#just to try to do the right thing just as hard as we can and to adjust course if ever we discover we've gone astray

[henry7931]

Chase:

Today is a really weird day and I didn’t know how I would feel about coming over to my best friend Bryce’s house especially after the incident.

Bryce and I have been friends for over 12 years now and him and I have always been a couple of scrawny gay nerds. We both love Minecraft legend of Zelda, just about every video game you can think of and one way we really bonded was figuring out that we are both gay.

Now for years, I’ve always known that Bryce had a crush on me. For me it was never that I didn’t like Bryce or I was never interested, but I never wanted to ruin the friendship. But then you have Walker is older brother. Walker is a few years older than us. He’s super handsome, athletic, charming, he could basically date anyone he laid his eyes on.

The truth is Walker was my sexual awakening for years. I’ve stayed at their house and spent the night and it wouldn’t be uncommon to see Walker come out and nothing but basketball shorts hell I don’t even think he would wear underwear sometimes.

I can remember the way seeing him made me blush, and I tried my hardest not to stare at him. I don’t know if Walker could tell that I was checking him out. Or maybe Walker was just used to people checking him out shouldn’t be any surprise that his little brother‘s gay friend had his eyes glued to him.

And somehow he continues to keep getting hotter and hotter and hotter…

So several weeks ago, Bryce and Walker’s family went on vacation to some tropical island. And something very strange happened while touring an old temple. How Bryce explained it to me was that they had a sign up that specifically said, “ please do not touch artifact.”

Bryce can be such a stickler for rules and I can almost see it in my head. It all went down. Bryce told Walker not to touch it. Walker likes to get on Bryce‘s nerves Walker reaches for it and then shit got real quick. Because Walker and Bryce have now switched bodies.

When Bryce was explaining all this to me, I really thought it was bullshit. I mean, who would believe that that sounds like something from a movie and yet even hearing Walker‘s voice, I can tell just by the tone that it’s Bryce.

So today is the first day that I have seen Bryce since he swapped bodies with Walker. And that’s why I feel all kinds of weird.

Now Bryce and I have stayed with each other like 1 million times and it’s really not unusual for us to be basically naked around each other. OK maybe not completely naked but like at least in her underwear.

And I have tried really, really hard to make him feel comfortable and I think I’m doing a really good job but having him standing in front of me in just his brother’s boxers is driving me a bit insane.

I’m sitting on Bryce‘s bed and walks back into his room just to ask me if I wanted anything from downstairs like something to drink or maybe a snack. I can barely get out the words because I can’t stop staring at the chiseled God in front of me.

“ chase you’re staying the night right?,” he asked me.

“ oh yeah, of course I’m staying the night as long as that’s OK.”

“ yeah man of course it’s okay! You know it’s okay man. No one cares you stay the night. You’re like basically family sides. My brother isn’t going to be home tonight. He’s wanted a lot of space since the whole. I’ve got his body thing. And both my parents are out of town so it’s just gonna be us,” he says with a side smirk.

“ well if it’s just us what do you wanna get into tonight?,” I say trying to make conversation.

I’m holding my eye contact directly at his face and I try my hardest not to look anywhere else, but he takes his hand and start scratching his balls and I can almost feel my whole cock twitch.

“ I mean since everybody’s not here tonight, we can always break into my parents liquor cabinet, whoop whoop!”

You know I am probably the most innocent 18 year-old alive, I don’t wanna attend parties nor do I really sneak around my parents but I feel like alcohol sounds like a great idea right now. I mean it I might be able to calm down a bit.

“Hell yeah! That’s sounds fun!,” I say with some enthusiasm.

“Bet! Be right back!”

I hear as heavy feet running down the stairs and all I can do is try to think of something that would totally turn me off like anything taxes, my grandparents, just something…

And yet all I can think about is how hot it would be if I could suck on his toes. I’ve had a thing for feet a while now and it’s taking me a little bit to accept it and a part of that I blame Walker for him because he has some sexy ass feet.

I can remember clearly the smell of his feet after he would finish football practice and he would pull off his shoes. Shit! Fuck! I’m so hard right now. I feel like I’m gonna have to sneak away and beat one out in the bathroom just to clear my head.

And then here comes Bryce with two glasses in his hand and a bottle of wine for the both of us just super eager.

I reposition myself to where I’m laying flat on my stomach so he doesn’t notice.

Bryce hops on to the bed with me and try’s his hardest to navigate a wine opener.

“Geez, I have no clue what I’m doing here…”

I eventually take it and started twisting in. I try to pull it out but struggle.

“Here since you now have all of the muscles.”

He rolls his eyes at me and tugs it out.

“Success!”

“Good team work there he-man,” I say playfully.

Bryce’s pours both of us a glass and at first I thought it tasted awful. But the second glass… now I see why people like it. I feel so warm inside and relaxed.

We both lay back in his bed.

“Is it super weird for you?,” I ask him.

“What?”

“You know… being in your Walkers body.”

“Um… yes. Yes and no I guess. I feel like everything has just moved so quick since the trip. I feel very different in public, like I’m so much more noticed. girls hit on me… so do guys. It’s a lot to take in especially since you and my family are the only ones who know about it.”

“What about Walker’s girlfriend?”

“Oh he broke up with her, thought it would be less weird. Although he had to do it over text because I refused to call or see her in person.”

“Damn! That’s crazy.”

“Yeah but she was like his girlfriend for the month, nothing serious.”

Of course…

“So is this pretty permanent?”

“Yeah I think so, unless you know of any other magic objects than can reverse it haha.”

“No, not off of the top of my head,”I say jokingly.

“Well… that answers your question. This is my body now. This is the new me I guess,” he says looking his muscles over.

I look them over as well and then my eyes draw this briefs… he’s got a hard on…

Bryce catches my eyes and says, “you wanna touch it?”

“What?!?”

