#and well i think my conclusion could use a little more but maybe i should just let it rest for now and focus on my intro

[vriendenboekjes]

thesis stress moment. deleted so much i am now WELL UNDER the required word count 😭😭😭it's fine it's ok because i didnt count the introduction because it's nowhere near finished. if i just have an introduction of almost 2k (technically 1800) it should be fine HELP

[starmocha]

Carrot Cake Zayne + Son | 1257 words | Masterlist | AO3 Zayne and his son are identical in appearance, personality, and mannerism, but there is one thing that baffles Zayne about his son. A/N: Needed a smile today, so I finished a wip that’s been sitting around. ❤️ Another part of my LNDS Men + Their Child series, but circling back to Zayne again. 🥹

“Well, doctor, did we forget anything else?”

Zayne looked down at the little three-year-old boy sitting in the shopping cart. The toddler’s appearance was practically identical to his father minus the hair color. The boy grinned at his father.

“Cake!”

Zayne laughed. The little boy was definitely a mini-him.

“You’re right,” Zayne said thoughtfully, “We shouldn’t forget the cake.”

The boy’s smile slowly disappeared, almost as if he remembered something very important. He furrowed his brows in contemplation, speaking softly, “But Mommy said no cakes…”

Zayne leaned down, his face in front of his son, his smile gentle with a touch of mischievousness.

“Mommy is not here. Daddy is in charge,” Zayne said, his smile widening when his son grinned again. “Now what kind of cake should we get?”

“Carrot cake!”

“Denied.”

He pinched his son’s cheek when the little boy pouted. He sighed with mock-exasperation. “I swear you and your mother are always messing with me.”

“But Daddy…carrot cakes are yummy…”

Zayne raised a brow, feeling doubtful. “Who in their right mind would think to use such an ingredient in a dessert…”

“Mommy likes carrot cakes!” the boy said suddenly, hoping this little tidbit of information could persuade his father to change his mind.

“Does she now?” Zayne smiled in amusement, seeing the boy’s earnest look. He casually resumed pushing the shopping cart through the aisle, absently looking at items after items on the shelves with faux interest.

“Yes!”

“She…or you, doctor?” Zayne paused in front of the condiment aisle and grabbed a bottle of soy sauce. As he turned to put the item into the cart, he met his son’s shy smile.

The boy looked bashful, almost embarrassed, as he answered quietly, “…both?”

Zayne laughed. “Maybe there is some truth in that conclusion,” he murmured, his next comment spoken lower and more to himself, “Your mother did eat a lot of carrots while pregnant with you…”

He continued to push the cart through the grocery store. “I don’t know, doctor, you haven’t been able to convince me why we should buy something so terrible.”

The boy frowned, his face scrunching up thoughtfully as he tried to think of a new convincing argument. He looked absolutely determined in his goal to persuade his father to change his mind about carrot cakes.

Zayne chuckled and continued to move through the aisles casually, taking his leisure time. He absently hummed along to the music playing overhead, occasionally sneaking glances at the quiet toddler. He could see his son was still thinking deeply, his only objective was his pursuit of the elusive carrot cake his father was denying him.

“Ah,” Zayne said suddenly, “Tofu is on sale. We can make mapo tofu tomorrow night for dinner.”

Zayne peeked at his son, still not hearing a response. He picked up two containers of silken tofu and placed them into the cart. He pinched his son’s cheek again. “Are you upset with Daddy now?”

The boy pouted. “…No…”

“That did not sound convincing.” Zayne leaned his face down closer again. “We can get a chocolate cake, a castella cake, strawberry, tiramisu…”

“…Carrot cake…”

Zayne playfully pretended he didn’t hear, and pushed the shopping cart through to the bakery department.

“We should get some sandwich bread for breakfast tomorrow,” Zayne said thoughtfully aloud as he examined the array of choices. “We still have that jar of raspberry jam you like…”

Zayne’s words fell on deaf ears. The little boy gasped, his green-yellow eyes catching sight of the cake display. He immediately zeroed in on the two-tiered carrot cakes. He reached out for his father, tapping Zayne’s hand impatiently.

“Daddy, Daddy, the cake, the cake!”

“Hmm?” Zayne continued to feign ignorance. “Oh, right, Mommy did ask us to pick up some steaks.”

He pushed the cart away, heading to the meat department. The little boy’s mouth hung wide open in shock as they walked further and further away from the bakery department. He looked up at his father, lips quivering, but Zayne continued to keep his sight ahead. The toddler slowly lowered his head, disappointed.

“Daddy…”

“Hmm?”

Zayne looked down, seeing his son was sulking. He smiled softly. “Do you want Daddy to hold you?”

The boy nodded and raised his arms up eagerly. Zayne chuckled. “Alright, alright, I will,” he said as he reached down to unbuckle the seatbelt. He lifted the boy out of his seat, and smiled as his son clung to him. He rubbed the toddler’s head gently. “Let’s hurry and finish shopping. Mommy’s waiting for these ingredients to make dinner.”

Zayne resumed shopping, one arm was carrying his son while his free hand pushed the cart and grabbed items from the shelves. When he was close to being done, he noticed his son had fallen asleep with his head resting on Zayne’s shoulder and his small fingers unconsciously rubbing at the material of his father’s coat. Smiling, Zayne, walked back over to the bakery department. He quietly motioned to the employee, pointing at the cake in the display.

He smiled gratefully as the employee handed him a small cakebox. He quickly finished shopping, paid for everything, and put them away in his car trunk.

Once he had returned the shopping cart to the store, he returned to his car, opening the back door and gently set his sleeping son in his car seat. As he buckled the toddler into his seat, Zayne quietly tapped his son’s shoulder.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” Zayne said softly, smiling at the little boy’s bleary eyes.

“Home?”

Zayne chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet,” he answered. He settled into the backseat and sat next to the child. The boy looked up confused.

“We can’t let Mommy know, alright?” Zayne said, pulling out a small cake box from a paper bag, his smile widening at his son’s bright eyes. “Our little secret, got it?”

The boy nodded eagerly. He gasped quietly when his father revealed the inside of the cake box. “Carrot cake!”

Zayne sighed in baffled amusement. “You look completely like me, but this…quirk…of yours…” He reached in and pulled out a small carrot cupcake, handing it to his son. He grabbed the other cupcake—a chai latte—and held the confection next to his son’s. They tapped the cupcakes together.

“Cheers!” both father and son said simultaneously.

The boy giggled and happily bit into his soft, sweet cupcake. Zayne smiled fondly, pleased to see his son’s smile again.

“You know, eating too many carrots will turn you orange,” Zayne warned teasingly.

“Like Windy Carrot?” the boy asked curiously, eyes growing wide.

“Almost,” Zayne said, laughing.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“…Will you still love me if I turn into a carrot?”

Zayne laughed again. He leaned down, nuzzling his face against his son’s before kissing his cheek. “I will never stop loving you…even if you were a carrot.”

The boy giggled again and turned to kiss his father’s cheek in return.

“I am certain you will be the only carrot I love,” Zayne added as he wiped the cream cheese frosting off his son’s mouth with his thumb. “Can’t leave behind any evidence, remember?”

The boy took the last bite of his cupcake, showing his hands to his father with a wide smile. “All gone! No evidence!”

Zayne finished his own cupcake, laughing. “All gone,” he repeated, “Our little secret from Mommy.”

The boy motioned with his finger over his mouth, shushing quietly. “Secret!”

“Good boy,” Zayne said, kissing the top of his son’s head. “Now let’s get home and help Mommy with dinner.”

[reiderwriter]

♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence. 

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried. 

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly. 

“But I'm not a woman.” 

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again. 

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.” 

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter. 

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down. 

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again. 

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter. 

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise. 

“And your name is?” 

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.” 

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body. 

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?” 

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up. 

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub. 

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could  bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason. 

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest. 

“Good observation, Spencer.” 

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head. 

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor. 

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again. 

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him. 

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that. 

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours. 

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election. 

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace. 

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.” 

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you. 

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together. 

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet. 

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway. 

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him. 

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin. 

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him. 

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-” 

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?” 

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape. 

“I-I'm not a student, and-” 

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.” 

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist. 

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex. 

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you,  desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you. 

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper. 

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him. 

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley. 

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?” 

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him. 

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.” 

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin. 

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation  had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched. 

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him. 

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth  grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust. 

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin. 

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.” 

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving. 

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for. 

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to. 

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him. 

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure. 

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.” 

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier. 

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you. 

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there. 

You weren't. 

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?” 

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today. 

There was always tomorrow. 

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder. 

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there. 

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up. 

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.” 

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words. 

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs. 

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?” 

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely. 

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened. 

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs. 

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head. 

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch. 

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out. 

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug. 

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.” 

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer. 

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.” 

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him. 

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.” 

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal. 

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake. 

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.” 

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts. 

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?” 

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be. 

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?” 

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there. 

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?” 

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct. 

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer. 

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again. 

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning. 

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?” 

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.” 

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest. 

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled. 

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.” 

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again. 

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his. 

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.” 

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?” 

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans. 

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.” 

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit. 

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut. 

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly. 

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.” 

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him. 

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?” 

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue. 

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?” 

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them. 

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth. 

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.” 

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry. 

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again. 

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock. 

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock. 

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so. 

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time. 

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair. 

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.” 

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for. 

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.

(The read-more is definitely necessary, length-wise. I . . . got very into this idea and frankly this is barely a third of it so far, lol.)

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.

"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.

"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.

". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.

Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.

"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."

"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"

"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"

Kon . . . blinks.

"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"

"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."

"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"

"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?

"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."

"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.

Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.

Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .

Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?

Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.

Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.

It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.

But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?

Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.

Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.

Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.

. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.

Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.

Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.

Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.

"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.

"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"

She stares at him.

"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."

"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."

"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"

"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.

"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.

Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.

"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.

"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.

"Definitely not," Kara says.

"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."

"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.

Eh, whatever.

He calls Tim.

"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.

"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."

". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"

"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."

"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."

"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?

Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no metas allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.

. . . then again, Bernard did ask.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"

"Yes," Bernard says.

"Bernard," Tim says.

"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.

"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.

"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"

"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"

"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"

"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."

". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."

"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."

"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.

"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."

"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.

"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."

"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."

"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."

". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."

"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"

"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."

"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.

"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.

"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."

"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.

"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.

"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.

"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."

"Kon!" Kara chokes.

"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"

"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.

"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."

"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"

"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."

"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.

"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."

"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.

"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.

"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."

"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.

"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

Spoilsport.

"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.

"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."

"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.

"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."

"How is that obvious?" Tim says.

"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.

"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"

"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.

"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."

"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."

"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.

"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."

"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely fun.

". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.

"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."

"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.

"You kinda implied–"

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.

So it definitely happened to her, yeah.

"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"

"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.

"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.

"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.

"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."

"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."

"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"

"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.

"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"

"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.

"I'm just asking," he huffs.

"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."

"Right?" Kon says.

"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."

"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"

". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."

"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.

"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.

"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"

"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.

"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."

"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.

"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."

". . . um," Bernard says.

"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."

"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."

"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.

"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"

"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"

"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."

"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"

"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.

"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"

"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."

"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"

"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."

"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.

"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.

"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.

"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.

"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."

"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"

". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.

Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".

"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."

He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.

"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with Robin and your team and even Robin's literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."

"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.

Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?

Definitely best.

[hanihaato]

a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”

[velariscalling]

Morally Grey - An Azriel Imagine

Characters: Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Cassian drags the IC to his new obsession: open mic night at Rita's, and much to his delight, Azriel has been paired up to sing with the Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol, suggestive language.

A/N: My first ever imagine is HERE!! Honestly I've been so nervous to put this out as it's all very new to me, but I really hope you guys enjoy it! I'm really looking forward to see how my writing develops as I post more, but for now, I hope you enjoy my first post! It's just a load of silly fun tbh. And finally, thank you so much to @sarawritestories for helping me out with the ending, you're the best! <3

Soundtrack: 'Morally Grey' by April Jai feat. Nation Haven

Disclaimer: GIF isn't mine - credit to whoever it belongs to.

Rita’s was bustling.

As it always was on a Friday night, really. They probably should have known better than to come on a weekend, but the welcoming vibrancy of the bar was a welcome reprieve from a long week’s work. Y/N took a deep breath as the music hit her, exhaling as she let any remaining stress seep from her body and into the night.

Before she could think too much about the busy days she’s had as of recently, a hand grabbed each of hers - one perfectly manicured, one covered in swirls of black ink - and pulled her in the direction of the bar. Mor flagged down a barman who recognised them immediately - it wasn’t a rare occurrence for the Night Court’s Inner Circle to make an appearance here.

After a moment, she handed her a shot glass filled with bright green liquid. “Bottoms up, you’re gonna need it tonight,” she grinned, already having necked her own. Feyre giggled as Y/N raised a questioning eyebrow at the blonde, throwing back her shot anyway and wincing at the tangy liquid.

“And why is that, exactly?” Y/N cocked her head at her friend, who’s brown eyes danced with excitement.

“Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes playfully, already flagging down the barman for yet another shot, just for herself this time. “You really think Cassian’s going to let us miss out on tonight? He’s been preparing his song with Rhys for days.”

It’s true - Cassian’s favourite night of the week was their newest tradition, open mic night at Rita’s. Four songs, four duos, randomly selected. Or so he says, anyway. He probably matched himself with Rhysand so he could convince him to sing Mysterious Girl together.

Feyre gripped Y/N’s hand from her other side, clearly trying her hardest to hold back a squeal of excitement. “How are you feeling?” She knew that there was more to that question than meets the eye. It wasn’t a secret that Cassian’s little game had paired her up with Azriel, much to his delight.

She put on her mask of indifference that she had mastered over the months of knowing the shadowsinger, refusing to give any details away of her incessant feelings for him that prodded at her constantly. “I am feeling absolutely fine, High Lady,” she smiled, eyes shining, but a scoff from her left interrupted her.

“Please,” Mor drawled, looking at her with a face that said, don’t even try. “You literally can’t fool anyone, especially not us, so drop the act.”

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t mastered her mask as well as she had initially thought, her twin’s nod of agreement cementing that conclusion. “Okay fine, but what do I have to be nervous about? You are all the ones who should be nervous when we out-sing you.” She smirked at them, but they shared a knowing look.

“There it is, changing the subject,” Feyre chuckled, nursing her drink in her hand. Y/N scowled at her, but she could never actually be mad at her. Frankly, she was more irritated by the fact that she knew her so well. “What? Y/N, this is what happens every time we bring him up.”

She opened her mouth to argue, when an arm was slung over her shoulder, and Feyre’s. “Ladies,” Rhysand’s melodic voice sounded over the music as he appeared between the sisters. He nodded at Mor with a grin, who was already on her… third, or fourth shot? Who knows. “Cass will have a temper tantrum if I don’t drag you all over to the stage right now.”

Feyre rolled her eyes with a laugh and allowed her mate to spin her into his arms, and they both made their way over to the Inner Circle’s area of the bar. Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight of them, knowing that her twin, her double in every way, had found her happiness. Mor looped her arm through hers as they walked behind them, her eyes following Y/N’s gaze. “You’ll have that soon, you know.”

Y/N looked over at her. She was so breathtaking, her brown eyes contrasting her golden hair, and her signature red dress hugging her flawless body in all the right places. Any male or female in this room would be lucky to get her, and yet, she didn’t care. Next to her, though, Y/N felt like nothing. As if Mor could sense her thoughts, she squeezed her arm affectionately. “Come on. Tonight’s the night you’re going to show that other side of you- oh don’t give me that look, I know it’s there.”

Y/N huffed, a lighthearted sound, and shook her head softly. “I wish I had your confidence,” She murmured, a dry joke.

“Babe, you’re sexy. When are you going to realise that?” The sheer certainty in Mor’s voice had Y/N raising her eyebrows at her friend, who simply nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “Channel it tonight. I’ll be watching.” She winked, and released her arm as they arrived at their own table right in front of the stage.

Rhys and Feyre had already taken their seats at the centre, High Lord and Lady looking elegant as ever. Cassian sat to Rhys’s right, his excitement akin to a golden retriever, as Amren, who was sat next to him, clearly tried her hardest not to throttle him. Next to Feyre sat Azriel, his looming shadows making the already dark bar appear pitch black in his presence. There were two empty chairs to his left, and finally Nesta sat at the end of the table, clearly trying to make the most of as much peace and quiet as she could get before the night’s shenanigans unfolded. Mor was quick to take the seat next to her, leaving Y/N between her and Azriel. He gave her a short smile as she sat down, ever the emotionless. “Are you ready?”

The low, icy voice of the shadowsinger never failed to take her by surprise. If the living embodiment of darkness could talk, it would sound like him. She looked at him, his hazel eyes glowing even in the darkness, and replied, “Are you?”

Before Azriel could respond, a flute of sparkly champagne slid from Y/N’s left into view. She turned to see Nesta, wordlessly handing her the drink, with grey-blue eyes that told her that she, too, thought she needed an extra little liquid confidence tonight. She noticed Mor biting her lip so hard she looked as though she may explode, and she rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as she turned back to Azriel. To her surprise, it appeared as though a similar grin was tugging on those lips as well.

He merely raised his glass to hers, eyes shining with a grin that he wouldn’t let fully show on his face. She picked up her own glass and clinked it against his, matching his honey gold gaze.

Let the night begin.

