed shifted beneath what Alan could only assume was Ven’s weight, Thomas growling at him to stay away but Ven not listening, from the way the weight shifted closer and closer towards Alan.

“You’re not the only one who wants to have some fun.”

“You’ll break him—” Thomas snapped, arms tensing above Alan’s head, still buried deep inside him.

“He won’t break—”

“What if he—”

“There’s a spell for that—”

“And if there isn’t?”

“You’re the Potion’s Master,” came Ven’s drawl of a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something.”

Alan didn’t know what they were talking about. But he knew that he hated when those two left him out of their conversations. All it did was remind him of how much more history they had. How much more history they would always have.

“Whatever it is…” he spoke up, clearing his throat, “I’m fine with it…”

“See?” Ven inched closer, “He’s fine with it—”

“Alan, you don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Alan reached up, touching Thomas’s face. “I trust you. Both of you.”

Ven chuckled, with a wave of his hand causing both Alan and Thomas to levitate, while he settled himself on the bed, “I wouldn’t trust me if I were you~”

They settled back down, Alan’s back now against Ven’s chest instead of the bed, Thomas still on top of him, still inside of him, Alan entirely unsure of what it was he was supposed to do.

“Alan,” Thomas barked, Alan’s head snapping to attention.

“Yes?”

“This will hurt—”

“Only a little,” Ven licked the shell of Alan’s ear. “Honestly Thomas you’re so dramatic.”

“W-What are you gonna do—?”

“Trust me, Doll. It’ll be much better if I just show you instead,” as he said so, he rubbed against Alan’s ass, and Alan came into terrible realization.

“No that’s—! You won’t fit!”

Ven chuckled, “I’m humbled by the compliment—”

“No, Ven, really—Thomas barely—”

Ven didn’t listen, muttered something beneath his breath and then pushed on through, Alan feeling as though his stomach was in his throat.

He felt…full.

How would they ever be able to move like this?

They were, in fact, able to move, Thomas sliding out and then pushing back in, Ven sliding out as Thomas pushed, the two alternating their movements so that Alan was never at any point empty. And with every minor movement Alan thought his body might tear, thought it might sink into ultimate pleasure, thought he might break, thought he’d slip into unknowable bliss. Ven’s pants were in his ear, heavy and hot, sending trickles down his spine because it tickled more than anything else, and Thomas’s groans were up above him, arms strained from movement and hips jutting in beautiful rhythm.

The same heat that had started when Thomas was sucking him off swirled in him again, twisting and twirling and tightening in the pit of his stomach.

He wasn’t sure if it was Ven, or Thomas, or both, but every so often they would hit something that made Alan see stars, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Especially so when Ven snaked his hands down his torso, to grasp at Alan’s own heat and start jacking him off.

The heat in him was rising. With every push and pull of Thomas and Ven’s bodies, every breath they gave, Thomas’s groans and Ven’s pants, both of their hands on his body, their sweat all starting to mix together, to become one, the slippery wetness of it all, the scent of the room—

Alan couldn’t take it anymore.

He saw white. The pleasure was inundating, and the whine that broke his lips was deafening, Alan’s legs tightening and then trembling with the rush of his orgasm.

“Fuck Doll—”

“Don’t squeeze that much—”

They were requests Alan was deaf to, because he couldn’t stop shaking, could feel himself squeezing, didn’t want to stop, couldn’t, and when another burst of heat filled his stomach Alan had at least enough sense to realize that it hadn’t come from him alone.

Somehow or another, they all collapsed together. This time with Thomas hugging him from behind, Alan staring at Ven who was lying directly across from them.

Alan’s legs felt like lead.

“You know,” Ven sighed, resting his head against his arm. “I think I like your hair better that way.”

“Me or him?” Thomas was first to say.

Ven chuckled, “I wonder that myself.”

“Ven?” Alan tried, reaching out for him.

“What is it?”

“Will you kiss me?”

Ven raised a brow, “The truth serum should have cleared up by now.”

Alan swallowed, blushing all the way up to his ears, “Is that a no?”

Ven leaned in, but Thomas captured Alan’s cheek, bringing him in for a kiss before Ven could have a say.

“You’re disgustingly competitive.”

“Must be the Slytherin in me.”

“Could be,” Ven grinned. “But I believe Alan asked me. Therefore, that kiss belongs to me.”

Thomas grabbed for Ven, kissing him full on the lips, “Consider it yours, then.”

Ven shot Alan a wicked grin, giving him a quick peck, “Prepare yourself, Hufflepuff. You’re in for a long night.”

#writing #writing commissions

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imdoingthismspaintadventure · 5 years ago

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Worm 1.4 - In which a Worm fights a Wyrm

I felt a chill. A part of me really wished that I had thought to get my hands on a disposable cell phone. I didn’t have a utility belt, but the spade shaped section of armor that hung over my spine hid a set of EpiPens, a pen and notepad, a tube of pepper spray meant to hang off a key chain and a zippered pouch of chalk dust. I could have fit a cell phone back there. With a cell phone, I could have alerted the real heroes about the fact that Lung was planning to take a score of his flunkies to go and shoot kids.

Damn, she really went unprepared didn’t she? All of the objects mentioned there would probably be useless in a real fight, and with a phone she could alert authorities and not have to worry about biting off more than she can chew.

But as she doesn’t have it now she faces a moral dilemma: do I just ignore it and go back from where I came from and leave the kids to die, or do I jump in and try to disrupt the plans of a dangerous and famous crime boss.

That is less of a trolley problem and more like if there was only one track and you could throw yourself in front of it to derail its course. Cause damn. I guess she could blitz them and then run away?

At least, that’s what I had heard. I was in a state of disbelief, turning the words around in my head to think of a different context that would make sense of it. It wasn’t so much the fact that he would do something like that. I just had a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that anyone would.

Oh. Taylor if something is true in the world, is that people are fucked up. Well some of them. There are also shining examples out there. Humanity as a whole is grand, but there are a lot of individuals that defy imagination with their bad deeds

Lung answered a question for one of his gang members, lapsing briefly into another language. He grabbed one of his minion’s arms and twisted it to an angle where he could get a look at the guy’s watch, so I guessed it had something to do with their timing or when they were leaving. The gang member who’d had his arm twisted winced as Lung let it go, but didn’t complain.

Look at this perfect way to see the time! Twist the arm of the person nearest you to see the clock. It’s so petty, I love it. Guess it is also a way to assert his influence and power, if he values those.

What was I supposed to do? I doubted I could find any place in the Docks that would be willing to let me inside to use their phone. If I headed to the Boardwalk, I wasn’t sure I would find any places that were still open, and I didn’t have change for a payphone. That was another oversight I would have to correct for the next time I went out. Cell phone, spare change.

Yeah, I was thinking about that. Her house phone is obviously out of the question, and any other method would probably take too much time, not too mention they would change places and would maybe be impossible to find when security arrives

A car pulled up, and another three guys dressed in gang colors got out and and joined the crowd. Shortly after, the group – twenty or twenty five in total – started walking north, passing below me as they walked down the street.

Oh great, as if things weren’t loopsided enough, reinforcements

I was out of time to consider my options. As much as I didn’t want to face it, there was really only one option that I could have no regrets about. I shut my eyes and focused on every bug on the neighborhood, including the sizable swarm I had gathered on the way into the Docks. I took control of each of them.

Attack.

Oh damn, we are actually going to do it! Best strategy is probably:

1)Take down as much of the goons as possible while also attacking Lung

2)When he starts counterattacking run the fuck away.

I mean, you still would be in danger but his raid would probably be ruined.

It was dark enough that I could only tell where the swarm was with my power. That meant I couldn’t even tune out the swarm if I wanted to have any idea about what was going on. My brain was filled with horrendous amounts of information, as I sensed each bite, each sting. As the thousands of insects and arachnids swarmed over and around the group, I could almost see the outlines of each person, just by sensing the shapes of the surfaces the bugs were crawling on, or the areas the vermin wasn’t occupying. I focused on keeping the more venomous types at bay for the time being – I didn’t need any allergic thugs going into anaphylactic shock from a bee sting or getting serious complications from the bite of a brown recluse spider.

The sensory overload of her power is seriously daunting. Also one of the most powerful aspects of her power if used correctly.

She’s swarming the group, biting and stinging with the softcore bugs. Doesn’t the brown recluse rot the tissue around the bite? A fully monstrous Taylor would be an utter nightmare

I sensed the fire through the swarm before I realized what I was looking at with my eyes. My power told me of the bugs’ recognition of the heat, but I didn’t even have time to devote conscious thought to block out the instincts the fire set in motion before the damage was done. The primitive thought processes of my bugs were reduced to confused impulses to alternately flee and to pursue the heat and the light they so often used for navigation. Many bugs died or were crippled by the heat. From my vantage point, I could see Lung lashing out with streams of fire from his hands, directing them at the sky.

Flamethrower hands! That’s awesome! And also highly lethal to Taylor’s bugs, which seems to not only burn them but also reverts the bugs back to their instincts in the presence of such danger

I suppressed a laugh, feeling heady with adrenaline. Was that all he could do? I directed the swarm to gather, so those who weren’t already biting and stinging were in the midst of the gang. If he wanted to turn his flames on the swarm, he would have to set his own people on fire.

Fuck yes, Taylor thinks smart in a fight! (and for those of you that have watched Code Geass, doesn’t that almost-laugh and feeling of “I can do it!” after testing powers for the first time just scream Lelouch? )

The heated air and the smells gave me enough information, by way of my insects, to tell where Lung was in the crowd. I took a deep breath, and then sent in the reserves. I took a share of the venomous types I’d held at bay and directed them to Lung. A handful of bees, wasps, a number of the more poisonous spiders, like black widows and brown recluses, and dozens of fire ants.