“Come on Chase… don’t play games with me. I know you and I know you’ve had the hots for this body. I’ve known for years now.”

I take a deep breath… I feel my nervous all over again.

“It’s okay, I know you like this body. It’s my body now. And I want you to touch my massive dick.”

“But Bryce!”

“Shhh! Chase I’ve had a crush on you for years and I know you would never fool around with me. And now I have the body you’ve been lusting for years now. TOUCH MY MASSIVE DICK PLEASE!”

“Fuck, okay.”

I start touching it from the outside and it does feel huge!

“You know I love you Bryce, you’re the most important person to me. I just never wanted us to loose our friendship. It’s why I never tried anything with you.”

“I know. And listen I know you weren’t trying to go after my brother. I know what he looks like. Everyone does. But now I have the body and the personality so, I’m giving you no choice but to date me. Got it?”

“Ugh fine,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Now can you do me a favor?”

“Sure!”

“Can I see your feet?” he says to me.

Wow! Wasn’t expecting that!

“Wait why?”

“I hope you don’t think this is weird but I have a thing for them.”

“Shut up! So do I!”

“You do?!?”

“Yeah especially…,” I eye down to his feet and wiggles his toes.

“Oh my god! This is about to be a wild night!”

“Wait, can I kiss you?”

“Please!”

Part 2 Coming…

[just-sg]

If the community doesn't welcome "cis men", then it excludes transmascs who pass or at bare minimum sends a message that the goal they worked so hard to achieve has made them less welcome in spaces that once supported them, actively punishing them for transitioning. It forces transfems to out themselves, which can be especially dangerous. It forces nonbinary amabs who can't or don't want to change their presentation to out themselves and sends a message that nonbinary people owe you androgyny or visual non-conformity. And if you think you can gauge any of these things by looking at someone, you're not doing the community any favors.

If the community doesn't welcome cis men, it excludes gay men. If men are welcome only when in a relationship with another man/person who reads enough like "a man", it excludes bi/pan/etc men and sends a message that what relationship they're in Right Now determines whether or not they're Queer Enough, you know, one of the core tenets of biphobia and erasure.

If the community doesn't welcome cis men, it excludes men all over the ace and aro spectrums. :) And yes actually, the heterosexual aromantic straw-man does deserve to be here just as much as anyone else. IF he's treating his partners like shit, then we judge him for that behavior, but queer people can be douchebags with shit views and we don't get to say they're not still queer. And if the het-aro dude is instead communicating honestly and being respectful-- a thing I promise is fully possible for humans to do-- then guess what, assuming he couldn't possibly be a decent person is just arophobia and maybe a side of puratinism.

Anyone questioning their identity, anyone who isn't actively questioning yet but later will, guys about to experience bi panic, transfem eggs who haven't clocked anything about themselves yet. Their early exposure to queer spaces being a hostile one is not going to help anyone, and can easily actively discourage people. We also need to be welcoming of supportive partners, siblings, parents, friends, etc, especially in cases where a queer person is disabled or otherwise has trouble going places on their own, or for helping ease anxiety in virtual spaces, etc.

Listen.

The nature of Being A Man is not and has never been the problem. And as much as some of you don't want to hear it, and as much as it fucking sucks and is objectively unfair when it does involve men who are participating in and benefiting from oppression, trying to turn the tables is never going to be an effective strategy. It's "not fair" that it's more dangerous for women to walk alone at night either but you hopefully wouldn't advocate against carrying mace on the basis no one "should" need it. Whether something is fair and whether it's true are not the same thing.

You cannot Get Revenge against a whole huge portion of the human population, and when you actively threaten or ostracize people, (a) you're mirroring the very thing you fight against, but (b) it makes people defensive!!! Some allocishet dudes would get defensive anyway at the idea of not being on top of the ladder anymore, but giving them more fuel won't change that. Dudes who'd have that kneejerk reaction but could be reasoned with won't be if no one bothers to try, or oftentimes even if someone bothers but it's immensely overshadowed with hostility. And people who were already allies can actively be pushed out and turned against the cause. (Not to mention perpetuating in-fighting.)

You catch more flies with honey, I'm sorry. And yes, we do need allies. Perpetuating the "us vs them" mentality helps no one, patriarchy does not target men in the same or as many ways as women but it is also harmful to many, and we will always have a better chance of fixing any system when we have people working for the cause inside and out. People using their positions of privilege to help provide extra leverage and voice to those with less privilege is always going to be desirable overall.

Even mainstream media writers throwing in crumbs of badly handled representation isn't without some merit, if only for proving it's not illegal and won't destroy sales to have Anything At All, which couldn't be said mere decades ago; if only for normalizing that queer people exist even the tiniest bit more. But just, normal people going about their normal lives. Just every random man who will frown at their coworker's homophobic joke and give a simple "not cool dude". Those little things adding up are important. When people hate you, it's easy to ignore you standing up for yourself, and harder to ignore people they like also standing up for you.

Cis queer men are not your enemy. Amabs who "read" cis to you and don't want to out themselves are not your enemy. Bi men who happen to be in relationships with women are not your enemy. Straight male partners of queer women are not your enemy! Allo cishet dudes married to allo cishet women with no queer kids or siblings or anything are not your enemy, not if they're behaving like friends.

People operating on ignorance, especially to a point of willful ignorance because they don't 'have' to deal with it, can be enemies-- inaction in the face of oppression is taking the side of oppressors, and all-- but even they're like... minion enemies if that makes sense. (That goes for men, women, questioning folks or folks who are definitively queer but don't feel like Part Of The Community, etc, to be clear.) It's not your personal job to educate every person, but when you can afford to, taking no shit but remaining civil will leave someone else a better chance of getting through to them. Picking a nasty drawn-out fight with that jackass on Twitter won't fix homophobia but may well increase his devotion to the enemy cause.