It’s safe to say that the performances of the night were… well, entertaining. Cassian was a little too excited dragging Rhys up to perform their number first, giving major boyband energy up on that stage. Feyre was in fits of laughter, but Nesta looked like she wanted to claw her eyes out… but perhaps secretly enjoyed it behind that mask of disgust. Y/N’s two sisters were up next with a rendition of Love Story in which Nesta was surprisingly involved, followed by Amren and Mor’s take on Lady Marmalade, which was frankly the worst thing anyone had ever heard. If the monster lurking beneath Amren’s skin was anything like her singing voice, then Mother help us all.

It wasn’t long before her friends were cheering and whooping as Y/N stood from her seat - the final song. “Get him girl,” Mor whispered as she passed her, Azriel on her heels. She felt the shadows licking at her ankles as she ascended the steps to the stage, gripping the microphone that had been handed to her on the way.

As Azriel situated himself to her left, she stole a quick glance at him. He was looking at the floor, uncharacteristically tense under the gazes of all their friends. It was no secret that Azriel had the most beautiful voice you’d ever heard, a gift from the Cauldron itself, but it occurred to her now that maybe no one else had heard it before. Aside from her, at the couple of short practices they  had done. Even then, she didn’t think he was giving his all.

Y/N faced the front and prepared for the music to play - she was more of a seasoned performer than Azriel. She had played her fair share of gigs around Velaris, a good handful of which on this very stage. If she was showing some confidence, she hoped that it would spark some inside of him. She steeled herself, breathing in deeply as she raised the microphone to her lips, and the music began.

“He’s got gold eyes, crooked smile, knows that he drives me wild,”

She felt the heat of the spotlight on her as she let her voice ring through the bar. It was soft, to begin with, giving the song room to breathe, to build. She looked over at the man she was sharing the stage with, noticing tension already lost from his shoulders at the sound of her voice. His eyebrows were raised ever so slightly, and she knew then that he’d realised how she’d changed the lyrics to fit him, those perfect golden eyes.

“Can’t help myself, no I’m not in denial,”

The smile she sent his way was telling, it spoke a hundred words. But it wasn’t just her grin that conveyed the message she sent: you’re okay, you’re with me, move with me. There was something between them, an invisible thread connecting the two of them, body and soul and mind. Certain thoughts, certain feelings - she could feel his, and he could feel hers. A bond like this had meaning, they both knew this, but neither of them were bold enough to explore it, acknowledge it. Across that bond, she beckoned him: Azriel, you’re with me, and I’m with you… play with me.

“I know he’s no good for me,”

There was a flicker of something in the shadowsinger’s eyes, as if his mind had decided to pull him down an alternative route to the one he was prepared to go down, the one where he’d back out and run. A shadow of a smirk lingered on his lips, as his own shadows danced around him excitedly, egging him on. The weaving tendrils were clearly more than satisfied with the idea that flashed through their master’s mind, whatever images Y/N’s words had conjured up. Azriel, play with me.

“But when he gets down on his knees,”

The spark in his eyes only seemed to brighten as he brought the lyrics to life, sinking slowly down onto his knees before her. The shit-eating smirk he wore on his face in response to her evident surprise could have sent her to her own knees as she beheld him, kneeling, for her. Mother spare her. A quick glance to her right at the others confirmed that they had all had the same reaction she had, and she feared that the bar staff may have to assist in picking their jaws up from the floor. Azriel’s face was challenging, knowing, yet almost the picture of innocence as she felt his response in her mind: You told me to play with you. She sent one word back at him: Bastard.

If he was going to play dirty, so was she.

“He’s so eager to please, knows the right frequencies,”

He reached a hand out as if to touch her - where, she wasn’t sure - but she grabbed it before he could make any contact. Scars felt rough against her soft skin as she walked slowly, teasingly around him and she sang the chorus, her heeled boots tugging her posture upright so her body curved in all the right places. She caught Feyre’s eye as she circled Azriel, still knelt on the floor and looking as though he was more than content to stay there forever. Y/N’s sister looked like her eyes were about to bulge out of her head, her smile growing so big that Y/N thought it would be too big for her face. Next to her, Rhysand simply winked, an encouraging smirk boosting her confidence.

“They say he’s morally grey, what can I say? Grey’s my favourite colour,”

As she made her way back to the front of Azriel’s view, still gripping his hand as he held it upright for her to use, she slowly lowered herself down to a squat in front of him as she sang the line. From this angle, she was now much closer to his face than before, and she noticed the subtle sheen of lust glazing over his eyes. It almost made her lose balance - almost. She brought his hand gently to her lips, placing a chaste kiss onto his marred knuckles, and he took in a sharp breath. Most people flinch when they see his hands, or grimace, or turn away. Not Y/N. No, she thinks Azriel’s scars are part of his story. The backstory to a warrior, a survivor. Scars are not the memory of what happened, but a testament to who you have become.

“Morally grey, what can I say? Grey’s my favourite…”

She rose to her feet, prepared to give Azriel some space to begin his verse, remembering the nerves that clung to him barely a minute ago. As she began to turn, taking the first step away from him, something cold slithered around her ankle, and one around her waist. The shadows pulled her straight back to where she was as the music lowered, and held her in place, as if they knew that hearing his voice would send her to the floor. And Mother above, they knew her well.

“What can I say? No I don’t pray, but for your body, I’ll worship,”

She could have sworn her knees buckled, but she couldn’t tell from the shadows holding her still. Azriel’s voice was like silk, so soft and pure, yet it lit her insides on fire in a way that she’d never felt, burning her up like a beautiful, dying star. If his voice was to be the thing to send her to her death, then so be it. She would die very, very happy. He reached out once again, and this time she did not stop him as he ran his hand up her thigh all the way to her waist from his position on the floor. Even kneeling, his Illyrian frame was intimidatingly large, her body standing not too much taller than his. His eyes watched his hand intently as it traced the curve of her side, as if they didn’t have an audience, one that was most definitely gaping at Azriel’s sudden brazenness.

“Girl don’t be afraid, my love’s a grenade, just be a good girl, you can take it,”

Like an angel rising from the ashes of war, Azriel stood slowly, wings flaring as he rose to his full height. His gaze was already intense when she was the one looking down at him, but now that he was the one towering over her, the darkness in his eyes shot electricity straight through her body and into her core, her head reeling with thoughts so sinful that nothing could save her. His hand on her waist squeezed on the words good girl, and she was forced to bite her lip hard to stop herself from reacting in a way that would later be incredibly embarrassing. His eyes tracked the movement, lingering on her bottom lip as she released it from her teeth with a pop.

“Call me insane but for you, I was made, I’d burn the world down if it’d make you feel safe,”

The fire in Azriel’s eyes blazed as he took one step toward her, and another, and another, closer and closer. The upper hand that Y/N had held up until now had slipped, yielding step after step backward, her control completely faltering. She had always known that doing this with Azriel would likely create some… tension between the two of them, and he must have known, but Cauldron, this was unlike anything she had ever expected. Azriel was so close that she felt his body heat, felt her face warming, likely for everyone to see under the harsh glare of the spotlights.

“It’s you that I crave, and nothing compares to your taste,”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel like Azriel meant every single word he was singing. No, he didn’t write the lyrics himself of course, but the way his eyes burned with such feeling, and… what looked to be desperation, told her there was much more to this than meets the eye. And Gods… the way his voice cracked ever so slightly with a primal need as those final words left his mouth had her praying to whatever higher powers she could to forgive her for the damning shivers he was sending straight to the very heart of that taste he craved so badly.

As the chorus rolled around once more, their voices finally blended as one, and nothing had ever sounded so right. Azriel’s shadows danced freely around the two of them, creating a tornado of darkness, of intimacy, where they were right in the eye of the storm. The song continued, and the pull between the two of them was magnetic, almost hypnotic as they completely forgot about the audience they had; their family who were most definitely gaping like fish out of water. Y/N could feel Azriel’s warm breath on her face as he sang, his angelic voice whispering less-than-angelic promises that only she could hear in the way it trembled.

Y/N honestly didn’t think that Azriel could get any closer - what she failed to consider was that the shadowsinger was in so deep that he wasn’t planning on stopping until there was absolutely no space left between them. As the song once again softened, Azriel took his chance and leaned impossibly closer, abandoning his vocals in favour of a different use of that mouth. Y/N inhaled sharply as Azriel’s lips brushed against hers, gently, experimentally. Some instinctive part of her that knew this was right pushed her forward to press her lips a little harsher against his, earning a shiver from the shadowsinger. She heard a soft rustle coming from behind him as his wings twitched from the anticipation.

As he pulled away, Azriel heard a shaky exhale escape her lips, caused only by the feeling of him, the heat of two bodies pressed close together, the rush of meeting the lips of the person who, deep down, you know is made for you. Your partner. Your mate. That shiver he elicited from Y/N was the final straw - the last thing he needed to cement his plans for the night. His face still inches from hers, he whispered with a voice so low he wasn’t sure it had even come from him, “You’re mine tonight.”

One moment, the IC were watching dumbfounded at the scene playing out in front of them, some wondering if they really should be averting their eyes (apart from Cassian, who sat with a shit-eating grin on his face). The next moment, the stage was empty, a whisper of shadows the only thing left standing in their wake. Azriel had disappeared in a flash, winnowed to who knows where, taking Y/N with him.

“Goddamn, Az,” Rhys chuckled into his drink after a beat of shocked silence. “Nicely done.”

“No! But they didn’t even finish their song!” Cassian pouted, gesturing wildly at the empty stage as the music still played from the speakers.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s their priority right now, Cass,” Mor giggled, practically vibrating from excitement and pride, exploding with glee at what had taken place since her little pep talk earlier.

Rhys set his glass down on the table in favour of throwing an arm over the top of Feyre’s chair. “It’s about time those two did something about the obvious, right?”

As Feyre’s eyes sparkled with delight for her twin, she giggled at his words, overjoyed at the knowledge that Y/N may at last feel the happiness of having a mate. A partner for all eternity.  “Yeah… finally.”

[steveseddie]

my heart burns there too

steddie | rating: t | wc: 4,7k | cw: none | tags: misunderstandings, light angst, pining, eddie jumps into some crazy ass conclusions, but it’s all good in the end

for @steddie-spooktober day eight, prompt “bonfire”

read on ao3 here

The bonfire is Robin’s idea, but Steve is who extends the invitation to Eddie when he stops by Family Video one day.

“A bonfire? Won’t that get us arrested?” He asks, leaning on the counter and watching Steve operate the tape rewinder with a bored expression.

“Nah, man,” Steve says with a shrug. “Hopper is Chief again and you’d be surprised by how easy it is to get him off your back if you play the ‘I fought monsters with your kid’ card.”

Eddie lets out a snort. “Wish I had that all those times that he picked me up for dealing.”

Steve sniggers. The tape rewinder makes a loud clicking sound, signaling that it’s finished, and Steve removes the tape, putting it back in its case before rewinding a new one. “So are you in?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, never one to turn down the opportunity to spend time with Steve— and Robin, of course. “But I’m not holding hands with you and Buckley and singing Kumbaya.”

For some reason, that makes Steve blush. He ducks his head, fiddling with another tape. “Um, well, it’s not just us, Nance is coming too.”

Ah, Eddie thinks, now the blush makes more sense.

He tries not to let his disappointment show. He doesn’t want Steve to think he has anything against Nancy because the truth is that he doesn’t. Nancy is great— she’s nice, she’s smart and she’s fucking badass. He wasn’t lying during that Spring Break from Hell when he told Steve that he should win her back, Wheeler is a fucking catch. Even Eddie, gay as fuck as he is, can see it.

Only now things are different. Not the fact that Nancy is a catch, she still is. But now she’s single, and she and Steve have been inseparable since she ended things with Jonathan.

Oh, and now Eddie is stupidly and hopelessly in love with Steve so he’s just waiting for the day when they finally announce that they’re back together and break Eddie’s heart.

He doesn’t know what they’re waiting for and he kinda wishes they would just get the fuck on with it. At least then, Eddie could stomp down any hope of anything ever happening between him and Steve. Right now they’re in a weird limbo where some days Eddie will catch Steve’s gaze flickering down to his lips or he’ll feel his touches linger a little too long and he’ll think maybe, but then he’ll walk into Steve’s kitchen to find Nancy and Steve whispering with their heads pushed together only for them to break apart and go quiet the moment they see him or he’ll try to make plans with Steve only to watch him fumble for an excuse before admitting he’s hanging out with Nancy. And every time his heart shatters a little, so better to just rip the bandage off once and for all.

“Eds?”

Steve’s voice snaps Eddie out of his thoughts and he realizes that he fell uncharacteristically quiet at the mention of Nancy. So much for acting like he doesn’t have a problem with her. Goddammit.

He plasters a smile on his face. “Wheeler is coming, you say? Great! The more the merrier!” He says, hoping it sounds convincing enough. “Should I bring something? Lighter fluid? Marshmallows? Child sacrifices?”

A woman standing to the side of the counter, letting the kid in her arms pick something from the candy display gasps audibly, scowling at Eddie and switching the toddler from one arm to the other, further away from him.

Whoops.

Steve gives him a look— why are you like this? it says. Eddie shrugs.

“Just bring drinks, okay?” Steve whispers to him after giving the woman a placating smile.

“Sure thing, big boy,” he says, delighting in the baffled little pout Steve makes every time Eddie calls him that. “Anything else?”

“Well,” Steve purses his lips, thinking. “I’ve got everything we need for the bonfire, Rob is bringing the music and Nance is in charge of the snacks.”

“Tell her I want s’mores.”

“She’s way ahead of you, man,” Steve says with a chuckle. Eddie’s eye twitches— of course perfect Nancy already picked the perfect snacks.

Nancy isn’t your problem, Eddie reminds himself, the problem is that Steve’s straight and still hung up on his ex-girlfriend, and frankly, out of your league.

He sighs. “Sweet, I’ll see you and the ladies on Friday then.”

“Oh, you’re leaving already?” Steve asks, sounding almost disappointed. Other than the woman and her child, the store is empty and has been for the entire time Eddie has been here. He’s probably dreading being alone for the rest of a slow shift.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says, “I promised Red I’d drive her to the skatepark and if I’m late to pick her up, she’ll beat me to death with her skateboard and I’m too pretty to die.”

Steve smiles at him, that little lopsided smile that Eddie likes to believe is reserved just for him. He’s never seen him smile like that at anyone else— fond, amused, endeared. “Yeah, you are,” he says and winks.

Eddie’s breath hitches, his traitorous heart thinks maybe but his brain stomps down that hope real quick.

“Careful, Stevie, or Wheeler might get jealous,” he jokes but it doesn’t come out as lighthearted as he wishes.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow but before he can say anything else, a group of kids comes barrelling through the door followed by an exhausted parent and they all walk up to the counter to ask Steve for recommendations for their movie night.

Eddie quietly slips away from the counter, giving Steve a lazy salute and getting a finger wiggle in return before the kids loudly demand his attention.

Six little nuggets, Eddie thinks, recalling a conversation between Steve and Nancy that he wasn’t supposed to hear.

His heart breaks a little more. He wonders how long it’ll take before it shatters completely.

***

To no one’s surprise, Eddie is the last one to arrive at the bonfire.

He parks his van between Steve’s car and Nancy’s station wagon at the spot Steve circled on a map when he gave Eddie directions. After swinging his guitar over his shoulder and grabbing the cooler filled with sodas and beer, he follows the smell of smoke and the sound of Buckley’s boombox through the woods.

He spots Robin first— feeding dry leaves and twigs into the fire and singing along to some pop song Eddie doesn’t recognize.

Eddie whistles appreciatively. “That’s one impressive fire, Birdie!”

Robin jumps, dropping the leaves and the twigs to the ground with a startled yelp. When she spots Eddie, her face breaks into a big grin and she clumsily steps over the logs arranged around the bonfire to hug him as best as she can with the cooler between them and Eddie’s guitar on his back.

“You made it! And you brought your guitar!” She says, bouncing on her feet with excitement.

“Yup, there’s no way I’m letting you make my ears bleed by listening to pop tunes all night,” he teases and gets a light punch on his arm for it.

“I didn’t know you could play metal with just an acoustic.”

“Metal isn’t all I know, Birdie, I have hidden depths,” he says, thinking about all the country and folk songs he knows thanks to Wayne.

Robin cackles. “Sure you do, Munson.”

He sticks his tongue out at her and then glances around, looking for Steve and Nancy but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“They’re picking up more wood,” Robin says when she notices him looking. “They should be back soon.”

Unless they got distracted making out, Eddie thinks, biting down on his tongue to not let the bitter comment slip past his lips.

As if on cue, they hear leaves rustling and then Nancy and Steve step out from the treeline. Steve is carrying the wood and Eddie gets to enjoy the way his biceps bulge from the weight before his eyes zero in on Nancy’s tiny hand wrapped around Steve’s arm. They’re in deep conversation, Steve listening intently and nodding as Nancy speaks to him with a soft voice, her hand never leaving his arm. They don’t even notice he’s there until Robin points it out.

“Hey! Look who’s here!” She says, oblivious to the downward turn of Eddie’s mouth.

Both Nancy and Steve’s heads snap in their direction and Eddie tries really hard to school his features into something casual and less green-eyed monster.

Nancy’s hand falls from Steve’s arm and the pile of wood he’s carrying falters a little before Steve hoists it up again, biceps flexing. Eddie tears his eyes from his arms to look at his face, expecting him to look like he just spent the last ten minutes making out with Nancy or like he just got caught red-handed but instead, he’s grinning widely at Eddie, eyes twinkling under the moonlight.