Damn, Taylor is more powerful here than I thought! Black widows and brown recluses, fireants.... that is a powerful army right there. The goons are fucked, but I get the impression Lung won’t be so easy

He healed fast when his power was working. Everything I’d read online said that people with healing abilities would shrug off the effects of poisons or drugs, so I knew I’d have to pump him full of enough venom to overwhelm that aspect of his power. Besides, he was a big guy. I judged he could take it.

Fuck I forgot he had a healing factor! Taylor’s reaction to this seems to be more of a “Let’s up the DPS and override his healing” more than “oh fuck it’s not working”

Full-on with the venom then! That’s the problem with fighting with a power such as this, you have to get a little monstruous

From the information that I could glean from my bugs, Lung already had maybe a quarter of his body covered in armor. Triangular sections of metallic plating were piercing through his skin, where they would continue to grow and overlap until he was nigh impenetrable. If they weren’t already, his fingertips and toes would become like blades or metal claws.

He is really becoming a metal dragon holy shit. I have a really awesome mental image of the grey metal scales draped and surrounded in orange/red flame.

I felt a sadistic glee as I organized the attack on Lung. I directed the flying insects to attack his face. With distaste, I focused the crawling ants and spiders on… other vulnerable areas. I did my best to ignore the feedback that I got from that particular attack, as I most definitely did not want the same kind of topographical map that the swarm had provided just a minute ago. Lung was bad news, and I needed him out of action as soon as possible. That meant delivering the hurt.

Holy hell it must suck being Lung right now. Taylor can be brutal when she needs to be. The problem with fighting with a spoon instead of a knife, you have to go for the soft areas.

Taylor has some blood knight tendencies I see. Getting caught up in the fun of combat are you?

Rationale aside, I did feel a stab of guilt about taking pleasure in someone else’s pain. I quieted that moment’s remorse by reminding myself that Lung had spread tragedy, addiction and death to innumerable families. He had been planning to kill kids.

Taylor seems pretty good in rationalizing and justifying her actions. That is both good and possibly troubling for the future

Lung exploded. No metaphor there. He detonated in a blast of rolling fire that set his clothes, several pieces of litter and one of his gang members alight. Almost every bug in his immediate vicinity died or was crippled by the wave of extreme heat. From my vantage point on the roof, I watched as he turned himself into a human bomb a second time. The second explosion turned his clothes to rags and sent his people fleeing for cover. He stepped out of the smoke with his hands burning like torches, the silvery scales that covered nearly a third of his body reflecting the flame.

He just went fuck it, omnidirectional blazing inferno, scorched earth, and wiped out alll the insects he had on him.

I think you should run, this is a baaad matchup for your abilities

Damn, damn, damn. He was fireproof? Or skilled enough at using fire to superheat the air around him without burning himself? The meager scraps of clothing that covered him were burning away, and fire licked and danced around his hands without him seeming to care.

I think he probably has a power that lets him generate fire very close to his body but without it ever touching it. Either that or he becomes fire wherever he generates it, like a devil fruit elemental power.

He roared. It wasn’t the monstrous roar one might expect, but a very human sound of rage and frustration. As human as it sounded, though, it was loud. All the way down the street neighborhood, lights and flashlights flickered on in response to the explosions and the roar. I even saw a few faces peering through windows to see the action. Idiots. If Lung’s next attack shattered any glass, they could get hurt.

Lung: fucking bugs! what in the fuck?? I go out to do my attack and a goddamn plague falls on top of me. Whoever is responsible for this is already cinders!!

From where I was crouched on the side of the roof, I directed some of the more harmless insects to attack Lung. He lashed out with fire the moment they started crawling on him, which I had more or less expected. He was managing to kill the majority of the bugs with each burst of flame, and knowing what I did about his powers, I knew his flames would only get bigger, hotter and more dangerous.

Are there upper limits to his power? Or does he just, get stronger. Cause that would eventually be both aboslutely OP and a spectacle to behold.

In a typical fight, you figure someone would get weaker as the fight dragged on. They would take their lumps, get tired, exhaust their bag of tricks. With Lung, it was the opposite. I found myself regretting that I had used only a relatively small number of the more venomous bugs, because it was becoming clear that what I’d used wasn’t having much effect. He had no idea where I was, so I figured I still had the upper hand, but my options and the number of bugs in my swarm were running out. Despite my earlier glee, I wasn’t sure I could win this anymore.

Lung thrives in a fight of attrition. As his enemies gets weaker he keeps getting stronger, until you give up and flee

You have probably lost your chance of beating him, or at least you will when he gets completely covered in the scales.

I hissed through my teeth, all too aware that time was running out. Before long, Lung would set fire to the city block, become immune to bites and stings in general, or destroy my entire swarm. I had to get creative. I had to get meaner.

Ooor you just could go 2000% offensive to all his tender bits before he gets the chance to completely transform. Holy shit.

I focused my attention on a lone wasp, and piloted it around Lung’s back, up behind his head and then had it circle around to his face and straight at his eyeball. The wasp touched his eyelash, and he blinked before it could hit the target. As a consequence, the stinger only sank into his eyelid, prompting yet another explosion of fire and a scream of rage.

Again. I thought. A honeybee this time. I wasn’t sure if he eventually got armor plated eyelids, but maybe I could use the stings to make his eyes swell shut? He wouldn’t be able to fight if he couldn’t see.

Go for the fucking eyes. No fucking mercy over here

Maybe I won’t have to hypothesize about ruthless Taylor, she already seems to be there

and it’s great

The bee struck home this time, sinking his stinger into the ball of Lung’s eye. It surprised me in that it didn’t stick or kill the bee, so I had the bee sting again, and this time the barbs let it stick in the skin at the corner of his eye, at the side of his nose. The bee died that time, leaving some tiny organs and a venom sac hanging from the stinger.

Lung could probably regenerate this damage, but still ow ow ow it must suuuck to be him

I expected him to explode again. He didn’t. Instead, he set himself on fire, head to toe. I waited a moment, poised to attack with the next wasp to attack the moment he dropped his guard, but as the seconds passed, I realized he wasn’t planning on extinguishing himself. My heart sank.

Surely he was burning up all of the oxygen in his vicinity. Didn’t he need to breathe? What the hell was the fuel source for his fire?

Oh shit now he’s like a walking demon covered in flame. No need to wait for the scales to fully cover him. He’s already invulnerable

Run

Standing in the street, he turned around, searching for me, with the flames that licked and rolled over his body casting light where there had been only gloom. Abruptly, he hunched over. I wondered if – I hoped – the various toxins and venoms in his system had done the trick. Then his back separated into two. A meaty looking gap appeared along his spine, followed by an eruption of long metallic scales all down the gap. After bristling for a few moments, the scales lay flat like dominoes falling. He stood and stretched, and I could swear he was a foot taller, now with an armor plated spine.

Still on fire, head to toe.

He’s reaching perfect form

Will he be an actual demon/dragon at 100%?

Already he is becoming less human

Aah I wish someone like Murata could draw this, it would be a fucking spectacle

If the ‘constantly on fire’ thing had tipped the balance of the fight to futile, watching Lung grow and look stronger than ever had pushed me to the point of being spooked. I started thinking about an exit strategy. Rationally, I figured, Lung’s men were scattered to the four winds and they were probably in pretty rough shape. Whatever Lung had been planning for tonight, chances were he wasn’t going to be able to carry out whatever plans he’d had after this debacle. I had more or less accomplished what I needed to, and I figured I could run and find a way to contact the PHQ just in case.

Yeaaah time to get the fuck out

His plan is probably fucked, now let’s just pray he doesn’t kill you

That was the rational perspective. Justifications aside, I just wanted to leave, right then. If things dragged on and I stayed put, there was a very real chance that Lung would give evidence to the rumor that he could grow wings, at which point I would be spotted for sure. I wouldn’t be able to beat Lung at this point, anyway, which left only a graceless retreat as the remaining option.

Ooh if he grew wings, you would have nowhere left to escape to anymore. Good thing is he would probably attrack the attention of some hero at least. A flying Wyvern of flame tends to stand out

Lung had his back turned to me, so I lifted myself up, slowly. Crouching, I backed up to retreat to the fire escape, watching Lung carefully as I set foot on the gravel of the roof.

As if a gunshot had gone off, Lung whirled around to stare at me. One of his eyes was just a glowing line behind his mask, but the other was like an orb of molten metal.

A victorious roar filled the air, less human than the outcry he had made earlier, and I felt a kind of resignation. Enhanced hearing. The package of powers the bastard got from his transformation included superhuman hearing.

.....

well fuck

f u u u c k

Lung is OP, he now has super senses and has found you. You better pray someone noticed, cause I don’t think you can do anything right now

Aaaa, and I got cliffhangered! I’ll see you guys on the next part!

I don’t have time to do the homestuck update today, will do it tomorrow!

