#and I have so many plans this weekend and Monday and Tuesday

[consolecadet]

Huge shout out to my past self for knowing that the level of dinner-cooking complexity I’d be able to handle by the end of the week was “boxed mac and cheese with hot dogs and peas”

[erisolkat]

lol fuck

[wtfsteveharrington]

c l o s e t o y o u | carmen berzatto x reader

we've got so much history baby

description: set months after your breakup, you and carmen navigate what it means to be separated. you're trying to move on but waves always return to the ocean.

warnings: kinda angsty but also hurt/comfort. mutual pining even tho you're both trying to pretend it isn't there. miscommunication. kinda mentions of cheating if you squint but not really. no one has cheated but what to call this vibe irdk so! also mentions of using the bathroom if that bothers you!! it's quick!

smut warnings: oral/fingering reader receiving, spanking, dirty talk, hints of dom!carmy, unprotected sex but backshots for 'safety', sexting, semi public sex, lots of hickies/bruises talk bc carmy's a lil shit, multiple mentions of masturbation for both, reader has a drunk bar make out phase post breakup. reader is afab but no major descriptors used.

word count: almost 9.2k. the longest thing i've written so far!

a/n: dare i say this might be my favorite thing i've written possibly. aiming to make this a three part series but possibly could go longer.... i hope you enjoy <3

maybe you and i were meant to be / maybe i'm crazy

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Carmen’s eyes are trained on you from the second your front door opens. His hands stalled halfway through taking off his jacket, only one shoe clattering across your entryway. 

“Where’ve you been tonight?” 

Which you have no choice but to shoot him a warning glance in response. It was late, you didn’t have the energy for a fight and that’s the complete opposite reason of why you texted him to come over. “I was on a date, Carmen.” 

He physically deflated at your answer. “Oh.”

You can’t meet his eye, can’t risk seeing his reaction. Would he be upset? Indifferent? It’s hard to decide which would be worse.

When you had broken up a few months ago the roles were clear - A case of ‘right person, wrong time’. He was busy, so endlessly busy. Working late into the night and heading in randomly during the morning or afternoon if he was needed. Which he could easily decide he was.

For as long as you could remember Carmen always took Tuesdays off to spend with you and get life in order. That way he had Monday to help the restaurant recover from the weekend and could trust them to handle what was, usually, an easier day. It was a tradition you took seriously and the two of you regularly made plans together every single Tuesday. Date nights, day trips, a mixture of adventures. It didn't matter what you were doing together so long as you had Tuesday to look forward to and help get you through the week.

Yet things started picking up. More celebrity dining requests, more magazine and tv interviews, more, more, more.

And it wasn’t that you misunderstood how important the restaurant was. Far from it. There were many nights where Carmen would come home a ball of anxiety because it took an hour longer than he anticipated and he knew it wasn’t fair to you. There would be a mess of apologies as he barreled in the door, bracing himself for a fight or to see your disappointed face. All of which you happily soothed by repeating constant mantras - The restaurant was his baby; you weren’t upset; take a deep breath; we’re okay. 

Then eventually you stopped saying you weren’t upset, stopped saying you two were okay. Eventually you stopped waiting up for him at all. At first Carmen would shower and climb into bed, confused if he should attempt to hold you or not. Your sleeping (Fine, sometimes you faked being asleep too) frame with your back turned to him. The blankets pulled tight around your body acting like a shield. 

Finally he just started sleeping on the couch. 

So yeah, the fall apart came quick. It was an avalanche neither of you could control nor did either of you want. There was still love between the two of you - But again it’s the right person, wrong time. 

You avoided each other for the following weeks. Carmen threw himself even more into work and you took a week of PTO to go visit one of your friends. He wondered if you were safe, you wondered why none of the people in the bar tasted the way he did. Your friend encouraged you with every sloppy make out conquest but it always ended there. You wanted to get Carmen out of your mind but weren’t ready for him to not be the last person who fully touched you. 

It didn’t work but does it ever?

Carmen watched your Insta far more than he should have. Risking way too many glances down at his phone during his free time to see if there were any updates about how you were doing. As if you’d post photos with long captions that mimicked a therapy session but he didn’t know where else to go. Sydney would report back what your story shows no matter how much Carm insisted he didn’t care. 

Because he didn’t, okay? He was fine. He knew it was for the best. Right? 

And then you posted a photo of yourself in a low cut top laughing in a bookstore. He zoomed in to see what titles you had in your arms as if they were clues and his eyes definitely didn’t linger on the swell of your cleavage. He didn’t think about how many nights he took for granted watching as your back arched up under him and you begged for more. He didn’t think about the way you’d crawl into bed at night and his mind would instantly rid itself of anything but you. He didn’t jack off to memories of you in the shower every morning because thinking about someone else, watching porn of other people, it didn’t feel wrong. No, that wasn’t the case at all. 

You, on the other hand, turned on Google alerts for anything relating to The Bear or Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto. Most of it was just good Yelp! ratings or fluff pieces from the local papers. He wasn’t one for posting on social media, in fact you weren’t sure he used it at all but you still posted like he was, but sometimes you’d find yourself scrolling through Sydney’s feed to see if she was giving you any crumbs. Sometimes, if you were really desperate, you’d find yourself in Richie’s feed even. It was pathetic but you can’t help it. 

One late night you came across an Instagram story post Sydney had up. Carmen leaning against a pinball machine at some gaming bar downtown. His hair was pushed back, eyes crinkled up with laughter. He looked at ease, peaceful. You wondered if anyone there felt the same… Was someone whispering to their friends and trying to build the encouragement up to go talk to him? Would he respond? 

Right, it wasn’t your place to care anymore. Yet you still cried yourself to sleep and yearned for when things felt so much easier. 

Yeah, the breakup wasn’t exactly going well. 

A few weeks ago you came across Carmen at the grocery store of all places. Both of you had gotten so used to doing the shopping Tuesday mornings and, logically, you were both comfortable going to the location just like you had been weekly for months. Your breath caught in your throat and God he looked better than you remembered. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Great sale on gouda this week.” And the only thing your brain could conjure up was, “Well that’s gouda.”

You both stayed silent for a moment before bursting out in laughter. 

Laughter turned to getting lunch around the corner. 

Lunch turned into you straddling Carmen’s waist in the car while parked in the very back corner of the parking lot and riding him until your eyes watered and you couldn’t focus long enough to keep a rhythm. He wrapped his arms, such strong arms, around your waist and fucked up into you for all that he was worth. Trying to prove himself in whatever capacity you allowed. 

If he couldn’t love you like he wanted, he could at least fuck you better than anyone else would.

Once you two broke the seal of seeing each other it was hard to stop. There was almost a forbidden aspect to your relationship now that caused a small thrill to run down your spine every time you saw him late at night. You were pretty sure no one knew you started… Seeing each other again and you were both content keeping it a secret. 

So that’s how you ended up here. Standing across from him at 11 o’clock at night on a random Wednesday. You try not to wonder if he left ‘early’ the second you reached out, instead convincing yourself that it just so happened to work out he was ready to go within minutes of you sending your ‘My place tonight?’ text during this horrific blind date your co-worker set up. 

Jonathan, 6’1, finance major turned CPA for his family’s company. He was… Fine. Just fine. You left on good terms in case you wanted to call on him for back up one lonely night. The problem was no one else was Carmen no matter how hard you tried to look for him in the people that passed by.

And there he stood across from you with hair falling into his face and his eyes looking up at you like you’re crafted from Heaven. A skirt, thin tinted tights, a shirt that exposed just enough skin but not too much. The soft shimmer across your eyelids and glossy lips from the lip balm you’ve been continuously applying since you knew he was on the way. The last time he saw you like this was when you were fighting because Carmen accidentally showed up 15 minutes past when you were supposed to leave for a birthday party at your friend’s house and that night ended with you locking him out of the bedroom while he had to pretend he couldn’t hear you crying in the next room. He really didn’t mean to be late. Sometimes the nights just got taken away from him. 

Carmen hated that you were dressed up for someone else but he pretends you just threw this on for him.

Your arms cross your chest, totally not attempting to push up your breasts, and you let out a sigh while you stare at Carmen. “This has to be the last time.” His face is stoic, a perfect poker face. The last time? Break up or not he couldn’t imagine there being a last time he saw you. Half the time he forgets, still referring to you as his partner while brushing it off and refusing to correct himself. Then there’s times where he comes home to his empty apartment and realizes you weren’t there to light the long forgotten candles on the coffee table or open up the windows to air the place out. 

He closes the space between the two of you and stares at your face. Searching for answers he’s too scared to ask for. Your resolve is breaking, cracking under the weight of having him so close. Beautiful eyes staring at you, the way he smells like the cologne you bought for your last anniversary and clean laundry. If you weren’t so drunk on the sight of him you would have put it together that Carmen kept clean clothes at the Bear to make sure he could change before he came to see you. 

You’re both silent for a moment before there’s two hands wrapping around either side of your neck and Carmen’s dragging you two together for a kiss. God, he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else kissing you. Would they even do it right? Do they know the way you moan when he licks into your mouth or the way you always grab ahold of his wrists when he cups your face? Do they know the way you forget to breathe sometimes when you’re lost in it? He’d have to pull back in order to give you a second to gasp in a rush of air. Does whoever you were with tonight know any of that? 

You pull away from Carmen with a broken out moan, silva connecting your mouths and the faint taste of cigarettes on your tongue from him. Clamping your hands on his shoulders you just faintly push the two of you apart, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. Carmen crying during the break up, sobbing in your bed, living on autopilot for weeks, the way he kisses you like he’s scared it’s the last time anymore because it very well just might be. Everything coming back to you in flashes as he stands before you once again. 

“I called you here for a reason, Carm.” His eyebrow is cocked, eyes flickering down to the bulge in his jeans that started growing the second he kissed you. “Uh - Yeah? Isn’t that what… I thought that’s what we were doing?” Carmen’s leaning in again, letting his lips connect to your neck. Warm kisses being pressed in a path up to just below your ear. “No uh, oh, remember how you let me keep the cast iron?” He hums in response, teeth nipping at your earlobe while broad hands start grabbing at your waist. “Yeah, uh huh, the cast iron skillet.” Fuck the stupid cast iron. He’s much more concerned with hooking fingers in the waistband of your skirt, attempting to pull it down while you’re fighting to stay focused. 

“Well my friends came over the other night and oh Jesus.” He’s licking a strip up your neck now, only half focused on your story. “Carm, please, they were helping me clean up and someone left it soaking in hot water overnight.” That’s finally got him freezing in place, his aroused little sounds quickly turning into a groan of annoyance. “Fuck. That ruined-… I mean, the seasoning has to be ruined. Assuming it rusted?” You nod helpless, fingers dragging along his chest while Carmen stares over your shoulder.

His eye twitches involuntarily. 

There’s a deep sigh coming from his body as he steps around you, finally kicking off his long forgotten second shoe before walking further into the apartment to head towards the kitchen. 

And listen, it wasn’t that you were necessarily concerned so much with the pan. Sure the two of you had purchased it together during the first few weeks of talking. Carmen cooked breakfast with it every Tuesday morning and showed you how to care for this damn pan. It was the closest you two came to owning a pet just… In the form of a nine inch cast iron skillet. You were more curious if he would care. A simple way of testing the waters to see if he just cared about getting laid or still cared about you. The answer should have been obvious but you still had to know.

You follow behind him and wince at the stream of expletives that easily fall from his tongue at the sight of the pan in the sink. It wasn’t horrible but wasn’t ideal. “Y’know, crazy thing is I’m pretty sure I can guess who did this. They kept trying to convince me cast iron wasn’t any different from a standard pan no matter how many times I tried convincing them that just wasn’t the case.” He’s grumbling to himself while crouching down to fish out supplies from under the sink, easily navigating your apartment from memory. The two of you had bounced between your places and talked about moving in together once his lease was up. Going as far as touring a few locations but the conversation was long forgotten once the tensions started building. 

As much as Carmen claims he didn’t see it coming, he resigned his lease almost two weeks before the break up officially happened. 

You hop up onto the counter next to the sink and watch as Carmen gets to work restoring your pan. “Think it's gonna make it through? I can't believe this is how it might end for the poor thing. All because I wanted to make your chicken piccata.” A few of his recipes had stuck with you and sometimes you find yourself making them when you’re missing him extra at night. 

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Just some surface damage s’all.” You watch as the muscles in Carmen’s arm move with the scrubbing motion, your lips itching to kiss over every exposed tattoo. Snap out of it! This is just sex between two consenting adults trying to let off some steam. That’s all. You’re both just comfortable and it would take way too much effort for someone random like Jonathan to learn what you like. 

Carmen catches you staring at him, not that you were being subtle about it, and feels heat blooming in his chest. He grabs one of your kitchen towels and gives the skillet a good pat down before sitting it upside down to dry off. It’s not perfect, not yet at least, but he’s pretty sure he’ll explode if it takes any longer to finally get his hands on you. 

“You look pretty tonight.” He’s coming to stand between your knees, reaching up to you with the hem of your skirt as you hum out a small “Thank you.” It seems like every time you see him lately you forget just how blue his eyes are. So easy to get lost in them especially from this close. Your hands come up to gently trace the features of his face. Just the ghost of a touch but Carmen’s soaking up the affection. He tilts his head in order to press a kiss to your palm. 

His hands are dragging up your thighs, feeling the material of your tights under his touch. “Know how much you hate wearing these.” Your heartbeat is picking up so much it’s making you jittery, hands wrapping around the edge of the countertop to grip it as hard as you can. Keeping yourself steady. “Help me take ‘em off?” You arch your hips up off the counter as an invitation for Carmen. He’s wasting no time grabbing ahold of the waistband and dragging them down your body, groaning to himself as inch by inch your skin gets exposed to him. 

Neither of you miss the way you press your thighs together once they’re freed, hips twitching in anticipation. The tights are getting tossed across your apartment and left to be tomorrow’s problem. Carmen falls to his knees in front of you, letting them dig into the harsh tile of your kitchen while in pursuit of making his mark on you. He’s grabbing ahold of your ankles, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder while the other is brought up to his lips. 

Your eyes fall closed as Carmen starts trailing a string of delicate kisses along the length of your calf. His lips ghosting across your knee until he reaches the fleshy part of your thigh. While your hands finally escape the countertop and find their way laced into Carmen’s hair, he wraps his lips down against your thigh to start sucking a small bruise into your skin. “Carmy,” You hiss out, “What if I see Jonathan again? How am I gonna explain these?” But you’re not pulling his head away, instead doing quite the opposite by keeping his head in place. 

Carmen practically growls against your skin, a low and guttural sound coming from the man. His grip on you tights while he mumbles against you, “Fuck Jonathan.” You scrub your fingers against his scalp as Carmen finds another patch of skin on the opposite thigh to begin sucking a bruise into. His head ducking lower and lower under your skirt, the material finally getting you to pull your hands away from him.

Against all better judgment your thighs fall more open as he works his way down your thighs. There’s a series of small moans and whimpers coming out of you with no control as he reaches the top of your thigh, his nose dragging along the cloth covering your core. “D’you wear these for him? Or did you put them on knowing you’d end up texting me.” It’s impossible to answer when you feel his tongue drag along you, your hips rocking up towards his mouth. He’s bringing his hands up under your skirt now too and grabbing handfuls of where your thighs meet your hips to hold you down in place. 