“Hey, Eds!” He says, attempting to wave with his elbow but giving up when a piece of wood falls to the ground, his cheeks pinking up in embarrassment. “Shit, Nance, can you—” he starts but Nancy is already picking it up and placing it back on the top of the pile. “Thanks.”

Eddie carelessly drops the cooler in front of him. “Hey, Stevie. Hey, Wheeler,” he says, sweeping down in an over dramatic bow. “I come bearing drinks.”

Robin whoops, throwing the lid open and grabbing a wine cooler while Nancy picks up a beer.

Steve forgoes the cooler, dropping the wood on the ground next to it and walking around it to pull Eddie into a hug.

It takes him a little by surprise but he recovers quickly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers against Steve's neck, feeling him shudder, probably from the cold. He's only wearing a polo shirt, and despite the fire burning next to them, Eddie feels a slight chill in the air even though his jacket. “You smell like smoke.”

Steve snorts. “Oh, so I smell like you?”

It’s Eddie’s turn to shudder as his brain provides a handful of other reasons why Steve would smell like him. He tells his lizard brain to cool it and pulls back. “Yup, exactly! And you should know the smell is a bitch to get rid of.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Steve says, shrugging. With a wink, he adds, “I like it.”

Which to Eddie sounds flirty and a lot like ‘I like the way you smell’ and it takes his brain a moment to recover from that, but he does it just in time to catch the beer Steve tosses at him, even if he fumbles with it at first.

“You did a good job with the fire, Stevie,” he says, expertly popping the bottle open and gulping half of it down.

He catches Steve watching his throat as he drinks and the way he gives a little shake of his head before glancing at the bonfire. “You only say that because you didn’t see my first two failed attempts,” he chuckles. “It was actually Nancy who got it going.”

Eddie’s grip on the bottle tightens. “What would we do without her?” He says, voice a little clipped.

Steve’s smile falters but luckily doesn’t ask what Eddie’s problem is. “So are you gonna play for us?” He asks instead, gesturing at the guitar still hanging from his shoulder.

“Not just yet, Stevie. I was promised snacks, I’m hungry.”

“Me too!” Robin jumps in.

“Oh, the snacks are in the car,” Nancy says, digging through her bag for the keys. “I’ll go get them!”

“It’s okay, Nance. Eddie and I can go,” Steve volunteers, and with a secretive smile, Nancy tosses him the keys.

“Don’t forget you gotta—”

“Jiggle the key to open the trunk, I know,” Steve finishes with a smirk.

Eddie doesn’t realize he’s pouting until Steve points it out. Luckily he thinks it’s because he volunteered Eddie to get the snack too, and not because Steve is finishing Nancy’s sentences. “Stop pouting, Eds, it’s not that far.”

“You only say that because you didn’t have to carry a cooler and a guitar all the way here,” Eddie responds snarkily before setting his beer down on the ground and falling into step next to Steve.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting this time,” Steve smirks.

Eddie squeezes Steve’s arm, feeling the taut muscle underneath. “Seems like you already have, big boy,” he says, his voice coming out lower and flirty now that they left Nancy at the bonfire.

With an undignified yelp, Steve trips over something and Eddie, who hadn’t let go of his arm yet, tightens his grip to keep him on his feet.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Eddie says and Steve curses under his breath. Maybe his foot got caught on a root and he hurt himself— it’s hard to see the ground when all they have is the moonlight filtering through the trees. “You okay?”

“Yup, yeah, thanks, man,” Steve stammers out, giving Eddie a tight smile. “Come on, we don’t want to keep Robin waiting, you know how she gets when she’s hungry.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh yeah, I know. I still have her bite mark on my fucking arm,” he says, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket to point out the fading bruise from their last movie night when the pizza was taking too long to get there and Buckley decided to chump on his arm. “As if getting chumped on by demobats wasn’t enough!”

Steve sniggers. His eyes sparkle with something when he says, “Don’t think I can blame her for wanting a piece of you, though,” matching Eddie’s tone from before— low and flirty.

Eddie’s eyes widen, he stops looking at where he’s going to gawk at Steve and trips on a rock. With no one grabbing his arm, he goes down, landing on his hands and knees.

“Motherfucker,” he curses, his face burning with embarrassment.

“Christ, Eddie,” Steve mutters, hurrying to help him up.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he laments with a chuckle, brushing off dirt from his pants and his hands.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly and then Eddie feels hands cupping his cheeks and tilting his head up until he meets Steve’s eyes. “You didn’t hit your head?”

Eddie shakes his head no, but the truth is he isn’t exactly sure— maybe he hit his head and now he’s hallucinating how close their faces are or how Steve’s eyes linger a little too long on his lips as they dart over his face, looking for any sign that Eddie hurt himself.

“Um,” Eddie clears his throat which feels a little dry. “We should get those snacks before the girls send a search party after us.”

Steve nods, and after letting his right thumb brush over Eddie’s cheekbone once, he drops his hands from his face.

Heat builds up on Eddie’s face, making his cheeks burn hotter than the bonfire.

They stay like that all the way to Nancy’s car.

***

Back at the bonfire, Robin snatches the marshmallows from Eddie’s arms. “What took you guys so long?” She asks, ripping the bag open and unceremoniously shoving one into her mouth.

“Gee, and they call me feral!” Eddie says and is rewarded by Robin hitting him with the bag of giant marshmallows. It doesn’t hurt, they’re marshmallows, but Eddie is nothing if not dramatic.

He grabs his arm where she hit him and falls to his knees, as if wounded. “This is what I get for braving the woods at night for your snacks, Lady Buckley? The nerve, the ungratefulness! I shall never recover!”

Robin lets out a giggly snort. She offers him a marshmallow on a stick for him to roast as an apology which he graciously accepts.

When he looks up, he finds Steve looking down at him with an amused expression. “Why do you insist on dropping to your knees in the middle of the woods? Your jeans are ripped enough as it is!”

Eddie’s mouth acts faster than his brain, leering at Steve as he says, “You don't like how I look on my knees, sweetheart?”

Steve’s eyes widen almost comically, his cheeks flaring an alarming shade of red. Eddie doesn’t get to enjoy the sight of a flustered Steve for long, his head snapping to his right when there’s a loud gasp that doesn’t come from either of them.

His eyes meet Nancy’s wide ones as they dart from Steve to Eddie to Eddie’s knees and back at Steve, her lips mouthing a silent, “Oh.”

Oh? Eddie thinks, ‘Oh’ what?

She can’t possibly mean— even if Steve said this isn’t the first time Eddie drops to his knees tonight, she can’t possibly think— oh Christ, does she?

Eddie is about to blurt out something along the lines of, ‘I didn’t blow your secret boyfriend in the woods, I just wish I did’ when Nancy’s eyes meet Steve’s and out of the corner of his eye, Eddie sees Steve firmly shake his head. That seems to be enough for Nancy, whose shocked expression melts away as she stands up and joins Robin where she’s roasting her marshmallow.

Eddie sits back on his heels with a sigh.

“You okay?” Steve asks, knocking his Nike against Eddie’s leg.

No, your girlfriend just thought you cheated on her with me! Eddie wants to say. “Yup, come on, let’s make some s’mores,” he says instead, pushing himself off the ground to go sit on one of the logs arranged around the bonfire.

He expects Steve to sit with Nancy, to appease her further but he sits next to Eddie, leaving no space between them despite there being plenty of room.

Eddie doesn’t mind, he loves having Steve close. Still, he can’t help but send surreptitious glances at Nancy every once in a while, averting his eyes when he finds her staring right back a few times.

He stops glancing at her when he gets distracted by Steve eating his s’mores— more specifically by him messily licking his lips and fingers clean. Not even his own marshmallow catching on fire can make Eddie tear his gaze away from Steve’s tongue lapping at the melted chocolate on his fingers, not until Robin screeches and points at the blackened little thing at the end of Eddie’s stick.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie curses as he pulls it out of the fire to blow on it, extinguishing the flames. Next to him, Steve laughs, lips stretched in a smug smile that it’s a little too knowing.

Holding the stick between his legs, Eddie squeezes the marshmallow between the crackers and the chocolate before taking a bite. There’s a slight burnt taste to it but it’s still good, so Eddie eats it enthusiastically.

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him as he does and he considers putting on a show like he did— licking and sucking on his fingers in an obscene way. But before he can, Steve is reaching out and wiping chocolate from Eddie’s bottom lip with his thumb.

Eddie’s breath hitches, his eyes widening.

Red blooms on Steve’s cheeks and he drops his hand to his lap. “Uh, you had chocolate on your lip.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” Eddie mumbles. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna��� I need a beer.”

He scrambles to his feet, stepping over Steve to get to the cooler. He nearly drops the beer when he looks up and finds Nancy staring at him, lips pursed and a tiny frown between her eyebrows.

Did she see Steve do that? Is she mad? Eddie wonders, averting his eyes and staring at the flames instead.

And more importantly— what the fuck is Steve playing at?

***

Eddie finally gets his answer about an hour later.

The four of them are sitting around the bonfire, drinking beer and talking about everything and nothing. Robin and Nancy are sharing a blanket they grabbed from Steve’s trunk because, despite the fire that’s still burning, the air has only turned colder as the night goes on. Eddie is sharing a log with Steve— or he was until Steve stood up to put on his Members Only jacket and sat down on the ground instead, leaning against Eddie’s leg.

Eddie didn’t question it at first, assuming that Steve wanted to be closer to the fire while still leeching some of Eddie’s body heat, which is fine by him. But then Steve wrapped his arm around Eddie’s calf and dropped his head on Eddie’s thigh, essentially cuddling Eddie’s leg.

That’s also fine with Eddie. At least until Steve’s hand starts rubbing up and down Eddie’s leg, his fingers occasionally coming in contact with bare skin where his jeans ride up and his sock rides down while, at the same time, his hair is tickling Eddie’s skin through the rips in his jeans.

He reaches for Steve’s hair, intending to move it away from his leg but the moment his fingers touch the strands, Steve shudders and melts under the touch. Eddie doesn’t have the heart to push Steve’s head away so he ends up playing with his hair instead, brushing his fingers through the strands.

It’s maddening. All of it— Steve’s head on his lap, his fingers in Steve’s hair and the small noises it drags from him, Steve’s fingers playing with his ankle bracelet and his wiry leg hairs.

Suddenly, Eddie feels hot all over, and it has nothing to do with the flames bathing them in red and yellow and orange. And when Steve tilts his head and kisses Eddie’s knee it feels as if he might burst into flames.

But when he looks up and finds Nancy staring at them with what can only be described as a scowl —a jealous scowl— it’s like being hit in the face with cold water. Cold water and a realization. The realization that Steve might be doing all this to make Nancy jealous.

Eddie doesn’t know why exactly. Maybe he’s ready to go public with their relationship and he’s trying to bait Nancy into accepting. Maybe he’s getting back at her for whatever happened with Jonathan when she was still dating Steve. Maybe it’s just a weird fucking kind of foreplay.

It doesn’t matter what it is, Eddie knows he doesn’t want to be a part of it.

So he pulls his hand away from Steve’s hair, and as carefully as he can, jerks his leg free.

Steve turns his head, looking up at Eddie with big confused eyes. “You okay, Eds?”

“I, um. I need to smoke,” he lies, scrambling to his feet.

Steve looks even more confused at that. “You can do it here, you know? We literally all smell like smoke already,” he says with a chuckle.

But Eddie shakes his head. “No, I- I gotta go, sorry, Steve,” he stammers out, tripping on the log as he hastily heads back to the van.

Without stopping, he digs a cigarette and hiz Zippo from his jacket, lighting it up as he walks. He hears Steve call out for him once, twice then nothing. Eddie pretends it doesn’t hurt that he didn’t come after him but he’s got Nancy, so why would he?

“Goddammit,” Eddie curses, running his hands through his hair with a frustrated groan, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

It falls on the ground when Eddie lets out a strangled scream as Steve materializes out of fucking nowhere.

He hurriedly snuffs it out as he tries to get his heartbeat under control. “The bonfire wasn’t enough, Harrington?” He scoffs. “Are you trying to get me to start a real fire sneaking up on me like that?”

“I didn’t sneak up. I was calling for you.”

Oh. Eddie might’ve missed that from the blood rushing through his ears. “What do you want?”

“Why are you leaving? What happened?” When Eddie doesn’t answer, Steve’s face scrunches up. “Did I do something?”

Whatever Eddie’s face does at that is answer enough and Steve’s shoulders slump. “Shit, was that too much— I’m sorry, Eddie, I thought—”

“That you could use me to make your girlfriend jealous? Yeah, well, a heads up would’ve been nice,” Eddie says bitterly.

Steve jerks his head back as if he’s been slapped. “What?”

“I’m just saying that I probably would’ve said yes if you asked. At least then I wouldn’t have gotten my hopes up, y’know?”

“I- I don’t know, Eddie, what are you talking about?”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie asks, “You were trying to make Nancy jealous by being all over me, yeah?”

Steve splutters. “Uh, no?”

Eddie frowns. “So what? You guys are in an open relationship or something?”

“We’re not in any kind of relationship!” Steve says, his voice loud and hysterical at this point.

“Please!” Eddie scoffs. “You two have been inseparable since she and Jonathan broke up! It’s obvious you’re back together!”

“We’re not, Eddie, we’re friends! Yeah, we’re closer than we were before but that’s just because—” he hesitates.

“Because?” Eddie prompts with an impatient hand gesture.

Steve sighs, glances over his shoulder to where Nancy and Robin are and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, what the hell!” He says to himself. “We got closer because we both realized we have a crush on our best friend.”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “Buckley?”

“No,” Steve says, dragging a hand down his face. “Well, Nancy does. She has a crush on Robin and I hope she’s telling her right now and that she won’t care that I just outed her to you—” His eyes meet Eddie’s and they’re open, vulnerable, hopeful. “But no, I don’t have a crush on Robin, Eddie, I have a crush on you.”

Eddie blinks. Then he blinks again. Then he pinches his arm hard but the world doesn’t fade away, he doesn’t wake up, he’s not dreaming. This is happening.

“Me?” He asks in a small voice. Steve nods. “So all of that— you weren’t making Nancy jealous you were—”

“Making a move on you, yeah,” Steve admits shyly, hanging a hand from his neck.

“Oh,” he says as he recontextualizes everything that has happened in the last couple of hours— hell, in the last couple of weeks. “Oh,” he repeats. “For what it’s worth it would’ve worked. If I wasn’t, you know, an idiot.”

Steve chuckles softly. “Well, good to know.”

Eddie bites his lip and goes on, a little nervous. “Yeah, and since I’m not an idiot anymore, if you wanted to like, make another move right now, I wouldn’t storm off or yell at you or—”

Eddie’s words are cut off by Steve making his move, which consists of him cupping Eddie’s cheeks, guiding his face to his and catching Eddie’s lips in a kiss.

Eddie stands frozen only for a split second before he loops his arms over Steve’s shoulders and kisses him back, feeling a fire bigger than any bonfire they could’ve built blaze wildly in his chest.

Steve dragging his teeth across his bottom lip only fuels the fire and causes Eddie to make a punched-out groaning sound that Steve chases with his tongue, deepening the kiss in a way that makes Eddie’s knees so weak they threaten to give out.

Before they do, causing Eddie to fall on them for a third time that night, Steve slows the kiss down to a full stop, ending it by nuzzling their noses together.

“You still are by the way,” Steve says.

“Huh?”

“An idiot,” he says, kissing the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “I can’t believe you thought I’d use you to make Nancy jealous!”

Eddie groans, dropping his head on Steve’s shoulder, embarrassed. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”

Steve wraps his arms around him, kissing his hair. “Nope.”

“Yeah, I deserve that,” he says, nuzzling Steve’s neck. He jerks his head back as he thinks of something— “Wait, if Nancy wasn’t jealous then what’s with all the scowls and the glares?”

“Oh, she was jealous. Of me. For making a move on you while all she did was share a blanket with Robin,” Steve says with a laugh.

And Eddie can’t help but giggle at how ridiculous this all is. “Should we make her jealous a little more?” He asks, grabbing Steve’s hand with a wicked grin.

Steve nods, intertwining their fingers together and letting Eddie drag him back towards the bonfire.