Prioritizing defense isn't always an option and I'm not saying it is. Sometimes you need whole riots to make a point, but even that involves group effort, and often times lashing out in your personal daily life can do more harm than good. THIS SUCKS. OF COURSE IT SUCKS. But it's a matter of the big picture. It's not about letting people "get away with" anything, it's about expressing disapproval in a calmer and more casual manner while trying to minimize anything they could twist into an excuse to be worse.

And that's with people who ARE actively shitty, the ones more casual and micro-aggressive about it but still ultimately against us. Lashing out pre-emptively on the assumption that people would be shitty does a lot more harm and no longterm good.

People joke about The Gay Agenda but honestly, yeah. The Agenda is ultimately for the queer community as a whole to be accepted, have the same rights and protections as anyone else, to end oppression, etc, right? Sometimes that's gonna mean dealing with being uncomfortable or uncertain or even biting your tongue in the name of forwarding the Agenda. Especially when it's literally about acceptance within our own communities. How can we reasonably expect everyone else to accept us if we're struggling to accept each other?

i don't care how uncomfortable you are around cis men, queer cis men still need places to go, and sometimes, those spaces will be shared with yours. disabled and neurodivergent queer men and queer men of color especially need a place to go. the queer community isn't the "fuck cis men" community. that is the rad fem community. if you think cis men and people who read as cis men are inherently "too scary" or shouldn't be allowed in queer spaces, you joined the wrong community.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER FIFTEEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd

warnings sexual innuendos, yall are getting edged one last time 🙂‍↔️

kalena speakss 🪽! it’s finally here, everyone say thank you to sza cs without her album this wasn’t getting done. one more chapter after this one, i can’t believe it mannnnn 🥹

July 2025 — San Diego, California 

My hands are sweating more than they have ever before. I sit in silence in the driver's seat of my jeep, the car parked in the driveway. It’s a beautiful house. Costal, and fucking huge. There’s a four car garage and a driveway so big you could probably park two more cars next to mine. 

This car ride was definitely eye opening to say the least. In no world would you ever catch me driving more than 30 minutes let alone two hours to see another woman. 

I’d only ever do it for Maraye.

She’s heaven sent, just a completely unbelievable human being, and the second she sent that address I was in that car faster than I could blink.

It was always going to be her.

The sound of my foot bouncing on the car floor echos off the walls and I take that as the cue to go inside, I’ve been sitting here forever. I turn off my engine, sticking the keys in the pocket of my shorts before taking a deep breath. 

My feet feel heavy as they drag towards the wooden steps. Cedar fills my nose and calms me down, just enough.

The door swings open before I can even touch the handle.

I’m not sure if I should be pissed that Maraye looks so happy or, well, happy for her. She’s glowing, skin tanner than when I last saw her. Her curls look perfect, shiny and bouncy, perfectly framing her face. She got on these striped shorts that leave too much for my imagination and a USC Trojans cropped shirt. (Remind me to burn that.)

“You didn’t show up.”

I’m instantly taken aback by the immediate comment. My eyebrows furrow and I blink back my confusion.

“I—Huh?”

“My show. I wanted you there and you didn’t come.” She elaborates, crossing her arms over her chest and suddenly I’m losing focus and staring right there. 

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my throat, a smile spreads across my face. “That’s what you wanna talk to me ‘bout? Really?”

Maraye frowns, adjusting her position on her foot. I know she’s trying to look upset, and she probably is, but that fucking pout of her lips is the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” I admit. “But y’know we should prolly talk about something else.” My eyes squint as I look over her body. Just briefly I notice a crack in her demeanor. The sternness of her eyes slips and her lip just barely quivers. It’s like she just now realized that me being here meant talking about it.

We have to. I don’t think I’d be able to go to Indiana, knowing that she’s in the stands without knowing if she hates my guts or not.

Raye sighs, but it comes off more as a deep breath. Her arms drop to her sides and she moves from the doorway, giving just enough room for me to step inside.

She doesn’t say a word, just walking into the house like there’s nothing more to say. But I follow her anyway, looking like a lost puppy and staring at her so hard I damn near forget to lock the door.

This house is way bigger than I thought it would be, I swear I walked past a game room and a gym within three seconds of one another. It has an older style, hardwood floors and cream carpets. The lighting is dim and aside from the natural light that comes from the windows, the chandeliers from the ceiling illuminate the room with a yellow light.

After what feels like hours of walking, she stops, opening another door and revealing the balcony.

“Your grandma had nice taste. This place is crazy.” I comment, looking slightly shocked. I knew the places in San Diego were nice but goddamn. 

Raye lets out a breathy laugh, approaching the outdoor seating area. It’s dark, but the fireplace that glows bright orange and yellow is more than enough for her to see me and for me to see her. She sits down without a word and I do too, right next to her on the off-white colored couch.

I can feel the warmth that radiates off her body, almost hotter than the fire itself. She crosses her legs under her as she sits and the movement of her thighs sends me into orbit. 

“I’m not gonna say anything.” She speaks up, looking at me with her tongue trailing over her bottom lip.

I look at her incredulously. “Really? You ain’t gonna say shit?”

Maraye nods slowly. “Last time I saw you, I didn’t let you talk. So I’m lettin’ you talk now, you have the floor.” She gestures to the space in front of us. “I promise.”

“You swear?”

She makes a big show of zipping her lips and tossing the imaginary key behind her and it’s things like that, that make me crazy over her. The theatrics and the laughs, she’s so unapologetically herself around me all the time, even when I piss her off and she wants to put my head on a platter.

“I swear.” She smiles, turning her full attention to me.

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling the pressure of this whole situation on my shoulder again. She’s the only person in the world that without fail makes my head empty. Raye looks at me, and within seconds I’ve lost everything that I’ve been practicing on saying in the car.

“Um. Fuck,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Ion even have a fuckin’ excuse for you. I jus’— I fucked up. Drank too much, saw her, I thought you were with Julian, and I made a big mistake, Raye.”