#parahumans #wildbow #worm parahumans #worm liveblog #parahumans liveblog #worm #arc 1 #Worm 1.4

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taifamochi1970-blog · 6 years ago

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Scams are ripe all over the world, but extremely easy to avoid if you know about them. I would recommend to watch Scam Cities to familiarise yourself with scams. There are a lot of pick pockets in Europe as well (and other parts of the world) but it is fairly easy to avoid those by having zippers on your pockets and using common sense. You are the one with the odd schedule, not her. She should not be the one adapting her life to yours. And she right, all that stuff you do is you manipulating her. On top of that Mikyx is without a doubt the best laning support out of all the western players. It not hard to get "synergy" in a 2v2 lane if you are both really really good, because most of the time the optimal play is obvious. It only gets confusing if both are not good enough to do the obvious play.. Narcissists are basically incapable of entertaining the idea that they could be wrong or that people could not like them. It a form of obliviousness more than anything else. Yes, its also about arrogance, but most narcissists I have met aren actually elitist like "Yes, I consciously think you are inferior to me", it more like "Well, yes of course I wonderful. Gardner's silken lap and out of it in their wild career. Mrs. Gardner lifted her lorgnette and gazed after their flying forms as if she had never seen cats before, and Anne, choking back slightly nervous laughter, apologized as best she could.. Dermatologists recommend using a daily facial moisturizer as part of a skin care routine. Gently cleansing the face removes dead skin cells, dirt and bacteria, but it also strips the skin of needed hydration. Water not oil in the skin keeps it plump and smooth, whereas dry skin loses elasticity, making it more prone to developing wrinkles. Who is lying who is not. All of these people in question are clearly problematic, catty, materialistic, and fake. None of them deserve the audience they have. Warframe has a wide variety of weapons with different characteristics. Sure, builds are the same for most of them, but they still do stand out in some ways. Some have higher DPS, some pair better with certain frames than others, some have really good burst damage, etc. Therefore, you can decide that World War 2 begins with war between Southern Africa and Northern America. Personally I would have the Japanese ally with Southern Africa, while Europe ally with America. And let Russia stay a wild card. I spent the past 7 years putting on a full face of makeup every day for a job where I was working with the public (manager at a retail store). Like makeup that your average woman would consider full glam makeup. I left that job recently and now work in an office with a casual dress code and it is AMAZING not feeling like I have to wear full makeup every day. I actually did tell her how I felt. I said "This was a huge joy in my life that I wanted everyone to hear from me. I told you not to say anything and you said you wouldn't. Walter Gropius begins to develop his vision for a new modern architecture. Through his first major commission, the Fagus shoe factory, he creates 남양주출장마사지 a "palace of beauty" for workers, using glass in an entirely new way so that the building appears 남양주출장마사지 to float in space. He also meets Alma Mahler, wife of the famous composer Gustav Mahler.

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theladywintersoldier-blog · 7 years ago

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Progress Pitcures

I feel very nervous about posting these. This opens me up to all kinds of possible harassment but, oh well, f**k that. I’ve lost 21 friggin’ pounds mofos.

As you can see, my previous statements about me looking like a potato were not far off. And I still look like one, a potato that is, if slightly less lumpy. At first, I thought there would be more of a difference, I mean 20lbs is like three babies! or two dogs! or four cats or something! But the weight isn’t coming off where I thought it would come off, and I was pretty discouraged for a bit because as much as I’m doing this for my health, I’m also doing this because I want to look a certain way.

I wanted to highlight this particular pitfall. Healthy weight loss is not a quick fix. It’s slow and excruciating and the results can be pretty minor at first. That there on the left is me at 202lbs, and then on the right, that’s me at 182lbs. It seems like a lot, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s just the beginning. I don’t want to get discouraged now just because I’ve lost a bunch of weight but I STILL don’t look good in any of my clothes, (especially jeans man, freaking muffin tops are the worst!) and I hate seeing others give up or get discouraged because they’re not getting the results fast enough.

My advice, well, it comes in two parts. First, revisit that thing that motivates you. And if you don’t have a thing, find a thing. My thing is cosplaying the Winter Soldier, as you should probably know by now. When I’m feeling down about how slow the progress is, I go onto Pinterest or whatever and search up costume pieces.

Like this:

https://www.amazon.com/Winter-Soldier-Bucky-Barnes-Jacket/dp/B00QEAUVQ8/ref=sr_1_16?ie=UTF8&qid=1525119396&sr=8-16&keywords=winter+soldier+jacket

The sleeves come off, the front straps actually snap closed over the zipper like some sexy, straight jacket. It’s freaking amazing. After I use it for my cosplay I’m going to just wear it all the time. It’s Seattle, we wear jackets 310 days out of the year! I’m hyped all over again!

Of course, that being said, that’s not always going to work. Returning to your inspiration is helpful, and most of the time it does the trick, but let’s be real here, sometimes it’s not enough. Sometimes things are just too discouraging and it’s easier to slip back into old routines searching for some kind of comfort in familiarity.

So second, underneath the excitement and drive and inspiration from whatever it is that’s moving you, there has to be a core of self-motivation, a deep well of self-preservation. You can’t always rely on outside forces. They’ll help you, hell yeah they’ll help you, but you can’t let them be the only thing that’s getting you going. It has to first and foremost, come from inside.

Wow, that sounds so corny I’m going to gag.

BUT it’s true. Find it in yourself first, and then bolster that core drive with your inspiration.

My mantra is “You got this, of course you got this. Winter Soldier would have this, you f**king got this”.

#the winter soldier #winter soldier #sebastian stan #theladywintersoldier #health #text post #cosplay

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cathygeha · 5 years ago

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REVIEW

House Rules by Ruby Lang

Uptown #3

Meeting the man you were once married to after seventeen years apart could put a damper on your day or perhaps a spark in your eye. Simon and Lana do meet again at an open house while looking for an apartment to rent in NY. They chat a bit, realize they won’t see one another again and go on their merry way only to end up in the same apartment as roommates. They have rules to follow, a gorgeous place to stay, their own jobs, a rescue cat and increasing difficulty not acting on those embers that that are being fanned from their past relationship. This is a second chance romance with a couple in their forties given the chance to see whether or not they might be able to get it right this time around.

What I liked:

* Both are more mature than they were seventeen years before...mostly more mature

* Muffin – the cat

* The way friends and family are supportive and play a part in the story

* The lack of major drama as they get back together

* Lana – she has made a vow to herself that she will be honest and ask for what she needs/wants – and that is what she does. Also admired her for finding what made her happy and not remaining in a situation that made her unhappy.

* Simon – a bit set in his ways and not one to embrace change easily but he does want to embrace Lana

* The communication between Lana and Simon

What I didn’t like:

* Sometimes Simon was not as open as I would have liked for him to be and perhaps a bit self centered

Thank you to NetGalley and Carina Press for the ARC – This is my honest review.

BLURB

ROOMMATE WANTED to share a gorgeous sun-filled apartment in Central Harlem. Must love cats. No ex-husbands or wives need apply.

Seventeen years ago, different dreams pulled Simon Mizrahi and Lana Kai apart. But when Lana takes a position as a chef back in Manhattan, her apartment search puts her right in her ex-husband’s path. Music teacher Simon is also hunting for a new place to live, and when Lana proposes they be platonic roomies, well…it’s not the worst idea he’s ever heard.

A sunny uptown two-bedroom sounds far more appealing than the cramped, noisy space where he’s currently struggling to work. Still, Simon has seen firsthand that Lana’s a flight risk, so he agrees on a trial basis.

Three months. With strict boundaries.

Living together again feels wonderfully nostalgic, but when the ex-couple’s lingering feelings rise to the surface, the rules go out the window.

Of course, chemistry was never their problem. But while Simon’s career feels back on solid footing, Lana is still sorting out what she wants. With their trial period soon coming to an end, they’ll have to decide if their living arrangement was merely a sexy trip down memory lane or a reunion meant to last.

EXCERPT

HOUSE RULES by Ruby Lang Excerpt

She kissed him as they traveled uptown, under the too-bright lights of the rattling, rumbling 2 train, her hands stealing up past the thick collar of this coat, to his warm neck, to his hair.

“We’re disgracing ourselves,” Simon murmured, even as he nipped her earlobe and his fingers found the zip of her jacket and pulled it down. “Making out on the train, like teenagers.”

He watched the progress of the zipper avidly, as if it would reveal more than her scarf, her sweater, more layers and layers of clothing, as if he could see down to her skin. Then he tipped his tongue up to catch her again in a lush kiss.

She pushed her breast, or the area of her clothing that covered it, shamelessly into his hand, and he gave a muffled gasp that only made her wilder. The train seat felt too smooth and unsatisfying against her restless thighs.

Every stop on the walk home was marked by where they paused to kiss, where Simon pushed her up against a wall, and she ground her hips against his. A car slowed once and honked while they were pressed on the brick beside a beauty salon. Its headlights illuminated their desperate bodies, causing Lana to bury her head in the front of Simon’s coat. Simon laughed softly, an edge of incredulity in the sound.

“We should get back.”

“Yes.”

They hurried now, swinging around the corner and down the block, through the gate and up, up the stairs, the thumping of their footsteps loud and urgent. Lana couldn’t help blushing at how impatient their running sounded. She and Simon burst in the door and into their dark hallway. Before the door fully closed, they’d fallen on each other, tripping in their haste to kick off shoes and unzip and unbutton each other, to unwind. It was as if they expected someone would stop them, someone wise and mature who’d tell them to think this through. But of course, they were the adults here, they were the ones in charge.

The fact that this was a bad idea only made Lana want it more.

Buy Links

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WN6KWC3

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/house-rules-ruby-lang/1133009437

iTunes: https://books.apple.com/us/book/house-rules/id1476929013

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/house-rules-45

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Ruby_Lang_House_Rules?id=3tOpDwAAQBAJ

T itle: House Rules

Author: Ruby Lang

Series: Uptown, #3 *easily read as a standalone

Length: approx. 47,000 words

Genre: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Imprint: Carina Press

On-Sale: February 10, 2020

Format & Price: eBook $3.99

ISBN: 9781488055164

AUTHOR BIO

Ruby Lang is the author of the acclaimed Practice Perfect series. She is pint-sized, prim, and bespectacled. Her alter ego, Mindy Hung, wrote about romance novels (among other things) for The Toast. Her work has also appeared in The New York Times, The Walrus, Bitch, and other fine venues. She enjoys running (slowly), reading (quickly), and ice cream (at any speed). She lives in New York with a small child and a medium-sized husband.

Social Media Links

Website: http://rubylangwrites.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RubeLang

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RubyLangWrites/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ruby.lang/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13495728.Ruby_Lang

#Ruby Lang #Uptown 3 #Carina Press #NetGalley #contemprary romance #second chance romance

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supera187 · 5 years ago

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Hi everyone my name is Aaron Sease and welcome to my review of the EarFun Wave! I was gifted the opportunity to test these headphones from EarFun and let you know what I think about them. Just so you know, I actually have another EarFun product that I use regularly, the truly wireless EarFun Free earbuds. Those earbuds have not let me down yet so I was excited at the chance to review the EarFun Wave. So, let me give you my #EarFunExperience with the EarFun Wave!