***

They find Robin and Nancy making out next to what’s left of the fire, wrapped up in the blanket and each other. Quietly, they make their way back to the cars, climbing into the back of Eddie’s van, kissing until the sun comes up.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM GHOSTBUSTERS (1984) *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary. who ya gonna call?

i want you to concentrate.

you can't see these, can you?

i'm getting a little tired of this!

what are you trying to prove here, anyway?

will you excuse me for a second?

we're close on this one. i can feel it.

you are a legitimate phenomenon.

this is big, [name], this is very big. there is definitely something here.

that would have worked if you hadn't stopped me.

i hope we can clear this up quickly and quietly.

back off, man. i'm a scientist.

listen! do you smell something?

this happened to you before?

could you come over here and talk to me for a second, please?

one of us should actually try to speak to it.

i'm gonna take back some of the things i've said about you.

the possibilities are limitless!

this is preposterous. i demand an explanation.

your methods are sloppy and your conclusions are highly questionable.

you don't know what it's like out there.

for whatever reasons... call it fate, call it luck, call it karma, i believe that everything happens for a reason.

where are we going to get the money?

i think this building should be condemned.

hey, does this pole still work?

wow, this place is great. when can we move in?

you gotta try this pole.

hey, we should stay here tonight! sleep here! you know, try it out!

you wanna come in for a mineral water or something?

are you troubled by strange noises in the night?

have you or any of your family ever seen a spook, specter, or ghost?

we're ready to believe you!

you can't park that here!

i bet you like to read a lot, too.

i collect spores, mold, and fungus.

i'd like to talk to someone, please.

what i'm about to say may sound a little unusual.

i'm sorry, i don't believe in any of those things.

if something's gonna happen here, i want it to happen to me first.

you don't act like a scientist.

i'm gonna go for broke. i am madly in love with you.

i bet you're going to be thinking about me after i'm gone.

hey, anybody seen a ghost?

did you ever report it to anyone?

i hope we can take care of this quietly.

well, no sense worrying about it now.

i think we'd better split up.

don't move. it won't hurt you.

i feel so funky.

there's something very important i forgot to tell you.

wait wait wait! i've always wanted to do this.

well, that wasn't such a chore now, was it?

we came! we saw! we kicked its ass!

you're a big celebrity now.

so who the hell was that?

i'm not at liberty to say.

i want to know more about what you do here.

that's a big twinkie.

do you have any excedrin or extra strength tylenol?

listen, maybe if we start dancing, other people will join in.

that's a different look for you, isn't it?

do you want this body?

i want you inside me.

you said before you were waiting for a sign. what sign are you waiting for?

i have a terrible feeling that something awful is going to happen to you.

i think that would be extraordinarily dangerous.

how about a little music?

you had your chance to cooperate, but you thought it'd be more fun to insult me. well, now it's my turn, wise ass.

i'm not interested in your opinion.

if he does that again, you can shoot him.

i am going to get you a nice fruit basket.

i was in no way prepared for that.

you wanna play rough?

are you a god?

let's show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown!

i couldn't help it. it just popped in there.

well, that's something you don't see every day.

sorry, [name]. i'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.

i feel like the floor of a taxi cab.

[ddejavvu]

poly marauders eating reader out for the first time!! it’s such an intimate, vulnerable act so readers probably nervous. as much as they’d be sweet and soft and stuff, i think they’d be fighting a bit with each other to actually get at you first, like usually they’re so good at sharing and it comes naturally, but with this they just can’t come to a conclusion because this is eating you out, and you’ve never done it before and you seem to be really curious and kinda needy for the experience (this could be amplified if they kinda only just started the sexual side of their relationship, and it’s the next big step for u before actual sex yk)

james ofc swears up and down it SHOULD be him bc it’s his passion not his hobby, he’s been dreaming of it, but remus makes the argument that he’s the most dominant (?) over you, so you’d feel more comfy with him doing it, but then sirius is like >:( my face is pretty, you really wanna deprive her of that view???? for her first time as well, you monsters

babe the day you stop sending me these is the day i'll quit tumblr. you're a treasure i hope you know that <33

this post is 18+, minors dni.

!!!!! no because you're probably really nervous !!! maybe it's your first time altogether, or just with them, but either way it's scary !!! what if you smell weird, what if you taste weird, what if you cum too fast, what if you can't cum at all, what do you do!!!!!! remus probably feels your heartbeat going crazy when he braces a hand on your chest to lean down and kiss you where you're laying back on the bed but he misinterprets it, just chuckles and goes 'excited, hm?' and you don't know how to tell him that you're actually scared he's going to be repulsed by you :(( you just sort of stutter an mhm and when James tries parting your thighs from where he's kneeling at the edge of the bed you tense up, and that's when they start wondering if something's wrong.

"Pet," Sirius croons, stroking a patch of skin over your upper thigh, "What's'a matter, hm?"

and maybe it's James's puppy eyes, maybe it's remus's soft touch on your waist as he helps you sit up, or maybe it's sirius still petting over your thigh, but they manage to get it out of you that you're nervous!! you don't want them to get grossed out!!

i do think sirius would laugh. not at you, not to be mean, but he's just so flabbergasted by the thought of you thinking he could ever be disgusted by your cunt that he probably snorts, and james and remus have to overcompensate like nono darling he's not laughing at you! we just- we don't really know why you'd think that, 's ridiculous, we could never be grossed out by you. promise.'

maybe james offers you a pinky, to swear on the fact that he'll never be repulsed by you, and then it comes down to the matter of who gets to have the first taste.

sirius insists that he should, to make up for the little scare he caused by laughing, and, of course, like you mentioned, to give you the most handsome view you'll ever see.

james begs for it to be him because c'mon, you know him, he loves body worship! and what better for your first time than slow, soft, and sweet, plus he's already got his chin resting on your tummy and he's pressing soft little kisses to the skin there just in case it'll help sway you into letting him to the same to your clit :]

remus still has a hand on your waist, now he's sitting beside you, and he leans in to kiss your jaw with this gorgeous throaty little hum. he noses at your ear, murmurs 'or me, darling? 've always been good at keeping you calm, yeah? 'think you could use a little bit of a leader here'.

James is >:O because what !!! he's a leader !!! he'd guide you through it!!! but remus says 'you'll melt in there, prongs' and everyone knows he's not wrong.

i'll leave this open to reader interpretation, somewhat of a choose-your-own-adventure story, but just know whichever two you don't choose to go first will occupy themselves with your tits or your mouth, and they'll all get a turn eventually, so you're in for a long night <3

[pawberri]

thank you for all the posts you've made, your takes are always so refreshing to hear.

I want to know your thoughts (if it's okay with you, you can also totally ignore this) about all the "men hate" I see online. like I (poc transmasc non-passing) get it, there are genuine societal gender problems. transmisogyny does exist-women face more challenges than men do. but it genuinely hurts when women, especially trans women, think it's funny/quirky to call men trash or say they want all men dead or whatever. idk I just am hoping someone else understands, you know?

There's a lot of nuances to this question. First, I just want to caution against focusing too much on trans girls as the perpetrators of this. A lot of the asks I get from trans men seem to really fixate on trans women as the perpetrators of hard line gender essentialism. I really think trans girls are not the main people we should be focusing on here. If a trans woman is saying this stuff, take the time to analyze her ideology outside of that pithy comment and consider how much trauma and how little power she has in the world. That said, trans women are affected by this kind of ideology just like us, and they rarely have the power to wield it against others in the way cis people can. I know it hurts to feel isolated by your own community, but that kinda gets into my second point.

Part of dealing with this is learning an impulse progressive cishet dude have had to get used to over the decade. Sometimes, "men are trash" or even "kill all men" are not literal phrases. They are things women say when they're in the throes of trauma to vent their frustration. "Men are trash" in particular is generally pretty lighthearted and used to complain when you have a bad date or something. You have to get used to analyzing what someone actually means and airing on the side of empathy. You, as a man, are the one with some amount of systemic power over that woman, so you are the one who needs to prove you are dedicated to not being a misogynist. The same thing happens when my friends say they hate white people. I have to assume they don't hate me given that I'm their friend, but that I still have some of the negative traits of whiteness. I need to care enough to be a good friend by being anti-racist and checking myself on my behavior. I need to be willing to prioritize their comfort over mine. That includes not becoming this meme:

Now that that's established, there ARE times when "all men are evil and should die" is an actual ideology. It's an ideology that hurts tons of minority groups before it hurts the most powerful, but it's also not really great if we assume it only hurts cishet white guys. Following it to its logical conclusion, it just proposes a reversal of oppression dynamics. This gender essentialism is a key part of radical feminism, trans exclusionary or not, but it leaks out of that community to general feminism all the time.

As a young person on Tumblr and Twitter, this deeply affected me. I internalized the idea that you can "just be a girl." It was repeated by some trans girls, but also a LOT of TME people. It was framed as trans inclusive, but it's trans inclusive in the way "political lesbianism" is lesbian positive. It posits gender as a moral choice that is completely up to the individual and unrelated to biology. It's the lazy version of "gender is a social construct." I felt sick and disgusting for wanting to be a boy because tons of well-meaning friends of mine had made it clear that "being a boy" was a choice, and it was the wrong one. "Boy" was a social category that could and should eventually be eradicated. Trans women were conditionally supported because they, in theory, made this future possible. This didn't amount to actual support, of course. It was an ideology mostly spread by afab queer people that mostly benefited afab queer people. There were a few trans girls who spread it, maybe some due to genuinely believing in the ideology and some due to social pressure, but there were also a lot of people straight-up grifting as trans girls who used this thinking to feel powerful in a niche community of teens. Remember fucking Yandere Bitch Club???

At a certain point, I genuinely thought of being a man as an unambiguous moral failing, and I lashed out at out trans men because of it. I wanted to feel powerful, and here was a type of man in my community I could shame and exclude. I still feel bad for making a bunch of ~girls only~ stuff in HS that excluded the one out trans dude at our school, my friend, because he was just a ~binary man~ and leaving him with no friends and no community. I treated transphobia like it wasn't a real oppression on its own and, in doing so, perpetuated transphobia. It happens a lot.

I wasn't really able to accept that there was nuance to the concept of manhood until I read this article while struggling to accept my own gender:

This is a pretty seminal piece of writing. It has its flaws, of course, but the empathy and intersectionality it highlights was life-changing. It also shows that this kind of thinking is largely perpetuated by TME people and hurts trans women greatly.

Gender essentialism is a bad ideology, it's a transphobic, transmisogynist, racist, etc etc ideology. It's literally essential to patriarchy. But it's also very easy to repackage into leftism and easy to dogwhistle. As a result, it's natural to be hesitant when you see someone saying they hate all men, but you have to tread extremely lightly and actually care what they're attempting to express. Because, yeah, men as a social class still hold power over women. They still have reason to fear and hate men.

I'm writing a comic about this stuff, actually, so look out for it in the future..........

[bountycancelled]

house of cards (a challengers au)

requested: no, but send challengers reqs I BEG !

warnings: none :)

content: tension I guess? readers kind of a go with the flow typa gyal, but the flow is sometimes manipulative and evil so... tashi and art both play (different games but they still play) patrick is a loser, but he's my loser so it's okay lowercase intended, unedited.

a/n: back after like a half year hiatus, and im on my challengers bullshit, hope you enjoy this cuz I wrote in a day lol

¤

¤

"you know, sometimes it feels like you hate me." the words leave your lips before you can stop them, coming out of your mouth with the kind of instantaneous honesty you learnt during your many years around tashi. admiring her, envying her, loving her, and hating her all the same.

she raises an amused brow, the sides of her mouth quirking up in a half smile. she probably thinks it's funny, your train of thought. you're in her dorm right now, laying on her bed with your head rested against her shoulder while some episode of some show serves as background noise. and yet, you seem unsure that she even wants you here.

but the one thing you can count on tashi to know, is what she wants. so if she's sure that she doesn't hate you, you should be too. "I don't hate you. I love you, more than usual, honestly."

that shouldn't make your stomach flip in the way it does, but you've always been a little like a hungry dog waiting to be thrown a bone when it came to affection, from anyone really (a problem that you thought you were working on effectively, you weren't.) but mostly tashi, who's affection was about as rare as the sight of her not playing tennis. well, maybe that comparison was in poor taste after the injury, but anyway.

"why is that?" you hope you don't come off as eager as you are to hear what you've done to further place yourself in her good graces (you do, but don't worry, tashi thinks it's cute.)

"you're the only one who still plays tennis with me. real tennis." she nudges you off of her shoulder as she speaks, forcing you to look at her, leaving you to tackle that feeling that always seemed to arise whenever she was close. a feeling that would rather die that put a name to.

god, you were such a tryhard when it came to her. you let her tell you about her escapade with the notorious 'fire and ice' duo, art and patrick. you assured that it was totally okay to pit two friends against each other for the prospect of getting her, you nodded along when patrick came out victorious, and you comforted her when she eventually broke it off.

and the cherry on top of this absolutely miserable sundae of yours, you played exactly the same way you used to play with her, because you knew it was what she wanted, and anything she wanted, you'd give it to her.

and she knew that, of course. one of the reasons she kept you around.

she brought her face close to yours, so close, closer, closer... before turning your own face to plant a kiss on your cheek, deciding to pay attention to the show you two had put on her laptop, completely shattering what you thought had been a moment between you and her. not the first time she's done that, not the last time you'll think that.

you inhale and exhale deeply, willing yourself to not spend the whole night picking that last ten seconds of that interaction apart, trying to analyse if you were running on pure delusion, or if something had been there, between you two.

but you do anyway, and you don't come to a solid conclusion. when it comes to tashi, you never do.

¤

¤

your run in with patrick is unexpected, but what is expected is just how fucking miserable he looks. you debate just leaving the diner all together, finding another place to eat. hell, not eating at all would be better than whatever conversation you could possibly have with the ex boyfriend of your best friend. the poor thing is still wearing that grey 'I told ya' shirt, and it's evident that he isn't taking any of this well.

you understand both of them, patrick blames himself (it's not his fault, at least not to you) and tashi needed someone to blame. there's a small part of you thats just glad you weren't the one that she chose, but it's small, and the bigger parts of you just want to pull patrick into a hug, but you're unsure of how appropriate that would be. unsure of if he would even want that from you. because you're not actually on his side, you'd never be on the side opposing tashi, and patrick knows that.

that doesn't stop his eyes from lighting up in hopeful recognition as he spots you awkwardly lingering by the entrance, and now you have to go and sit with him because you are not about to kick a dog while it's down. you flag down a waiter and order for yourself, turning to face him with a pensively worried expression.

"are you... okay?"

patrick laughs at your words, not because he thinks it's funny that you ask. (even in the event that you're just pretending to care, he's just thankful that you humoured him by sitting down) he laughs because he knows that you know that he's not. even if the two of you were strangers, you'd sense his misery from the second you entered and took one look at him.

"never better. foods here." he changes the topic swiftly, and you're starving, so you don't try to redirect it, stuffing your face almost as unapologetically as he is. but once the food finishes and you await the bill, you take another long look at him, and the sadness in his eyes make your heart ache.

you don't owe anything to patrick, but for whatever reason, you find yourself reaching for his hand, holding it in your own and giving it a comforting squeeze, smiling back at him sympathetically when he flashes you a grateful half smile.

maybe it's the unique circumstances of the breakup, or his sad brown eyes, or that one time you two played a "friendly" game right before him and tashi got together (the looks he gave you from across the court would be misplaced, but tennis was intrinsically sexy, and so was patrick, so you tried not to overthink it. tried.)

or maybe it's the emalgumation of every look that would make you squint curiously at him, every casual touch that would last too long because patricks patrick, every tipsy kiss on the cheek, or shoulder squeeze, but after you two leave the diner (he pays, and you feel bad about it, but don't comment further.) but when you face each other outside the establishment, the sunset painting the sky, you pull him into a hug.

the hug feels... far too intimate for two friends (were you still friends? you weren't sure.) but, whatever. he's hurt, grieving the loss of someone that would surely break you if you lost them and the loss of his own best friend, so you're not gonna judge. he wraps his arms around you slowly, hiding his face away in the crook of your neck, holding you so gently that a passerby would think that you're the one being comforted.

you tell him to call you if he ever feels lonely, immediately regretting your language because it sounds like you wanna fuck him, but he understands what you meant. and then, you say your goodbyes.

you don't tell tashi about that interaction. and you don't think you will.

¤

¤

your run in with art isn't intentional, but he's grateful for it.

he knows that you and tashi usually run drills together at the courts on saturdays, its not crowded since everyone is in their dorms trying to piece themselves together after a shitty week. but he also knows that tashi needs to rest right now, so you'd most likely be alone. but he doesn't strike then, the racket in your hand will make you too focused, he knows that all too well. you'd be giving him one word answers, barely paying him any mind and probably wanting him to fuck off as soon as possible.

so while he's wracking his brain, thinking of another opportunity to find a way in with you, because being closer to you meant being even closer to tashi, he's seconds away from getting on his knees and praising the gods above when he sees in the cafeteria, alone.

him being there for her when the injury happened was simply happenstance, and he was lucky in a roundabout sort of way, getting to comfort tashi and hopefully building a good image of himself in your mind, because you were there too, of course.

but that wouldn't cut it. he needed to be truly in with you, and he needed a new best friend anyway, he'd basically sold his last one off, so this was a two birds, one stone kind of situation.

you don't look up when art sits in front of you. because one, you know its him, he has the nervous kind of energy whenever he's around you, different to the kind of nervous energy he has when tashis around, but you can still sniff him out regardless. and two, you're still feeling shitty about that whole... thing with patrick, too shitty to care that blondies over here in front of you, trying to get in with tashi.

"they stale or something?" he asks, his smile stupidly warm and inviting as he points towards the cheese fries on your plate, completely untouched. you shoot air through your nose, smiling despite yourself before giving him a response. "no, I'm just grappling with the fact that I'm a shitty friend, and maybe even a shitty person in general."

he hums, holding his hand towards your tray as a silent question, and you push it towards him nonchalantly, letting him take what he wants. he feels way too good about a simple tray, but something about you sharing your food gives him hope that you haven't completely ruled him out.

"well, think about it this way. the average person needs to have at least one of these traits in order to be liked. talent, kindness or looks. you're a fucking beast on that court, and you're gorgeous, so you don't even need to worry about being a good person." it's easy to butter you up a bit, because the words he's saying are true, and he had a feeling that telling you what he honestly felt was the route to go with.

you roll your eyes at his words, but the compliment makes you bite back a smile. you're only human, after all, and not even you are invincible to the charms of one art donaldson.

but you keep your cool, waiting for the inevitable of him bringing up tashi, with the obligatory acting like that wasn't why he sat with you in the first place. but it comes later in the conversation than you thought it would, he asks if she's doing any better, and you answer with an honest 'no.'

maybe this is just another one of his tactics, pretending that he's fully interested in getting to know you with no tashi shaped ulterior motive. but it works. because you end up talking over your now empty tray for a while, so long that you're late to your next class.

the look that he gives you when you leave is one of longing, but it was a specific kind longing, one linked to tashi. that's what art tells himself too, as he watches you walk away.