—

Hearing Paige say all that, made my throat tighten and my chest get all heavy all over again, the same way it did when I found out everything two weeks ago.

She can’t even look at me as she speaks, and that alone lets me know she’s telling the truth. That she feels bad, maybe even worse than what she says.

“You got every right to be mad at me.” She admits, she takes a breath with every few words. It’s like she’s having a shortcoming just by trying to apologize. 

A small part of me is happy to see her all stressed out like this, as if I think she deserves it. But I also fucking hate watching her struggle to get her words together. Normally she’s so confident, it’s the first time I think I’ve ever seen her so unsure of herself.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I always told you that you have a right to be upset or get emotional about things that people say, ‘cause you’re always thinkin’ you don’t get that luxury when you do.” Paige plays with her hands and it’s then when I notice the silver band on her pinky finger. “But as soon as you got mad at me, I told you that you don’t have a right to be mad.”

I nod, remembering it all. The downside of remembering everything is that I had to relive every word that she said to me that day when I woke up and when I went to bed and even in my sleep. 

“Paige it’s—”

“Nah, you said I have the floor, right? Swore you weren’t gon’ say shit.” She points at me with one finger, her other pointer finger over her lips. Very obviously telling me to shut up, and I do. 

I can’t help but smile at her. I think even now, with her hair in that messy ass bun and the purple star patch on her chin, she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. 

“You got every right in the world to be mad at me, because what I did to you was unforgivable.” Paige finally looks up at me and I think I’m about to drown in those eyes. “I made you cry, Raye. I’d never seen you cry before and I’m never gonna forget that shit. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

I sniffle a little at her words. Hearing it from her lips while she looks at me is completely different from over the phone. 

I’m actually very glad that I waited this long, because the silence on my end completely aids in making sure I listen. Like actually listening, I’m not thinking of a rebuttal, or a way to defend myself, I’m just listening. Taking it all in.

Paige runs a hand over her chin. I know that action. She does it whenever she’s frustrated, or thinking, I don’t think she’s ever done it before with me; other than when she’s trying to get in my pants. But she does it all the time in her postgame interviews.

“I can’t go this long without speakin’ to you, Raye. You just… you’re so much different than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re fuckin’ special and— I wanna try this. Us.”

It’s certain, the most certain I’ve heard Paige be since she sat down. “If y’ont want that it’s fine too. We can be friends, or even fuckin’ acquaintances, I just— I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You left your mark, permanently.”

My breath hitches. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. She doesn’t even stutter when she says that, and it brings tears to my waterline. I already know I’m falling for every word she says. 

I do it because she looks at me like I’ve hung the moon and the stars. Her body is even closer to mine than it was before, I can see every single shift in the blue of her eyes, every ridge of her face, I can point each brown eyelash on her eyes. I’d fall for any and everything she said if it meant I had her here. Close like this.

“You uh, you told me that I don’t know you. And I think you’re wrong.” It takes me aback briefly. I wasn’t expecting it from her, especially not right now. “I know what makes you smile, how to make you laugh, how to get on your nerves.”

I roll my eyes at Paige instantly. So hard that they were probably a few millimeters away from getting stuck in the back of my head.

She laughs, that full, high pitched laugh that I’ve missed so fucking bad. “I mean you got a point. Ion know where your parents are from or your favorite show or how you like your coffee. Or if you even like coffee. Do you? I’m getting distracted.

“—I do like coffee—” I butted in briefly, any attempt to ease her obvious growing anxiety.

“—But I know enough to know that I want you and only you. You’re it for me, Raye. And I swear to God I’ll do right by you if you give me a chance. Teach me how to be your person and I’ll teach you.”

Paige sighs and I let a similar one slip from my lips too.

“Jus’ please. I’m sorry.”

My heart feels heavy with everything she’s just said to me. I know I should forgive her, every bone in my body wants me too. 

Then there’s that small part of me that doubts her just a bit. It’s the same part that creates an image of her and that girl almost everyday, the same part that doesn’t allow me to give people second chances. 

I don’t even notice the tear that slipped until I’m dropping my head in my hands and I feel it. My palms run across the expanse of my face. “I can talk now?” I tease.

“Yeah, ma. You can.” Paige shakes her head in pure amusement, not even trying to fight off the grin on her face.

“It’s so hard to stay mad at you when you say shit like that.” I groan. “Ion give people second chances, Paige. Y’know that.”

“Technically, you didn’t give me a real first chance ‘cause you had a boyfriend.” She says pointedly, bobbing her hands as if she’s trying to convince me of my options. “Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You wan’ me to get on my knees? I’ll do it, I’ll beg.”

I’m laughing but Paige is completely serious, slipping off the cushion and looking at me expectantly.

“Y’ont have t—”

But she’s already doing it, sinking to her knees below the couch and looking up at me with that damn pout of hers. “—Please, Raye. Gimme another chance, angel. I’ll do anything. Please?”

There’s no one here but me and her, yet the sight of her on her knees is enough to make me burst out in that kind of embarrassed laughter. “Can you get up?” I grit through my teeth.

“Girl, I’m on my knees!” Paige sings horrendously, and I roll my eyes again at her song reference. No way this girl thought she was gonna sing some Lloyd to convince me.

“Shut up and stand up, Madison.” I say again, attempting to pull her up by her biceps that have definitely gotten bigger in these last few weeks.

“Answer me first.”

“Yes, yes okay. I forgive you, just get up!” I giggle, covering my eyes with my palm until I feel the cushion dip beside me. “Oh my God, you’re not real.” I mumble, finally dropping my hand to see how proud she is of herself. 

“C’mere.” She instructs with a smile, opening her arms and I waist maybe a second of time before I’m turning and wrapping my arms around her neck.