“They’re purple, aren’t they?” A color Carmen had long ago decided he liked best on you. Something about the way the color compliments your skin… In all honesty, you were pretty sure he had purchased the exact pair you were wearing. You started the night with no intention of your date getting anywhere near your bed but instead being under the frame of the man who was exactly where you wanted him. 

He guides you to scoot you closer towards the edge of the counter, making sure you’re comfortable before mouthing over you once again. Hot, open mouth kisses being pressed almost exactly where you need them. One of his hands comes around your frame to grab a handful of the fleshy part of your ass while the other hooks a finger into your underwear, pulling the material to the side to expose you. 

There’s cool air being blown against your overheated body and your hands fly back to clutch at his back, his neck, the hair that’s exposed from under your skirt. Whatever inch of him you can find is being clung to like a lifeboat. He’s kissing the skin where your thigh meets your center, lips ghosting along the outer side of your folds. It only takes a few more pathetic whimpers before he finally takes pity on you and you feel his tongue go flat at the base of your hole, dragging up long and slow all the way to your clit. 

He groans into your core and the vibrations make you start to lose your mind. “Fuck. Fuck!” Carmen’s got your clit between his lips now, bobbing his head just slightly while he goes right to sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves. If you didn’t want to be teased then he’d give you everything you wanted. One of his hands comes up under his chin now, a finger pressing into your tight entrance as his tongue works to lap at your clit, your folds, even dipping into you whenever his finger pulls all the way out.

A second finger slides into you while his attention focuses back to making out with your clit. You can’t keep track of the way he alternates between kissing and licking at you while his fingers push in as deep as he can get them. “So good, Baby.” Baby. It comes out of you by force of habit and it makes him twitch in his boxes. If you weren’t so drunk on him you probably would have started overthinking but he’s making sure your focus is on nothing else but his mouth for now. Carmen’s chin is slick with everything you’re giving him as he eats you out as if he’s a dying man and this is his last source of solace in the world.

“C’mon Honey.” He’s cooing against you, fingers crooked just how he knows you like it. There’s sloppy licks being delivered to your clit as his fingers pump in and out. His hand finally leaves it’s grip on your ass to apply a gentle pressure to the top of your mound, pressing down against the flesh to add yet another sensation. “Can feel how tight you’re getting. You wanna come for me so bad, don’t you? Be good for me.” 

Your hands fist around Carmen’s hair, hips rocking up against him and it doesn’t take long for an orgasm to wash over your body. You seize up at the feeling, thighs clamping around Carmen’s head as he licks you through it. He’s only giving you a moment to recover when you feel his fingers slide out of your sensitive body and he can’t help but go back to licking out the mess you’ve made.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me, Carmen.”

He’s smirking against you but taking the hint. Your thighs shaking as he pulls back from under your skirt, taking a moment to appreciate the handiwork that was the bruises covering your thighs while you take a moment to recover. The way your pussy looks so pretty covered in the mixture of your arousal and his spit. Carmen can’t help himself but to swirl his thumb around your clit, your hips jolting up as you reach out to grab ahold of his wrist. “Need a minute please.” 

Carmen nods and stands up, wasting no time making work of unbuckling his belt. You collect your thoughts well enough to start unbuttoning his jeans for him, letting your fingers linger on his jean clad hardened length. “You, uh -” You won’t meet his eye, opting instead to start pulling his pants down his toned thighs. “You still okay not using a condom?” A roundabout way of saying ‘I’m clean, are you?’. Carmen nods as if it’s the most insane question in the world. Even if he’s not with you anymore, it’s still only you for him for as long as he can see coming. “No one but you.”

You can’t meet his eye, a wave of guilt washing over you concerning your earlier date with Jonanthan that quickly gets pushed away when Carmy grabs ahold of your jaw and brings you in for a haphazard kiss. Mindless, heavenly kissing. The two of you getting lost in the way your tongues know just how to navigate one another while your hand slides into his boxes and begins lazily 

“Gotta fuck you or I’m gonna cum on your hand like a fuckin’ teenager.” You giggle into his mouth but slide yourself off the counter nonetheless. Giving him one more tender kiss before turning around to bend yourself over the counter. It’s not the most gracious process but you’re tugging your shirt over your head on the way down, pitching it somewhere else to deal with later. 

He’s looking at every inch of you. Underwear still pulled to the side, the way the lace of your bra looks against your back. Memorizing every detail he possibly can just in case you wise up and stop letting him come over to defile you like this at night. 

Carmen is dragging the head of his cock through your folds, tapping it against your clit while you whine and rut back against him. The weight of his jeans and belt resting heavy against his ankles and keeping him grounded enough to not spill his load before he even makes it inside of you. You weren’t used to taking him all the time anymore, a thought Carmen can’t dwell on, so he goes inch by inch and gives you time to adjust to the girth of him. He was thicker than anyone you’d been with before and every random hookup together lately reminds you of the first time you felt him stretch you out. 

It burns in the best way possible and he’s so tender while you get adjusted. Waiting until you start fucking yourself against his length to take that as his sign you were finally ready for him. Carmen still starts slow, a teasing pace of pulling himself nearly all the way out before sinking right back in. “Pussy’s like heaven.” It makes you oddly proud to hear him call that out. To know you still have an affect on him after all this time.

“Think about fuckin’ you all the time.” He’s picking up speed now, “Think about how good you feel stretched around me. Such a good slut for me, aren’t you? Bending over and practically begging for it.” His words, once again, make your head spin. It was a common theme with Carmen. Your fingers lace in your own hair, desperate to grab ahold of something. “Always wanting you to fuck me, Carm. Dream about how good you make me feel.” Like you two were meant to fit together perfectly. 

There’s a lewd clapping noise coming from the way your ass smacks against his frame with each deep thrust. Eventually your arms give out, torso falling flat against the shockingly still cool countertop while Carmen fucks into you for all he’s worth. A firm slap is being delivered to your ass that causes you to yelp out, rolling your hips back against him at the same time as an act of encouragement. 

His mind is taken up with how good you feel. You’re perfectly stretched around him and leaking out around his base. So wet, so beautiful, so perfect. There’s a hand sliding up your back until it’s fisting around your hair, gently tugging at it and the new sensation has these pornstar worthy moans escaping you. Your loud and needy brain is completely empty as Carmen destroys you the way he knows how. 

“D’you think about me fucking you while you were sitting across from some asshole all night? Poor little pussy almost got fucked by someone who doesn’t know how to treat it.” His words are so casually spoken with just the right amount of bite that it’s causing your brain to melt. Jonathan didn’t stand a chance of getting within two feet of your panties, just another mindless date in your series of attempted ways to ‘get over Carmen’ which clearly wasn’t going well. He bottoms out in you, every inch of his length pressed as firmly as he can into your core. It’s so much, so full and he’s got you pinned in place. Unable to do anything but be used by him, just how you both know you love to be. “Or did you go just to make me jealous? Put on your slutty little panties and went to dinner knowing you’d text me to come fuck you tonight.” 

He’s grinding his hips into you on the impossible quest to get even deeper. It’s possessive, claiming, and you’d probably even be a little annoyed by his behavior if you were in a better state of mind. For now you’re bent over the counter with bruises blooming all over your thighs and enjoying an odd jealous streak coming from someone who, technically, has no right to be jealous. It’s making you feel dizzy and your heart throb and your pussy clenching around him. “You gonna keep talking or you gonna fuck me, Carm? ‘Cause if not I’ll call him to finish the job.” 

You liked riling him up. 

Another sharp smack is being dealt to your ass when Carmen starts to pick the pace back up. His hands are tight on your hips and his pace is brutal. There’s grunts coming from behind you that are making your head spin and if you were more coherent you’d be a bit more embarrassed about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth as your boyfrie-….. Well, as Carmen takes care of you. He’s admiring the bloom of his handprint on your skin, brushing his hand along it before pressing firmly down to help soothe the buzzing sting of pain. 

He wasn’t fucking you as often, didn’t have you nearly as well trained anymore. These bi-weekly meetings are not doing nearly enough for your body. He used to be able to fuck you right through an orgasm and you’d keep going. So used to him working your oversensitive clit to his liking. Now you whine while grabbing his wrist and whimper out pleas for him to give you a few minutes. He hates not knowing your body as well as he used to even if he still knows you pretty damn well.

So when he feels you getting closer, he’s taking note. Keeping his pace exactly the same and letting his hand crash down against the tender flesh of your ass again. “You gonna give me another? C’mon, Honey. Can feel how bad you need it.” And you do. God you need every orgasm you’re lucky enough to get from him. 

Your hips buck and twitch and you let out a series of uncontrolled moans as your orgasm starts to wash over your body. If Carmen wasn’t between your legs then your thighs would have snapped shut while your toes curled and your heart started beating faster. You could practically hear it beating in your own ears. “S’good, so good. Thank you, thank you. Shit, thank you.” A mess but you couldn’t judge yourself. 

Carmen’s pulling out when he’s close after just a few more strokes, frantically jerking off his length to keep the sensation going. You’re rolling your hips back and riding out the waves of your own orgasm, glancing back over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of Carmen with his head tossed back and brows knitted together in concentration. “Come on me, Baby. Wanna feel every drip on my skin. Maybe I’ll let you take a picture of it dripping down all the pretty bruises you gave me.” 

That’s all it takes for him to come undone. Warm spurts of cum landing along your back, your thighs, some of it dripping down your folds. The feeling is pulling wanton moans from your mouth that send Carmen into orbit. God, he doesn’t want to come back down to Earth. Collecting his breath and trying to keep himself upright while the aftershocks of his orgasm wrack through his body. How was he supposed to stay away from you when it felt like this? Especially when you just kept calling him baby.

He stopped cumming inside of you since the breakup. It made sense, kinda. But you hated it. Felt like a waste even though you wouldn’t overstep and ask for him to go back to finishing inside of you. He would, by the way. Without a second thought he’d bury himself in until he couldn’t go any further and fuck his cum into you as deep as possible. 

You feel a finger swiping up some of his cum off your backside and soon enough it’s pressed to your lips. Without a second thought you take the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while licking him clean. He wants some of it inside of you one way or another. A subtle way of still putting his claim on you.

The two of you take a moment to recover after Carmen pops his finger out of your mouth. His hands are running a circuit up and down the side of your thighs and torso, still enjoying the view of your body relaxed against the counter in front of him. The tile was starting to become painful as your stomach bent over it but you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet. You didn’t fully trust your legs to support your weight without the counter for support. 

Carmen’s rustling around behind you now. Reaching down to pull up just his boxes but kick his jeans the rest of the way off finally. He’s not ready for the stimulation of such a heavy material against his sensitive skin yet. There’s a clattering from the sink area as he retrieves another towel to get wet for you and a cup to fill with water. Your eyes feel heavy. Mind’s at ease having Carmen around again, not that you’ll admit it, and your body feeling languid after being fucked so well. 

There’s a glass of water being sat in front of you. “Drink.” So you prop yourself up on your elbows and nurse small sips of the water while the cool rag gets to work wiping down your backside from the mess he made. His fingers ghost along the tender flesh of your ass where he was spanking, “Feeling alright?” You hum into the cup, giving him a small waggle of your behind to reassure any concerns he had. 

He gets you cleaned up in silence, letting the both of you enjoy the simple moment. Carmen always prided himself on taking care of you. There’s warm hands, still damp from cleaning you up, rubbing up the sides of your torso before wrapping around the tops of your shoulders. His hips rub along your backside and you just feel so warm, so safe like this. “We gotta get you to bed.”

You just sigh and scrub your hands over your face. A beat of silence passes while you collect your thoughts. “Carm, I don’t think I can stand up.” Your legs are still slightly shaking and your mind has yet to catch up with your body. 

Laughter’s coming from behind you as he delivers a playful swat to your ass. “C’mon I’ll get you there.” This feels so simple. You find yourself questioning why the two of you even broke up to begin with when the good moments were this good. Easy, content, safe. Would you ever be able to find this again? Would he? 

He’s grabbing ahold of your waist while pulling you back into his chest. Your head falls back against his shoulder and Carmen allows his lips to once again find your exposed neck. A series of gentle kisses being placed as his arms snake tighter around your body. “Still feeling okay?” You let out a content hum and allow yourself to be held by him. “Feel better than I have all week. Thank you, Carm.” You feel him smile against your skin as he places another delicate kiss. “Always.”

The two of you stay intertwined until Carmen starts to encourage the shuffle towards your bedroom. He makes sure you get cleaned up and ready for bed. Brings you one of your sleep shirts while you brush your teeth and tries to not overthink when you offer him a toothbrush of his own because you just so happened to have an extra. Gives you privacy when you complain about needing to pee and you find it odd there’s a tug at your chest when he ducked out of the room. Part of you hated being that couple who left the door open or used the restroom while the other showered, yadda yadda. It was a sign of comfort and the door being pulled shut behind Carmen was a sign that comfort was long gone. 

Not that you cared. Totally didn’t care at all. 

He’s going to just tuck you in at first until you’re clutching at his frame and pulling him into bed next to you. Carmen never could say no when it came to you, especially when he feels his back sinking into your soft bed and your warm body curling up along his side. He should go. Get home before it’s too late and try to get some sleep. He’s already planning on getting to work early to avoid having too much free time to think about tonight in detail. 

But his clothes feel so far away and the long day is starting to finally hit him. You can practically hear him thinking over his options and your breathing starts skipping as you feel him begin to pull away. 

“Carmen.” Your grip on his chest tightens and it pulls directly at his heart. Since this whole… Situation started he never stayed the night when your meetings would run this late. Always picking his clothes up out of piles on the floor and mumbling something about needing to get home to get stuff together from work. You never asked him to stay anyway. Neither of you knew if that would make an already weird and complicated situation even worse. 

But tonight was different. 

There were hints of a storm in the distance you start telling yourself. If you focused you could hear thunder, somewhere, out there and you just wanted Carmen safe for his sake. That’s all. So you pathetically cling to him and hope you don’t kick yourself out of embarrassment in the morning. It takes just a moment of him looking down at you to understand what you can’t say and he’s giving you a little nod in response. His arms wrap around your shoulders, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your head. Kissing every inch of you had to be one of his greatest pleasures in life.

“Remind me to season that skillet in the morning.” 

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Carmen, shockingly, sleeps through the night. The warmth of your body next to him coupled with your excellent sleeping experience. A comfortable bed with good pillows, a white noise machine in the corner of your room (the ice maker in the fridge at Carmy’s would constantly go off so you got used to sleeping with background noise to cover it up), it was the best night of rest he’s had in months.

Your sheets smell like home. 

He’s slowly waking up now and his first thought is how much he misses the weight of your breast in his hand. Second thought is how much he needs to pee but damn your bed is comfortable. 

Carmen allows his body to wake up slowly. Stretching his arms out above his head and letting out a satisfied grunt at the feeling of his well rested muscles. Blinking his eyes awake just enough to take in the sight of all the trinkets and items that covered your space. There’s some things he notices that he knows for a fact he purchased you. Bottles of perfume, books you keep telling yourself you need to read, cups you constantly forget to bring back into the kitchen until you’re fully out of them.