[kyupidos]

Hello, if you take requests, can I maybe request a male!not Yuu!reader that can control time ? And he is the son of one of the staff..

So, my request is : Heafcanon of the Platonic!Staff with a m!son!reader that can control time (I can see them knowing when something happen with the time but not really knowing what this is [for example, if the reader rewind the time, they have a feeling something isn't right, but nothing more], and the reader won't tell them).

Have a great day ! And ignore it if you don't want to write it !

10/20/24 — twisted wonderland <3

you know what they say about broken clocks — summary. ‘time control is rough, but your father is here for you.’

characters ;; dire crowley, mozus trein, divus crewel, tags ;; reader is male ( he/your, and the term “son” is used to describe them ), reader is not yuu, platonic fluff(?)

a/n ( SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO RESPOND!! never did smth like this before so i did my best to lock in,, on the topic of doing my best, i wasn’t sure if this should be fluff or angst so i was like, kind of mixing it? i wasn’t sure how to do this with every staff, so i just did the “big three” ( i think..? ) hope this is okay! also, i’ve starting writing using a different app, so sorry if the format’s different than usual 😓

d. crowley

— in a way, you were quite sure your father, crowley, had some sort of sense of your capabilities. for as..eccentric as your father was, he possessed a great deal of care and concern towards you, his son. hey, he may give off “deadbeat” vibes ( and this is particularly true for the prefect that you’ve become acquainted with out of necessity due to them hanging out around his office to get updates about returning to their home ), but his care for you certainly shows no bounds.

— this was especially true whenever he was acutely aware of a stressor that may have been on your mind. well, he did give you a little pat on your head in affection, giddily preening to tell you “how ready he was to aid you in ailing your woes!”

— perhaps it was just a gut feeling. as you sat there, your eye almost twitching as you looked down at your terribly marked assignment paper. it was returned on the same day you worked on it with the rest of your class; you could only figure based on the usual efficiency of your teachers, but something you’d rather not praise at the moment.

— honestly, you were just too stressed out over the multitude of other assignments you’d received over the past week. what was wrong with that? and, as the son of the head mage of all staff, you couldn’t help but feel bitter in your ashamed state. so when you went to go get a beverage to cool your head off only to see your father gingerly picking up your worksheet in curiosity, your fingers twitched twice as harshly as your eye did just before.. before, coming to the fruitful conclusion to head back.

— this time, you got a far better grade. one that you were much more proud of, to show your father willingly. you were keen on repeating moments such as these; though it wasn’t like your father’s sudden blank moments whenever those times occurred led you clueless as to his abilities to catch on. “ah..oh my little raven, how well you did!” he pat your head again nonetheless, the silent agreement of ignoring how somewhere in the back of his subconscious, he recalled the event going somewhat, slightly differently. “now, my son, if you ever feel discouraged by your school work, just take it up with your ever so generous father, alright? i’m prepared to tutor you with anything!”

— his words of encouragement were just enough to dissuade the undertones of heaviness in the air that lingered for those few seconds of his recollections of the original event escaped him. you couldn’t help but smile a little more, knowing how your father tried to ease you up just to make you happy. “thank you, dad.”

m. trein

— trein is no stranger to feelings that revolve around the concept of deja vu. he’s old and wiser, and you couldn’t be prouder to know him as your father. on that note, you have two elder sisters, and this afternoon you’re all visiting together at the family home, instead of you staying at your dorm.

— your father has good intuition; that much is obvious by the kind but careful glances he gives you sometimes, just to make sure you’re feeling okay. you could see the thoughts lingering on his mind every now and then, if there was a little something you might have been keeping from him. and unfortunately, today had decided to follow that trend, but hey to be fair, it’s nobody’s fault but your memory..

— “fuaaah, hey hey, [y/n],” one of your elder sisters called out, dressed elegantly and frilly in her lavender sleepwear, clearly not too keen on bothering to change after her little afternoon nap ( you understood her there, it was a saturday after all ). “you remembered to prep the dinner, right?” she called out as she stretched her limbs, not caring to notice the quick cringe on your face at the sudden recollection. “papa said it was your turn this time, didn’t he?”

— huh? oh, well crap…you didn’t want to have to deal with those repercussions. you shrugged your shoulders not so smoothly, before leaving your eyes shut to be sure to not forget the next time.

— dinner was well served that evening, indeed. in fact, you think you put a little too much of your all into it. and while trein is delighted by the taste, he recalls it differently; no, in the back of his mind, he was sure he was just about on his way to make it himself once he’d made the realization you’d forgotten.

— he’d come to that lingering conclusion more often than not recently; and he knows for a fact you seem to have to do with it with the unnecessary awkward look you gave when he asked you about it. but he’s also concluded you’re not quite ready to talk about it, so once dinner is over and it’s about ready for everyone to sleep in for the night, he comes up to you and pats your head.

— “remember, you can always come to me if you need anything, okay?” he’s as reassuring as he’s always been to you, and you can tell with the way he looks at you. “..okay, dad.”

d. crewel

— nothing special was going on today, honestly. you were staying in the teacher’s lounge ( crewel’s son privileges ), and you were waiting for your father to get back from whatever he supposedly had to do that was more important than grading papers. not like you cared, it just meant you could lounge around doing whatever you wanted to.

— you should probably stop being so careless, all things considered. one would assume it would get through to you, as whenever he gives you a furrowed brow in response to his confusion about recollection of events, it should surely be enough to be a hint that he’s slowly catching on. or perhaps he already has, but he knows for a fact that if you hadn’t said anything, then perhaps he shouldn’t either until you’re ready.

— nonetheless, you didn’t pick up on your father’s train of thought. you do your best not to use your magic willy nilly, since it gets absolutely exhausting. especially considering the amount of blot you’ve learned you end up accumulating when you do. but you’re too used to using it to avoid even the simplest of things, even though sometimes it’s a mistake that you know any normal person would forgive; especially when it’s your father.

— you’re too anxious by the coffee you already accidentally spilled, though, which completely tainted the half-finished stack of graded papers he had left on the desk. you can’t even register how you did that, but perhaps it was from the way you accidentally shook the table a bit too much when your legs hit it while you were aiming to lay on the couch. and you know you can absolutely not deal with the reaction you’d get from your father when he inevitably walks in on the disaster.

— the stack of half graded papers was pristine and untouched, which was exactly what crewel had walked in on. virtually nothing had happened, in his eyes. and yet, somehow, the whole thing didn’t quite play out right in his mind—like it was telling him he should be walking in on another situation entirely.

— and then, his eyes glide over to meet you, doing exactly as you were planning to do. just lounge around. though still, his brow furrows as he slowly connects the dots that he doesn’t even realize truly exist yet. and then his face softens, going to sit down on the couch beside you to drink from the coffee that hadn’t spilled, a calm atmosphere shared between the two of you. “how’re you doing, [y/n]? i hope i wasn’t gone for too long.” “huh? oh no, it’s fine dad…i’ve just been relaxing.” “mhm…i bet.”

[paillettetkdi]

“MISTER HERO, YOU ARE A RABBIT???” Ravio’s shout was so loud that Link was sure all of Hyrule had heard him.

“No, Rav, I’m not. It’s just a form like any other.”

“Mister Hero, I don’t think you understand the implications of what you just told me,” the merchant said in a strangely calm voice. “You have the ability to transform into the most beautiful creature that can exist in this world… and I request you to show me.” Even without looking, Link could feel Ravio’s green eyes staring at him.

“First of all, I don’t have to show you anything if I don’t want to. Second, it’s not like I can. Unless you can bring enough darkness to my soul to make me transform, you’ll have to settle for my Hylian form.” Ravio continued to stare at him, but at least he stopped talking. Link put away the blade he had been preparing and decided to clean the old mirror that started this all mess of a conversation.

“When you come back from your missions, you smell really bad,” Ravio blurted out.

Link stopped rubbing the mirror to turn around and face the other man. Ravio looked at him, and after a short silence, continued his rambling: “I don’t like that you don’t let me sell items that you don’t use anyway, and your bees are ugly and disgusting and scary. We could just buy honey instead of having them at home all the time. You have really weird tastes in decoration, you look bad in the morning, your breath smells like old underwear when you drink coffee. Also, if I had to choose between you and Sherrow, I would choose Sherrow instead of you and—”

“What is happening right now?” Link asked, looking at Ravio with a confused gaze.

“Well… I was trying to bring darkness to your soul, but it’s not working. Maybe I should continue a little more?” Ravio replied, staring at Link’s ears as if he expected them to transform at any moment.

“NO! No, no thank you.” Link took a moment to collect himself. “You… why would you think that? You know what? I don’t want to know how you came to that conclusion. I was talking about dark magic, not making me feel bad about myself, Rav.”

Two giant emerald eyes looked at him before Ravio jumped on him and pulled him into an embrace. “Oh sweet Lolia, I am so, so, so sorry, Mister Hero! That was very petty of me. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I promise! Will you ever forgive me? If you want, I can sell you the ice rod you want for the small price of 600 rupees to show you how sorry I am.”

Link let Ravio calm himself in his arms, pondering his words. “Why did you say that to me? You know me better than anyone. If you thought making me feel bad was the solution, why talk about my tastes in decoration and not my adventures or something like that?”

“That would have been mean, Mister Hero, it’s not polite to talk about something that someone cannot change.” Ravio said, looking at him as if he were the weird one.

Link just laughed before burying his face in the Lorulian’s hair. He smelled like apples today, which meant he had stolen Link’s shampoo again. Link would take care of that later; for now, he was planning on enjoying a well-deserved nap in his lover arms. Maybe he could ask the rancher to give him his stange crystal for an hour at two so he could show Rav his rabbit form. He wouldn’t be against somme rub on the back of his ears.

———————————

Same as always

English is not my first language if i made any mistake tell me i really want to improve

Ravio is my favorite character of all the TLOZ game so putting him here was really great

Also did you know that in French his name is Lavio ? And it makes a lot more sense dans Ravio but honestly Lavio just feels wrong

Anyway have a great day !

[daydreams-after-dark]

What's your fanfic fantasy? part 14 CONCLUSION

Chapter Contents.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 //

Premise: fem reader + Chan + Jisung 18+ fanfic. This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

Chapter Summary: Another threesome...

a/n: this is it. the final chapter. I want to thank everyone who has followed this fic and the journey of y/n, chan, and jisung. I hope you enjoyed the other characters and what amazing friends they are helping her out like they did.

This chapter is pure smut. (All the other chapters were too, I suppose) but this is just because I wanted to see our three main characters together.

Warnings: threesome, vaginal sex, anal sex, double pen two holes, m x m x f, oral sex, coercion, I don’t even know anymore! But if you’ve read up to this point you will be fine.

Y/n pov.

You wake up with your limbs wrapped around a body. You’re exhausted but as soon as you remember where you are and whose bodies are lying beside you, you’re newly energised. You’re here with your two loves. Jisung, who you’re clinging to like a koala, and Chan spooning you from behind. A smile appears across your face. This is what it feels like to wake up with them?

You gaze at Jisung, who looks peaceful, and beautiful, as he sleeps. Your mind drifts back to the night before, to his confession. He’s loved you all this time? You that thought sit with you as you recall some of the awkward encounters he and you have had over that time. Or the moments where his gaze would linger a little too long. You had never really paid attention to it. Your mind was always on Chan. But what had changed this week to make you see Jisung in a different way? Perhaps because you could fantasise about the other band members and not him it meant you had somehow blocked in him from your mind? Maybe deep down you knew you liked him but thought that would make you feel confused about your feelings for Chan? Who knows?

But then the way he looked at you the other night, it tore down any blocks or barricades you had up between you and him. Jisung claimed you that night. He must have been terrified to finally touch you?

You feel a stirring behind you. Chan adjusting his hips and pressing his morning erection against your ass. Oh! to have finally felt Chan inside of you! It was more than you could’ve ever have imagined. He was absolutely fucking perfect. Just the right balance of tender and brutal.

And now you’re horny.

You wriggle your ass back against Chan and his hand is quick to grip your hip, pulling you back hard against him. His mouth finds the sensitive part of your neck and kisses you tenderly.

“Good morning, my beautiful.” He whispers, and it’s almost like he can’t believe you’re really here. After a few minutes of gentle caressing, he leans up on an elbow so he can see over you. “Isn’t Ji just so perfect when he’s asleep?” he grins.

“So you’re saying he’s not perfect when he’s awake?” You joke.

“Ha fucking ha. No,” his expression turns loving “he gets really anxious and stressed. He doesn’t always show it, but it’s there. When he’s asleep, he looks peaceful.”

Chan’s right. Jisung does look perfect when he’s asleep.

“Do you think he’s excited for a threesome?” You ask, turning your head back to look at Chan.

“I think he’s going to lose his shit.” Chan chuckled.

“Should we suck him off together? To wake him up?” You ask lightheartedly.

Jisung’s eyes fling open “Yes!!! Yes please!” He says eagerly.

Chan laughs “You fucking little piece of shit. How long have you been awake?”

Jisung feigns innocence. “Not long… Something about a threesome woke me.” He says shyly.

“Well, Jisung, Channie and I wanna suck your cock… if you’ll let us.” You coo.

Jisung throws the sheet off his body to reveal his hard on. His dick is absolutely perfect. Chan wastes no time to climb over to him and nestle between his legs. You’ve seen Jisung suck Chan’s cock, but not Chan sucking Jisung’s. Your eyes widen. Chan takes Jisung in his hand and kitten licks the tip, then looks up at Jisung lovingly. You wonder if Chan gets rough Jisung like he did with you in the tub last night? Jisung let’s out a whimper as Chan licks him from the base to the tip. You feel yourself getting wet and you’re compelled to join in pleasuring Jisung. Your Jisung.

You position yourself down beside Chan and together you tend to Jisung. You both lick up the side of his shaft, your mouths meeting at the tip. You kiss messily with the head of Jisung’s dick still between you, your tongues and lips and Jisung’s cock all intertwined. You keep stroking his cock and Jisung is almost crying in pleasure. You continue like this, sloppily making out around Jisung’s penis, until Jisung interrupts you both.

“Channie…” Jisung sounds delirious.

“What is it, my love?” Chan replies, breaking from your kisses.

“I… I … wannna…” he stutters.

“You need to use words, Sungie.” Chan encourages.

“I wanna… can I… fuck you this time Channie?” his voice is small.

Your eyes grow wide and you look to Chan. “I so want to see that.” You whisper and bite your lip.

Chan smirks at you and looks down at Jisung “Of course you can fuck me. I love the way you feel inside me.”

Your vagina clenches at Chan’s words and at the thought of what is about to happen.

The men re-arrange themselves so Chan is laying on the bed and Jisung is kneeling between Chan’s legs.

“Can you pass me the lube, baby… bedside table.” Jisung instructs as he gives Chan’s cock some attention.

“Fuck, Jisung! God. Your mouth.” Chan chokes.

You watch as Jisung expertly works on prepping Chan. He is so confident with his lover, reading Chan’s body language and responses, and knowing when to add another finger. Chan’s abdominals tense and relax as the pleasure builds. He closes his eyes as his breath becomes more rapid and he sucks in his lip. Jisung’s eyes are hooded and full of a mix of admiration and lust, as he switches his gaze back and forth between Chan’s entrance and his face.

The pair look so in love and this feels so intimate. Part of you feels like maybe you shouldn’t be watching and you’re not sure what to do.

“Y/n,” Jisung says low “Kiss Chan for me.”

They haven’t forgotten about you. You lean in on all fours and take Chan into a kiss. He moans into your mouth and his hand finds your ass. He grips it hard making you yelp slightly and his fingers move to your soft wet folds. You crave for him to put his fingers inside you, and when he does, you let out a long low moan. The stretch feels like relief.

Chan peels his mouth away. “You’re cunt is addicted to being fucked isn’t it.” He breaths.

“Channie,” you moan. “You say such dirty things, you know that, right?” You sit up and take in the view in front of you. Jisung is lining his cock up to Chan’s entrance and you glance back at Chan’s needy expression. “I think you need something to keep that mouth of yours quiet.” You say to him as you climb over and straddle his face so you’re facing Jisung.

“Oh. God. Yes… sit on my face babygirl.” Chan growls and with an arm around each of your thighs he pulls you down over his face.

“That’s so fucking hot.” Jisung murmers.

Chan’s wet tongue devours you from below, as you watch Jisung slowly thrust into Chan. Chan moans and it sends vibrations through you, making you gasp. You lean forward to take hold of his cock. It’s rock hard and straining. Pre-cum oozes from the tip. Jisung strokes your hair affectionately and cups your face so you’re looking at him. The way he looks at you makes your heart melt and you smile. “You’re so pretty, y/n” he whispers.

You look down to watch Jisung’s beautiful cock slide in and out of Chan. It is the most graphic sight you’ve ever seen, and it almost makes you come right then. You breathe deeply trying to steady yourself and hold off uour rapidly approaching orgasm. You want this to last forever.

“Fuck, Channie. You take Jisung’s cock so well. I didn’t know you were such a cock slut.” You tease. “I thought you you were a dom. But judging by this scenario… I am not quite sure.”