Her shampoo wafts through the night air and straight to my nose, the cool zipper of her grey tech jacket against my stomach makes me jump a little bit, but she holds me there, tight to her body with her head in my neck.

“I fuckin’ missed you, dude.” Paige inhales. Only she could go from being sappy to calling me dude all in the same breath. It’s so uniquely Paige.

“I missed you too.” I sigh, breathing in her scent again.

I don’t think I want to let go. Because she’s here, hugging me like I could run away at any fucking minute, running her thumb over the open space on my back that my crop top is giving her. 

I pull back to gaze at her. That look she used to give me all the time before we even started anything, it’s there. A slight lift of the apples of her cheeks and her pupils dilated like I swore they did back then. Only this time I don’t have to think it, I know it. I see it.

I trail my hands to her cheeks, my thumb over her bottom lip. And then suddenly I’m licking mine and leaning into her.

Except Paige pulls back before we get the chance to touch.

“You don’t wanna kiss me? Really?”

She chuckles, “no I do, trust me. I really really want to. But if I kiss you, I’m gonna wanna do so much more.”

“Oh so know y’ont wanna fuck me? Paige—”

“Damn, shout it from the rooftops then!” Her eyebrows furrow at my sudden vulgarity and she leans towards me more. “Trust, I wanna do a lot of that. I just wanna take you on a date more.” Paige smiles and she looks awfully proud of herself for the cute suggestion.

It is cute. The way her cheeks flush in nervousness. I let the blonde pull me into her lap fully, adjusting me perfectly on her lap. Her hands run distractingly on my thighs, so much so that I almost forget to respond to her.

“Can I take you out on a date?”

I nod almost in a trance.

“You wanna use your words, ma?”

“Uh huh.”

“You do? Y’wanna say yeah?” She’s teasing me, and finding amusement in it too.

“Yes. You can take me out.” I blink, slapping a hand against her shoulder, and then again when I hear that god awful cackle escape her. “You’re so annoying.”

Paige licks her lips, not taking a single second to look away from me as I loll my head down to face her. “Tomorrow night, after the three point? You are still goin’ to Indy, right?”

“I am. That sounds perfect, Paige.” I grin, leaning over to ghost my lips across her cheek.

I can’t help but do it again. Her skin is so soft and warm, a near perfect spot for my lips to meet over and over again until Paige is humming and tossing her head back in an attempt to keep a respectful distance. It’s cute that she doesn’t trust herself this much. Even cuter that I’m doing practically nothing and she’s falling victim to me.

“Ion know if you got the memo, but this is st—ill kissing.” She groans, pushing at my hips.

I grip her chin in my hand, pulling back just enough to turn her head in the other direction and place kisses there. “Mmm no s’not. Our lips ain’t even close.”

And I continue this for a while, my lips on her cheeks, her jaw, ghosting over the corner of her lips in hopes of making her give in to me like she’s done many times before in the past. Paige surprised me though, standing her ground.

When I look back, her bottom lip is wet and swollen. My guess from biting it too many times. She’s breathless, and anyone else would’ve thought I’d just made her finish right here.

“I— I need to get back home. I got a flight at four.” Paige mumbles, darting her tongue over her lips.

I frown. “Fly with me from here, then.”

“My bags are at home, ma. And aren’t you flyin’ out private?” She questions, sending a pinch to my hip.

“Yes… so? I’ll call and reroute from LAX and you can come with me.” I shrug as if it’s that simple, and it probably could be if I call the right people.

Paige smirks that infamous fucking smirk. “Ion do small planes, angel. You know this. S’cute that you wanna be with me that bad, tho.”

I cross my arms over my chest, pouting. “Please, please, please?”

—

July 2025 — Somewhere over Nevada

I need to find some kind of ground to stand on when It comes to this woman.

My hands clutch my armrests, eyes squeezed shut, and head tossed back. 

I’m not scared of heights. Before anyone starts thinking that. I’m scared of tiny ass planes and not enough people on them. It was fine when we were on the ground, but the second the flight attendants were out of view and I had to get strapped in I almost shit myself.

“Paige, you can relax.” I hear Maraye giggle from in front of me, her feet resting in my lap to attempt to ground me. It worked out a little, then she started fucking around and nudging her heel a little too close to my core and all of a sudden I was trying to distract myself from something other than the plane. “P?”

“What?”

The sound of her seat belt clinging cuts through the silence, and then her feet are leaving my body and instead I feel her; all of her. Raye grips my hands, peeling the from the arms of the chair. My eyes shoot open at the contact. 

“What the hell are you doin’? Sit down.” I tell her, slightly tripping out over this flight some more. 

She gets smart, straddling my lap and sitting on it rather than in her seat. I let out a groan because I know that any other time I’d be all over this shit. Since last night, after I told her I was holding out at least until our date, she’s made a very big show of trying to get me to fold. 

First on the drive back to LA, her hand drawing patterns on my free hand, or reaching over to play with my hair. She had perfect hands. Long, slender, fingers with a shade of deep royal purple manicured on her nails. They’re fucking soft too, prefect enough to distract me while I was driving. I couldn’t help but think about how they’d feel inside me. Or circling my clit, feeling my wetness from her alone. That’s how I knew I was in so deep, when I was thinking about Raye fucking me numb just from her touching my hand.

She was talking some crazy shit too, which on any other occasion I’d be willing to handle that. But I was serious. Our relationship wasn’t going to be started on the basis of sex. I wanted to do it right. She slept In my guest bedroom because I knew If we shared a bed we wouldn’t be sleeping. Rather anything but that.

The car ride this morning was similar. Which made me realize she wasn’t doing all this just to prove a point, but because she needed me. When she told me she’d had a dream about me, told me all the details in which that dream entailed, I was about to make her wish come true and get on the floor of the passenger seat and shove my tongue so deep inside her that she saw stars. And I knew she would’ve enjoyed every minute because Raye let me know from her own mouth that she would.