Did you keep any of the pictures? Photo strips from Navy Pier and the holiday market at Wrigley Field. Everything from the disposable camera you brought along on road trips and vacations. The polaroids that once littered a cork board in your living room that the two of you added pictures to so often. If he looked around enough would he find them tucked away safely in a box or did you pitch them when you knew the two of you were through. 

Carmen still has one. You took most of them while you packed up your things from his place and refused to let him carry any of the boxes downstairs. So stubborn, so full of hurt pride. He just spent most of the day trying to stand out of your way but always available in case you finally admitted that you needed help. Maybe a small part of him hoped that as you packed up so many memories it would trigger a ‘What are we doing?’ reaction and you’d go running into his arms. 

You never did. 

But you did take one trip down to your car with an overstuffed Ikea bag over your shoulder and balancing a box on your hip. Carmen knew he didn’t have long, and it kind of felt like stealing, but he rushed over to the box you just started packing up and rifles through the photos as fast as he possibly could. It took a moment of digging before there it was. A polaroid photo someone took of the two of you on New Year’s Eve. You’re wearing some cheesy headband and he has those tacky sunglasses on that show off the incoming year on them. His arms are wrapped low around your waist as he stands behind you, one of your hands resting on top of his while the other is reaching up and back to cup his jaw. You’re both grinning and laughing in the photos and nothing bad has happened yet. 

He hears you shuffling back up the stairs so he’s quickly throwing the box back together after sliding the photo into his pocket and rushing back to stand in the kitchen. Acting like nothing was happening. You didn’t even look over at him so it wasn’t like he had to put up much of a show anway.

It’s still safely tucked into his wallet. 

The sound of the front door opening and hushed whispers are finally pulling him from his half asleep, reflective state. It looks like this day is getting started if he wants it to or not. He’s tilting his head to press it into the pillow underneath him, allowing one last deep inhale to remind himself exactly what your scent smells like before forcing his body to be pushed out of your bed.

Carmen turns the corner in just his boxer briefs and you’re not convinced you aren’t still dreaming because fuck he looks good. His hair’s a mess from the combination of you playing with it all night and him sleeping so well. One of his hands is scratching low on his hips while he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be so comfortable walking around your apartment half dressed still but God is this relationship situation getting messier since the day since the two of you reconnected.

“Ordered some breakfast from Yolk. Figured you were hungry and I’m sure you have to run off this morning but I uh-…. I just wanted to make sure you were fed.” You nod to yourself. Giving him an out as you start popping open food boxes. There was just over an hour until you had to get to work too so there were multiple excuses possible for this morning to end as early as it needed to. 

In an odd, roundabout, time to head back to therapy kind of way it almost feels like you’re dating your ex. 

“Yeah.” He nods to himself and desperately wishes he had deodorant, cologne, fuck even Axe body spray. Something to make himself smell better or feel more presentable for you. “Richie actually tried installing fuckin’ bidets to the toilets last night. Kept on running his mouth about how prestigious they are and he, obviously, doesn’t know how to install bidets. So the bathrooms are a little-“ He waves his hands through the air.

“Shitty?” 

Second questionable pun you’ve made lately. Pull it together. 

There’s a breathy little laugh coming out, “Yeah, shitty.” Carmen’s peeking over your shoulder as you plate up breakfast, sneaking a piece of bacon from under your arm before pressing a kiss to the top of your ear. “Thank you for ordering this.” 

You nod and try to pretend you didn’t stop breathing having him so close to you under the soft morning light. 

He leaves $60 tucked under a vase on your dining table to cover breakfast. 

————

11:52 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Richie put his foot down and we’re stuck getting the bidets 

[DO NOT ANSWER]: If you’re wondering how my day is going 

12:17 pm

Shockingly my day is much less toilet related. I hope it’s going well. 

4:39 pm 

[DO NOT ANSWER]: I know so much about bathrooms now

————

You laugh a little too loud as the alert illuminates your phone. There’s a fond tugging at your heart as the ‘normal’ conversations fills your chat history instead of the short “My place tn” or “I still can’t find my jacket. You have to have it”. Maybe saving him as do not answer seemed too harsh but having his contact show up as a photo of you two cuddled up with the Chicago skyline in the background, an innocent and horrifically cheesy “Baby Boy 💙” contact name modeled after Richie saying you baby him too much one night. Every time it flashed across your screen and Richie saw he gave you guys an endless amount of shit. It became a constant bit that none of you got tired of at the time. 

You were trying to separate yourself from your past with him as much as possible at first but now those lines just keep getting more and more blurred. 

One of your coworkers grabs your attention away from your phone thus leaving Carmen’s message on read. He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him as he gets to work prepping for tonight’s service. Who wants to talk about bathrooms with their… Fuck buddy? Ex? God that’s still so weird to say. 

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Your mind was haunted by thoughts of Carmen Berzatto all day. 

No matter how many busy tasks you assigned yourself he always seemed to creep back in. You’d look around for him when a joke landed well at work and the group you were with erupted into laughter. Could easily picture his head thrown back as he scrubs over his face in an attempt to muffle the sound. When you were standing alone your mind wandered off to the way he treated you last night. So claiming. Expertly working your body the way only he could after so much time of getting to know it. 

The bed feels so much 

You throw the blanket away from your frame and watch as it bundles up beside you. Is this crazy? It feels crazy. You shake out the nerves, fluffing up your shorts and primping yourself for the photo. It takes one, two, seven pictures to get just the right angle. An image of your thighs against the bedding and your oversized sleep shorts bunched up all the way down your legs. Taking a deep breath you steel your spine and pull up Carmen’s contact.

————

11:28 pm 

Headed to bed 

ONE IMAGE ATTACHED

11:29 pm 

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Fuck.

11:31 pm

Goodnight Carmen <3

2:12 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Can’t stop thinking about you 

ONE VIDEO ATTACHED

————

The sun is warm against your skin as it slowly wakes you up. There’s an air purifier rattling in the corner that acts half as white noise while you sleep, half to soak up the smells of Chicago. Sometimes when Carmen’s especially exhausted you have to bring out the big boy and ask your Google home to play sleep sounds to mask him snoring all night. You typically didn’t mind the sound, knowing it’s a sign of just how badly he needed a good night’s rest. 

You’re fishing your phone out of the comforter in a haste to click off the horrific sound of the alarm and your eyes are barely open when you see the alert. A preview image popping up and you can just barely a blurry image of - “Holy fuck!” 

Your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth as a mix of gasps and ‘no fucking way’ come out of you with zero control. With shaking hands you open up the video, half tempted to pinch yourself with a video of Carmen fills your screen. His hand rubbing over the bulge in his boxers and there’s a mess of shaky breathing coming from behind the phone. You can’t get the volume turned all the way up fast enough and you’re terrified to miss a single sound. 

And there he is. 

Fishing his cock out of his boxers and stroking himself for you. Illuminated by the lamp on his bedside table and his hand over lubricated to mimic how wet you get for him. He’s a mess of filthy moans, bucking hips, are you dreaming? 

The combination of the sun beating in and the way this video is making your body go hot is too much. You’re overheating, kicking the blankets away from you while your hand goes into your shorts on instinct. Toying with your clit even though you don’t have much time to spare as you watch Carmen get off for you.

————

8:04 am

HEART REACTED TO A VIDEO

Mine tonight?

Fuck you sound so good

Wish I would have been there to clean you up

Say my name more next time please

How am I supposed to go to work now 

————

No response. You aren’t surprised, he’s typically busy in the morning. 

So you go along your day and let yourself enjoy the thought of Carmen coming back over tonight to take care of you. You had thought letting him back in was a risky move but things seemed fine so far. Settling into the new version of what normal was going to look like. Maybe things would end up being some version of alright after all. 

A chirp from your phone catches your attention and you’re instantly uninvested in whatever task was at hand. It might be a little pathetic how excited you were but that is besides the point. 

————

10:32 am 

[CARMEN]: Busy tonight

————

Busy tonight? Go fuck yourself Carmen! 

You waited all morning and THAT’S the response you get? Were the multiple texts too much? Did you come off too clingy? Sure he just stayed the night, was two times in one week where he drew the line? 

So you leave him on read and take away the heart from his video. Change his name back to DO NOT ANSWER and instantly feel the urge to get off tonight leaving your body. Replaced by a subtle anger that only he can bring out of you. 

The workday seems to go by so much quicker as you have this internal argument with yourself and mentally pick a battle with Carmen. Maybe you were silly to think things would… What? Go back to the way they were? No, of course not. 

Ugh!

Carmen who, by the way, truly was slammed. Got stuck hosting an event for an old family friend that he barely knew but was convinced it’d be good for business. He’s overwhelmed by work and anxious with his relationship with you. The breakup was horrific. One of the worst things he’s had to experience so far which certainly says a lot. At the very least - It made sense. This though? Sleeping together, fucking when you have shitty dates and he’s your second choice for the night, taking pictures of dumb things he sees during the day because it made him think of you but never actually sending them, it made zero sense.

If only there was something the two of you could do to figure this whole mess out. 

But alas.

You bring home a salad that’s far healthier than anything you’ve eaten all week accompanied by some fresh pressed green juice nonsense you lie to yourself and mentally say is delicious. The boy detox starts now. 

The shower you take that night must last an hour. Every inch of your body gets scrubbed, your face and hair both get a mixture of treatments and masks. You primp and polish yourself up and convince yourself that this is all for you and not so you look better than ever and Carmen will have to regret his stupid and shitty ‘Busy tonight’ text because you were also just like so, so busy and -

Fuck Carmen Berzatto. 

You decide you could go the rest of your life without hearing from him and be just fine. It was his loss. You’re funny, beautiful, and excellent in the bedroom. There’s thousands of people out there dreaming about finding someone like you!

This internal argument keeps going. And you know what’s annoying? The second you fling yourself into bed you realize he left his scent all over your sheets still. It hasn’t gone away - Cologne mixed with Carmen. And you 100% aren’t hunting out the scent nor are you hunting out a reason to stay annoyed with him. Not at all. So you get back out of bed and grab the fabric freshener to spray your sheets back down with, giving it a minute to dry before falling face first into the mattress with an annoyed huff. 

So yeah, fuck him. You hope you never hear from him again and toss your phone on the other side of the bed. Forcing your eyes shut and making your mind go blank because otherwise you’ll stew all night thus continuing this Carmen induced spiral. 

————

1:47 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Hey

————

Fuck.

[vaaaaaiolet]

It's the RPD's annual Secret Santa, and Leon's at his wit's end finding the perfect gift for his work crush. No competition, of course, except for the part where you make him promise not to bring something lame. Leon's got a week. He can do this. Right?

gn / m, fluff, romance, humor, leon is a SWEETHEART, you guys work at the RPD but you're leon's senior and also love reading??, no outbreak, inspired by the teapot episode of The Office lol, tw: claustrophobia

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

a/n: vivi try not to mention christmas challenge go!!! @k1ssaphobe this one's for you <3 literally the ugliest effing banner i've ever made i'm SO SORRY but this completely destroyed my writer's block. i had so much fun <3

It’s all been downhill since Leon plucked your name out of a glass jar last week. Shit. Multiply that times three, rain down a couple red and green sprinkles for holiday spirit, and you have a great representation of how prepared Leon feels about being assigned the most crippling crush he’s had since high school for the RPD’s annual Secret Santa: you. 

Shit, indeed.

His hands shake like tremolo as he rereads your name printed on his little slip of paper, and Leon decides right then and there that the best way to go about this is to not go about it at all. Plain and simple. 

“Aren’t you excited?” you gush after your turn to draw from the jar. Poor you, you’d taken his jittery hands as enthusiasm. 

Leon grins tightly. “For sure, yeah, I um… I love Christmas. Really excited. You get who you wanted?” 

“Hey, no cheating. Not even with me, rookie.” You scrunch your face, clutching your paper to your chest. “Secret Santa’s secret. But it’s no secret that you’ve got to give it your all, so no lousy gifts allowed, got it?”

Well, there’s that plan gone. It’s back to police academy basics: Keep It Simple, Stupid. 

There’s nothing to overthink about making a good impression as the newest RPD recruit, Leon gaslights himself while haunting the Target holiday aisle on Monday night. You routinely save him from Irons’ infamous wrath, so it’s only natural that Leon spends all of Tuesday in a stupor at his desk, definitely not thinking of how he could never pay you back the favor with a silly Secret Santa gift. 

Wednesday rolls by and his coffee from yesterday sits in the break room, cold and overstirred next to today’s breakfast crumbs. How many times has Leon watched you sip tea at your desk? Five, six? 

Your eyes sparkle over the rim of your cup when he asks you about your weekend. Really, he doesn’t get the hate for small talk. There’s nothing small about the smile that bunches up your cheeks when he cracks a stupid joke about the weather, and more often than not, Leon finds himself waterboarding his notes app with the names of all the novels you drop mid-conversation so he can binge their Sparknotes over the weekend. So it goes, according to Kurt Vonnegut.

Ugh, he should have paid more attention in English. What the hell is an allegory anyway? Leon spends all of Thursday browsing your Goodreads profile and wracking his head over the hefty price tags attached to your TBR list. His wallet makes for a terrible wingman. 

But really, finding the perfect gift is no sweat at all. Leon is absolutely nonplussed (according to his 50th vocabulary-related Google search) when he steps into the RPD elevator on Friday morning with a clumsily wrapped, candy cane-striped bundle in his arms. 

“Hold it plea- Leon!”  

Liar, liar, pants on fire – he’s totally shitting his pants when you barely make it inside before the doors snap shut. 

“Thanks,” you gasp. 

Leon nods stiffly, his cheeks growing warm, and jams the second-floor button with his knuckle.

As the elevator starts its maddeningly slow climb, you hum, rocking back and forth in your snow boots. You’re cradling a package of your own, something four-cornered and fairly small. Leon, however, feels like he’s holding a bomb, the object of his affections standing less than three feet from his radius of destruction. How are you so carefree right now? You’ve probably got this gifting thing in the bag and he most definitely doesn’t. 

Leon can see everything unfold the moment he enters the office. You’ve had your gift planned months beforehand, his gift is going to be horrifically lame when you open it, everyone’s going to clap politely but you’re going to hate him forev-

And then the elevator plunges into pitch black.

“Oh my god!” 

Who screamed louder, Leon doesn’t want to find out.

The elevator shudders to a complete stop. Leon’s mental spiral of doom helpfully supplies him with an image of you two dangling in midair, suspended on wires. Maybe this is the universe saving him from delivering the worst Secret Santa gift of his life.

Leon blinks in the darkness, waiting for your unflappable voice to cut through the silence and figure a way out, headstrong as always, except you don’t, and Leon strains his ears to hear what’s surely not what he thinks it is, a whisper that sounds an awful lot like: “Leon, I don’t want to die.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna die,” you whimper. “I don’t wanna die.”

Your voice floats up from a lot lower than he remembers your head being, so he crouches down to find you with your arms hugged to your chest. You’re huddled against the wall, breathing all shallow. The package in your arms lies forgotten somewhere in the abyss.