“Y/n,” Jisung pants as his thrusts become more forceful. “I need you to ride Chan’s cock while I’m fucking him. Can you do that for me?”

You raise an eyebrow and look cheekily at Jisung before spinning yourself around so you’re facing Chan and straddling his torso. He looks so fucked out he can’t even speak. He’s just moaning and whining as Jisung slowly fucks him to death.

“That’s it baby. Back yourself up a little.” Jisung’s hands are on your hips, guiding you back to line up with Chan’s cock. Jisung holds the base steady as you lower yourself down, taking Chan all at once. You’re still sore from the day before, but you don’t care.

Chan let’s out a choked cry. “F—fuckkkkk!” he cries as you lean over him and push back against his cock.

Jisung wraps his hands around you, and leans over your back. His skin is sticky with sweat. You can feel his heart pounding. You feel safe. This is where you belong. Jisung’s breath is on your neck and you’re overwhelmed with emotion as you both fuck Chan together.

The reality of this precious moment hits you and so does your orgasm. Your body stiffens as the tension inside you snaps, making you see stars. “I’ve got you, baby.” Jisung whispers, as both their hands hold onto you as you ride out the orgasm.

You lift your head to look down at Chan who looks at you with blown out eyes before he captures you in a kiss.

Jisung grips your hips, digging his fingers into you as he directs you up and down Chan’s cock. “Fuck you should see the view I have right now.” He says in disbelief. You can only imagine what it must look like for Jisung, looking down to see his own cock fucking Chan, and Chan’s cock fucking you all at once.

Chan’s hands slide down your body to cup your ass, pulling the cheeks apart. It is then I feel something cold on your hold. Lube. Jisung massages a lubed finger against you, making you to gasp with pleasure. Then a finger slips inside. Very slowly. Very carefully. You seem to be lost in pleasure because before you know it, Jisung has two fingers inside of you. One of your favourite things is to have a finger or two in your ass while you’re being fucked, but you want more. You want both men inside you.

Then you feel it. Jisung’s cock against you.

“Have you ever done this before? Take two cocks at once?” Chan whispers. You shake your head. “Only one in the vagina and one in the mouth… I have had anal before…but I’m nervous.” You say wide eyed. He pulls me close.

“It’s okay. We’ve got you. Jisung’s really careful. He knows what to do.” Chan’s words alone make you relax. You trust them. You love them.

“Oh my God, baby. You look so inviting.” Hums Jisung as the tip of his cock prods you. “I know you’re going to take this so well.” He places a hand on your hip and guides his cock into you. “Good girl.”

“Oh… fu-” you gasp. You had not prepared yourself for the feeling of two penises inside you. Jisung inches in bit by bit, allowing you time to adjust before moving any further. The sensations are a mix of a burning pain, a stretching feeling, pleasure, need, relief. Every time Jisung stops, you whimper for more. Finally he is all the way inside.

“Ughh… you’re so tight around me.” Grunts Chan. “I need to fuck you so bad. Will you be a good girl and take it? Even if it hurts?” Chan’s words echo the previous night when he became aggressive in the sexiest way. Your vagina clenches around Chan’s cock. He smirks “You like that thought, hmm?”

“Hyung, I don’t want to hurt her?” Jisung pipes up.

“It’s okay, Jisung. I like it… want you to be rough with me… please.” You feel so fucking needy right now that you beg them to start fucking you.

The men start off slow, alternating turns in thrusting into you, then begin to quicken the pace. Moans, whimpers, grunts and cries fill the room as they fuck you faster, harder. Eventually, Jisung lays over your back, pressing you against Chan, and Chan’s arm wraps around both you and Jisung. You bury your head in Chan’s neck, making space for the pair to kiss each other. They start to time their thrusts so they are slamming into you at the same time. You come again, practically screaming this time, as you clench hard around their cocks.

“Oh fuck, did you feel that Ji?” Chan gasps.

Jisung nods “Oh my God, I’m gonna cum.” And with a few more thrusts you feel his release inside of you.

Chan finally lets go too. You don’t know how he’s even managed to hold off coming for this long. You feel him pulse as he ejaculates, for what seems like forever, deep inside your cunt.

But there is no time for rest. Jisung swiftly pulls out, making you shudder and lays on his back on the bed. “Quick. Baby. Sit on my face.” He says urgently. “Hurry! Before the cum seeps out.”

What? You’re taken by surprise at the request, but quickly do as he says, straddling his face the same as you did for Chan.

“Thats’s it baby. Good girl. Yes like that.” He pulls you down so his mouth is buried in your pussy ready to catch the leaking cum.

“Fuck! Jisung. That visual alone is making me hard again.” Chan exclaims. You turn to him to see him stroking his rapidly re-hardening cock. You can feel the cum leaking out of both holes and Jisung uses a finger to help bring down his own cum to mix with Chan’s. Your pussy is so sensitive and overstimulated, but Jisung isn’t about to let you go. It’s like he needs this to stay alive. He licks and sucks the cum that is leaking from you, the tip of his tongue dipping into your cunt to scoop out as much as possible. Fuck! It feels good though, and you start to grind down on Jisung’s face. Your gaze falls on his cock. It’s still rock hard, and you lean down to suck on it. Jisung moans into your pussy sending shock waves through me.

Chan shuffles down to sit next to Jisung’s hips so that their cocks are close to each other, and you alternate taking their dicks into my mouth. You take them as deep as you can, forcing yourself not to gag. You swirl your tongue around both their tips at the same time, whilst simultaneously stroking their cocks.

“Fuck.” They keep crying as you try to give them the best blow job of their lives. But an idea hits you. You pull off both cocks and look at Chan whose expression is one of agony. “I want to watch you fuck Jisung.”

————————

Chan lines his now generously lubed cock with Jisung’s ass.

“He doesn’t need prepping, he likes the stretch.” Chan explains, when he sees the shocked look on your face.

Jisung takes him so easily. Chan has the biggest dick you’ve ever seen, and seeing it disappearing and reappearing out of Jisung’s ass is amazing. He picks up the pace quickly and it isn’t long until he is pounding into Jisung brutally. They seem to be able to go forever. Jisung’s sounds of pleasure hit you in the pussy over and over and you feel delirious. You keep pumping Jisung’s cock until he is painting your breasts with cum.

“I love you Channie.” Cries Jisung as he comes.

“Fuck!!” cries Chan, Jisung’s words of love sending him over the edge, and he pulls out to paint your face in ropes of cum.

You all separate and lay on your backs panting and catching your breaths. That was the wildest sex you’d ever had. These men will be the death of you. Your mind is blank as you bask in post sex, post orgasm bliss. You’re brought back to reality when you feel a someone move between your legs, hands pushing your legs apart, a mouth landing on your pussy and another one on your mouth.

Jisung kisses you slowly and explores your mouth with his lips and tongue. The taste of him is a culmination of my wetness, both men’s cum, lube, and Jisung’s saliva. You wrap your arm around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss. He melts into it, giving you everything you need in this moment.

You feel Chan’s tongue against you and you flinch. “Baby, I can’t take any more. I’m too sensitive. Can’t.” You beg him stop.

Chan grips your thighs harder and looks up. “You can take it. You are our good girl aren’t you?” he says sternly and you clench around nothing. You continue to protest.

“Shhh…. Baby.” Coos Jisung. He leans up and gazes at you, cupping your cheek and placing little pecks along your jaw. You feel as though Jisung is going to side with you and tell Chan that you need a break.

“Y/n, baby.” He starts again. “I know you can take just a little bit more.” He kisses your mouth. “You still need to feel what it’s like to have Channie fuck your ass.” There is eagerness in Jisung’s eyes, like you’re about to experience the best feeling in the world. Something that only Jisung and you get to share.

You stare at Jisung wide eyed. “But he’s so big! I’m not sure I -” Jisung puts two fingers to your mouth to hush you, while Chan digs two fingers into my pussy causing you to moan.

“Channie, she might really need a break.” Jisung decides and looks to Chan.

“Wait!” You interject. “No. I want to. I’m okay. I want to feel what its’ like.”

Jisung smiles. “Okay. But let me clean all this cum off you first.” He disappears into the bathroom.

“Are you sure, y/n?” Chan is at your side. It’s his turn to kiss you deeply. “Yes.” You whisper as you break the kiss.

“Okay, let’s try it like this.” He positions himself behind you, spoon position, and you feel his hardness against you as he caresses your waist and hips.

Jisung returns with a wet cloth and proceeds to wipe the drying cum off your chest and face. “Fuck, baby. I can’t believe your ours.” He grins as he settles down in front of you. You are now back to the position you were in when you woke this morning.

“I’m just going to lube up okay.” Chan says, before you feel his thick head push against you. You’re not sure how you’re going to manage after being fucked so much.

Jisung catches your expression and holds you close to him, turning himself so his body is facing yours. “You’re gonna love this y/n.” He promises you. “I’ve got you.” He whispers.

Chan stretches you and fills you slowly, bit by bit. And it feels incredible. You welcome everything that Chan has to give you, be it pleasure or pain. Fuck, part of you likes it even better when it hurts!

“Baby- fuuuu-… Oh fuck!” Chan bottoms out and immediately starts to fuck you. You can tell something has snapped in him again, like the evening before. It’s almost like you bring some wild beast of out him. You see a flicker of confusion on Jisung’s face, and you realise that Chan mustn't be this rough with him. You reach out and cup Jisung’s face. “It’s amazing.” You tell him, and his face softens.

Chan is grunting and growling as he slams into you over and over, but the more you look at Jisung, the more you want him too.

“Chan?” you say. Chan slows his movements.

“Yes, beautiful?” he kisses your sweat sheened neck.

“I want both of you again.”

“You’re addicted to both our cocks, yeah?” Chan chuckles. “Okay, let’s make that happen.” He holds onto you as he rolls onto his back, so he is slightly propped up against the headboard and you’re laying against him with his cock still inside you. Jisung is quick to hover over you, his dick ready to penetrate you. He folds your legs up against your chest, which makes Chan’s cock slip even deeper inside you. With one hand balanced on Chan’s shoulder, Jisung squeezes his cock into your very sensitive, very aroused, but very swollen, cunt. Jisung’s breath is strained as he pushes inside. “Fuck this is the tightest you’ve felt…” You hold onto his waist and pull him against you as best you can given the position you’re in.

You think they’re going to fuck you into oblivion, but instead they slow the pace right down. They move together in a tortuously slow rhythm, never picking up the pace, never thrusting any harder. Just rocking themselves gently inside of you.

Chan squeezes your neck gently whilst nuzzling into your shoulder and whispering how much he loves you. Jisung kisses you, breathing heavily into your mouth. He gathers some saliva and pushes it into your mouth, then continues to kiss you tenderly. Chan’s other hand caresses your body, oftentimes reaching up to hold Jisung against you.

You start to lose yourself to the moment, losing track of time and your surroundings. You no longer know where each of you begins or finishes. You don’t know who is causing what sensations, or who is making what sound.

You close your eyes and let yourself go as Chan and Jisung take you to some place you’ve never been before. A place just for the three of you. A place you know you will never want to leave.

The end.

A/n: as I was re editing this I realise some of the positions might have been a little far reaching… but it’s fiction, right!

I hope you enjoyed this series my loves.

@rylea08 @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @rixenluv @piscesrising01 @lunearta @shltsnglggles @lilbabiebunni @jiminssluttyminx @armystay89 @krayzieestay @stellasays45 @hxnnielk @yaorzu-blog @anjian03 @tsunderelino @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @privhace @kyunchoni @writhingwrecked @kisses-too-the-moon @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @meilix @ismokeeweed @leftovercigarettes @galaxycatdrawz @grandma143 @teddy-stay

[apomaro-mellow]

Hot for Teacher(s) 12

Part 11

Eddie was aware of Valentine’s Day. It was a big day in first grade where crushes ran rampant. He rarely had anything to do with it himself though. But as the day approached, he thought about all the ways he could spend it with Steve. It did happen to fall on a Saturday this year, so they’d both be free from work.

He waved each kid off as their parents came to pick them up. When Steve came up, he felt the same urge to kiss him, to scent him, to be able to be closer than they were right now but needing to keep up appearances for professionalism’s sake. Shawn stayed between them and anyone looking from afar simply saw a parent speaking with a teacher.

“Are you coming over tonight?”, Shawn asked, used to Eddie coming over a few times a week at this point for dinner.

“Of course, bud. But I’m gonna be a little late”, he replied, then looked up at Steve. “Got a meeting to go to.”

Steve nodded. Fourth quarter was upon all schools in the county and that meant a lot of meetings about different things. Testing, close down procedures, grades, promotions or holding someone back, graduations and award ceremonies. Or maybe it was something more insular. Either way, Steve had been dragged to his own impromptu meetings, so he understood. 

Shawn hugged Eddie’s leg and without thinking, he scented him, rubbing his wrist to the top of his head before Shawn took his dad’s hand and bounced off.

Eddie didn’t tell Steve the meeting was just him and the principal, but he saw no reason to worry him when he had no idea why he was being called on in the first place. He sat down and it started normal but then the principal’s words began to sink like lead in his stomach.

“Inappropriate relations…unfair treatment…special attention…parental concerns…”

It took him a moment to respond and he realized the man before him had asked him a question. Eddie had to take a second to gather his thoughts.

“Let me get this straight, one of my student’s parents thinks that I’m in a relationship with another parent? And that I’m giving another student unfair advantages because of that?”

He was met with a nod and not much else and Eddie had been on this side of an interrogation before. He knew the questioning party preferred to rely on the other person’s guilt to get them to admit to something but Eddie wasn’t guilty of anything. If anyone found out about him and Steve and was making these conclusions, obviously that wasn’t ideal. But if they were also positing that this was why Shawn’s academic performance was so high…well they didn’t know his classroom.

So Eddie just crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. He and Principal Parker weren’t really at odds, but in general Eddie liked to push the boundaries.

“Does this parent have proof of this special treatment? Or proof of this relationship?”

“I was hoping you could shine some light on that situation”, Parker said.

Which either meant he didn’t know or was hoping Eddie’s info would match his mystery informant. Like a lot of administration, Parker hid his scent so Eddie couldn’t tell much from it. Either way, he wasn’t about to just give the man details he didn’t need.

“I’m not having inappropriate relations with anyone.” There was nothing wrong with what he and Steve were doing and that was private anyway. “And none of my students are getting anything special.” Nothing besides the extra attention some of them needed in math or reading. 

He was dismissed with the promise/warning that the situation would be monitored. When he arrived at Steve’s he was glad to be greeted with a kiss. It was like a balm for his nerves. 

“How was the meeting?”

Eddie wondered how much he should tell him now, knowing that Steve was directly involved. But Shawn came crashing against his legs like he hadn’t just seen him, so he couldn’t say everything now.

“Parker wanted to meet about some parent complaints. What’s for dinner?”

“Pasta!”, Shawn exclaimed. “Did you know there’s like a hundred kinds?”

“Yeah? And how many can you name?”, Eddie asked as he went to help Steve with the preparations.

“Macaroni, spaghetti, fettuccine, um, angel…”

Listening to Shawn list pastas while he and Steve made dinner, Eddie didn’t know how anyone could find anything wrong with it. But perhaps people couldn’t see how serious it was when they were just boyfriends. Which meant he had to do what was right and make it legitimate.

With it being Valentine’s Day that week, it was the perfect time to do a mini lesson on old courting methods and procedures. He got his student’s attention with all the different types of gifts a suitor would give to their intended. They were a little confused on why someone might need a parent’s permission to do it though.

“Can’t they just ask?”, Yasmin scratched her head.

“It’s kind of like asking someone’s parent if they can play outside”, Eddie explained. “But in this case, it’s asking if you can ask them out.”

“What if both their parents are dead?” Elodie asked, a grin on her face like she said something funny.

“Then you have to ask someone important in their life”, Eddie said.

Friday, the kids came in with cards and candy for everyone and some even shared with him, which he was always grateful for. At the end of the day, Steve came to get Shawn as always.

“I should just put you down as a designated guardian so you can just drive him home whenever you’re dropping by”, Steve teased.

And that certainly wouldn’t help the allegations but neither would Eddie kissing him the way he wanted to right now. Eddie followed almost immediately after them though and he went right to Shawn when he arrived.

He knelt down in front of the pup, keeping his face serious. “As the next of kin of my intended, I would like to ask your permission to officially court your father.”

Steve’s eyes widened as he held his breath for Shawn’s answer. He had his nose scrunched up and lips pouted a bit. His thinking face.

“Do you have a good courting gift?”, Shawn asked.

Eddie had set his bag down on the floor and now he pulled a folded shirt from it. He unfolded it to reveal that it was a Corroded Coffin t-shirt. Shawn took it and looked it over before giving it a quick whiff and an approving nod. 

“That’s a good gift. You have my permission. Here you go Dad”, Shawn held the shirt out for him.

Steve came over, hands shaking a little as he took it, bringing it up to his nose and taking a deep breath. He had never received a gift like this. An offering for his nest, one meant to begin an official courtship. It was old fashioned, but romantic. Eddie rose up on his knees, looking a little nervous, as if Steve would ever refuse him.

To assuage those fears, Steve leaned in close and touched his cheek to Eddie’s. “You know you’ll have to scent this everyday for me, right?”

That night, Steve wore the shirt to bed and Eddie got to scent him in earnest. Saturday morning came and it was decided the three of them would go out for Valentine’s Day. Eddie didn’t like to make assumptions, but he was pretty sure Billy wasn’t the best father even on good days. He didn’t want Shawn to think he was only here for Steve.