-Unboxing

The unboxing experience is not what people want to read about, that’s what YouTube is for, so I’ll keep that short. Just like the EarFun Free, the package was tight with a similar white and yellow color scheme. Sadly, I had difficulties pulling the box out of the box so I ended up ripping the package. Inside the box, the first thing you notice is very quick Bluetooth pairing guide. Under that we very nice leather styled carrying case and in that case are the headphone, 3.5mm audio cable and micro USB charging cable. Then under all of the one-page user guide.

-Build

The case has excellent soft touch yet tough feel to with a zipper for opening and closing. The audio cable is a 4-foot 3.5mm to 3.5mm and the charging cable is a footlong USB A to micro USB. I was a bit disappointed with this seeing that the EarFun Free came with USB C charging cable. Here’s hoping to future iterations. Both cables are of the no-tangle variety.

The headphones themselves come folded in the case and have a very satisfying click when you unfold them. They have a nice flex to them and do not seem like they will break but I like these headphones so I’m not pressing my luck. The volume up, power and volume down texturized, rubber buttons are thin and go down the back of the right earphone. I had a tough time differentiating between the buttons so I just ended up sliding my thumb up and down until it felt right. It’s not a problem for me but I do wish there was a slight gap between the buttons. Although, there isn’t one the 3.5mm jack doesn’t have one, the micro USB charging port has a cover that sits flush in the port. Also, everything is black! Black all the things, but there are accents of silver which really pop.

-Comfort

The headphones come with that same soft touch feel as the case and the ear cushions are big and soft that kind of just sink onto my head without touching my ears. Your ears may sweat some in warmer conditions though like mine did but the weather is still in the high 80s here in Pennsylvania at time of this review. There is a thin cushion across the top of the headphone band. It’s not uncomfortable but I do wish it was a little thicker. I don’t feel like these headphones will fall off and fit the large variety of heads.

-Sound Test

The first thing I did was sync up Bluetooth, selected bass heavy rap and cranked the volume all the way up. The volume can go a bit higher if you listen via the included 3.5mm audio cable. These headphones use 40mm drivers so the sounds is quite superb, clear and crisp. The lows hit well and the highs do not sound tinny at all. The sound is fairly isolated but these are by no means noise cancelling.

-Call Quality

Making calls was easy. I’m not going to go into extreme detail but control your phone (making and ending calls, changing volume, and muting calls) from these headphones just like using a phone. People on the other line had no problem hearing me and vice versa. Just like the EarFun Free, there is an added bonus of being able to double tap the power button to access your phone’s voice assistant.

-Stability/Latency

These headphones use Bluetooth 5.0 frequency for a fast and secure connection to whatever Bluetooth enabled device you desire. I have a lot of wireless devices in my home, and just like the EarFun Free, my connection stayed strong everywhere I went. Now if you are going to game with these, I recommend you plug them into the headphone jack. I did not experience extreme latency while gaming but I did experience some. It wasn’t game breaking but it took me, at least 45 minutes to notice as well. Whoever, I experienced no latency with while watching YouTube videos or listening to music, which were my main testing sources.

-Battery life

EarFun was touting these headphones with a 40-hour battery life and they were not joking. I made it through my work week listening to music, watching videos and playing games on my phone and laptop going just over 40 hours. I was pleasantly pleased with the results.

-The End?

So that’s my review of the EarFun Wave I hope you enjoyed it. Overall, I am quite happy with these headphones and EarFun has another great product on their hands. I recommend these comfortable, affordable headphones in the online sea of expensive alternatives. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask. I’ll try to answer what I can. Final Score: 4/5

· Official EarFun Accounts

https://www.facebook.com/EarFunAudio/

https://www.instagram.com/earfun_official/?hl=zh-cn

· EarFun Wave

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07S246CBL/ref=pe_2640190_232586610_pd_te_s_wl_im?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B07S246CBL&pd_rd_r=09WW478CFWWT9GFDNRZK&pd_rd_w=T0joh&pd_rd_wg=E1O2X

· EarFun Free

https://www.amazon.com/EarFun-Bluetooth-Headphones-Waterproof-Earphones/dp/B07R5MKX3K/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=earfun&qid=1569800866&s=electronics&smid=AN9GE5W49LU66&sr=1-3

#EarFunExperience

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fantasticalscholar-blog · 7 years ago

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Homebrew Jobs: Keyblade Wielders (Duelists, Mystics, and Guardians)

Hello lovely followers! It’s come to my attention, but I recently passed 100 posts! Neato! I did a thing! Except I haven’t done a lot of FFD6 stuff recently aside from memes and references. SO here it is: my personal little celebration for making it to 100 posts by posting my latest project: new Homebrew Jobs to use and play as Keyblade Wielders!

Though it is to be acknowledged that Kingdom Hearts is considered an entirely different franchise than Final Fantasy, I will still argue that many of the core mechanics behind Final Fantasy lay within Kingdom Hearts. For this reason, and for those of us who would love the opportunity to throw our spiky haired/big shoed/ Zipper lovin’ OC’s into a tabletop setting.

So enough gabbin’; if you’re interested in offering these Jobs as an option to your players, or perhaps if you want to run an ENTIRE campaign focused on Keyblade Wielders and their interlocked destiny with Kingdom Hearts, let’s dive right in.

Keyblades and a Brief History

So I’mma try to give the TL;DR version to you guys, though I doubt I’m even scratching the surface.

Kingdom Hearts is a series that focuses on the story of several individuals whose hearts, a sort of spiritual manifestation of their soul rather than their biological heart, are so strong, they draw in legendary weapons known as Keyblades.

Of course, it would be silly to say that these people all be ‘good’; on the contrary. Individuals from all walks of life, of all different sorts of virtues and values would be selected as Keyblade Wielders, just so long as their heart was considered strong (OR, they were selected to inherit a Keyblade due to a particular ritual ;D).

With these fairly odd weapons (Pictured above, one such ‘model’), Keyblade Wielders have been known to serve as protectors of light, defending worlds from the onslaughts of dark forces, or as ruthless manipulators, allowing the darkness that’s touched their hearts to thrive, or even just as wanderers seeking a purpose in life.

So now in your world; just who are the Keyblade Wielders? Ancient warriors whose legacy was lost to the ages? A lone fighter who’s just as suddenly appeared as the encroaching dark creatures (don’t get your pumpkin pants in a knot, Heartless will probably be brought up in a post soon ; p)? Or is it a typical profession and they’re a dime a dozen.

It’s up to you and your crew to decide what sounds best. Just bear in mind; including Keyblade Wielders into your campaign’s mythos can potentially and drastically affect the overall plot. Just bear in mind how much you and your party want to stick to the written rules.

~ ~ ~

New Equipment: Keyblades and Keychains

So now the weapon of the hour:

To briefly explain, one of the biggest benefits of choosing to play a Keyblade Wielding class is that you tend to get free gear. The most important and relevant example of this is the Keyblade itself, which will freely present itself and appear to it’s chosen possessor when the time is right.

All Keyblade Wielders should begin or obtain their namesake weapon, often by magical means, very early in the campaign (Between levels 1-3). This is because unlike normal weapons, Keyblades tiers can actually increase as their Wielder’s Level rises. This is to reflect the increasing strength of the Keyblade Wielder’s heart as the journey progresses.

Keyblade’s Tiers are calculated as follows:

Tier = (Levelx1/2) and the Attribute used to calculate Damage depends on your specific Job.

Now Keychains.

Keychains, as many Kingdom Hearts fans may remember and many newbies will learn, are the means of empowering their individual Keyblades. By being equipped to a Keyblade, the weapon in question will often take on entirely new form and gain all sorts of cool properties.

Keychains do you no good if they are not equipped to a Keyblade, so if you play a wielder, keep that in mind!

I’ll post the full document at the bottom of this page with all of the details, but this is a general overview!’

~ ~ ~

So now that we’ve gone over overarching elements of the Keyblade Wielder... Let’s focus on the individual Job choices!

~ ~ ~

Keyblade Duelists: Do not be fooled. Keyblades may seem mysterious and eccentric as a weapon choice, but allowing one to become an extension of oneself is an art pursued by Keyblade Duelists, or just Duelists. With a majority of their abilities geared towards combat maneuvers and techniques, Duelists utilize many little tips and tricks to rapidly deal damage to eliminate targets. Along with a handful of Black Magic spells they learn, Keyblade Duelists are great if you just love to dish out damage! So ready your best Keyblade grunt sound effects ; time to kick some butt!

Innate Ability: Soldier’s Heart - With fiery passion, a Keyblade has been destined to become yours! And, as a bonus, if your suddenly are without Keyblade in hand, you can summon it into your grasp from a Far Range as a standard action!

Starting Weapons: Keyblade, Blade, Brawl

Starting Armor: Light, Medium

Role Suggested: DPS

Job Introduced: Not canonical, though the idea is drawn from the Kingdom Hearts Series.

Quick Overview and Notes:

So yes. The Keyblade Duelist really serves to mostly deal damage. But let’s be real; is that really such a bad thing? With access to light and heavy armor, Keyblade Duelists could potentially play as a magic tank or a pseudo tank (at best), but frankly it’d most likely behoove a player to go all out on the offense. With abilities like Combo Strike and Strike Raid that hit multiple times, along with other wonderful abilities to aid in ensuring hits and unleashing incredible amounts of damage.

Overall, primarily on improving the PWR attribute will behoove Duelists incredibly, as all of their basic available weapons rely on this attribute, and most Black magic spells also calculate damage with PWR. All the same, though; if you’re planning on a more conservative approach to your play style, other points should go into your RES or DEX to increase your HP or AVD stats respectively. Alternatively, feeding points into your MND stat will mean more magic which is a plus for those who enjoy slicing and dicing as well as making magical explosions. You feel?