Which made my brief period of celibacy nearly impossible.

She’s also not wearing clothes.

Well, she is, but not really. Her top is tiny, a sliver of fabric that barely covers her tits and shorts that ride up as soon as she gets comfortable on my lap.

“You wanna yell at me like that again?” Raye looks at me crazy, a bite of her lip and a tilt of her head that makes my entire body melt into a puddle in this seat.

“You so freaked out.” I groan, hold her hips in place. “Why the hell did I let you convince me to do this shit.” I wonder aloud trying to avoid looking out the window, noticing the obvious racing of my heart. Except I don’t know if it’s because of the plane of because of her ass pressing up on me. Her hips grinding on mine, her covered cunt dragging across the seam of my shorts.

She shrugs while trailing a finger down the obvious vein in my neck. “I dunno. You could’ve told me no.”

The slight movement pushed her tits even closer to my face and I know I’m about to either pass out or take her right here. Spread her out, rip these tiny ass pieces of fabric off her body, and drive my fingers inside her until she’s falling apart for every crew member of this plane to hear.

“Killin’ me here, ma. Move over a lil bit.” I ask, clutching a hand at her side, stilling her as much as I can and running my thumb over her ribcage. That’s where I finally see it. That damned tattoo that had me reeling on my bedroom floor last night. 

John 13:7.

I think it’s the worst time for it to be staring at me, mostly because I’m thinking some very not-so-holy thoughts. She’s testing every bit of my resolve at the moment, I was confident in my ability to hold out, but we have maybe two more hours before landing, and Maraye looks like she’s going to make me work for it the whole time.

Raye catches me staring, and she pushes a stand of hair out of her own face. “You like it?”

I nod wordlessly. Every single part of her is mesmerizing. All the ink, and then that brown of her skin is addicting. Tan lines peeking out of that tube top and up out of the waistband of her shorts.

I dig into my own shorts, pulling my phone out of my pocket before flipping the screen towards her. The same bible quote on my lock screen almost as if it was fate.

She smiles, pressing her hands to my shoulder and laughing breathily. “We're just on the same wavelength, huh?” Raye asks, I’m about to answer when she presses down harder on my lap, testing every single bit of self control I have left with just one simple movement.

“Mmhmm. Same shit, baby.”

[lotsofmilfs]

Shades of Cool Part 2

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : After sharing your magic with Agatha, the bond is stronger, so you start to tease her through it.

Word Count : 6.8kish

Notes : Part 3 soon! (NSFW 😏) i’m sorry if this ended up being repetitive, i’ve edited this for days in a row and keep changing things lmfao.

Part 1

The warmth of her touch lingers as Agatha steps back, her hand still loosely holding yours. The bond between you hums steadily now, like the soft rhythm of a heartbeat. Her magic flickers through the connection—not as strong as it once was centuries ago, but it’s alive, pulsing faintly like a spark waiting to ignite.

You’re exhausted, your body feeling lighter, almost hollow, but there’s no regret in the act. If anything, there’s a strange comfort in knowing she feels more whole now, even if it came at your expense.

Agatha seems to sense it, her sharp gaze softening. “You look like you’re about to collapse,” she says, her voice still laced with that familiar sardonic edge, but there’s an undercurrent of concern that wasn’t quite there before.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your knees threaten to betray you.

“Liar,” she mutters, her free hand reaching out instinctively to steady you. Her fingers brush your arm, firm but careful, and the bond thrums faintly in response. “You’re always so reckless, always giving and never thinking about the cost. You—” She stops herself, her expression twisting into something conflicted.

“Spit it out, Agatha,” you say tiredly, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Her lips press into a thin line. For a moment, you think she won’t say anything, but then she exhales, her hand lingering on your arm. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says softly. “You didn’t have to… give up part of yourself for me.”

You meet her gaze, your exhaustion tempered by the raw vulnerability in her voice. “You think I’d just stand by and let you suffer like that? Agatha, we’re bonded. I feel what you feel. I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to.”

Her jaw tightens, and she looks away. “You’ve always been like this,” she mutters. “Too selfless for your own good. It’s so fucking infuriating.”

You laugh faintly, the sound dry but genuine. “And you’ve always been too stubborn to admit when you need help. So I guess we balance each other out.”

She doesn’t respond right away, her fingers still lightly gripping your arm. But there’s a warmth in your chest, and you can feel the gratitude she’s trying so hard not to voice.

“Come on,” she says after a beat, her tone lighter now. “Let’s get out of this wretched place before you decide to martyr yourself any further.”

She moves to step away, but you catch her hand before she can let go. Her eyes widen slightly at the gesture, and you can feel her surprise ripple faintly through the bond.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice steady despite your exhaustion. “Don’t let this go to waste.”

Her expression falters, her carefully crafted walls cracking just enough for you to see the emotion beneath. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she squeezes your hand in return.

“Okay I- I’ll try.” she says quietly, her voice carrying a weight that feels like a promise.

You nod, satisfied, and let her lead you forward. The mist around you begins to thin, the glowing blue light of the witches’ road shifting to a soft, golden hue. It feels like a small victory, like the road itself is acknowledging the fragile progress you’ve made.

As you walk, Agatha’s hand brushes against yours every now and then—not quite holding, but not quite letting go either.

The quiet between you feels different—less strained, more… charged. You try to ignore it, chalking it up to the magic you just shared, but the truth lingers at the edges of your thoughts. The bond isn’t just a connection of power; it’s always been more than that.

And now that it’s whole again, it’s impossible to ignore.

“Do you feel that?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

Agatha stops, her brow furrowing as she glances at you. “Feel what?”

“The bond,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “It’s… different now. More than it was before.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her gaze flickering away as if she’s considering how much to say. “Of course it’s different,” she replies, her voice carefully measured. “You gave me your magic. That kind of exchange would strengthen any connection.”