He made chocolate chip pancakes for them both and then they drove to the aquarium. While Shawn had his face pressed to the glass of a tank, Eddie told Steve more about the meeting.

“I don’t think anything’s gonna come of it. But just in case any of the other parents try and make trouble for you…”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Respectfully, they can fuck off. My kid is smart because I put in work early.” Working with kids who were below grade level for several reasons made Steve realize how important it was for parents to take education seriously. Shawn excelled in kindergarten before Eddie and he’d do so in second grade after Eddie. But he knew parents fussing could cause huge problems down the line.

“You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

Eddie shook his head. “Parker’s the kind that doesn’t like rocking the boat. He’ll probably tell the parent that he spoke with me.” And if they kept kicking up dust, Eddie would be more than happy to evaluate their own child and give suggestions of how to improve their performance. “Like you said, they can fuck off.”

Of course that was when Shawn ran back to them, jaw dropped and frozen in his tracks at what he’d heard. Steve wasn’t helping by snickering and hiding it horribly in Eddie’s shoulder.

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

The true test came a week later, as it was Shawn’s birthday and Eddie would be attending not as his teacher, but as the alpha dating his dad. He laughed a little to himself thinking off the other times kids would invite him to their parties that he would have to express interest in but politely decline.

Of course his classmates were invited and that meant when the doorbell rang, Eddie was able to greet them and welcome them inside. A few were a bit surprised to see him at the Harrington household, but were able to disguise it for the most part. He knew they had questions. Eddie let his body language do the talking and so did Steve. 

Sitting close, arms around each other, never straying too far from each other, openly scenting Shawn in front of others because for all intents and purposes, that was his pup. Shawn loved all of his gifts, including the sets of miniatures from Eddie.

Steve shook his head. “You’re trying to indoctrinate him into that dungeons game, I know it.”

“When it’s DnD it’s indoctrinating, but when you buy him a basketball it’s just a game. I see how it is. The double standard”, Eddie lamented, hand to his chest as Shawn opened the rest of his gifts.

No one said a word against them then, but it was now out in the open. Mr. Munson was dating Mr. Harrington.

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

“Hey! I remembered the name of the thing! It’s Molang, not the Cinnamoroll one”, Steve said, in the middle of brushing Shawn’s hair for bed.

Shawn’s face scrunched up. “That was so long agoooo.”

“Yeah but I was right. You’re all soft and squishy like that”, he smiled, pushing his son’s cheeks together and giggling through the mirror.

“Mmnot soft”, Shawn protested.

“Alright then, go ahead and brush Mr. Not Soft.”

Shawn grabbed his toothbrush. “Just call me Mr. Hard.”

“Not doin’ that”, Steve muttered under his breath as he walked out of the bathroom. He put on the CC shirt. It was fresh from when Eddie scented it just about an hour ago when he’d been here. Not for the first time he wondered if it was too soon to just ask him to move in. He spent half the week in this bedroom anyway.

Eddie’s courting gifts extended to Shawn as well, who got his own t-shirt. This one wasn’t from the band, they didn’t have kids merch. It was simply one with a vintage print of a dragon that Eddie had scented as well. After brushing his teeth, Shawn settled into his bed for story time and Steve grabbed a kid’s chapter book they were working through. Shawn’s latest obsession was the Magic Treehouse series.

More often than not, Shawn would take over reading and sometimes Steve found himself nodding off. It was happening now and his eyelids got heavy when he heard the doorbell ring, putting him on high alert. Eddie had been by earlier, had he forgotten something? Robin usually texted before coming through, but emergencies did happen from time to time.

Besides that, he couldn’t think of who else could be calling on them this late. The doorbell rang again and there was knocking this time. Steve knew he had no obligation to open it. Whoever it was could come back at a more reasonable time. But the oddness of it compelled him to answer. 

He went downstairs and did a quick assessment. There were several things around that he could use as a weapon just in case it was some sort of assailant and Shawn knew how to dial 911. Then he shook his head. He lived in a nice neighborhood, that sort of thing didn’t happen here.

Nothing could have prepared him for opening the door and seeing Billy on the other side of it. 

Part 13

Taglist

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[typical-simplelove]

How Did It End? (C. Alcaraz)

Author's Note: If you know the song, it only kind of follows the song, but this has been an idea circulating in my mind for a while. I want to say more, but then it would spoil the ending, so please read!!! Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: brief mentions/allusions to death

Taking a deep breath, you walked into the coffee shop. Despite being a mutual friend and getting good references from the in-between friend, it’s still nerve-wracking going on a blind date. Well, it was only a semi-blind date. You’ve met him before, and you stalked his Instagram after briefly setting up a time and date with him. 

Carlos Alcaraz. 

The man of the moment in the tennis world. 

A friend of a friend, who apparently, according to the mutual friend, has been asking about you. He’d been asking about you for the past couple of months, and the mutual friend finally decided to talk to you and talk up the man in question. 

Carlos was a stupidly beautiful man. From his side profile to his hair to his legs, he was an all-around beautiful man, and if your friend was telling the truth, he had a nice, funny, and great personality. 

He seemed to be everything you’ve been looking for in a partner. 

Once stepping inside, you moved to the side, wanting to people-watch and observe Carlos before walking up to him. He was standing near where the line for ordering and paying was ending, gesturing for people to get in line as he was waiting and not yet in line. He was nervous, pulling at the edge of his sleeves, playing with his watch. 

Deciding to take him out of his misery, you walk towards Carlos. It was as if he could sense your presence because when you’re a few feet away, Carlos looks up. When his eyes meet yours, a big smile grazes his face. 

“Hi, it’s nice to see you again,” Carlos says once he walks over to you. 

“Likewise,” you smile. “Should we order?”

He nods. “I was super nervous and got here early, so I know what I want.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Damn, that was cute. Carlos was cute—in every measure of the word. 

Maybe this date wouldn’t go so badly. 

When you and Carlos get in line, neither of you says anything. The likely conclusion was that you were focusing on what to order and Carlos was respecting that, but the nerves in your body were circulating like crazy, so maybe the nerves were part of the reason why you couldn’t put any words together to say anything. 

The heat reflecting off of Carlos’ body onto you is indescribable, and you can’t help but fan yourself as your body grows in warmth at his proximity. 

Thankfully, the wait in line isn’t long, and you don’t have to find something to say that isn’t along the lines of, “Your body is so warm that it’s making me overheat, but in a good way.” 

Carlos gestures for you to go ahead, and as you walk up to the cashier, you immediately feel iciness take over your body as you move away from him and his incredulous warmth. 

“Hi, yes, can I get a . . .” you begin, picking out your desired coffee and two pastries. 

“And, can I get a sweet iced lemon tea and the gluten-free, vegan chocolate-chip loaf, please,” Carlos says from behind you, and you’re suddenly very much aware of his body near yours. It’s so obvious that you can’t even begin to comprehend the insanity of Carlos’ order. 

As the barista turns their screen around to show you the total and awaits your credit card’s tap, Carlos’ phone is quick, resting against the screen. 

With a quick thank you, both you and Carlos move away from the line. “I could pay for myself, and us, by the way,” you mention, hoping you don’t sound snarky. You just wanted him to know that you were capable of it, that’s all. 

He nods. “Next time. Do you want to sit at that table?” He’s gesturing towards a little corner table. 

“Sure.” 

When you both take a seat, an awkwardness overtakes the two of you. Now, there’s no excuse of reading a menu to use as the reason for the silence. You try not to let yourself get disappointed. After all, chemistry isn’t always instant, and quick, easy banter isn’t always natural. Sometimes, it takes getting to know someone before that conversation easily flows and ebbs. You were hoping (more like begging) that the latter would the situation with you and Carlos. He had a pull on you, and you wanted to discover that pull. 

Thankfully, it’s only a few moments of silence before the barista calls out your order number, and Carlos is quick to tell you he can grab everything and bring it back to the table. You agree, but still get up, moving towards the napkins to grab a bunch. 

“Your order is quite an enigma,” you tell him after taking a sip of your coffee. 

“Enigma?” 

“A mystery.”

He nods. “In what way?” 

“No coffee?”

Carlos shakes his head, a smile gracing his face. “I think I add a lot of sugar to my coffee. I wouldn’t want you to think that I was a child on our first date.” 

“So you got the tea?” you tease. 

“Seemed like the safest option.” 

“But the loaf? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Carlos chuckles, letting his deep laughter fill the space between the two of you. 

“The drink has a lot of sugar in it, so I balanced it out,” he explains. 

You shake your head, trying to hide the wide smile that’s trying to broach your face. “That’s kind of ridiculous.” 

He shrugs. “It works for me.” 

You’re looking down at your coffee, and when you look up at Carlos, you find him already staring at you, his dark eyes looking deeply at you. “So,” you start, clearing your throat from the intimacy and intensity of the situation. “Tell me about your family.”

. . . 

“I’m one of four brothers,” he starts. 

“Four? Your poor mother; the level of testosterone in your household must have been insane,” you joke, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face. 

Again, he shrugs. Does he know how cute his shrug is? “I don’t know how to measure testosterone.” 

Your forehead crinkles in amusement as you shake your head. He’s so effortlessly funny and adorable that you’re not sure he’s real. How can someone this attractive also be silly, funny, and adorable at the same time? He was a paradox—a paradox that you wanted to learn more about. “Don’t worry about it; it’s more of a vibe than it is something to measure,” you explain.

“A vibe,” he repeats, looking contemplative. 

“Anyway, tell me more about your brothers,” you prompt. 

Thinking about his brothers, Carlos’ eyes light up. It’s clear how much he loves his family. He gives you brief introductions to his brothers, throwing in small comments and stories about the four of them. 

“Do you have pictures?” you ask, curious to see pictures of him growing up, beyond what you can find from stalking his Instagram or going deep in a Google Search. 

“Sí, sí,” he answers, pulling out his phone. In a few photographs, he shows you his family, taking a brief moment to watch as you take his phone for a closer look. 

“You have a cute family,” you say, smiling. 

Carlos wanted to comment on you one day joining his family, but he wasn’t sure if that was too forward for a first date and if it would make him look creepy. So, he opted to give you a small smile with a curt nod. “Tell me about your family. I’ve been talking a lot.”

It took you a moment to try to find the right words, and when you did, you dove in about your family and loved ones, telling small anecdotes about your childhood and the past couple of years. 

From there, the conversation flowed easily, with you and Carlos exchanging questions back and forth trying to get to know each other. Before either of you know it, the cafe is getting ready to close soon. 

“I guess we should get out of here,” Carlos says, eyeing the barista starting to sweep on the other side of the establishment. 

“Probably,” you reply, slowly getting out of your seat and collecting your trash. 

“Did you want to go do something else?” Carlos prompts, hoping you’ll say yes but also that he’s not being too forward. 

Glancing down at your phone, you notice the time and how it’s close to seven. “I want to, but I’ve got to get home and get some work done. I’ve got some assignments due soon. Maybe later this week or next?” 

Despite how long you and Carlos spent talking, the conversation, surprisingly never reached the topic of his tennis or your academic studies and work. 

“I have to leave for a tournament,” Carlos says, “but maybe when I get back and you’re in a lighter week of work and assignments?”

You smile. “I’d like that a lot.” 

//

“What are you studying?” Carlos prompts you after you both receive your ice cream from the vendor and begin walking along a path in the park near your apartment. 

You give him a small glare because he asked you the question right when you took a bite of your ice cream. When he catches your eye as you glare, he gives you a small smirk. After swallowing, you tell him what you’re studying. 

“How did you decide upon that?” he asks. 

“I kind of thought about what I didn’t want to do, and then from there, I looked at my options and used my personality and skills to find a path that I felt best suited me.” 

“Do you enjoy it?” 

You nod enthusiastically. “A lot, yeah.”

“Tell me about some of the classes you’re taking.” 

With a deep breath, you dive into the classes you’re taking—from the ones that are focused on the major and career path to the ones that fulfill your general education requirements. You also fill in Carlos about your job and the extracurriculars you participate in in addition to your heavy course load. 

“So, I should be honored that I’ve been put into your schedule more than once, considering how busy you are,” he jokes, but it’s clear that he’s sincere and is putting himself out there, showing you how important you are to him, despite only seeing each other for a month. 

A short laugh escapes your lips. “Don’t let that go to your head. Regardless, you’re pretty busy with tennis, so if anything the honor should be mine. You travel a lot, and I kind of just stay here.” 

“If it’s important, I’ll find the time for it,” Carlos says, no hint of teasing or flirting in his voice. He’s serious. You don’t want to look at him because you know his eyes are on you, and if the way your face is heating up from being under his gaze, you know his gaze is intense, making sure you understand fully the gravity of his words. 

You can’t help it, though, and look at him. He’s still looking at you, his eyes searching your face. He looks worried, as if he might have overstepped the unwritten and invisible line. Finally, the words leave your mouth, and you say, “I feel the same way.” 

“Good,” he murmurs under his breath, barely above a whisper. It’s a surprise that you can hear his words. However, whenever you’re around Carlos, your senses are heightened and elevated, so it’s no wonder you’re acutely attuned to his words. 

As if embarrassed, you and Carlos both turn away from each other, opting to look ahead as you both continue walking and eating your ice cream. 

“Why tennis?” you voice, trying to ease and thin the intensity brewing between you and Carlos. 

His eyes crinkle in line with the smile. Even though you’re only seeing his side profile, you can tell that he’s got a wide smile on his face. This might be only the second time that you and Carlos are meeting in person, but you can already tell that you’re falling fast and hard for this man. The past couple of weeks since the cafe date have been filled with you and Carlos communicating constantly. Between the memes and videos sent back and forth on Instagram to the actual, silly conversations conversed via text, there was no limit to reasons you could point to for Carlos being someone who you would want to keep seeing and potentially date further down the line. 

“Rafael Nadal” is his reply with little to no explanation. “He was my hero growing up, and I wanted to play just like him. And as I started playing, I started to love the sport. It’s all I want to do, now.” 

Your heart warms at his enthusiasm and love for the sport. It’s hard to find people who truly feel so passionately about something, and it’s admirable to see this trait in Carlos. “I’m glad that you have that.” 

“Thank you,” Carlos says, giving you a small smile. 

From there, the conversation stills, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It’s comfortable. It feels like if you say anything, it would be forcing a conversation that isn’t supposed to happen. Walking in silence is comfortable and unique and precious. You’re enjoying the peacefulness while walking with Carlos; it feels as if everything is right for the first time in a long time. 

Now and then, while walking, Carlos (or is it you?) will accidentally (but is it?) bump his arm against yours or will accidentally (again, is it??) brush his hand against yours. At first, you thought it was because sometimes it’s difficult to perpetually walk in a straight line, and he apologized for the first couple of times, but when he kept doing it and stopped apologizing, you tried your hardest to hide a bashful smile at his small attempts at physical contact. He was trying, and it was cute. It was clear, too, that he had no idea if his attempts were working, and he didn’t know how to initiate anything—if the inability to look at you and his perpetual staring off into the distance were any indication. 

You decided to take him out of his misery. 

“Are you done with your ice cream? I’m going to toss mine in the trash up ahead; I can take yours,” you comment. 

“Sure,” he replies, placing his empty container into yours for ease of throwing out. You try not to laugh at the way he made sure none of his fingers touched yours. When you looked up at him during the interaction, his eyes were hooded, and his cheeks were lightly dusted pink. You couldn’t tell if the pink was from the warmth of the day or from being around you; you were hoping it was the latter. 

When you and Carlos approached the trash can, you broke formation, jogging slightly ahead to toss the trash. As you rejoined him, you made sure to have your arm parallel to his, with your hand close to his. Carlos has been the one to take the initiative in physical contact, so you decided to follow suit, attempting to reassure it wasn’t one-sided. 

For a few minutes, now and then, you’d brush your hand against his, letting your pink finger gently graze his knuckles. The first few times you did the action, you could hear Carlos’ breath hitch. He was surprised and nervous, but it was cute. 

Damn, Carlos was so cute; you couldn’t contain how cute he was, in every definition of the word beyond physicality. 

You continued to tease him, trying to see how bashful he could get. Eventually, you decided to take him out of his misery when you noticed he stopped pointing out the ducks that he saw swimming in the adjacent lake or the little babies and toddlers in their strollers. In a swift motion, you linked your pinky finger with his, your thumb making soft circles on the back of his hand, across his knuckles. 

You wanted to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to push Carlos beyond what he was comfortable with. So, you didn’t do anything else. You kept your pinky finger interlocked with his. He didn’t make any motion or movement indicating he was uncomfortable with the action or that he wanted you to remove your hand. 

However, you did notice that his breathing got heavier. For someone as fit as Carlos, the short, brisk, and slow walk you were taking shouldn’t have been something that caused him to get out of breath. His rapid blinking was a dead giveaway. Carlos was building up the courage to do something. You didn’t want to spook him, but you also wanted to reassure him that you were okay with whatever he wanted to do, so you brushed your elbow against his. 

That seemed to be everything he needed because, within seconds, Carlos was taking your entire hand in his, interlocking your fingers with his. This time, you can’t help the wide smile that erupts across your face. 

Oh, this man. 

“Okay?” Carlos asks, nervously, not wanting to overstep anything. 

You nod. “It’s all okay.” 