The biggest set back Duelists face is their utility outside of combat (and support abilities). Players should remain mindful of their HP as not to go overboard, as well as making sure to look into restorative items if there is no consistent healer.

~ ~ ~

Keyblade Mystic: For those who seek to use the magic of the Keyblade to its fullest potential, Keyblade Mystics (or Mystics) follow such a path. With a steady progression of Time and Black magic spells as well as a solid MP pool and MP restoring abilities to draw from as they level up, prepare for all sorts of Arcane Antics! Like Duelists, Mystics have access a good handful of combative abilities, though several key abilities like Glide or Suitable Form are most certainly helpful when journeying far and wide.

Innate Ability: Philosopher’s Heart - Your mind a still ocean while your heart churns with tempest fury, your heart calls forth a Keyblade to you. Further, a Keyblade Mystic recovers (MNDx1/2) MP with every successful physical attack they land.

Starting Weapons: Keyblade, Arcane, Concealed

Starting Armor: Light

Role Suggested: DPS, Utilitarian

Job Introduced: Not canonical, though the idea is drawn from the Kingdom Hearts Series.

Quick Overview and Notes:

Much like their Duelist brethren that relentlessly attack foes with their fast-paced abilities, Keyblade Mystics are excellent at cranking out spells. Their innate ability Philosopher’s Heart and others like MP Haste or MP Rage help quickly refill your MP supplies, so you can keep on spamming spells throughout combat!

More than that, though, Mystics’ have some nice tricks and a decent Skill Pool to help with over world travel. Just make sure to keep their HP in check; of the three, Keyblade Wielders have the toughest time avoiding attacks and will usually have less HP than their the other Keyblade Wielders. The occasional RES point can help a little bit with HP, and keeping your DEX stat health can mean slowly increasing your AVD stat. Of course, though more points to MND means MORE spells, whilst PWR most likely means your spells will hit harder. Moderation and awareness of your stats is key!

~ ~ ~

Keyblade Guardian: If the name didn’t give it away, Keyblade Guardians (or just Guardians) are the bulkiest of the Keyblade Wielder jobs in terms of defenses and equipment. With a slew of support abilities, tactical maneuvers, and even having some white magic spells, a Guardian on your team can be the means of turning the tide!

Innate Ability: Stalwart’s Heart - Heart brimming with devotion, surely you are meant to inherit a Keyblade! Further, while you choose to defend, there is a 25% chance you can reflect projectile attacks back at your foes! (GM’s discretion)

Starting Weapons: Keyblade, Huge, Reach

Starting Armor: Light, Medium, Heavy

Roles Suggested: Tank, Support, Utilitarian

Job Introduced: Not canonical, though the idea is drawn from the Kingdom Hearts Series.

Quick Overview and Notes:

As the probably most versatile of the Keyblade Wielders, Keyblade Guardians offer the most choices of play style to their player. That being said, more planning to building and developing your character to your tastes may be necessary than when playing as a Duelist or Mystic. Of course, all three offer unique approaches to combat, but just things to consider.

It should be noted that the majority of the the Limit Abilities of Guardians, specifically Limit Form and Trinity Limit, require the use of Destiny to be used to their fullest potential. So definitely don’t plan on skimping out on being dramatic you’re hoping to get the most out of all your abilities!

Finally, I think that’ll be worth mentioning is the Guardian’s Tech Boost ability. Under certain conditions, this will add additional skill points the Guardian may spend at their next level up, making them an excellent choice as Utilitarian characters too.

~ ~ ~

And there you have it! An introduction to the (first?) Keyblade Wielding jobs!

If you’re interested in looking into the nitty gritty of all of these jobs, you can go ahead click this link HERE to take you to the Google Doc I created with all of their information!

If you have any suggestions, comments, or ideas, I’d love to hear them! Or if you have ideas about making a full on Kingdom Hearts tabletop game... who knows!

Alrighty guys!

Thank you so much for your watches, likes, reblogs, all of it.

It is my personal goal to share this awesome game with as many people who love Final Fantasy as I can, and you help me reach this goal by doing all of the above!

I’m going to keep at it at trying to analyze, share, discuss, and create new content for Final Fantasy D6, and with your guys support, I feel like it’s worth all the more!

Catch you guys next time!

Ciao!

~Ryan

~ ~ ~

Images:

Dive into the heart

https://www.khwiki.com/File:Dive_to_the_Heart_(Art).png

Keyblade Background:

http://wallpaperswide.com/kingdom_key-wallpapers.html

Ventus, Aqua, and Tera’s Keyblade Armors:

http://kingdomhearts.wikia.com/wiki/Keyblade_Armor

Dearly Beloved - Sora

https://mulpix.com/instagram/riku_kingdomhearts_keyblade.html

Videos:

Simple and Clean - Youtuber Kiluara, the original artist and performer being Utada Hikaru.

KH: Gotta Catch ‘Em All - Youtuber Kuza 99

Roxas and Sora Battle Quotes and Grunts - Youtuber Haeralis

~ ~ ~

Kingdom Hearts, all associated characters and music are all owned by Square Enix, with the original Concept by Tetsuya Nomura. This is homebrew content for the game FFD6, originally pieced together by Giant in the Playground user ‘Dust’.

Have fun!!!! =D

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happy-gravity · 6 years ago

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2019 Family Skincare Sets!

Hello everyone!

Here is a summary of the items in your kit! I also included the containers, *edi* and will soon list a few products I wanted to add, but didn’t quite make the minimalist, universal cut.

I thought about nerding out on the ingredient/formula decisions, but thought it might be too wordy and boring! Let me know if you’re interested in my criteria for selecting ingredients to put on skin.

“1 - Oil Cleanser” by ROHTO – Hada Labo Gokujun Oil Cleanse

$13.48 for 6.76 oz – $1.99/oz (link: from “Kyotoite” Amazon seller: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GGV7VFM/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_U_x_eALlCbGVD8P1H)

This is an olive oil-based cleanser which is effective enough to remove even heavy, waterproof makeup and sunscreen, while respecting the moisture barrier of the skin. It also is safe for the eye area— this was important to me. I discovered a lot of men and women use these cleansers in Japan, and was hooked. Used Mac’s and Cliniques for awhile, but this is far more economical, natural derived, and fragrance free. Rohto/Hada Labo is a Japanese company, and happens to be an “Amazon’s Choice” product.

To use: Make sure hands are clean, and both face/hands are dry. Pour a nickel sized amount on hands. Lightly disperse on hands before massaging face. Massage for 15 seconds, rinse hands, and add wet hands to massage for another 15 seconds. Repeat massaging and rinsing hands 1-2 more times, and rinse away the rest from face. Optionally, follow with your regular cleanser, though I rarely find it necessary, it does feel good after the gym or during the summer. I recommend the COSRX Low-pH Good Morning Cleanser ($7.50-$11) for a more traditional cleanser. For a lower priced, US-based gentle makeup remover/cleanser, I recommend the pink-capped Garnier micellar cleansing water, available at all drugstores.

“2 - Essence“ by COSRX – Propolis Light Ampule

$19.26 for 20 ml – $28.75/oz (it is $28 direct or from Ulta, but easily found for less on Amazon. Product in my experience is identical and authentic. Have also purchased on JoyPink Ebay seller’s page. Here is amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00XY3JBUU/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_hMLlCb4B2GT09)

Propolis Light Ampule is intensive caring ampule with 83% of Black Bee Propolis Extract and naturally originated moisturizing ingredients which will make your skin glowy and smooth without stickiness! I love this, it gives a lasting and noticeable glow. This step is a “humectant” based product that you can use before other skin treatments without it effecting penetration, and will boost the moisture retention capabilities of your skin!

To use: a small amount— one to three “drops”, or about a pea size (partial pump from sample container) is all you should need. You can use this “straight”, or mix with an carrier face oil for intensive moisture— I like sweet almond, hemp, or MCTs, and sometimes I will add a drop or two of rosa damascena oil to this face oil, if I’m feeling fancy. Mom, dad and grandma got sweet almond with the rose oil, instead of the exfoliator.

For most times, I just use this straight and under moisturizer. Lightly disperse the pea-ish size amount and fingertips to warm it up a bit, and tap/press all over face. Avoid getting in the eyes. After patting/tapping until absorbed, quickly move on to moisturizer to seal it in.

Caution (from box)

1. For external use only. 2. Do not use on damaged or broken skin. 3. Stop using and ask a doctor if rash occurs. 4. When using this product, keep out of eyes. Rinse with water to remove. 5. Keep out of reach of children. 6. If product is swallowed, get medical help or contact Poison Control Center.

For less expensive alternatives, try their Galactomyces 95 Tone Balancing Essence (I really like this one and I got it for Claire) or their Snail 96 Essence for more anti-aging benefits. CosrRX is a South Korean brand popular in the States.

“3 - Moisturizer“ by COSRX – Balancium Comfort Ceramide Cream

$26 for 2.82 fl oz – $9.23/fl oz: https://www.amazon.com/COSRX-Balancium-Comfort-Ceramide-Cream/dp/B07CZZ2QGB

From box: A lightweight facial moisturizer that soothes irritated skin while protecting skin barrier. Suitable for all skin types (oily, dry, dehydrated, combination, sensitive skin). Key Ingredients: 10,000 ppm of Ceramide NP, 50% of Centella Asiatica Leaf Water, and 500 ppm of Centella Asiatica Medical Grade Extract. Good for dry, combination, and sensitive skin. Provides soothing, healing, moisturizing, and protective benefits. EWG Verified (Safe Level), Hypoallergenic, Dermatologist Tested, Cruelty Free, Alcohol Free, Artificial Fragrance Free, Artificial Pigment Free, Paraben Free, Sulfates Free, Phthalates Free (also free of other irritants I avoid).

They won’t tell you this, because they have their own eye creams, but it is safe under use around the eye.