“Hey, hey, nobody’s dying.” Leon reaches out to find your hand. “What’s the matter?”

“I have, cl-clau-”

“Claustrophobia?” He remembers that one well. Wishes he didn’t. 

You nod fitfully.

“The dark doesn’t help either, huh?” he whispers, craning his head to look at the busted bulb on the ceiling. “Damn.”

Your palm grows colder and clammier in his hand by the minute, and the shakiness in your breathing is starting to worry him. Your head pops above your knees when you hear rustling in the shadows, and then the telltale Christmastime cacophony of wrapping paper being torn to shreds. 

“What are you…?”

“Being resourceful,” Leon grits, tearing his Secret Santa gift open. He fumbles with its contents for a second, slipping something into a plastic compartment. “It’s not the best, but…”

The elevator blooms with soft, golden light.

“...it’ll do.”

“What’s this?” you murmur in awe, cupping your hands around the tiny book light Leon holds. 

“My Secret Santa gift,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I kind of, um, blanked. I’m also really bad at giving gifts, so there’s also this,” he says, pulling out a mug from the heap of trashed wrapping paper.

When I Think About Books, I Touch My Shelf, it announces with impunity. 

Leon blushes when you giggle at the inscription. Things always look better online than in person, rookie mistake. But at least you’re breathing better now. 

“This is amazing,” you laugh, cradling the cup like there’s warmth inside. 

“Not so amazing now that I’ve opened all the packaging.”

“Your Secret Santa won’t mind at all, trust me, not with a gift like this- ‘touch my shelf’, you’re unbelievable! Tell me where you got it.”

He shakes his head. 

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t stop gatekeeping this incredible mug and this super useful book light, by the way, I’m going to tell Irons you spilled coffee all over his desk. I can be very convincing, y’know.” You cross your arms decidedly, waiting. 

“There’s no need for all that!” he protests. 

“That was a promise, Leon, not a threat.”

“C’mon, be reasonable here.”

“You’re still not telling me.” 

“It’s for you, silly.” Leon tilts his head, face heating up faster than the book light bulb, “You’re my Secret Santa.” 

He must be hallucinating the pink in your cheeks.

“Oh,” you breathe. 

“Yes, oh,” Leon teases, scooching to sit next to you. “I couldn’t think of anything,” he confesses, “so I just went with the basics. I know you read and I know you really miss your old tea mug, the one that broke, right? You’re my gifting competition and I got nervy from how sure you were about your person’s gift. So, um, I played safe.” Leon finishes lamely and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the light doesn’t also illuminate the shame radiating from his body. 

And then he feels the press of an unbelievably soft kiss on his cheek.  

“It’s much better than what I’ve got,” he hears. 

His eyes fly open. Words don’t form right in his throat when you reach out for the package you dropped when the lights went out. Wrapping paper falls apart neatly in your hands (what don’t you do perfectly?) and you unveil a mini waffle iron, proportioned perfectly for somebody always running late without breakfast. Somebody like Leon.

“You keep missing breakfast and Irons is on my ass about saving you food all the time, so I guess took the practical route too,” you shuffle your feet, bashful all of a sudden. “And um, my gift’s kind of useless if we never make it out. Sorry.”

He fingers the tag in wonder. 

Merry Christmas, Leon! There’s a timer so you don’t burn them :) xoxo, your Secret Santa!

You’re so goddamn sweet. You’re perfect and thoughtful and it’s all your fault that Leon didn’t have the faintest clue what to give you. Think, Leon, think. He knows he’s not this stupid. What do you give to somebody who has everything? 

A kiss. One that’s all smiles and just as sweet as the way you kiss him back, because screw Secret Santa.

It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re Leon’s favorite one.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 29/March/2024

Very much a same-thing kind-of week! Writing and getting prepped towards the demo.

I mentioned before about having a different system in place for Book Four when it comes to editing and testing. The plan is to write one chapter, completely do all my own editing and testing on it, then move onto writing the next chapter. Whilst I then write the next chapter, the previous one can go to the editor before then going to the readers and testers.

Hopefully completely finishing up one chapter at a time will make things much easier than overwhelming my poor editor and readers with lots of chapters in one go, especially with there being so many more branches and variations that all weave in and out and together at this point in the series! It wasn’t as necessary for Book One and Two, but I definitely came to realise that things needed a more thorough go over by Book Three when it was all more intricate to work all the scenes and branches around each other!

But you know I LOVE my variations and branching, so I don’t want to compromise on writing those, it just meant a different process was needed.

It does mean I have to take more time between chapters, but in the end it should save time towards the end parts of the book when I usually save up a lot of my testing for then.

It’s all kind of an experiment, but I really think it will take the pressure off for a lot of the process!

Saying that, I already kind of got off plan because I started writing on Chapter Two because I hadn’t decided where Chapter One was ending, lol! :D

But I’m back to Chapter One and working my way through that, as well as dipping back into the character creator when needed as I go through it.

It’s a Bank Holiday weekend here in the UK, so we'll be back to it on Tuesday instead of Monday! (I do realise today is a bank holiday as well, but I really wanted to get just a bit more done on the editing!).

Hope you all have the most wonderful weekend! I’ll update you all again next Friday <3

[cheriladycl01]

All in a days work - Alexander Albon x Lifestyle/Travel Vlogger! Reader

Plot: Y/N vlogging her travels with Alex and how she see's so much of the places that they travel too with the Grand Prix

"Hey guys, this week Y/N Adventures moves to Belgium. We just had an extremely short summer break but it was so fun! Alex and I went to Thailand for 10 days and then stayed in London with family for the rest! The vlogs already out so you can go check that out" you grin before you stop to one side in the airport you and Alex are currently navigating through.

"We're leaving a little earlier compared to most driver's. We have to be in Spa, and checked into the Hotel Red Bull provide for the race weekend by Thursday the 29th. It's currently the 25th of August 2019 and we are going to Brussels for 4 nights" you say excitedly before you look over to your boyfriend confused.

He was the typical 'airport dad' boyfriend when you both travelled, and you always wanted to catch it on camera because everyone who watched you found it hilarious.

Currently he was looking down at the bulk of paper, checking through the bag meticulously making sure passports and all other essentials were there.

He'd had too many close calls where you guys had forgotten travel adaptors and were travelling with dead phones or times when you'd gotten flight times mixed up by an hour and had to run to the gate.

He turns to look at you, seeing the camera making him groan before turning away with a light blush. You laugh to yourself swinging the camera back round to yourself before looking around.

"We are currently in London Gatwick, and we are going to go find the Red Lion, Spoons so i can tell you guys about the itinerary of this week" you grinned before cutting the camera and taking your on-board suitcase and Alex's hand walking towards the pub.

"Okay, so Alex is at the bar ordering us drinks right now and I'm going to talk you through the itinerary. So we get into Brussels at 11.30 and can check into our hotel straight away. Then tomorrow we'll be going to Les Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert and looking at the amazing art, and then in the afternoon we are meeting with a friend from Belgium whose going to give us a walking tour of the city centre. Tuesday Alex and I have a spa booked and we'll do some shopping! And then Wednesday is our free day where we going to meet some locals and get a real feel for the culture" you say before spotting Alex coming back with your lemonade that you gladly took from him with a thank you and a massive gulp.

"What have you told them so far, sweetheart!" he asks taking a sip of his beer.

"The itinerary for before the race!" you smile at him.

"Hmmm, you've not told them about the fun day trip after?" he offers making you gasp forgetting that you had major things planned for the Monday and Tuesday before Italy.

"Yes guys we are going to drive over to Germany to Cologne so we can spend time in the theme park there!" you exclaim excited.

"Mmm she wanted to go to Ferrari Land but we are saving that for when we go to Abu Dhabi!" he interjects.

"Then we'll be going straight to Italy! Italy is one of Y/N's fav places guys!" Alex chuckles, you guys had met in Italy 2 years prior while he was in F2.

"Yes I'm excited to see you there!"

*Skip to Sunday!*

"So this is actually Alex's first race in Red Bull, he's starting from 17th today as qualifying wasn't what we were hoping for yesterday, was it hunny" you pan to Alex zipping up the outer part of his race suit. He pulls his headphones out and tilts his head to the side, a cute puppy dog expression resting on it.

"Qualifying, your first in Red Bull wasn't what you were hoping for? But it's today that matters!" you smile kindly at him to which he nods, knowing that yesterday he was still trying to get used to the car. It wasn't like the Toro Rosso he had driven since the start of the year, it was more aggressive, something that was a Max Verstappen driving style. But today is what would count, he agreed with you.

"Yeah. I mean it's a hard car to drive and even with the practice sessions it's still hard to get used to! Spa is also a difficult track, so yeah its just about getting used to it!" he smiles, pulling you in by your waist to his side before kissing you and running of somewhere into the garage.

"It's looking like an interesting season though guys. Lewis is strong, Ferrari is strong, we've got 3 new promising rookies one of them being my boyfriend! So yeah I'm excited for today!"

Max DNFed early on not even completing his first lap, whereas Alex stormed through the grid all the way from P17 to P5 gaining valuable points for Red Bull.

"You did amazing Alex! I'm so so proud of you!" you compliment hugging him as you were stood with the rest of the Red Bull Team! It was a really sweet moment. All of the team cheering for Alex as he pulled into the pits. Christian had congratulated him on an amazing first race and the rest of the team pulled him into hugs that you filmed.

The chaos in the garage was something you loved!

"Charles! Charles" you'd shouted over to him as you saw him walking to the cool down room preparing for him P1 podium!

"Oh Y/N! Hello!" he grins looking down at you.

"Well done on P1 it was an amazing race from you today!" you grin, pulling him into a side hug. You both chat for a little while before Seb comes out heckling him inside.

"Well guys, Belgium has been a blast! I'm going to edit these videos on the plane to Cologne and Italy!" you grin before ending up the vlog.

"Ah you all finished up for Belgium baby?" Alex asks peering over you shoulder wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"Yeah! I'm excited for Cologne! Did you say Lando and George were coming with us?" you ask, tilting your head to the side unsure if Alex's rookie friends were accompanying you on your two day theme park trip.

"Yeah, they don't need to go home, so they said it would be easier travelling with us!" Alex smiles swaying you side to side.

"This will be lots and lots of fun!" you exclaim.

Before you knew it you and Lando look it in turns driving the four of you across the Belgium border into Germany and to the Theme Park you guys would spend time in. You got there late Monday morning all of you being tired and not wanting to get up at the ass crack of dawn. You guys all enjoyed a hotel breakfast together.

All the other drivers were confused about the four all in very chipper moods and all animatedly discussing something.

They had of course asked where you were off to and after explaining you were going to a theme park. Charles, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel all agreed to join you guys which left them in a car behind you following you to the park.

Some people, like Lando, Carlos and George didn't want to go on some of the bigger rides. So it was left to the rest of you, you all changed seats making sure no-one was left alone the whole time. You guys went to all the little food stands, making sure to get Lando waffles and get Charles chocolate covered strawberries.

It was probably one of the best days out, and you knew that people especially the F1 fans would enjoy the vlog around the park. There was funny moments between Lando, Carlos and Daniel. Chares and Pierre had ended up on a kiddie ride just the two of them. You and George had been sat on the mine train together and were talking to each other in what you could only describe as a Texan Drawl.

"So how are you all feeling about Italy, home of Tifosi you've got a lot of pressure Charles" you smile over at him. You guys were all sat in a Chinese themed restaurant around a big circular table, talking about the season so far and what lies ahead.

"I mean, I felt good in Belgium the car had the pace. I feel like I can do the same in Italy" Charles admits.

"How about you babe, you think you can keep Golden Boy Max behind you?" you grin teasing your boyfriend who said he was stressing about Max and how he wont always DNF in a race.

"Yeah, I mean that car is literally built for Max. Pierre I'm sure would agree with me that its a hard car to drive because of that but I feel like I'm getting there" he offers.

And that's exactly how that weekend went. Alex placed ahead of Max, who did stay in the race while Charles won his second race of the season. It was an amazing race weekend followed by lots of shopping in Milan where you treated Alex to a gift congratulating him for his amazing races.

After Italy there was a big break before Singapore, rather than keeping on the road travelling you guys decided to go home and see both of your families in London. You were always travelling and coming home always felt like you were on some kind of reality TV show, where you were sat down before being unloaded with all the current family drama.

You and Alex would share look with each other, making gasps every now and then and interjecting where necessary. But it was always fun telling them about the stories from your own travels. The stories were more dramatic and chaotic from your days of solo travelling before you'd met Alex but you still had funny moments to report back to them.

And Alex's family always loved to hear what you and Alex and all your friends had been up too!

So coming home for this break was very needed!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416

[mymegrokosmos]

B specifically asked not to be hurt but it's her bday weekend so instead of listening we are writing Yunho smut on this fine Friday evening. Anyway, uh yeah... best friend Yunho. 🔞

content : mentions of drinking, thigh riding, unprotected sex, slightly dubious consent, best friends Yunho and reader fooling around.

The evening started the way Thursdays typically did. You showed up at Yunho's cramped little excuse for an office, shared with the always courteous San and Seonghwa, to find him the only one working late. San was just packing up when you walked in, Wooyoung perched halfway on his desk chattering away as you offered them both a wave. You weaved your way past them, carefully avoiding Seonghwa's little shelf of lego creations, to drop down onto the corner of the desk Yunho typically had half covered in papers and miscellaneous stationary.

"Fancy meeting you here."

He glanced up from his grading, pen tapping against his bottom lip as he sat back with a sigh when he finished the page. "Hello stranger."

You smiled as he ran a hand through his already messy dark hair. It was always in disarray after these classes. His TA position stressing him out more this semester than it usually did. He was better at managing most of the time but his course load was heavy lately and he'd been staying later and later to finish marking and assignments. The balance wasn't exactly work life balancing and you had yet to see him actually sleep once this week.

He ran a hand over his face when you quirked a brow at him, glancing between him and the pile of papers on his desk. "When are these marks due in?"

"Tuesday."

"How many do you have left to get through?"

"Maybe twenty more? I should be able to finish a few more tonight and then run through the rest tomorrow. Then I can sit down and study for that Stats exam Sunday and help you with our presentation Monday."

"And are you planning on sleeping any time between now and then?"

He sighed. "y/n you know I'm doing my best here. I just don't have time."

You shook your head. "Finish that one and I'll borrow Hwa's or Sannie's desk space to sit down and get through more of our presentation. Then we can go back to mine, since Mingi is definitely not going to let you get any sleep tonight, and I'll help you with the rest of these tomorrow."

He blinked up at you. "You've already done like three quarters of the work on this presentation."

"So it won't be much more when I make up 85% and you have a fresh, functioning, brain to look over everything before the final draft Monday. Plus, you're my best bet at actually passing stats and if we're going to be studying all weekend we can at least get some rest in between. And I have plenty of caffeine."

He groaned. "Please do not even talk to me about caffeine right now."

His leg jiggled and you laughed. "On your fifth americano of the day or something are we?"

He shrugged and held up four fingers, biting his lip. You shook your head.