//

For the next month and a half, or so, following your and Carlos’ date at the park, you were regularly hanging out and seeing each other, with the in-between moments filled with phone calls and text messages. Even if he was traveling, Carlos made a concerted effort to work around both your and his schedules to find perfect times to text you uninterrupted or call you. That didn’t stop, though, the random thoughts that popped into his head. These random thoughts never failed to put a giant, goofy smile on your face. 

There were no words to explain the way Carlos made you feel; the only way you could sum it up was that you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really liked him. 

Finally, after not seeing each other in person for almost two weeks, your work and class schedule aligned with Carlos’ training, business, and tournament schedule to have a movie night. 

Because he still lived with his parents and didn’t want to subject you to that (and you weren’t quite ready for that), the decision was for him to go to your apartment. It was the first time you were going to be together in one of your guys’ living places. Often, you hung out in public places together, from little cafes to restaurants to the times he joined you at the library or study locations during intense exam times.  

His being in your home was a new level of intimacy you weren’t ready for, but it was exciting to show him a new piece of yourself. 

When Carlos walked into your apartment (twenty minutes early!), you gave him an apartment tour, albeit a short tour. This didn’t stop Carlos, though, from asking questions about various decor choices you made or pictures you have hanging around the place. Even the smallest details weren’t lost on him, and he soaked in every moment of learning about your living environment. 

“It’s not a big deal, Carlos.” You try to take him away from the shelves littered with old picture books and frames and yearbooks. 

“It’s a very big deal,” he says, pulling a book with pictures from your first year of university. With wide eyes, you snatch the photo album from his hands, remembering some of the more embarrassing photos of you in it, not ready for that kind of vulnerability. 

You try to ignore the teasing pout on Carlos’ face as he tries to guilt-trip you into letting him see the photo album. “You brought some really great snacks and take-out; let’s eat.” 

Walking into your kitchen, you try to ignore the presence of Carlos in your living space and what it means for your relationship. Neither of you have brought up the topic of the status of your relationship. It doesn’t necessarily worry you, but you hope it naturally comes up soon. 

“Hey,” Carlos says, approaching you in the kitchen. He places his hands on your waist, gently, in an attempt not to spook you. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” And it was the truth; you just didn’t want him to see embarrassing photos of you. 

“Still,” he murmurs, kissing your temples, one at a time, before following the same pattern with your cheeks before moving to your neck, followed by your shoulders. “Should have asked first.” 

You turn around in his embrace to look at him. “I have very embarrassing photos of me in that album. I’m hoping I go to the grave before anyone else sees those photos.” 

“Embarrassing photos, you say? Now, I know what I’m doing when you go to the bathroom,” Carlos jokes. 

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, your face growing warm. You try to turn back to face the counter while still remaining in Carlos’ embrace, but his eyes are captivating you, and the feel of his hands on your waist paralyzes you. Without any words, you rest your hands at the back of Carlos’ neck and pull him in for a kiss. You can feel the smile/smirk on his face as his lips touch yours. 

“No promises,” he murmurs against your lips as you pull away. In one swift motion, he turns you around and moves to your side to help you get the to-go containers situated. 

With ease, you and Carlos set out placemats on your coffee table in front of your TV and set the various food, snacks, and drinks on the table to have for the movie. 

“Preferences on a movie?” you question, settling on the couch next to Carlos. You follow up the question by listing out the various streaming services you have. 

“Pick one of your favorites first,” he replies, moving forward to make a plate of food and snacks for himself. 

You nod, picking one of your favorite movies to show. There’s no better test to a relationship than showing the other person one of your favorite movies. As the movie begins and continues through the plot, you’re extremely aware of Carlos’ presence on your couch. It’s different, but you like it. You like him here with you, and you want him always here with you. 

Halfway through the movie, you’re moving to adjust your legs into a more comfortable position. You’re not quite sure which pose or stance is going to be the most comfortable, so you’re trying out a few different stances. Carlos notices, and when you stop moving but are clearly trying to find a different pose, he takes your legs and drapes them across his lap, resting his hands on your ankles, brushing little patterns along the skin on your lower leg. 

Yeah, that was the pose. 

“Okay?” he asks. That was his thing. Whenever he tried something physical that was new to your relationship, he always followed it up with this question. 

You nod. “Okay.” 

A brief smile overtakes his face before he returns his attention to the movie. Through the remainder of the movie, your legs are comfortable in his lap as his hands trace patterns across the exposed skin of your legs. Normally, you were very ticklish; you couldn’t get through a pedicure without giggling and flinching. However, when Carlos traces his patterns and touches your legs, you don’t notice it. You’re not ticklish one little bit. Interesting, you think to yourself. 

When the movie is over, you give him the remote. “Your turn. Pick a movie.” 

He nods, taking the remote in one hand, and leaving his other hand firmly on your legs in his lap. He’s scrolling through the various options when he gets a phone call. 

“It’s my mother,” Carlos tells you. “Okay if I answer it?” 

You nod. “Of course.” 

As he answers the call, you lean forward to grab some of the snacks on the coffee table. You try not to listen to his conversation, but his mother on the other side of the phone is loud. Either, she talks very loudly or the volume is very loud, and you’re not sure which one it is. 

“Where are you?” you hear his mother say. Your attention is heightened and focused on Carlos’ response. What is he going to say? You’re not looking at him, but from your periphery, you see him look at you as he figures out what to say.

“Out” is what he decides to go with. Okay, interesting. 

“¿Con tu novia?” she replies (with your girlfriend?). 

That makes you sit up straighter. Now, you were very interested in what he was going to say. 

“Sí” is what he follows with. 

You don’t hear what she replies with. Your ears are ringing with the knowledge that Carlos called you his girlfriend. Hopefully, he wasn’t just saying it to get his mother off his back and actually meant it. 

Another minute passes of Carlos talking on the phone before he hangs up the phone. You’re not looking at him, and he can’t get a good read off of what you’re feeling or thinking. He knows that neither of you has brought up the topic, but he’s been telling people he has a girlfriend. Maybe he should have talked about it with you first before telling people, but it doesn’t change how he feels about you and where he wants the relationship to go. He opts to continue flipping through the movie selections, giving you the time to process and figure out what you want to say.

“Am I actually your girlfriend, or is that something you told your mom to get her off your back?” you finally say, hoping it’s the former. 

“I hope you’re actually my girlfriend,” he replies, looking at you with hope and fear. “What do you think?” 

“I think I’m actually your girlfriend,” you answer, smiling at the way his shoulders relax and the wide smile overcomes his face. “Is that okay?” 

“Very okay.” With that, he leans over and gives you a brief kiss. He pulls you closer to his body, wanting to hold you and feel your warmth against his body. 

Well, that’s that.

//

This year’s Indian Wells tournament happened to be at the same time as your Spring Break, so you managed to find some time off from work to fly out to California to be with him during the tournament. You tried to sleep on the plane, but the nerves were wracking through your body. When Carlos is on the road and in different time zones during various tournaments, you managed to work around your schedules well to accommodate the best times to call each other. Not being there with him during tournaments meant you didn’t truly understand how the stress and pressures impacted him as a player. He tried to hide a lot of it while on the phone so that you didn’t feel helpless by only being available over the phone. The dynamics between the two of you would be different with you there in person. 

Additionally, this is the most time you’re going to spend with Carlos’ team. You’ve met them and had several conversations with the various team members, but you’ve never spent extended time with them. You hope they don’t think you’re going to be a distraction for Carlos. 

To say the least, you were nervous, and that didn’t even compare to the general nervousness you had for Carlos going into a tournament, especially with some of the troubles and issues he’s been having recently. 

Because of his practice schedule, Carlos couldn’t meet you at the airport, so you took a taxi from the airport to the hotel where you sat in the lobby waiting for him. He wouldn’t let you get your own room; he wanted you at his side (and bed). 

You only had to wait about an hour—like he said—before you saw him walk into the hotel lobby. He was searching for you among the various individuals sitting on the couches in the lobby, and when his eyes met yours, a giant erupted across his face as he moved towards you. You met him halfway, dragging your suitcase behind you. 

“Hi,” he whispers into your hair as he holds you tightly. 

“Hi,” you whisper into the fabric sitting on his shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks.” 

“A couple of weeks too many,” Carlos contradicts, pulling back from the hug and putting his hand in yours before he re-introduces you to his team. Some of the nerves you were feeling dissipated at the happy smiles on their faces. 

“All he’s been talking about the past week has been about you arriving here,” Juanki says. “I don’t know if I could take hearing about it for another day.”

Everyone laughs at Juanki’s remarks, and Carlos kisses your forehead. “I’m very happy you’re here,” he whispers to you. 

“Me too,” you reply and begin the walk towards the elevator to Carlos’ hotel room. 

The week flies by fast. Your days are spent attending various practices and sitting in the Alcaraz box during matches while relaxing with him in between it all. He’s excelling through the tournament, and before you know it, he’s preparing for his appearance in the finals, vying for the opportunity to defend his title. 

Throughout the match, you’re clutching at the sleeves of your sweater, trying your best to remain stoic like the rest of his team so as to support Carlos the best you can. 

But then the umpire says, “Game. Set. Match. Alcaraz.” And with that, the entire box jumps up and erupts in cheers, and your heart is bursting at how happy you are for Carlos. This was everything he needed to get his momentum back, and you’re so happy for him. 

The rest of the day flies by with media and congratulatory conversations and celebratory drinks and dinner. It isn’t until late that you have a quiet moment alone with Carlos. You’re sitting against the headboard of the bed in your pajamas, waiting for Carlos to change into something comfortable after taking a shower. 

When he’s ready, he climbs onto the bed and rests his head in your lap. On instinct, your hands go into his hair to play with it and give his head a massage. 

“I couldn’t do it without you here,” he murmurs against your thigh as he lowers his inhibitions as you massage his head. 

“Yes, you could have,” you contradict, believing in his potential more than he does. 

“Well, then, you were a special motivator to win,” Carlos continues, making your heart melt. You bend down and kiss the top of his head before you return to focusing your attention on his head in your lap. 

He has to be exhausted, but you can tell he’s trying his hardest to stay awake—to stay awake for you. After a while, he knows that he can’t remain awake for that much longer, so he says, “Come here.” He moves his body to his side of the bed and pats the space next to him. “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms.” 

Who are you to deny this adorable man anything? So, you move to switch off the lights and move to maneuver yourself into his arms. When he’s wrapped his arms around your body just so, a sigh of contentment leaves his body, and within seconds, he’s out, his breath even and quiet. 

A small smile approaches your face as you kiss his cheek. Within minutes, you, too, are drifting off to sleep, both content with each other. 

//

Quietly, Carlos walks into your apartment, using the key you gave him. You told him that you were busy studying, getting ready for a week of midterms, assignments, and papers due, so he didn’t want to disturb you. However, he’s making sure to make some noise because he doesn’t want you to be startled when he makes his presence known. 

Quickly, he shrugs off his shoes and leaves the food and stuff he brought on the kitchen counter, looking around for you. You’re not at the kitchen table where you normally get work done nor are you at the couch where you tend to inhabit when times get stressful. Next, he checks the hallway leading to your bedroom and notices the light on in your room. Before he walks into your room, he returns back to the kitchen and grabs the bouquet of flowers and some of the snacks he bought before going to your room. 

When he gets to your open door, he knocks on the door to alert you of his presence. When you hear his knocking, you look up with a big smile and pause the music coming from your computer. 

“Hey,” you say, tidying up your bed, slightly, to make room for Carlos among the various textbooks, notebooks, and notes littering your bed. 

“Happy Anniversary,” he whispers as he kisses your forehead. 

“Happy Anniversary,” you repeat, pulling Carlos in for a hug. With his arms around your body, a lot of the stress that’s been holding you hostage leaves your body. “I’m sorry that I can’t go out tonight or any time this week.” 

He shakes his head. “Nonsense. We’ll celebrate our anniversary and you excelling at your work and classes.” 

“Thank you,” you say, patting the empty side of your bed for Carlos. 

“I’m going to put these flowers in a vase for you first, okay?” 

“Okay,” you answer with a small smile. 

“I brought you food and stuff. Should I leave it in the kitchen or bring it in here for you?” 

“Kitchen,” you reply. “It’ll give me a reason to get out of my filth, but bring some snacks?” 

“Obviously,” Carlos remarks before giving you a kiss and walking to put the flowers in a vase. When he returns, he comes back with various chocolate snacks, crackers, and gummies—more than anyone could possibly need. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing one of your favorites and immediately placing it optimally against your leg so you can grab some as you type away on your paper. 

“Of course,” he whispers back, climbing onto your bed. 

“I charged my tablet, so you can watch something on it while I get work done if you’re planning on staying.” 

He nods. It’s remarkable that even with all these things on your mind, you still can think about him and what he might need. “Whatever you need, let me know.” 

Carlos arrived at your apartment around late afternoon, and it’s been many hours since he arrived, and you’ve barely lifted your head to breathe. Despite using your tablet to watch a show (one of your favorites that he’s been trying to catch up on to watch it live with you), Carlos has been watching and observing you. He’s been watching you type away on a paper, finish it, check it off on your checklist, and move on to preparing various study guides for exams. 

He knows that you said you wanted dinner in the kitchen, but he knows trying to peel you away from your computer is going to be too much to ask, especially in the middle of completing an assignment, so instead, he watches and waits for you to check off something from your to-do list. When you do, he gently takes your computer off your lap and moves it onto the bedside table on his side of the bed.

“Carlos,” you whine. 

“Go to the bathroom,” he instructs. As you follow his instructions, he fluffs up your pillows and grabs another one to support your back before he goes to the kitchen to grab dinner for the both of you. 

When he gets back to your bedroom, you’re just leaving the bathroom after you used the toilet, washed your face, and brushed your hair. 

“I got you some food, so you can eat it while also getting work done,” Carlos says, gesturing for you to sit as he hands you a bowl. When you’re comfortably situated on your bed, Carlos places his bowl on the bedside table and gives you your computer back. 

When you get your computer back, you quickly make sure all your documents are saved before closing your computer and putting it to the side. When Carlos gives you a quizzical look, you say, “It’s our anniversary. The least I can do is have dinner with you.”

“No, if you need to get something done, it’s okay,” Carlos contradicts. 

You shake your head. “I need a break anyway.” 

“But you can—”

“I want to have dinner with you, Carlos, not my computer screen.” 

“Okay,” he says, a wide smile overtaking his face. 

While this might not have been the anniversary night Carlos thought he would be having with his partner, it was one he wouldn’t trade for anything. You’re a great source of support and love with his tennis career and his insane schedule, so it felt right to return the deed and support and take care of you when you were busy and needed him. After all, that’s what relationships are, Carlos is starting to learn. Taking care of each other, and carrying more of that weight when necessary so your partner doesn’t sink amid everything. 

Carlos made a silent vow to be your anchor for as long as you’ll have him—and he hopes it’s forever. 

//

“It’s kind of funny that three years ago, Chris was the one who introduced us, and now we just attended her engagement party, together, as a couple,” Carlos reflects, kissing your forehead. You lean further into his touch, letting his hand fall from yours so that his arm can wrap around your shoulders. He smelled good; he always smelled good. 

“Makes you think about how our lives would be different,” you continue. “We could have just been two strangers at this party.” 

Carlos shudders. “I don’t want to think about that.” 

“Good, me neither,” you reply, looking into his deep, chocolate-brown eyes. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Without saying anything else, Carlos takes your hand in his and begins the walk across the street. It was one of those longer avenues, with less than enough time to cross the street. You follow him, knowing you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. 

“You know,” he says when you’re still a few feet away from the mid-point of the avenue-cross way. “Attending an engagement party tonight has got me thinking.”

From his words, you kind of know where he’s going with his thoughts, but you still want to tease and embarrass him as he gets all his thoughts out. “Mmm, dreaming of your white, lacy dress?”

“No,” Carlos says, slightly defensively. You look up at him and can see a faint flush under the street lights as you’re still crossing the street. “Just that maybe we’d want that for us, one day? What do you think?” 

You’re still looking at him and crossing the street when you see his eyes go wide with fear. His face lights up with the white of a headlight, and for a split second you turn your head, and the bright white of the headlights blinds your vision. 

At least it’s with the love of your life, you think to yourself as Carlos squeezes your hand one last time. 

. . . 

As the headlights blared into your eyes, you blinked, bringing you back to the little corner table where you and Carlos were sitting—back to the present, away from your imagination. 

“I’m one of four brothers,” he starts. 

“Four? Your poor mother; the level of testosterone in your household is insane,” you joke, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face. 

He continues talking about his brothers, giving you little tidbits about their personalities and activities. He had no idea about the spiral that was going through your head at that moment. 

You’ve always known that you tend to overthink and think of the worst-case scenarios. That tended to be the one thing that prevented you from doing things, especially dating; not knowing about the in-betweens or how things ended was unnerving to you. What was going to happen after this first date freaked you out. 

“Tell me a little bit about your family,” Carlos says, a soft smile on his face, the smile lines around his eyes making you swoon. Oh, this man. 

“Well. . .” you begin, diving into your family and their various antics and personalities. They were a handful. 

This time, you decided, that it didn’t matter if you didn’t know how things would play out. You were going to try your best not to let yourself overthink and live in the moment. That was going to be difficult, you knew, but somehow, the way Carlos made you feel helped you realize that, no matter what, it would all work out just fine. 

You didn’t know how it would end, but the journey might be worth whatever the ending actually was. 

After all, you know you have an overactive imagination, leading to self-sabotage at the purest and best things in the world. 

This kind of connection with Carlos happened once every few lifetimes. Who were you to deny the universe the connection it wanted?