To use: Once again, less is more! A pea size amount on back of hand is all that’s needed. Rub the product between your fingers to warm it up. Gently massage on to face until absorbed, starting on areas most prone to dryness (for me, is cheeks/undereye, mouth, above brow). It is preferable to use a spatula, with a jar container, which you can ask for for free (with a sample!) at Sephora. The product itself comes in a large squeeze tube.

For truly oily skin, you can just use the Ampule and mix with a drop or two fo hemp oil, and use this every once in awhile as needed or after exfoliating. This may be a good route to take during the hot, humid summers. Another good option for oily skin is Isntree’s Aloe Gel (Moist Type).

It is incredibly hard to find a moisturizer (or SPF) in the States that meets my criteria.

“X - Exfoliant“ by Meishoku – Detclear Facial Peeling Jelly (Non-Fragrance)

$12.96 for 180 ml/6.08 fl oz – $2.13/fl oz : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B005FO9CJG/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_z7LlCbKRY0NFC

I purchased and gifted the mixed fruit option, but would do non-fragrance now that it’s available. I come back to these types of exfoliants because they seem to be very gentle yet still effective at getting dead skin off. I will use it on my elbows and hands sometimes, too. Meishoku is a Japanese brand.

From box: A jelly type peeling gel to peel off dirt and dead skin gently. Meishoku Detclear facial peeling gel is made from fruit AHA and plant BHA. The fruit AHA contains fruits extracts such as strawberry, blueberry, cherry, peach, pomegranate and apple acid. The plant BHA is made out from plant extract (I think they mean willow bark here) Meishoku Detclear facial peeling gel can gently remove dead skin cells, melanin, sebum and other impurities on your skin's surface. In addition, it can be used partial area of your face such as nose and chin to remove black spots, pore cloggers and other impurities in pores.

To use: Make sure face is dry, preferably clean, and with no makeup on. Dispense about 3-5 pumps to clean, dry palms (this ends up being about a quarter amount... less isn’t more here). Avoiding eyes and mouth area, gently massage the jelly in a circular motion. Rinse off well with lukewarm water after the impurities comes out. Use once or twice a week.

Containers

Here’s my favorite part! I really like the LDPE dropper bottles because they are child/leak proof and accommodate almost any formula, while easily getting the amount you want out and refilling is relatively easy. It helps me take along my stuff to the gym or during travel with ease.

Prunus LDPE Plastic Dropper Bottles with Multi color Childproof Cap and Longthin Tip (25, 20 ML)

erioctry 5ML Airless Pump Bottle-Empty Refillable Airless Vacuum Pump Cream Lotion Bottle Travel Bottles Toiletries Liquid Container for Cosmetic Make-up Pack of 6 (Transparent) (heads up, cannot use cream or liquid makeup in these)

15ml/0.5 oz, 12 Pack Snow Diamond Empty Amber Round Glass Jars, with White Inner Liners and black Lids, High End Glass Containers for Salve Cream, Premium Vials (15ml/0.5 oz, 12 Pack)

6-Pack Travel Size Plastic Squeeze Bottles for Liquids, 30ml/1oz TSA Approved Makeup Toiletry Cosmetic Containers

Sea Team 6pcs Multicolored Portable Travel Toiletry Pouch Nylon Mesh Cosmetic Makeup Organizer Bag with Zipper

Thank you for reading, and being good sports when receiving this strange gift lol. If if my lateness on this write-up has caused you to use more than the recommended product, I am sorry! Hoping this trial will be long enough to help you discover whether these sort of “clean beauty” / Asian cosmetics make difference, or are of interest to you. Let me know if you have any questions!

Also, thank you ALL for the gifts! Using and loving each and every one :)

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robininthelabyrinth · 8 years ago

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@legendsofsuperflarrowmemes - fill #2, for prompt #99

Fic: prompt 99 (ao3 link) Fandom: Flash/Legends Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

summary: Coldflashwave. Mick and Barry tag team Len. Or dp.

A/N: this one is for @kickingshoes, who at some point said something about wanting to draw more Len/Barry/Mick action, so - for inspiration!

Warning: adult content

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

“We just want you to feel welcome,” Barry says earnestly.

“Know you didn’t have the easiest time of it, with the Legion,” Mick adds.

“Given that you were fighting basically everyone all at once,” Barry says.

“Partially my fault,” Mick notes. “The Legion being sucky for you. But in my defense, you were a dick when you were brainwashed.”

“So we thought – what would make Len happy?” Barry continues.

“We discounted the obvious,” Mick says.

“Ice, cold gun, etc.” Barry agrees. “Too straightforward.”

“And I got to thinking,” Mick says. “What would Len have missed?”

“And he came to me and suggested that to help you recover in your post-brainwashing period, when you didn’t remember me at all, maybe I should be more thoroughly involved in your recovery.”

“It’s very important to have familiar objects around during recovery,” Mick agrees. “My shrink’s told me so a million times.”

“So, really, it’s therapeutic, too. But in a good way!”

“Therapy for everyone, really,” Mick says. “It’s both a gift and group therapy.”

“Everyone’s been on me to go to therapy, actually. So you’re really helping me out here, too,” Barry says.

“All for the best,” Mick says. “See? Properly heroic-like of you, just the way you turned out in the original timeline.”

“Well, anti-heroic, really. Len’s always been ambiguous, even with the Legends.”

“Yeah, true.”

“You’re both totally insane,” Len says. “Untie me this instant.”

Barry pets his head. Len’s hair has grown out a bit, so it’s nice and fluffy, and the salt is thoroughly intermixed with the pepper.

He’s at just the right height to pet him, too, since Len is on his knees on the bed, naked, with hands bound behind him and legs bound apart.

“We gave you a safeword, boss,” Mick reminds him. “You want out, you can always use that.”

“Maybe I want you to come to your senses regardless.”

Mick and Barry exchange smirks.

That most definitely was not the safeword they agreed on, and that meant fun time was on.

“I don’t think that’s what you want,” Barry says casually, letting his hands continue to caress Len’s head, slipping down to circle his temples, his cheeks, a swipe of a thumb across his plush lower lip, red as if he’d been biting them. “I think you want something else.”

“I agree with Scarlet here,” Mick says. “He’s got a point.”

“He does not. I want you to untie me and I want to get out of here. That’s all I want.”

Mick knows for a fact that Len can dislocate several joints if he wants to get out of rope bindings. He nods shallowly at Barry, who relaxes, the worried expression fleeing his face like it’s never been.

“I think we know a bit better than you what you want,” Barry says confidently. Len always did like him best when he was being all cocky.

“There’s only one problem,” Mick says, reaching out and running his fingers down Len’s spine, watching his partner shiver a little at the ghost of sensation. “See, Barry here and I agreed to split you –”

Len snorts.

Mick smirks. He knows Leonard Snart better than anyone else, dead or alive, and if there was one thing the man can't resist, it's a godawful pun.

“– but we can’t really decide who gets what,” he continues after a moment’s pause. He’s running his hands along Len’s hips, now, thumbing at the indents made by Len’s hips. Squeezing just a little. Barry’s still stroking Len’s face; Len’s eyes are fixed on him, pupils dilated.

He’s been hard since he woke up in this position, so that much isn’t new.

“At first, Barry here suggested that we split the difference,” Mick continues, dropping his voice down low to the register he knows Len likes best. “He generously offered to take that pretty mouth of yours, fuck you quiet like I know he’s been dying to since day one, make you gag on him and come on your pretty little face –”

Len swallows. His nakedness means he can’t hide it when his cock twitches, no matter how expressionless he tries to keep his face.

“And me, of course, I’d get to fuck your tight ass. Maybe I’d eat you out first, get you all sloppy and open, and then I’d just slide right in. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You always have. Hell, I’m amazed you didn’t jump me out in that battlefield, back in World War I. Must’ve been an epic struggle for a slut like you, seeing what you want in front of you and not getting it.”

Len presses his lips tighter, but his cheeks are flushed.

Barry’s not unmoved by Mick’s recital, either; he’s gone bright red and he’s breathing a bit hard, shifting a little from foot to foot. He’s only wearing a set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved STAR Labs t-shirt, all the better for easy access, and there’s a pretty decently sized tent in the front of them, smear of pre-come starting to darken a spot in the front.

“But then, see, I thought to myself that that was just limiting ourselves,” Mick continues, stepping forward, cupping Len’s chin and forcing his gaze up to meet Mick’s eyes. “I’m gonna wreck that pretty little ass of yours,” he purrs. “Me and Scarlet, both of us. Forget all that bullshit about trauma recovery that those assholes on the ship or in the lab were spouting. That’s what you really need, to get that scheming little brain fucked right out of you. That’s what you want.”

He reaches out blind and catches Barry, reeling him in. “That what you want, Lenny?” he asks, turning his face away from where he’s still got Len’s chin pointed up at him. He pulls Barry into a kiss, makes it deep and long and wet, makes it good, forces Len to watch him slipping the speedster some tongue, watch how Barry moans and wraps his hands around Mick’s neck, how he rubs against Mick’s body desperately. Mick’s in a pair of jeans, the old ones that were always Len’s favorites, rough in texture but worn soft by use, the ones that are so tight they look like they’ve been painted on. His cheap white tank shows off his arms, his burns that he’s so proud of, and it’s already been soaked through with sweat, translucent all the way down to his chest.

Len makes a choked little mewling sound.

Gotcha.

“Don’t worry,” Mick says, pulling away from a panting Barry, who’s eyes have gone gratifyingly wide. “I’m not gonna make you beg for it – ” This time, his voice promises, dark and silky. “– I’m gonna let you show us how much you want it through your actions. That’s the important part with Lenny here, Scarlet; you gotta watch what he does.”

Mick wraps an arm around an unresisting Barry and pushes him forward until he’s right in front of Barry, dropping Len’s chin – Len doesn’t move his head an inch – to push Barry’s sweats down his thighs, letting his cock bob free right in front of Len’s mouth and his balls all tight up beneath them.