You narrow your eyes at her, sensing there’s more she’s not saying. The bond pulses faintly, carrying her unease like a ripple in a still pond.

“It’s not just the magic,” you press, stepping closer. “There’s something else. Something I didn’t feel before.”

Agatha exhales sharply, her jaw tightening. “You’re imagining things,” she mutters, though the flicker of guilt in her eyes betrays her.

“I’m not,” you insist, your voice firmer now. “Agatha, what aren’t you telling me?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides. For a moment, you think she might deflect again, but then the bond hums with something deeper—an emotion that feels startlingly raw. It makes your eyes water slightly as it fills your chest.

“You’re not the only one who feels it,” she admits finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “The bond… Us… it’s always been more than just magic. But I buried it. I had to.”

You blink, the weight of her words settling heavily in your chest. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you then, her expression guarded but vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. “When we first started to forge the bond, I felt it, those nights in the forest,” she says, her voice steadier now. “Something more than connection, more than power. But I couldn’t handle it—not then. I was too afraid of what it meant. So I ignored it. Tried to bury it deep enough that even you wouldn’t feel it.”

Her confession leaves you breathless, the bond between you flaring further as her emotions ripple through it. You remember those early days—the intensity of your connection, the way being near her felt like standing too close to a fire.

You’d thought it was just the magic, the strength of the starting bond itself. But now…

“Agatha,” you say softly, your voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you saying… you felt this back then? Even before…”

“Yes,” she says, her tone clipped but honest. “And I thought you did too. But you never said anything, so I assumed it was one-sided. That’s… Another reason why I left.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, memories flooding back with startling clarity. The trial, the first night after she left, the ache of her absence that felt more than just betrayal. It wasn’t just the severed bond that hurt—it was losing her.

“I didn’t know what I was feeling back then,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I thought it was just… the magic. I didn’t realize…”

Your words trail off as you look at her, the weight of the moment settling between you. The bond pulses again, and this time, it’s impossible to deny the warmth that spreads through you.

Agatha steps closer, her gaze searching yours. “And now?” she asks, her voice quieter, almost hesitant.

You swallow hard, the air between you charged with something fragile but undeniable. “Now… I think I Do.”

Her breath catches, the bond roaring underneath your skin, as the truth settles between you. Slowly, tentatively, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your wrist. The touch is light, hesitant, but it sends a jolt through you that makes your heart race.

The world around you feels distant, the golden mist fading into the background as your focus narrows to her—the way her eyes soften, the faint tremble in her hand as it lingers near yours.

“Don’t run again,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “If this is what we are—what we’ve always been—don’t run from it anymore.”

Her lips part, her expression flickering between fear and something softer. Slowly, she nods, her fingers curling around your wrist with a steadiness that surprises you both.

The stillness between you is filled with the quiet hum of the bond, stronger now, resonating like a steady undercurrent. Agatha’s thumb is brushing lightly against your skin—a small, unspoken gesture that sends heat pooling in your abdomen.

She’s not running this time. That realisation alone makes your throat tighten.

Neither of you moves to break the fragile moment, but the bond speaks louder than words. You feel her unease, the raw edges of her vulnerability, but also the faint flicker of something else: hope. It’s tentative and cautious, like a flame coaxed to life after years of darkness.

“I never wanted to hurt you, you know” she says finally, her voice low, almost trembling. Like she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Leaving… it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I cared too much. After… Listen like i said, you never said anything about any extra feelings and sometimes i just felt like I would die if i didn’t-” she cuts herself off and sighs deeply.

You blink, her words settling heavily in your chest. “You thought running away would help?”

Her lips twitch into a humourless smile. “I thought it would be easier to sever the bond and save us both the trouble, I was so scared, to feel more, to be more, to have everything with you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“You think?” you say, though there’s no heat behind it. If anything, your voice is softer now, touched with the faintest trace of affection.

Agatha huffs a quiet laugh, her fingers sliding down to tangle with yours. “You don’t have to be smug about it.”

You bite back a smile, studying her carefully. In the glow of the road, her features are softer, less guarded. Her usual sharp edges—the sardonic quips, the biting humour—are still there, but muted, stripped down to something real.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” you ask, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Her gaze drops to where your hands are still joined. For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. When she does, her voice is quieter, almost a whisper.

“I thought you hated me,” she admits. “And I didn’t blame you. After what I did—after what I didn’t do—I thought it was better for you if I stayed away. I killed other witches for sport for years, I figured you’d move on, find someone stronger, someone who deserved…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“Deserved what?” you press gently, stepping closer.

She looks up, her eyes searching yours. “You,” she says simply.

The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You feel the bond flare again, emotions rushing through it too fast to parse: guilt, longing, regret, and something warmer, deeper, that makes your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. You’d spent centuries convincing yourself you didn’t need her, that the ache she left behind was just a relic of the bond. But now, standing here with her, the bond humming strong and full, you realised how wrong you were.

“You idiot,” you say softly, though your voice lacks any real venom. “You’ve always deserved me. I just didn’t realise what that meant until now.”

Agatha’s breath hitches, her hand tightening around yours. Her gaze flickers to your face, searching, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you don’t pull away.

Instead, you lift your free hand and let it brush against her cheek, the touch light and hesitant. She freezes, her eyes wide, but she doesn’t pull back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, the words soft but firm. “Not this time. And I’m not letting you go either.”

Her lips part as if to respond, but no words come. Instead, she leans into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. Through the bond, you feel the tension in her begin to melt, replaced by a quiet, cautious relief.

It’s a fragile thing, this moment, but it’s real.

When she finally opens her eyes, they’re softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re not making this easy,” she mutters, though there’s no real bite in her tone.

You smile faintly. “Good. You’ve made me wait long enough.”

Agatha huffs a laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Right, yeah it was all me.” Your palm cups her other cheek and she licks her lips before her gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and your breath catches. But instead of closing the distance, she presses her cheek into your left palm, her eyes closing again. It’s not quite a kiss, but the intimacy of it is enough to make your heart race.