"I'm not even going to ask. Speedrun your marking, I'll be over there and then I'm buying you a drink on the way back to my apartment. If anyone deserves it, it's you. And maybe it'll counteract some of the blood in your caffeine system."

A laugh and then you both turned to set back about your own tasks.

You hummed softly as you worked, only glancing at the time once you'd finished the last section of the powerpoint. Yunho's fresh eyes would catch a ton of small details you'd missed but that was fine. It was why he was always the final run-through on these things. You cracked your back and stretched, pressing save and closing your laptop. You found Yunho pretty much exactly where you had left him.

He sat hunched over his desk, chin resting in one hand as a red pen tapped against one cheek while he poked his tongue into the other. He was so focused or lost in whatever train of thought he was currently jotting down in the margins of the paper he was nearly done that he didn't even start when you came over. You leaned back against the corner of Hwa's desk and watched. He adjusted the glasses on his face as he finished and you bit your lip as he cracked his neck.

"If you keep doing that one of these days you're going to break something important."

It always made you just a little nervous. He grinned, dropping the pen as both arms came up over his head in a stretch you could almost feel. He flopped back into his chair, legs spread, and adjusted the glasses that had begun slipping down over the bridge of his nose. You just sighed and dropped into his lap.

"Done for the night?"

His forehead dropped forward to rest against the back of your shoulder as you cleaned up his desk, hands resting on your thighs as his fingers drew abstract shapes on your jeans.

"Mhm, if I start another one right now I think my head might just explode."

You smiled and started shuffling his things into a pile. "Help me clean up and then we can leave. I have a bottle of soju or seven with your name on them in the fridge."

His little cheer was muffled against the back of your shirt as you both got up.

It didn't take long to walk to your building, your apartment wasn't far from the building all his classes were in this semester and Yunho's long legs forced you to walk a little faster than you would have alone. His presence did make the dark campus feel a little less foreboding so you stuck close as you headed inside and up to your unit.

He followed you in like he always did, at home here since he'd lived part time in your apartment before he and Mingi moved in together last fall. He was more than familiar. You dropped your things in the living room and headed to the kitchen to see what flavours of soju you had available. There was a selection.

It had maybe been a bad idea to suggest alcohol on an empty stomach.

You found yourself half naked, having lost a round of strip poker or two before the takeout arrived, leaning against Yunho's shoulder as you both burst into laughter for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour. The food was great and you shoved another bite into Yunho's mouth before he could launch into another story.

"Please shut up and eat your noodles before I suffocate. I think I broke a rib just now."

He chuckled, taking the chopsticks from you and scarfing down the rest of the container while you wiggled around trying to get your bones to sit right again. Your ribs and face hurt from laughing and you were pretty sure you'd cried off most of your mascara already. You took a deep breath.

"Why do I ever listen to you? You're so ridiculous, you know that?"

He grinned and you couldn't help the way your eyes drifted to his lips, lingering a little as you reached up to brush a bit of sauce from the corner. His breath hitched and you blinked up at your best friend.

"Okay?"

He nodded.

"Sorry, I should have asked first."

He shook his head, hand coming up to capture your wrist. You knew, in theory, that they were large but the ease with which his long fingers circled your wrist had you staring. This was new. Or was it?

You didn't think you were that tipsy.

"Hey Yun?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you pinch me please?"

He smirked. "I can think of something better."

You blinked. His face hovered closer, moving slowly. You didn't stop him. Then his lips were on yours and oh, you were so not dreaming. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, making you squeak into his mouth and he laughed as he pulled away.

"I can't believe we've never done that before."

You reached up to touch your lips, and then to pinch him.

He jumped. "Yah! Hey! You can just tell me if you didn't like it."

You smiled. "I did like it. I was just making sure I didn't black out and accidentally dream this."

He sighed. "No, we're both still awake. Was that really necessary?"

You shrugged and then you were leaning up to kiss him again. He tasted like soju, what was new there, and the strawberry chapstick Hwa had bought him for his birthday last month. His lips were soft and everything but gentle as they worked against yours. You lit up when his tongue parted your lips and plunged into your mouth, sighing against his lips.

He was a good kisser, you'd give him that. Your hands found his wide shoulders and you braced yourself as you climbed into his lap to get closer. Something about Yunho was just addictive and as long as he was good with where this was going, you didn't want to stop.

He was right, why had you never made out before? You'd definitely gotten drunk and tried other things together over the years. It should have been only natural that this was on the list of experimentation, you'd known him since high school after all, but kissing was just one of those things you'd never dared to initiate with Yunho before now.

His hands were everywhere and you found yourself whining into his mouth when they slid down to cup your ass. He squeezed and you rocked forward, gasping as he adjusted you like you weighed nothing. You let Yunho manhandle you, moving you from his lap to straddling one large thigh. You nipped at his jaw when he pressed your hips down, guiding them over his still jeans-clad leg.

"Yunho." You whined.

It was unfair that he was still so clothed while you sat there in just your underwear. It was a matching set at least but neither of you was really paying attention to that particular detail. You tugged on his shirt and he leaned back to watch you unbutton it, hand coming up to fold behind his head. His eyes were dark as they trailed over you and you could feel the heat pooling in your gut.

"Tell me to stop and we can."

You shook your head. "If you stop now I'm disowning you. Hongjoong is going to be my new best friend."

He laughed and leaned in to press kisses down your neck, humming softly against your skin as you finally managed to get him out of his shirt, shoving it off over his shoulders.

He pulled you back in, one hand on your waist guiding you to rock against his flexed thigh as the other came up to cup your breast. "Do you have any idea how pretty you are like this?"

You hummed. "A mess?"

He shrugged, the hand on your breast moving to unclip your bra in one smooth motion. "For me, yeah, that's hot."

"Mm, because you're the one making me desperate?"

He nodded, head dipping down to catch a nipple in his mouth. You gasped, hand tangling in his hair and he groaned as you tugged when his tongue flicked over your skin.

"You have no idea how desperate you make me. It's nice being the one with the upper hand for once."

Before you could ask what, exactly, he meant by that his hands and mouth busied themselves making it impossible to think. You gave in, only getting a minute to breathe when he flipped you around and pulled you back against his chest.

You leaned your head back, tilting your neck to give his lips better access while his fingers moved to trace your wetness over your panties. He bit down on your shoulder when you gasped, fingers trailing under the fabric to ghost over where you needed him the most. He groaned against your skin and you gasped when one finger slid inside you, slowly sinking up to the knuckle.

"Fuck."

"Mm, too much?"

You shook your head, hand grasping his wrist. "No. No, don't stop."

The chuckle against your neck had you shivering. "Oh, greedy tonight are we? My good girl wants another?"

You struggled to force your eyes open. "Please Yun, feels so good. Fill me up. Please."

He didn't ask again, sinking two more fingers knuckle deep as they continued to pump in and out at his pace. He worked you fast and didn't let up until you were shaking, clawing at his thighs and begging. You were pretty sure you'd started crying and you didn't care, the orgasm that swept over you was worth it.

When you caught your breath enough to whimper his name again he was already pulling out his cock, groaning as he adjusted you on his lap again, legs hooking underneath yours to keep you spread open for him.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you cum."

He was stroking himself with the hand that, moments ago, had been mostly inside you. You forced your thighs to cooperate a little longer as you turned to straddle him properly again, hips rocking as his tip slid along your slit, now slick with your own release. He moaned and you found yourself smirking.

Oh, so this was what he had been on about. It did feel good, seeing him such a mess for you, especially when you had barely done anything.

"Let me, please, don't need to be inside but can I...?"

His pathetic whines had you biting your lip and nodding. "Yes, yes Yun. Use me however you need."

You swear he almost came at those words, stopping to stare you dead in the eye and then he was guiding his length along your slit like a man possessed. He felt so good you let your eyes slide shut, hands anchored on his shoulders as you felt him slip inside.

"Mm... just the tip. Please y/n."

His begging nearly undid you. You nodded, hips rolling with his and then suddenly he was grasping you by both hips and slamming up into you. The size of him knocked the breath from your lungs and he groaned.

"Fuck, shit, sorry. Just felt so good. Couldn't help it."

You rocked your hips a little, testing the stretch, and his hips stuttered. You'd never seen him like this and fuck if it wasn't more than a little intoxicating. The breathy moans, the whines as he held himself still just long enough for you to adjust to the sheer length of him pressed fully inside you.

You both paused as he pressed a hand to your pelvis and you caught a glimpse of him bulging in your abdomen. You gasped, he groaned, and then you were being pressed down into the couch while he hovered over you.

"Please please let me do that again."

You guided his hand, back arching as he slammed into you. You watched as he traced his fingers over the outline, cursing under his breath, and whimpered when his pace suddenly went from manic to man on a mission. He was rutting into you so hard he had to hold your waist to keep you from sliding all the way up the length of the couch but neither of you noticed the way the sofa creaked beneath you with every snap of his hips.

By the time he pulled out, hand fisting his cock as he painted your stomach, you were already seeing stars again. You arched up against him, whining and moaning his name as your hand slid down to your clit, fingers working you through your climax while he caught his breath.

"Who knew all needed was to get railed?" You teased, when you glanced up and met his eyes.

He laughed, sweat dripping down his forehead as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. That set you off and then you were both shaking with laughter.

"At least let me clean you up before we make another mess."

[psychic-waffles]

Cw: child death, racism (particularly islamophobia)

The last couple of days have seen multiple full blown fascist riots in the UK and we're likely to see more over the weekend.

On Monday there was a horrific incident where a 17 year old attacked a dance school in Southport, killing three children and injuring many more. Because of the attacker's age his name has not been released, however the far right quickly started circulating a made up name and said the attacker was Muslim and an immigrant.

On Tuesday, when a vigil was being held in the town for the victims, fascists travelled to Southport and started a riot, centering around attacking a mosque. I really don't have words for how disgusting it is to use the death of children to further their violently racist agenda and take all of this out on a grieving town.

Following this there were multiple fascist riots on Wednesday, the largest of which being in London and Hartlepool. These involved further attacks on mosques, surrounding hotels where asylum seekers were being housed, and attacking brown and black people on the street and in their homes.

There are plans by the far right to hold multiple further rallies over the next few days, I've seen particular mention of Liverpool tomorrow (Friday) and Middlesbrough on Sunday, but I think it's likely we'll see violence across the UK.

There is also a huge demo for Palestine organised for Saturday which involves action across the country and with a march in London, and quite frankly I will be shocked if the fash don't try to disrupt that in any way, so just be prepared that there is a heightened risk of violence.

Overall in response to the riots there's been a lot of talk about the spread of misinformation and how that needs to be tackled, and while this is true it doesn't address the fact that the majority of these fascists really don't care. Even if the attacker had been Muslim or had been an immigrant, that doesn't give anyone the right to try and attack every Muslim and immigrant in the country. This couldn't have and hasn't been stopped by correcting a bit of misinformation, this is about decades of deeply racist islamophobic and anti-immigrant rhetoric baked into the core of the UK and reinforced constantly by the media and politicians across the spectrum as ""legitimate concerns"".

Right now we need community support more than ever. Organise, protect your local Muslim communities, and of course stay safe.

Edit: while I was writing this post the name of the attacker was released as Axel Rudakubana. As I have already said the fash do not care, and islamaphobic and anti-immigrant violence will almost definitely continue, however there will now likely also be an increase in anti-black violence and we need to be prepared for that.

2nd edit: check my reblogs for more info on specific places they're planning to target

[iloveapplejacks]

WET DREAMZ P4

Inspired by Wet Dreamz by J.Cole

I wrote back and said "of course I had sex before"

Knowing I was frontin'

I said I was like a pro baby

Knowing I was stuntin'

But if I told the truth I knew I'd get played out son

Hadn't been in pussy since the day I came out one

But, she don't know what

So she done roll back and told me

"Oh you a pro homie? Well I want you to show me

My mama gone for the weekend

So Saturday baby we can get to freakin'"

Warnings: heated make out

"You ever had sex before?"

This question caught Chris off guard causing him to sit looking down wide eyed

He looked at her and saw that she was looking at him waiting for an answer

2 thoughts went through his head, one was, should I just tell her I'm a virgin and I hadn't been in pussy since the day I came out one

Or should I just lie and say I have?

Deciding on the latter, Chris Coughs before writing

"Of course I've had sex before, I'm like a pro baby"

Y/N looked at Chris , seemingly shocked by what he said just as she was going to respond the bell rang.

Chris waited by the door and they both walk together to their next classes

"Well this is me" Chris chuckled as he begins to leave but Y/N grabs his arm to stop him

"I know this is going to sound so straight forward but I literally have not been able to stop thinking about what you told me" she mumbles before taking in a deep breath and looks at Chris

"What are you doing this saturday?"She asks

"I have no plans so nothing much probably, why?" Chris Asks confused

"My parents are gone for the weekend, So you can come over" she says

"Yeah sure we can like watch a movie, relax and shit" he shrugs

"No, you said you were a pro homie, And well I want you to show me" she said before walking away

The week that followed was quite quiet, well as quiet as it could be after Y/N confessed her desire to Chris .

Which, of course freaked him out. I mean it isn't everyday that A drop dead gorgeous girl wants to make a dick appointment with him.

Who wouldn't freak out?

If you had asked Chris how many videos he watched pornos online to help him educate himself on something he clearly wasn't Educated about.

He taught himself how to put on condoms and practised how to stroke right

Fucking hell, why did I have to lie? He thought to himself

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday sped past and before he knew it, it was Saturday night.

Having made sure he wasn't smelling musty and was prepared, Chris began to make his way to Y/Ns house but not without saying a prayer

"I'm praying God please don't let me buss quick"

Arriving at her door, Chris knocked twice before he steps back, after a minute or so, the door opens

"chris hey" she smiled as he looked at her up down, Short shorts and a tank top

- damn

"Come in" she smiles, opening the door wider and grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs

A smirk plays on his face as he closes the front door with his leg and stares at her ass as he followed her blindly

She opens the door to a room and let's go of chris’ hand and sits herself on her king sized bed. He follows suit and sits himself next to her

She crosses her legs and looks at him with a smile

"What is it?" he says looking at her funny which causes her to laugh and shake her head

"Nothing, I just can't believe the guy l've been crushing on for ages, is actually here" she chuckles shyly looking away from his face

"Damn? You're hiding another dude in here?" he says jokingly Which causes the two to start laughing

"Nah I'm playing, you like me?" he asks with a massive smile on his face edging nearer to her

She bites her lip as she looks into his eyes before looking at his lips and then back up to his eyes

Chris cups her face with his hand and leans in and begins to kiss her

She reciprocated and he deepened the kiss, pushing her back slightly so that she was now underneath him

Her hands roam across his torso and she tugs at his shirt to remove it, when she does, she discards it

He removes her tank top and begins to leave kisses and hickeys down her body

Soft moans were heard as She grinded her hips against Him An action that caused him to get hard.