“Barry here’s just begging for it,” Mick says. “Can’t you tell?” He drops his hand down and gives Barry’s cock a quick pull.

Barry moans.

“Maybe I should just get him off myself,” Mick muses. “Don’t need you, do I?”

Len licks his lips.

“But you want him, don’t you?” Mick smirks and pulls his hands away, leaving Barry swaying.

He pops the button of his jeans, drawing both Barry and Len’s attention to his hands as he slowly drags the zipper down and pulls out his own cock. He’s bigger than Barry, thicker by far. Barry’s maybe a little longer and curves to the side, he observes, unlike his own. But you know what they say - variety is the spice of life.

“You want this, too, though,” he says. “So lucky you. You get both. Get us nice and wet, boss; you’re gonna want us ready to go later.”

Len glares up at him, eyes narrow and dangerous, but that doesn’t keep him from opening his mouth when Mick guides Barry into his mouth, or from hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks on his nemesis’ cock.

“You’re gonna think of this every time he looks at you on the battlefield,” Mick whispers in Barry’s ear, and Barry groans and jerks his hips forward.

Chuckling, Mick moves himself forward, too, grabbing the back of Len’s head to pull him off with a pop. “Don’t forget me,” he reminds his partner, and then he releases him.

Len so revved up, he doesn’t even take the time to roll his eyes before he’s on them, head bobbing up and down on Mick’s cock for a minute before turning his attention to running his mouth down the side of Barry’s. It’s the hottest thing Mick’s ever seen, including porn, and Len’s taking it like a pro.

“We’re gonna do this again,” he says. Promises. “Next time we’re fighting, Flash is gonna kidnap you, pull you away into a closet, and he’s gonna steal me away, and you’ll have both hands free that time, too – gonna let you jerk us both off while we’re waiting for you to suck us off – you wearing that stupid parka of yours –”

“Jesus, Mick,” Barry says. He’s got a hand clenched on Len’s shoulder for balance, the other one holding onto Mick’s arm. He’s got sweat rolling down his face. “You’ve got a dirty mind.”

“You can’t say you didn’t think about it,” Mick retorts. “Now, Lenny, show him what you can do, will you?”

Len hums in agreement and slides Barry in deeper in a fluid motion, gags himself on Barry’s cock until his nose is pressed up into the patch of hair right above Barry’s cock.

“Holy crap!”

“Bet you didn’t think that was possible outside of porn,” Mick laughs. He certainly hadn’t, not until the first time Len’d done it for him – it’d been a surprise to them both, a surprise they’d both taken their sweet and most enjoyable time in exploring.

“Fuck – I’m not – it’s gonna –”

“Go for it,” Mick says, stroking his own dick. “Come in his mouth. You’ll get it back up by the time we’re ready to fuck him.”

That just gets Len to suck even harder.

“I want –” Barry pants. “You said earlier –”

Mick laughs. Kinky little speedster. He can see why Len liked him so much. “You wanna come on his face, huh?”

He reaches out and grabs Len’s head, one hand on his head to steady him and the other by the chin, pulling his mouth open.

“He wants you to,” he says to Barry, who’s started thrusting helplessly into Len’s slack mouth, fucking in good, using him just the way Len liked it. “C’mon – mark him up – have that image in your head every time you go after him, every heist, every team-up, every meeting out all alone in the woods –”

Barry pulls out and strokes himself once, twice, and then he’s coming.

Mick knew that encounter in the woods was more charged than either of them had been admitting.

“There you go,” he says, running his thumb along Len’s lower lip, catching some of the come that was dripping down and smearing it in.

Len’s panting now, all defensiveness gone, expressionless mask a distant memory. His cock is red and dripping.

“Wonder if you remember the first time we did this,” Mick muses, pulling away to grab Len. Len makes it easy, wiggling into position, letting Mick lift him onto his cock. “I used a toy on you, slide it right in alongside me. You remember that?”

“Yeah,” Len says. “Yeah.”

“Think you can do it again?”

Mick’s glad they stretched and lubed Len up earlier, because he’s still slick inside, still open, and he’s able to just slide right in to Len’s groan of pleasure.

“Mick,” Len pants. “Mick – Mick – Mick –”

Mick loves having Len moan his name like it’s the only thought left in that brilliant brain of his.

“Barry’s next,” he says in Len’s ear. “Look at him, he’s getting hard again already, just at the sight of you. He’s gonna climb onto this bed and I’m gonna hoist you up, and he’s gonna slide in right next to me. You’re gonna be filled up, Lenny, just the way you like it.”

“Oh god,” Len groans, and lolls his head back.

He’s definitely not objecting.

Barry does just as Mick says, stretching Len open first with his fingers, sliding the narrow digits right in beside Mick’s cock, and then replacing them with his cock.

Even Mick has to groan when Barry slides in, the tightness doubled, the feeling of Barry’s cock hot against him.

“You like that, don’t you?” he says, barely knowing if he’s talking to Len, or Barry, or himself. “Yeah, you do –”

And then Barry starts fucking vibrating, and they’re both thrusting and Len is shouting and coming all over himself, Barry’s hand on his cock and Mick’s arms around him and Mick’s only a few minutes behind.

Barry pulls out, still hard, and jerks himself off all over the two of them, lying there curled up on the bed. He’s got a thing for marking people, their little speedster. Possessive little superhero.

Mick grunts and pulls himself out, too, enjoying the sight of how his come drips out of Len’s ass to mingle with Len’s own, and Barry’s too.

“Nice,” Mick says.

“We are definitely doing this again,” Barry says.

“Naturally,” Len says, grabbing Barry’s arm – wait, when did he get out of the ropes? Goddamn sneak thief – and pulling the speedster into his arms, very pointedly snuggling back against Mick with every evident intention of the three of them staying put. “I need a lot of therapy. We all do.”

“Group therapy really is the most effective,” Mick says.

Barry rolls his eyes and laughs, but he stays, which is what’s important.

#coldflashwave #my fic #barry allen #leonard snart #mick rory #meme fills

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edc-creations-blog · 7 years ago

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Tradition by AlTonya Washington

New Island has been quiet for a long time-too long. Now, the time has come to return to a place where a tradition was born. Some will return to honor it. Others will return to destroy it.

Off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina New Island was home to many things-among them stories of resilience and rebirth. New had been home to Frayzer Guthrie before the depraved events of a night 16 years prior removed him from his home and the girl that he loved. When business motivates his return, Fray finds that the girl is now a woman and that his feelings for her have remained unchanged.

Ellia Taylor was still very much in love with the boy-now man-she’d dreamed of spending the rest of her life with, but how could they ever go back to what they were? Things had changed and that fact was about more than the passage of time. New Island was a place of resilience, rebirth… and revelations that would scandalize the names of many powerful families. New Island’s dark tradition was an ugly story that was at last ready to be told.

Watch the “Tradition” Book Trailer on YouTube: https://youtu.be/IxOTvLX2XYc

Review Written by Edwina Putney | 5.0 out of 5 stars

Tradition by AlTonya Washington is an amazing story that shows how family traditions of horrific acts and the ensuing cover-ups can destroy lives in those and future times. The destruction of the teen love and lives of Frayzer Guthrie and Ellia Taylor, as well as the relationships and lives of his cousins, Warwick and Zyon, and her cousins (their girlfriends) Seela and Moira. Hideous, secretive acts, reminiscent of those perpetrated by slaveowners against slaves, were performed on Ellia and her cousins, which caused hatred of and estrangement from Frayzer (Fray), Warwick (War), and Zyon (Zy).

But sixteen years later, the guys have never stopped seeking revenge against those responsible for the dark legacy handed down and perpetuated in an updated, yet still despicable, version. And then there is knife-toting Ellia, who nurses the anger and betrayal, yet knows deep down that her love for Fray never truly died. When he returns to New Island, apologizes and romances her, then gets her help in uncovering buried evidence, we see the truth in ‘a thin line between love and hate’. It’s not an easy path to recover from feelings of guilt on his part and betrayal on hers. So the question is, can they?

AlTonya Washington does an amazing job with fusing the historical and present-day, showing the cycle of romance, and the depths to which people are willing to sink to preserve their ill-gotten gains. Then, even after resolving the mystery, Ms. Washington ends the story with a “wow” moment from the past which will definitely affect Fray, War, and Zy in books two and three of the trilogy. I can’t wait! Kudos to AlTonya Washington for a good beginning to another promising series.

Excerpt from Tradition by AlTonya Washington

Fray judged he’d gotten about three hours of sleep the night before. Not bad, considering 4 was usually all he needed.

Besides, he didn’t think he was in the mood to hear anyone tell him everything would be alright. He couldn’t believe that-not after last night. The way El looked at him when she’d pulled away- it hadn’t been fear.

Well…it had, but not fear toward him, he surmised. What he saw in her eyes last night was something deeper, closer to despair. More than anything he’d wanted to stay with her- to refuse to leave until she told him what had put that look in her eyes.

Of course it could’ve only been one thing. Memories of the branding ritual had taken their toll on his concentration more than a few times over the years. He’d trained himself to get by on little sleep because when his mind was at rest, all he could see was El’s face. Her lovely face terror-stricken. He could feel her bracing against his hold and hear her shrieking his name- begging him to help her- to make it stop before she’d gone silent and refused to beg anymore.

Fray rubbed his fingers over his head and kicked the tangle of covers from his feet. He wanted a shower and was stalking naked into the bath when his room door came alive with the sounds of impatient knocking. Frowning, he switched courses and went to peer through the privacy window. Finding El on the other side, cleared his mind of everything including the state of his dress-or undress as it were. He whipped open the door.

“Are you okay?” His rough voice had turned softer in the wake of concern. The gray-flecked depths of his eyes mirrored that concern as they fixed on her face. He spared a moment to appraise the cut of her dress, but he forbid himself to think about what he’d give to see her out of it.