The feelings of worry and stress about whether he was doing things correctly all left his brain as the feelings of euphoria and Bliss overtook him

"You ready baby?" He asks, she nods her head vigorously which makes him laugh

the items of clothing they were wearing were removed wearing was removed

Chris trying to conceal his nerves opens a condom and rolls it on

He positioned himself between her legs and praying to God that he didn't bust quick

Just as he was about to insert himself inside of her

She flinched and grabbed it

An action that caused his heart to beat rapidly, and assuming the worst

Did she change her mind? Was his shit too small to fuck with?

she looks chris in the eye before she says with the sweetest voice

"I wanna get something off my mental, I can tell you're a pro but baby be gentle" she looks down shamelessly

“cause i’ve never did this before”

AHHHHHH OKAY SO IM DECIDING IF I SHOULD END HERE LIKE THE SONG OR HAVE ONE MORE PARTTTT😅 HAPPY NEW YEARS!!

[dpfantasyzine]

Welcome to the second annual Phantasy Phest! I started this event to bring the spotlight to fantasy theme Danny Phantom content. And we are back for another year.

Phantasy Phest is partnering with @ectoberhaunt this year, since their theme is magic vs science!! Get your fantasy mojo started with Phantasy Phest the week before Ectober Haunt starts, leaving off the weekends so you can have a tiny break between events.

Please tag @phantasycentral and use the tag #Phantasy Phest 2023

Monday 9/25: Fantasy Eldritch Au — this is a leftover prompt from last year. We all love Eldritch Danny, but can you make our eldritch bot extra magical?

Tuesday 9/26: Dungeons and Dragons — is the gang playing DND? Or are they in a fantasy world having a dnd style campaign? Were they isekai’d into a dnd game? Crossover with the new movie? You decide!

Wednesday 9/27: Wings | Scales — you may use one or both!

Thursday 9/28: Studio Ghibli — think Howl’s Moving Castle, Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, Nausica, etc. There are so many to chose from! Make an au or a crossover that is Ghibli themed, or a fantasy story with Ghibli vibes.

Friday 9/29: The Doctors Fenton should have planned for all eventualities. 😈

Again, please tag this blog and use the hashtag #Phantasy Phest 2023. I look forward to all you do!!

[shibaincubus]

How to use time efficiently with many interests and work commitments.

⋅•⋅⊰⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⊰⋅•

Being productive, making the most of the 24 hours of our day and getting a high ROI back is your goal, but your daily schedule and the endless appointments that you have make you too tired to get work done, let you feel like you have no free time, no time to even study, and you have to spend countless all nighters to get your work done questioning yourself why you chose so many activities/ extracurricular's etc. in the first place and all the free time you have your essentially doomscrolying it away making you more unmotivated.

This is a guide on how you can use your time efficiently and get a huge ROI back without feeling exhausted/tired and finding enough time to study thoroughly, getting your work done without loosing your passion for other things and doing your hobbies.

So the first thing you have to do is to go to a regular week and observe when you have free time, when you are binge-watching shows, doomscroll or when you are so unmotivated that you don't want to do your work, study, do your homework etc. and also what tasks do you have when you go to work/school when you come back, clubs meetings etc. So everything you do regularly in the week

Lastly in this week you have to identify a Prime time where you are the most productive so you can plan your tasks around it.

A list can look like this:

Observation

Monday: Going home from work/school at 16:30 - one hour free time - until I have to go to extracurriculars/ course etc.

Tuesday

Wednesday

….

Prime time: Weekdays 10-12pm Weekend 9-12am

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ₊˚

So, after you got the times where you are doing nothing/ wasting your time you have to start listing all the tasks and events you have, then categorize them based on importance and urgency.

For this you can use the Eisenhower-matrix

where you organize your work and projects into four categories: Important and Urgent, Important but Not Urgent, Urgent but Not Important, Not Urgent and Not Important.

The Eisenhower matrix, also known as the Urgent-Important matrix, is a time management strategy that helps you prioritize tasks based on urgency and importance.

The matrix has 4 quadrants or sections:

Important and Urgent: These tasks need immediate attention.

Important but not urgent: These are high priority items.

Urgent but not important: These are things that are time-sensitive but can often be delegated.

Not urgent and not important: These are activities that can either be delayed or removed from the list entirely.

example:

Planning your week in a strategic way

First you should Collect your observations in a 24 hours weekly planner like this and highlight the free time zones you have and also plan your regular sleeping time mine is from 10 to 5:30 am

How to fill the free-spots:

Start by allocating time for high-priority tasks, then move on to lower priority ones, and finally use remaining time for recreation.

Place the high priority task in the (near the) prime time

If there are regular recurring tasks like homework hobbies etc. you should put it in a designated time slot

Try to avoid overworking yourself and prioritize your mental health.

Remember to take breaks in between tasks and give yourself a reward after completing something difficult or time consuming.

It's basically time blocking which is a method where you divide and schedule your day into focused intervals with no distractions

How to do the most in the weekend

After such a full week doing all your tasks you're obviously going to be tired and unmotivated to do anything. But the workload isn't going to get smaller but bigger in the next week, so you have to at least get something done. But do not force yourself to be 100% productive in the weekend because we all need some rest and constantly overworking yourself is unhealthy and also doesn't give you a good ROI in the long run.

Here are some methods that I've tried categorized in three levels: high; medium and low level depending on the mood you're in.

High level methods

The first method I suggest you to do is a method that is called Batch Tasking by Grouping

With this technique, you group similar tasks together and complete them in batches.

For example, you can have a morning batch of 'work-related tasks', an afternoon batch of 'personal tasks', and an evening batch of 'leisure tasks'.

This method can be useful for individuals who are motivated by completing multiple similar tasks at the same time, and it helps to avoid task switching and maintain a clear sense of purpose in your workflow.

The second method is the the "Marathon Mindset" technique

It's a method where you set a specific amount of time, say 3-4 hours, to focus intensely on completing your tasks. During this time, you can take short breaks (around 10 minutes) to prevent burnout, but the focus is on maintaining a steady work rate for the entire duration.

This technique can help you complete difficult tasks, and it's excellent for individuals who get into a 'flow' state when working on a project.

Medium level methods:

time boxing

This involves setting a timer for a specific amount of work, and once the timer goes off, you move onto the next task, no matter how much work was done. This helps create a sense of urgency and focus.

Time Boxing and Activity Swapping technique

Here, you set a short amount of time, say 15 minutes, for each task you want to complete. Once the timer goes off, you take a 5 minute break before moving onto the next activity.

But here's where it gets different: Each time you finish a task, you swap to a completely different activity than the last one. For example, after writing an email, you could do some calisthenics, then after that some cleaning, and so on.

This technique is great for individuals who struggle with task boredom

Low level methods

Focus on your "1 Thing"

it means working on the most important task each day, the "one thing" that'll move you closer to your goals. Once you've completed that 'One Thing' you can move onto the next.

This technique will help you to avoid multitasking and stay motivated, focusing your energies on completing the most crucial tasks first

Focus Sprint and Rest

Here, you work in intense 15-minute sprints, followed by a short 5 minute break. You repeat the routine 2-4 times before taking a longer break of around 15-30 minutes.

You can alternate between tasks or stay focused on one, depending on your preferences. This method is great for individuals who prefer shorter bursts of intense work, with short but regular breaks for a quick boost in energy.

Priority Power Hour

Using this technique, you dedicate a specific time of day, say 1 hour, to working on your most important and difficult tasks. Optimally this should be your power hour During this power hour, you commit to nothing else except completing these high-priority tasks.

The rest of your day can be spent doing less important tasks or working on other passions. The key benefit of this technique is that it allows you to stay focused and productive during your most efficient times of the day, while avoiding burnout.

Some last general tips

First, you should set achievable goals. This means breaking big tasks into small ones. This is very helpful if you have a big project that you have to do because the task load doesn't overwhelm you as much when you break aspects e.g. research as doing the whole project in a couple days and being very stressed.

Then you should limit distractions like your mobile etc. I would pack those things to another room so that they are not in front of your eye which makes you less likely to use them and get distracted. Also you should try to minimize multitasking because it diverts your attention on too many tasks and topics which makes your work imprecise and actually costs more time because you have to get into the thought process of topic 1 again.

Start with the end in mind. Define what you want to achieve during your sessions. Having clear goals helps you stay focused.

It's also important to schedule short breaks in the work session especially if you have many things to do to prevent burnout.

You should also have a monthly overview of important tasks separatly in a calendar

Regularly review your time management strategies and adjust them as needed. What's working? What needs improvement?

Lastly you should give yourself some rewards if you completed a difficult and important task to make you more motivate for more tasks

[ratherembarrassing]

2024: weeks 39 and 40 (wtf?!)

time is a fucking hamster wheel and i'm literally too lazy to edit this into the way i usually do, so. enjoy!

england!:

the cold that hit me on the bus home after chappell roan persisted through every event recorded in this post. just a little context for fun.

monday morning, awoke to a giant fucking billboard ad for hinge literally outside my hotel window having gone up overnight, which felt unnecessarily pointed and i decided i had to leave london immediately.

but i didn't, because i needed food. can we talk about eggslut's hashbrowns again? cause they are fucking incredible.

was immediately punished for not leaving london, as i turned a corner in shoreditch and walked straight into a film set, which did in fact give me a mild panic attack because reasons. it was citadel, so it was fine.

then i got the hell out of london. i got in a car and i drove! off into the countryside! apparently there was flooding across southern england, but as i drove literally all the way across southern england in both directions, i saw little more than puddles, so i'm not convinced. also, trees. so many trees!

thus begins what i think i will simply refer to in the future as "that time i drove all over southern england just because."

i did absolutely zero research or planning for anything beyond typing "seven sisters" into google maps to check how far it was, but i did not die so it's fine, and then i did in fact see the seven sisters. i did get asked if i was there to kill myself, which i was not, but i can see how i might have given off that vibe.

salisbury can go fuck itself, but it's probably not the town of salisbury's fault so much as the weather, the cunt at the front desk of the hotel i was staying at, and the horrible potato thing i ate there. they do have a very cool cathedral.

stonehenge can stay.

bath is in fact prettier than advertised. the hotel i booked while in some jetlag-fueled delirium was in fact a bath. at this point i did feel like wandering the english countryside was revealing something to me, which might have just been the general lack of sleep talking.

after a very early morning trip to the actual roman baths and stomping around in the rain, i had had enough of doing things, and that is how i ended up eating kfc at 4pm in my hotel bed and then sleeping for like 12 hours.

three days in the country was all i thought i could tolerate, so i went back to london for a hot minute to look at some art at the national gallery. once again i was denied seeing the turners i should have been able to see.

insert here the story of me frantically trying to find a way to charge my phone with only 1% battery and my train ticket trapped inside it and all of st pancras having exactly zero ways for me to do so.

train - the bad version.

@notabuddhist treated me to the sights of her lovely town! again, i feel like Seeing England has revealed something to me, if not about myself then at least about the goals of the white people in australia that were previously unknown to me. don't know what to do with this knowledge yet.

train - the good version.

and then: emma time. listen, i don't think that play was any great work of art. it might actually have been corny as hell. but that's not the point. the point is i didn't die, and i went back again the next night and didn't die again. growth!

i wasn't planning to go to the tate, but sometimes you just have to go to the tate.

refusing to concede my final day in england, brunch in soho, wandered over to the royal academy for some more art, took my life in my hands again biking from buckingham palace back to my hotel.

i did not manage to find a lick of football to watch, so i went to the airport and went home.

the nightmare that followed:

monday did not exist for me

tuesday i arrived home at like 5am, slept all day, slept all night.

wednesday???

thursday i went back to work.

friday, i have no fucking clue.

weekend??????????????????? will my sleep schedule ever return to normal, we just don't know. i'd like to be a cool international traveler who just bounces from place to place, but the timezones between here and there specifically have destroyed me every time on returning to australia.

the end.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for ditching helping my friends on a school project to hang out with someone else? I know this sounds bad.

So my friends are all in an english class im not in and they have a big final project due where they have to make a movie based on the hero's journey or whatever, and I agreed to play one of the roles. I haven't had this agreement long bc they werent originally allowed to let me participate because im not in the class, but the teacher agreed. I also only have a small role that would be two or three scenes at the very beginning and very end.

Everyones had a hellish time trying to schedule together, and theres not a huge amount of time left for the project. Monday was off this week because no one was prepared, thursday and tuesday were off cause two of the people had other school stuff, but that leaves wednesday, friday, the whole weekend and monday as well.

The thing is, everyone was planning on filming on wednesday to get it done as soon as possible- but I agreed to hang out with a different friend wednesday (ill call him Z). Z and i are besties and would spend hours talking every day last year, but since he graduated and has college he's been scary busy, and we've barely been able to hang out at all. We've been trying to schedule a meetup for weeks and finally got free time matching up wednesday, which was prettymuch planned before my friends gave me a role in their project.

I'm not the only person who cant film wednesday, another friend will be gone, and they said thats fine and they'l just film his scenes another day. They seemed really stressed and upset that i couldnt make it, though, but I dont understand why we cant just film mine & his scenes friday or the weekend.

It feels weird too because they're okay with him being gone because he had plans with his girlfriend, but i just have mine with a friend. Many of them know and love Z too and have barely gotten to see Z either so I thought they'd understand. I know I said I could be in the project while still having plans with a friend, but the plans are only one day. & i didnt know everyone elses schedules were so tight too. It's also not my class & this project isnt gonna affect my grade, so I'm not taking it as seriously as a lot of my friends- but the friend seeing his girlfriend is also not part of their class and it wont affect his grade either. I feel like im really disappointing them all but im not gonna pass up hanging out with Z after months of not seeing him in person.

aita ??

What are these acronyms?

[roleplayhonestybox]

Just some time to whine - and no, it's not that I don't understand, I do - but I just feel so frustrated and disappointed now I could cry. So here's my totally first world problem rant: My RP partner says they have finally a long weekend due to the holiday - Thursday to Sunday - and they are looking forward to write aaaaaaall four days. They make it a really big thing and talk about it and are excited. They wanna write ALL day. EVERY day. AAALL the stuff they'll be writing. Because they can't really do asymmetrical and I always need to be around for them to write. Which is fine. I can do that. Life's rough, I understand. They are American. I am not. I'm European with a hefty time difference and a full work week. So I shovel Friday completely free - cancel all appointments - and even a chunk of my Thursday work day. I can't just take them off - I need to stuff the work I would have done on Friday and that chunk from Thursday and work it off on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Which made my days extremely long and exhausting, but I thought: hey, it's for a good cause! We're going to write like the devil. All day. Every day. Thursday comes, I rush out of work, it all starts wonderfully. We're both excited. Then a problem comes up. Family stuff. Understandable. We spend the night chatting. One things leads to another, the topic gets really dark. I try to be a good friend. I try to help. I stay up until 9am in my time zone. I really don't sleep a lot that night. Friday comes, and they're exhausted. They're tired. They sleep most of the time of the day I took off for us. So we could write, like they wanted to. Saturday comes. They said they'd be around nice and early. I'm around nice and early. They aren't. They were tired and went back to sleep (and couldn't even let me know with a short message - knowing that I was waiting). The RP drags on and I spend the day waiting and waiting - for literal hours.

Sunday comes. Same spiel. They are tired. They have kids to watch. They need a nap. They need to cook.

In the end, I got one or two replies per day for the threads I got to choose. Each day, but, yeah, with me being around for roughly 15 hours for them each day, too. There are a few more replies for the quick things they wanted to do and their favourite is something I absolutely struggled through because I wanted to make them happy, but my heart's really not in it. But I want to be a good RP partner. I want to be a good friend.

So, yes, I understand. Family and real life first. There's no lack of understanding. It's a hobby. Nobody can change how tired they are. Nobody can influence when life fucks with plans. I understand. I am not blaming them. I am not trying to be difficult. I'm not a bitch about it.

But this whole thing I worked for so hard to make it even happen turned out to be such a fucking disappointment and full of frustration that I honestly just want to cry. It just fell so flat I don't even have words for it. No word again that I cancelled everything to be with them, but maybe they don't even realise or remember, because they slept half the time.

(Also: no, I'm normally not the one to expect several replies every day. They can't RP on workdays? Fine. They need time to go through stuff? Fine. They get sick and can't write? absolutely no problem, of course. They stopped replying to so many threads in the past and I've been waiting for weeks or months sometimes, so that's not my problem here. But when we make arrangements to sit together for the sole purpose of writing all day and I clear my schedule for three and a half days - it frustrates me when I sit around and wait for hours for a single reply - just to clarify.)

So with all due respect and necessary understanding - I know they didn't choose this - I'm just so angry, too. Not at them. But that this didn't work out, at all. And I can't even show it because it would hurt them, because I know they were just exhausted and tired and it's not their fault - and I don't want that.

Goddamn, I was looking forward to this so much and I feel so hollow right now, because I spent most of these past three and a half days waiting for them... I feel like I could have done more productive things in three days that would have made me feel much better.

I need a hug...

(sorry for the rant...)

.

[unohanadaydreams]

If captains were days of the week, which ones do you think they’d be?

This is so up my alley tbh.....hyper specific and weird headcanons, my beloved.

Monday:

Byakuya Kuchiki. He is the master of viewing every day as just another day. While lesser men are oozing into work with their brain cells still marinating in last night's sake bender, he is hours deep into the kind of paperwork that dries out your retinas on contact. Also I think he gets bored without work (and prefers Gotei 13 work to the Noble shenanigans he has to face raw on the weekends). He's just that kind of guy.

Tuesday:

Toshiro Hitsugaya. With a lieutenant like Rangiku to wrangle into the week, he only hits his stride after he's successfully hunted her down and ensured the weekly planner is in her room, in her hands, on her favorite couch, and tucked into her obi. Which naturally eats up a lot of his Monday. His daily nap is extra satisfying on Tuesdays, too.

Wednesday:

Mayuri Kurotsuchi. Not only has he been able to measure out where both the 12th division and R&D are on the various juggling acts constantly at work, but now he gets to see how well they keep those projects flying (and bitch when they don't do so well <3). Also, I'd like to think this is the day they publish the new scientific studies & dissertations in the Seireitei and he gets to spend the rest of the week picking them apart (or admiring his work).

Thursday:

Shunsui Kyoraku. Shunsui loves a good game. I think the suspense of 'can I make it till the end of the week and successfully avoid the majority of my responsibilities yet again' is part of his joy in doing it. Also Nanao hasn't gone full nuclear yet, which she will when Friday hits and she doesn't have the minimum amount of paperwork that absolutely must be notarized over the weekend or the Gotei 13 will let something or other lapse that Shunsui doesn't think is that important, honestly.

Friday:

Tetsuzemon Iba. He has spiritually checked out this entire day because he's using it to fine tune the particulars of the next Men's Association Meeting & plan what details he's going to be leaving out when he gives his weekly visit to Komamura. Obviously he needs to ensure his captaincy is viewed in the best light. And also run his MA game plans by a willing ear.

Saturday:

Kensei Muguruma. The entire week is being sloughed away with every meal he preps in his expensive living world kitchen that he held Urahara at fist point to transfer over free of charge. There's not lieutenant bragging about getting fleeced over a guitar case. There's no editing nightmare that takes two straight days to untangle because two offices can't fucking communicate. It's just him and the food talking.

Sunday:

Isane Kotetsu. Her only day off. She swears she's not going to take over someone's shift on Saturday like the last week or the week before that, but she folds every time. She's starting to think she's developing a complex. Turning in a to a workaholic or something. She and Nanao are starting to relate a bit too much on how many hours they clock each week.

But then Sunday shines down upon her, a beautiful ray of freedom. She even refuses to heal her sister when Kiyone inevitably gets some minor wound or scrape from all her unfocused hyperactivity. But does promise to book her an appointment for the next day.

[passivenovember]

purple pink skies.

--

A flier for Hawkin’s High’s Spring Fever dance goes up almost immediately after Steve considers himself out of the woods.

“Should’ve used my bike pump to inflate your balls,” Robin says.

He’s been close with Billy for a few months and in love with him for longer, but Steve couldn’t stick the landing.

It eats at him all week, stomach gaining a new gouge in the lining with each bargain prom-posal he has to bear witness to over lunch and after practice and at the mall on Saturday afternoons.

On Friday, Steve grabs a coke from the vending machine to take the edge off of not having the balls to ask Billy to go with him to the Sweetheart’s Dance. The hallway’s draped in shining pink and red cellophane while the planning committee reminds everyone to pencil their vote for Sweetheart Court, and Billy’s shooting for at least a 1250 on his SATs so he’s not even thinking about it, but.

Steve dropped the ball. 

Robin eventually loses interest in making fun of him and Steve wishes he could forgive himself. He spends the weekend helping Billy shoot for a 1300 on his SAT and it’s nice, all things considered. 

Max shoots daggers at him from the hallway while Billy chews on statistical equations. 

“Kid’s just protective of him,” Robin tells Steve on the phone that night, “She’s gotta intimidate. Besides, Billy’s a brain. And a brain like him would rather study, anyway.”

She’s probably right.

Of course she’s right, Steve doesn’t have the spiritual strength to explore what it might mean if she isn’t.

Valentine’s Saturday comes and goes and then it’s Monday. 

And Steve’s looking down the barrel of Hawkins’ last leg of winter, hopeful that the layer of ice around his heart will thaw with hard oak branches in time for Spring so Billy can finally know how he feels, and then–

Tuesday, Steve’s faced with another opportunity to trip over his words.

Save the Date: Hawkins High’s Spring Fever Dance! February 28th, 1985!

Robin snaps her gum right in Steve’s ear, “Wow. Looks like the planning committee’s getting a jump-start on mating season.”

Steve wants to tear the flier from the vending machine and eat it with a side of ranch dressing.

“Didn’t have to use so many goddamn exclamation points,” Steve mutters, but he’s drowned out by all of Hawkins High emerging from fourth period to survey the royal decree.

No one else gives a shit.

The Activities hallway has become the shitty set of a romance novel. With the jab of those three flowery words and a trillion copied posters pointing toward spring, the soft, warm light from the window is burning red, again. The air smells like the wiz of Cupid’s arrow, and everyone’s a moving target. 

And maybe it’s just Steve’s own cynicism acting as a sounding tower, dialing on everyone’s conversations, but love is all anyone can talk about. Groups of girls speculate who’s going stag. Guys walk a little taller, peacocking for every watchful eye.

Steve yanks his coke can from the vending machine, “I’m going to walk into traffic.”

Robin snaps her gum again, “Okay, crab apple.”

“I’m serious. Don’t you think it’s overkill?”

“I think it’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not talking about the flier.”

“Neither am I,” Robin says. She props herself against the vending machine, studying the flier as if it were a specimen under a microscope, “That wasn’t there this morning, right?”

“Who cares. This is the second dance we’ve had this month, that’s not weird to you?” When Robin shakes her head, Steve wants to grab her shoulders and shake Robin hard enough to get her brain back online.

“Dude,” Steve begins heavily, “We had Homecoming in the fall, the Senior Snowball in December, we’ve got Prom just before summer break–”

“--Didn’t have a date then, either, Harrington–”

“I know, asshole, I’m just saying,” Steve cracks his cola can, swishing the fizz around in his mouth until the sugar burns the sharpness from his tongue. “It’s like all those people who are lucky in love think the change of every season requires a dance.”

Robin nods, chewing her gum so hard it’ll probably transition out of that gooey half-liquid stage and into a solid.

Her eyes scan the hallway, flitting anxiously between traveling backpacks and spring sweaters. 

Robin twists a ring around one finger.

It’s almost like Steve isn’t there, as her eyes scan the hallway. It’s almost like—

“Oh, fuck you,” Steve groans.

Robin deflates. “Look, I get why you’re so angry and I sympathize but we can deal with the Billy stuff at Scoops, I’ve gotta get to Heather before–”

Steve resists the urge to cover his ears. To curl up in the fetal position and scream and scream and never stop screaming. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I want to make sure she doesn’t get pissed and ask someone else.”

“She’d do that?” Steve wonders, knowing full well that she will. She has. 

Robin shrugs, “I’m whipped.”

“You’d better get going.”

“How long has the poster been up?” Robin snaps again, like. With her full chest.

Steve wants to throw his soda at her. “If I knew that do you think I’d be standing here talking to you?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck off, I’d be blowing the door to Billy’s chemistry lab off its hinges,” Steve says, even though they both know it’s not true.

“I’m dead meat,” Robin bounces a little on her feet like she’s gotta hit the bathroom. “Heather’s probably been expecting me to see the fliers all morning and it’s almost lunch and I haven’t even–”

“Go,” Steve says.

Robin freezes, all of a sudden. All at once. “You’re sure?” 

That’s the thing about Buckley. She can poke fun at him all day long and make his life a living hell, but she’ll be there if Steve really needs it.

It’s only right that he returns the favor. “I’m sure, Bucks.”

“Okay,” Robin says, flinching a little toward the end of the hall, “Because I can send myself to heartbreak island and pitch a tent with you–”

“Nah,” Steve shrugs, “One of us should have a shot at getting laid this weekend.”

Robin kisses his cheek, quick as a flash, “God, you’re a lifesaver. And if anyone asks–”

“You and me, Billy and Heather, I got it,” Steve chuckles, “Go, before your cheerleader sends her beard after you.”

Robin sprints off down the hallway. 

Steve sips lightly at the rest of his cola and doesn’t think that it’d be better for him if Billy got sent to sort through Robin’s mess.

Maybe then, with his sun and moon shining right there in the hallway, Steve could open his mouth and speak.

--

At lunch, Billy’s head is buried in his stats book. 

It’s a picture Steve’s been trying to get used to for a couple of weeks now, Billy’s usual loose and easy frame settled with hunched shoulders and furrowed brows. 

The SATs are just around the corner and contrary to the front that Billy puts on for the whole of Hawkins, puffing his chest and bearing his teeth like an angry bull dog at anyone who gets too close, he’s a genius when it comes to school.

Billy when he’s focused is more lethal than anything Steve’s ever experienced. 

He’s quick to throw pens and wadded-up balls of paper at anyone who breaks his concentration, and Steve’s taken a highlighter to the eye more times than he cares to remember. And with the biggest test of Billy’s academic career looming in just forty-eight hours, today it’s that with teeth. 

Statistics always gets Billy stuck in his own head, wandering through maze-like hedges of numbers and graphs. It’s difficult, sitting locked out of Billy’s world when Steve’s usually glued to his hip, but it’s something to behold.

Billy when he’s focused is the closest Steve will ever get to the face of God.

He was painted by all the greatest artists, Steve knows, dreamt up by angels. The curve of Billy’s lips as he reads silently to himself, his thumb resting soft on his plush lower lip, is poetry.  The way he glances up every once in a while, grinning softly, to make sure Steve’s there to quiz him on whatever formula he’s been slaving over, is Heaven on Earth.

It’s perfect.

Today, though, Billy’s lost.

The cafeteria bustles around them with excitement over the Spring Fever dance and Billy hasn’t looked up a single time since Steve sat down. His lunch sits cold and untouched on the tray in front of him.

Robin and Heather are nowhere to be found, it’s just them, and Steve weighs the possibility of taking a pen to the forehead if he interrupts to remind Billy that he won’t score a 1300 on his SAT if he starves to death before Friday.

Steve picks at his french fries and wonders what would happen if he got up and left.

Would Billy notice? Would he eat Steve’s lunch?

Would he stand up and follow?

When Billy explodes, Steve opens his mouth, ready to pay the price of getting those eyes on him.

“I’m not gonna pass,” Billy determines, shoving his notebook into his SAT prep stack with a gnarled sound. 

Steve manages to catch the thing before it careens over the edge of the table, “Woah,” he says, a fry pinched between his teeth, “Hey, that's–”

“I’ve been going over the same page of quantitative data for two days,” Billy snarls, blue eyes pinning Steve to the bench, “Two fucking days, Steve.”

“What can I do to help?” Steve asks automatically.

“It’s the VAR model, the m2, it’s pissing me off.”

“Okay,”

Billy doesn’t hear him, “It keeps saying the t-distribution with degrees of freedom is equal to n-2 and when testing the slope in a simple linear regression model with one parameter–”

“--Right, okay–”

“The test for the slope has df=n-1,” Billy snaps. His eyes well up, frustrated tears clinging to his lashes. 

Steve never thought Billy would be a crier, but he is.

It’s Starfall.

It’s planets colliding.

Steve has the sudden, violent urge to wipe Billy’s tears away. “It’s alright,” He says, but Billy’s shaking his head. 

“I can’t do this,” He gasps, “I can’t. I’ve been working on this same equation for–”

“Two days, I know. You’ve gotta eat something alright?”

Billy’s leg bounces, shaking the whole lunch table. Steve shuffles Billy’s notes in his hands, knowing he’ll eat shit for that, later, but he can’t bring himself to care about that when slowly, frightened as a coiled rattlesnake in a mudhole, Billy reaches past his own lunch tray to get at Steve’s fries. Steve hands them over, watching as Billy nibbles away.

Like a little bunny rabbit.

The cutest, most brilliant creature on earth–

Billy sniffs, “I didn’t sleep last night,” He says, almost like he’s terrified of what Steve will do to him.

Not couldn’t. Didn’t.

Intentional.

Steve holds his breath, waiting for the sky to rip open and for Billy’s frustrated tears to punch holes in Steve’s chest when they finally start to fall. 

But they don’t. Billy scrubs at his cheeks, catching them before they can take root. “I’m sorry I’m going insane.”

“You’re not insane, you’re incredible.”

“And you’re an idiot if you think that.”

“Of course, I’m an idiot. We knew that already,” Steve tells him.

He counts the breaks at the lunch table. He studies Billy’s smooth, spotless hands, his fingers as they curl protectively around a purple highlighter. Steve didn’t even know they made that color, but looking down at Billy’s notes, all the others already serve a purpose. 

Billy’s leg keeps bouncing. “I still owe you an apology. If not for neglecting myself, for ignoring you.”

Steve wants to say that Billy’s never ignored him. 

Not once. Since the Hargrove-Mayfield’s moved to town last fall, since Billy joined the basketball team, since they met at Tina’s Halloween party and Billy dusted his hands off and put the pieces of Steve back together after Hurricane Nancy–

Steve’s had Billy’s deep blue attention on him like a searchlight. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Steve decides, “You’re Galileo. It’s alright.”

Billy doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s not, though.”