Ellia didn’t notice his reaction to her clothes. Her eyes had already drifted below his waist. “Are you alright Elli?” He caught her wrist and pulled her into the room.

El intended to respond with the obligatory ‘I’m fine’, but no sound emerged. She managed to drag her eyes to his staggering face for a few brief seconds before they were helplessly sliding below his waist.

Fray finally understood what had his unexpected guest so preoccupied. “I’m sorry,” with an adorable wince he shook his head and released her wrist. “I was going to shower, I’ll um- I’ll go put somethin’ on.”

“No I-” she caught his wrist, released him quickly. “It’s alright I…” Again, she was preoccupied by the picture that was hers alone to survey.

She had already noticed how changed he was from the boy she’d known. That fact was never more obvious than in that moment. The flawless pitch of his skin accentuated his perfect build in striking fashion. More lean than massive, the ropey muscles, long arms, legs and torso gave him the appearance of a living weapon.

Fray took Ellia’s incessant staring to be anything other than feminine arousal. Again, he winced while observing himself. “I’m sorry about this, El. I’ll go get dressed-”

“Please don’t.”

Fray blinked then as the hint of awareness began to filter his eyes. He swallowed noticeably, watching her hand ease beneath her arm where she found the zipper tab to the killer dress she wore. She eased the tab down.

Fray heard a groan and knew it had come from him when the dress pooled around the stunning pumps that adorned her feet. He saw that she’d come to him wearing nothing else and was bracing to push off the door and go to her, when he blinked. Sleek brows met as his head inclined a fraction.

“Elli?” His voice was hollow, barely a whisper.

She forced her eyes to remain fixed on his face. She didn’t want to, but needed to see his reaction to what had become of her. His reaction wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been prepared to see shame, regret, even repulsion.

Once his initial shock had eased though, it gave way to distinct rage that had his hands curling into fists. His eyes met hers again and El wasn’t sure what to make of the rage that was still ignited there. The emotion caused the gray flecks in his stare to glint like silver shards against an onyx backdrop.

She held her ground as he advanced. Shock flooded her eyes when he took a knee before her and pressed his forehead to her thigh- to his family’s brand marking her skin.

“I’m never going to get you back, am I?” He asked after a weighty moment.

Confusion had El too stunned to respond at first. “Why? Why would you want that?”

The question brought Fray to his feet and then he was pressing his forehead to hers. “Elli, how could I not?”

She shook her head against his. “But this,” she eased back to look down at herself. “This changes things.”

His eyes were on hers again. The rage melded with a determination that made the gray flecks glint vividly. “Not one bit,” he said.

( Continued… )

Purchase Tradition by AlTonya Washington Genre: Family Saga, Romance https://www.amazon.com/Tradition-AlTonya-Washington-ebook/dp/B076HW5V26

Intimate Conversation with AlTonya Washington

AlTonya Washington has been a romance novelist for 15 years. She’s traditionally published with Harlequin’s Kimani Romance imprint, winner of the Romance Slam Jam EMMA Award and two time winner of The Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice Award. AlTonya is a mom and works as a Librarian.

In 2015, she received scholarly publication for her article An Indie Author in a Library World . She enjoys a successful indie author career and is best known for her Ramsey/Tesano romantic suspense series. Check out her reader website: https://alsreaders.weebly.com.

BPM: Was there anyone early in your career that recognized your talent and help cultivate it? I actually like to credit friends/classmates who always told me that I should be a writer or that I should change my major from Mass Communications to English. They recognized that writing desire long before I did. I often wished I’d listened to them, but wonder if I’d be loving it (writing) the way I do if I’d taken a different route in getting there.

BPM: How do you stay on top of your game professionally in the publishing industry? I can’t stress this enough I READ!!! READ A VARIETY OF GENRES!! Sorry to sound preachy, but it really does bring a wealth of benefits to the work. For one thing, it gives a writer the distance we sometimes need from our projects and can’t bring ourselves to take without a good reason. Reading is the BEST reason. Sometimes it helps to bring a fresh perspective to your work. It always benefits the vocabulary-way more fun than reaching for a thesaurus.

BPM: Tell us about your most recent work. Available on Nook and Kindle? Tradition is available on Nook, Kindle and a host of other reading platforms. Tradition is a contemporary family saga romance and it focuses on what the title implies-a tradition that originated on New Island, a private -unincorporated- spot off the coast of Charleston, SC centuries earlier. The ‘tradition’ was one that was outlawed by many on the island, while others worked to keep it alive. That tug of war had consequences on the main characters that pulled them apart for many years. A sequence of events will bring them back into each other’s lives, along with the unrest that continued to brew amid desires for revenge and atonement.

Download Tradition by AlTonya Washington Amazon Link: http://a.co/aqKp1gX

BPM: Give us some insight into your main characters. What makes each one so special? Our hero, Frayzer Guthrie and heroine, Ellia Taylor are two lovely people inside and out but both are deeply wounded by the events that took place and subsequently tore apart their budding romance years earlier. For Fray the wounds are more on the emotional end of things. He blames himself for what happened, for not doing more to change the outcome of the terrible night that changed everything. What makes him so special is his potential to be lethal and yet that quality is tempered by intelligence, compassion and an unwavering devotion to the only woman he’s ever loved. What makes Ellia so special is the quiet strength that she wears like an accessory. Her wounds have taken a different kind of toll that have changed her greatly from the person she once was. What hasn’t changed, however, is her love for Fray.

BPM: Is there a specific place/space that you find inspiration in? I find inspiration in the time I have to write. Space rarely matters, but give me a relatively quiet place with a nice large table where I can spread out all my stuff and I’m in heaven. When I have the chance though, I do enjoy writing in libraries and restaurants that have good atmosphere.

BPM: What did you enjoy most about writing this book? As a librarian and an author I enjoy research most of all. The history of New Island is woven through this book and required more study than I’m used to putting in when working on a contemporary title, so that was a refreshing change. Although New Island is a fictional place, there were aspects to crafting the place and the drama surrounding it that required me to put my serious researcher’s cap on.

BPM: How much planning goes into writing a book? How long does it take to complete one of your books? I always enjoy this question because the answer usually varies. The time it takes on a book is relative. I used to say it depends on how long or involved the story is, but I’ve found that’s not even a great way for me to calculate time to write. I’ve written some of my lengthiest titles in as little as 2 months (that’s right…and those have been some of my most successful works…go figure…) I think it depends on the story and how the characters grip me. That’s not to say that all my characters don’t grip me, but there are moments when I know how I want the story to play out and I want to finish it before the idea evaporates. Now when life intervenes or there’s extensive research involved or when we get to the typing part…that’s where things can change.

BPM: Talk us through your experiences as a self-published author. Why did you go down this route? My first self-published titles were done out of a sincere need to have more freedom with my work. If a story-line called to me, I wanted the freedom to explore it without later being told that I needed to change it because it didn’t follow certain guidelines. Finding that freedom in self-publishing has allowed me to bring more enjoyment into the more structured realm of my traditional work.

BPM: What advice would you give aspiring writers that would help them finish a project? I understand how important it is to stick to schedules-to commit to writing a certain amount of chapters or words a day. I don’t work that way, but realize that everyone’s writing style varies. I would suggest to a writer who is challenged in this area, to yes, make the effort to write each day. Rather than adhere to demands for specified wordage, however, listen to yourself. Understand when the work is going flat, when what you’re writing has lost its zing. You may still be a few hundred words off from your goal, but you’ll be more confident that your efforts for the day yielded better results. Writing in order to make your word quota may mean you’ll spend more of the next day in rewrites instead of moving into fresh territory.

BPM: Was there an early experience where you learned that the written word had power? I believe that I’ve always been aware of this, but didn’t feel the true impact of it until I started writing. I’ve felt that impact so many times during the course of my writing career. Writing has done everything from allowing me to please my readers, to keeping me sane when life gets crazy and I need an escape. For me, that’s been my greatest education on seeing the power of words.

BPM: How has writing impacted your life? It has impacted the size of my world-the amount of wonderful people I’ve met during the course of my career. I’ve made connections that I’m sure I’d have never made had writing not been at the heart of those meetings. I believe having an outlet that’s all mine is especially important being that I’m a mom with a child approaching adulthood. After God, my son is first and foremost in my life. My son, however, will go on to have his own life one day and not need me quite so much. Writing is something that is all mine and perhaps the only thing I’m able to control and let go of when I’m ready.

BPM: What does literary success look like to you? Writing the stories I wish to tell, the way I wish to tell them. Finding that my readers feel entertained and believe that their money has been well spent when they invest in my books. Being inspired to tell new and more fascinating stories that challenge me and allow me to take my readers into places that encourage them to expand their reading interests. I’d say that’s what literary success looks like to me.

BPM: What are the 3 most effective tools for sharing your books with the world? A healthy social media presence. A robust blog site. An email list filled with engaged readers.

BPM: Share some of your writing goals. What projects are you working on at the present? I’ve got so much going on! I think this is the busiest I’ve ever been! I began the year by releasing Chef’s Reunion the second installment of The Caterer’s Wife mystery novella series (FYI- a full length will be coming soon). In March I’m releasing Feast of Fantasy-this novel is a Tesano tie-in for those of you familiar with the Ramsey/Tesano series.

For my T. Onyx erotica fans, Pleasure’s Possession is on the way as is Book of Scandal-The Tesano Elders and A Lover’s Redemption, also of the Ramsey Tesano series. Lots in store! These titles have been in production for a while, so it’s exciting to have them finally ready for release.

BPM: How can readers discover more about you and your work? Website: http://www.alsreaders.weebly.com AND http://www.lovealtonya.com Blog: http://www.altonyasblog.wordpress.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/altonyaw Twitter: https://twitter.com/Ramseysgirl Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/novelally/?hl=en Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/337210.AlTonya_Washington

Tradition by AlTonya Washington Tradition by AlTonya Washington New Island has been quiet for a long time-too long. Now, the time has come to return to a place where a tradition was born.

#Romance

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