“You’re just exhausted, anyone would be. You’ve been working yourself to death over this.”

“I’ve gotta get the fuck out of here, Harrington.”

“You will,” Steve holds the stack of paper delicately in his lap, worried that if Billy spots another equation he’ll fly off the handle. “You’ve just got to balance studying with things that make you hap–”

“My SAT exam is in two days, Steve,” Billy snaps. He leans forward, lips furrowing with sudden rage, “If I don’t land a score that can get me into any college in the country–”

“I’ll take you somewhere myself,” Steve says. 

He taps Billy’s notes on the table like he’s seen his father do a million times.

It’s final. It’s a promise made of dreams that hold lead in their bellies, falling like anvils in Hawkins but taking root all over the world. In Steve’s mind, it’s honest work. His promises to Billy grow and bloom where neither of them can worry over it. They wave like flags through rain and sun, until they bear fruit ripe for picking. 

Someday, they’ll feed a village from the result of these small promises.

But.

Steve’s gotta say the words, first. Plant the seeds.

I love you my brilliant, brilliant boy.

He slides Billy’s packet over the table face, tucking his fingers under his elbows for safekeeping when his Brainiac snatches it up like a hungry shark. 

“You’re just saying that, Harrington,” Billy determines, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

“I mean it.”

“Yeah, alright,” Billy says, reordering his notes without even thinking about it. When they’re just right, he digs through and hands the most intense one to Steve. “Quiz time, pretty boy.”

Billy’s notes are neat and orderly, the work of someone who’s too good for him in every sense of the word.

Steve tries not to think about it.

When he stumbles over the order of an equation, Billy laughs and for the first time in days, it sounds real.

And then the bell rings.

--

Steve’s not proud of the gut reaction he has when he sees fingers that aren’t his playing with the loose curl that hangs over Billy’s forehead.

And.

He doesn’t own the curl. He’s not liquidating real estate on the island of Billy, he doesn’t own the guy and they aren’t in love, or dating, or fucking, he just. 

Doesn’t like it. 

Hates it, even. 

He wants to wrench those fingers off Billy’s forehead and break all five opposable knuckles before he moves like a storm over the rest of them. But Steve’s gotta wrestle with himself and shine lamp oil on the shadows of who he was with Nancy to figure out if he’s got any right to the way his stomach tries to flip itself like a burnt pancake.

He doesn’t.

Billy’s not leaning into the touch. 

He’s digging through his locker. He’s late for class, probably, because the bell rings again and suddenly he’s smacking that hand away with a snippy little, “Wilson’s gonna have my balls if I’m late again,” and.

And. The owner of the hand that aims to rock Billy props himself against slate gray metal, “You never answered my question,” He mutters, grinning, and Steve knows, like. From down the hall and around the corner that his grin is eating shit.

Billy’s shit.

He’s trying to get Billy’s pants off first, though, if Steve had to put money on it. And if they weren’t in a government building, surrounded by scurrying classmates, Hands would probably be reaching for a pack of smokes right now, or a joint. Something to get Billy loose-limbed and easy to push over.

Steve sympathizes with his masterplan. Almost sends flowers, a little good on you for trying, though I wish you wouldn’t, because the gag is that Billy can’t be swayed. He’s solid and sure as Mount Everest, he’s slow-burning like a field on fire, he’s resolute and strong–

“I don’t owe you shit, not an explanation, not–”

“You could help, anyway.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a good person,” Hands tries, and it’s only then that Steve recognizes who’s trying to rain on his parade. 

Billy slams his locker door. “You wanna keep that hand, Munson?” 

“You’re cute when you get angry.” Through an awful, laughing smirk, the guy says, “C’mon, you’d be doing me a real favor. I’m trying to get that Carver asshole off my back for flirting with his girlfriend.”

Steve holds his breath. Waits for Billy to serve this guy a knife to the gut, but then– “I’ll think about it,” He says.

And It’s worse than anything Steve’s ever felt. 

At the doctor’s office. On the court. With Nancy. It’s papercuts and the cold, trickling fear of crashing his father’s car into the side of a building. Steve dies a thousand, million, trillion deaths. He doesn’t want Billy to put his beautiful, brilliant mind to anything that isn’t school and his future, and Steve. 

Doesn’t want him to think about Eddie Munson or anyone else.

God, it’s pathetic.

“You’ll think about it?” Eddie wonders, “That’s all.”

“Yep, that’s all.”

“Well, I need to know by Thursday if I’ve gotta borrow my uncle’s suit.”

The dance. 

Steve ducks farther behind Hawkin’s least favorite vending machine and strains to hear Billy’s response. They’ll be alone, once everyone stops scrambling into the doorway of their next class, and Steve wants to determine if he should name Robin as executor of his estate before the weekend.

The warning bell sounds, a million doors slamming in succession until the hallway is silent. Cavernous and peaceful enough that Steve hears the shuffle of footsteps.

“You’re pushy for someone so desperate,” Billy snips, but.

He’s smiling.

Even if Steve was completely off his rocker he’d know the spread of Billy’s lips. 

–

“Read that one again.”

Steve swallows, “According to the passage, the family’s life in the suburbs is described as–”

“Not the question.”

Steve looks up, confused. “If I’m not reading the question–”

“Read the passage again,” Billy determines, chewing on his thumbnail, “The whole thing.”

They’ve been going at it for hours. Steve’s exhausted, and his ass hurts from sitting on the floor of his bedroom since the sun was still high in the sky, and his heart hurts from–

Billy frowns at him, knocking Steve into gear. “The whole thing?” Steve asks dumbly, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. I’m not understanding the global and command of evidence.”

Steve’s head hurts, too. Aches. He needs a goddamn thesaurus to get through this and it’s not even his SAT exam. He leans against one palm, comforted by the weight of such a thick book in his lap. 

“I’m not understanding it, either.”

“You don’t have to,” Billy says, “You’re not taking the test.”

“Maybe we could have a break?”

“And do what?” Billy shoots back. 

“I dunno,” Steve says, “Wanna make out a little?”

Billy’s cheeks flare bright pink. “You’re an idiot,” He grumbles, not believing it.

And why would he?

In all the months that they’ve been friends, Steve’s never said something like that and meant it. At least not in Billy’s eyes. With Steve, everything’s always one big joke. He never takes anything seriously and that’s probably why Billy’s going to the dance with Eddie fucking Munson, of all people–

Billy slaps his notebook onto the carpet, eyes disappearing so he can scrub at his cheeks and forehead.

He always does that when he’s overwhelmed. 

Steve wishes for better. He imagines all the words and graphs and statistics melting into Billy’s freckles like sunscreen. He pictures peace, exhaling into the dim, warm light of the room when Billy takes a moment to himself.

Steve considers telling the truth for one crazy, desperate moment.

That he wants to kiss Billy. Has wanted to kiss Billy for months, probably a whole year but he was always too afraid–

“I’ll be so happy when this shit is over,” Billy starts lightly. Billy leans against the wall, his curls fanning out around him. Steve gets lost on the slope of his neck, hypnotized by the bob of Billy’s Adam’s Apple when he swallows, “Listen–”

“No. I’m not gonna listen to you talk mean about yourself.”

Billy watches him through thick, heavy eyelashes. “You didn’t even hear what I was gonna say, Harrington.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says lightly. He doesn’t admit that he’d do anything Billy asked, anything he wanted. “I know you. And if you’re going to tell me it’s pointless to help you study because you’re not going anywhere in life, you’re wrong. You can forget it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve determines. “I’ve heard your shitty self-deprecating pitch before and I don’t buy a word.”

Billy stares at him for a long, tense moment–

And then he smiles. 

And it’s like the sun has burned a hole through the roof and tucked itself on the floor for safekeeping. It’s like fountains of gold have erupted from the floorboards, and angels have taken up their cherub song.

“Got a little fire in you today, Harrington,” Billy says. 

He likes it. He’s impressed. 

“Yeah well. It’s been a shitty day.”

“Oh, sure, the day you helped me study before school and at lunch and–”

“It’s not that.”

Billy smirks, “Then what’s inspired the raging war, pretty boy?”

Steve picks at the carpet, avoiding Billy’s eyes. For months he’s wondered if Billy means it. Pretty boy, rolling like salted waves from his tongue to get Steve’s emotions sticking like hair in his eyes.

He can’t help but imagine that old nickname pinned to someone else, sticking like a nametag to Munson’s suit jacket. Hello my name is…prettier than Steve Harrington. 

Steve can’t even find it within himself to disagree. Eddie Munson’s a cute guy. He’s got that whole bad boy thing, chipped black nails, big brown eyes, and a wallet chain hanging from his back pocket alongside a handkerchief Robin once wrinkled her nose at. When Steve asked her to explain it to him, she said he wouldn’t get it.

That’s probably true.

Steve doesn’t understand most things. Anything, really. But he understands that on paper, Munson’s probably Billy’s type.

If Billy had a type.

If Billy was–

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet,” Billy chuckles.  

Big enough to crawl in, Steve thinks. Big enough to block out the sky, to hold all my thoughts, to live in forever and ever and–

“Where are you?” Billy’s foot knocks against Steve’s thigh, rocking him gently like a boat at sea. 

Steve shrugs. “Lost.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Means I’m thinking.”

“You can do that?” Billy teases. When Steve doesn’t laugh, when he doesn’t smile or do anything other than sit like a bump on a log that’s planning itself a funeral, Billy leans forward. “Tell me what’s wrong, Harrington.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll laugh at me,” Steve says, you’ll hate me. Never speak to me again. You’ll run away with Eddie Munson and marry him and you’ll live a short, happy, vibrant life somewhere I can’t feel you. “You’ll think it’s a joke. Or worse, you’ll–” 

“God, I hate it when you decide shit for me.”

“I’m not–”

“Y’know, back when we first started this thing you kept me out of my head,” Billy admits. “You kept me active. The leash was fuckin’ short. Still is.” 

His fingers twitch against his thigh. Steve knows if it weren’t for Mrs. Harrington and the fact that she loves Billy and expects the best from him, he’d probably be smoking a cigarette even though he’s made a habit of swearing off everything that’s not good for him.

Steve wants to say Eddie isn’t good for him. That he might seem like it at first, but in time–

Billy kicks him again. Harder. “If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’m gonna kill myself.”

“Jeez, don’t joke about that.”

“You don’t get to decide how I feel about shit, Harrington. You don’t get what i say or how I feel, or–”

“I saw you in the hallway,” Steve blurts, “With what’s his name.”

Billy doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch. “Eddie.”

“Eddie,” Steve says, and it tastes like soap on his tongue, bitter and present and the more he swallows the worse it gets. 

He expects a lot of things to happen at once. Billy may not feel the same that Steve does, but he gets embarrassed easily. Red all over. His embarrassment falls just like his anger, sharp and aggressive, pushing and tugging until Steve’s resolve pops like a party balloon.

Now, though, he’s calm. Eerie. Poised like he’s trying to watch his step around Steve, who can sometimes be a landmine everyone thought was defective.

Somehow that’s worse.

Somehow the knowledge that Billy’s not as clueless about this whole thing as Steve thought, that he’s picked up on every laugh and hidden stare, that he knows Steve is gone on him and still–

“Why do you care about Eddie,” Billy demands. Like he’s genuinely curious. Like he’s got an inclination, too, and he’s gonna make Steve say it, so.

“You’re not going to prom with Eddie Munson.”

The world might as well stop. If they weren’t sitting on the carpet beaches in Steve’s bedroom, he’d get up and leave.

Billy blinks, chest heaving like he’s just run three hundred miles across a mountain range, but he doesn’t open his mouth. He doesn’t pull his eyes away or speak.

Steve holds onto those eyes. He stands his ground. 

Billy jerks into motion, “He didn’t ask me to prom.”

“Fine,” Steve snaps, irritated by the particular nature of this AP, valedictorian, Ivy-League asshole. It’s Steve’s fault for loving a brain, “Fine, not the prom. The fucking Spring Fever–”

“Why are you so upset?”

Steve can’t believe this is happening. 

Everything about this is so high school, so steeped in endings and triviality and of course he’d have to say it right now. With expectant, carefully guarded blue eyes picking him apart. Toes at the edge of the cliff, with nothing to catch him when he falls. 

“I’m upset, because–” Steve tries. 

Billy watches him with eyes like a raging sea, and he’s so beautiful. He’s smart and driven and kind, when he’s not wading through his own head, and Steve’s been trying to swallow it down forever. 

How he feels.

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. “I’m pissed off because I wanted to ask you to the dance.”

Billy frowns. His fingers twitch against his thigh and Steve can almost hear the gears working behind Billy’s curls, clicking and rattling into place. “I don’t understand,” He says.

System failure.

Steve saw that coming, too. “Guessed you didn’t. Why would you? I never–”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Billy rubs a hand over his mouth,  “You wanted to go to the dance with me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why would you want to go to the dance, with. With me?”

“Because I like you,” Steve snaps. “Jesus, Billy. You’re made of a million fucking things to like and I’ve spent so many months counting them, trying to figure out their weight so I can tie my feet to the heaviest one and drown myself,” He runs all ten fingers through his hair, tugging until he feels the sting of it in his toes. “You’re great. You’re the best person I’ve ever known and I just. I love you, okay?”

There, Steve thinks. Asshole.

But the realization of Steve dawns on Billy like the end of the world. He sucks in a sharp, sudden breath, and in a second Steve’s galaxy is on fire.

Billy won’t look at him.

“Billy,” Steve says. Fed up. Mean.

Billy stares at the carpet, lashes clumped with tears, and. He’s gonna cry. Steve’s ruined his last study session before the SATs and Billy’s going to cry–

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Steve slides closer, getting on his knees in front of his shaking, sputtering love, “I didn’t mean to freak you out, I just. I heard that asshole ask you to the dance and I almost lost my mind thinking about what I’d do if you said yes. I didn’t want to blow my last shot at you, Billy–”

“You’re such a dumbass.”

Steve blinks, flinching away. It hurts. He’s bleeding. “I’m sorry,” He says again, like a broken record. “I’m–”

“Munson didn’t ask me to the spring dance either. He wants me to get Heather to take him so Jason Carver stops slashing his van tires.” Billy looks at Steve with water-logged desperation, “I. You love me, Harrington?”

Steve watches a single, heavy tear fall. He nods, chases it with his thumb.

Billy’s breath is warm and sweet against his wrist. “Why’d you think that would be your last shot? You never even took a shot before that, how could it be your last?”

“Because we’ve had, like. A hundred dances this year and I never asked you,” Steve sits, knocking their knees together, “I wanted to ask. Every time, I wanted to run down the hall and kiss–”

Billy eats up whatever was coming next.

He licks into Steve’s mouth. He plants fields of hope, shining bright with the future. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are serious. “I’m going to get a 1350 on this SAT,” Billy says, his fingers gentle on Steve’s jaw, “And then we’re going to the dance.”

Steve kisses him, slow and sweet, and.

It’s a deal. Written in the stars.

--

Harringrove for Turkey commission for the lovely, kind, and talented @keziahrainalso thanks so much for trusting me with your GORGEOUS idea, and I hope what i did with it makes you smile.

All my love,

Jaz