“Come on,” she says finally, her voice quieter now. “We should keep moving. The road doesn’t wait forever.”

You nod, letting your hand fall reluctantly, though your fingers linger against hers for a moment longer than necessary.

As you walk side by side, the bond pulses steadily between you, stronger than it’s ever been. And for the first time in centuries, it feels like you’re finally moving forward—together.

Each step forward feels lighter, though the weight of the moment lingers between you. Agatha stays close, her hand brushing yours with each unintentional sway. It’s not deliberate—at least, not entirely—but the proximity is unmistakable.

You don’t speak, letting the bond fill the silence. It thrums with a steady rhythm, no longer jagged or uneven, but it carries a tension neither of you can quite shake.

When you glance at her, you find her doing the same—her sharp, calculating gaze flickering away as though you’d caught her in something private.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, your voice light, though your curiosity is anything but.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “You, apparently.”

The admission catches you off guard, though her tone is sardonic enough to make you question how much she’s revealing. Still, the bond tells another story. The emotions simmering beneath her words—warmth, vulnerability, longing—are unfiltered and raw, impossible to ignore.

“Should I be flattered?” you tease, tilting your head to watch her reaction.

Her smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of something softer. “You always had a way of getting under my skin,” she mutters, her voice quieter now.

You slow your steps, turning to face her fully. “You’re one to talk.”

Agatha stops too, her arms crossing defensively even as her gaze softens. “You’re different than I remember,” she says, her voice almost wistful. “Or maybe… I just forgot.”

Her words settle between you like a confession, the bond humming faintly in response. Memories flash through your mind—moments of laughter, of quiet companionship, of stolen glances you never thought twice about back then.

“I don’t think you forgot,” you say softly, stepping closer. “I think you were just too scared to see it.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she looks at you with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “And you weren’t?”

You hesitate, the truth catching in your throat. “I was,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than you expected. “But I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what we were I thought we were just…”

“We should keep moving, this area” Agatha cuts you off gesturing around at the forest, “It’s getting cold,” she says, her voice steadier than you expected.

You nod, though you don’t miss the faint tremor in her body as she brushes past you. The bond hums softly, carrying her emotions—conflicted but warm, her resolve wavering but not breaking.

As you fall into step beside her again, the silence is less oppressive, though the tension remains.

The bond wasn’t just magic. It wasn’t just power or connection. It was something more. Something that always had the potential to be everything.

And now you’re starting to piece it together, you always knew there was a reason why you didn’t marry, but you didn’t realise why. Didn’t understand why you couldn’t get over the loss of Agatha, and now, you can’t help but test the waters.

You glance sideways at Agatha, noting how her eyes dart toward you and then quickly away, as if she doesn’t trust herself to look too long. The bond hums with her emotions, faint ripples of curiosity and unease laced with something sweeter—something she’s clearly trying very hard to ignore.

“Agatha,” you say, your tone light, playful.

She raises an eyebrow, her guarded expression slipping into something sharper. “What?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you let the bond speak for you, sending a gentle pulse through it—nothing overwhelming, just a soft nudge of warmth, like the magical equivalent of a hand brushing against hers.

Her steps falter for the briefest moment, and her sharp gaze snaps to yours.

“What was that?” she asks, her tone suspicious.

You feign innocence, your lips curling into a faint smile. “What was what?”

Agatha narrows her eyes, and through the bond, you can feel the flicker of her irritation—tinged with just a hint of something more. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?” you tease, sending another soft ripple through the bond, this time carrying a spark of affection—light and fleeting, but unmistakable.

Her cheeks flush faintly, and she glares at you. “Stop that,” she says, though her voice lacks its usual edge.

“Stop what?” you ask, your smile widening.

“You’re actually impossible,” she mutters, picking up her pace as if putting distance between you will help.

You follow easily, keeping stride beside her. “I’m just trying to make this bond more... interactive,” you say, the bond pulsing again with a playful nudge.

Agatha groans, her hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“What?” you interrupt, your voice low, teasing.

Her steps halt abruptly, and she spins to face you, her eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and something deeper. The bond flares faintly, her emotions rippling through it—frustration, yes, but also warmth, fondness, and that ever-present flicker of longing.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she says, her voice low and laced with warning.

You take a step closer, your smile softening. “Maybe.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she looks at you like she might actually give in—like she might say or do something that would change everything. But then she shakes her head, her lips quirking into a wry smile.

As you fall back into step beside her, the bond hums with a quiet warmth that feels like laughter, like the shared amusement of two people who are finally starting to understand each other.

You let it carry another ripple, this one deeper—a soft wave of warmth that lingers longer than the others. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s enough to be unmistakable, enough to make Agatha’s steps falter slightly.

Her head snaps toward you, eyes narrowed. “Seriously. What are you doing?”

You bite back a grin, your expression one of feigned innocence. “Walking,” you say simply.

“That wasn’t walking,” she snaps, her voice sharper than it needs to be. But through the bond, you feel the flicker of something else—frustration, yes, but also heat, a spark of something she’s trying desperately to ignore.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice light and teasing, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little flustered.”

Her glare sharpens, but the faint flush creeping up her neck betrays her. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” you ask, and this time, you let the bond carry not just warmth, but a roaring heat in her abdomen, a phantom brush of your hand against hers. A hand sliding up a thigh.

She stops walking altogether, spinning to face you with an expression caught between irritation and something far more vulnerable. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve spent centuries not understanding what we were,” you say honestly, taking another step closer. “And now that I’m starting to figure it out, I want to see where it leads.”

Agatha stares at you, her expression flickering between disbelief and something softer. “You can’t just—”

But she doesn’t finish, because you send another wave through the bond, this one gentler, but more deliberate. It’s a feeling of closeness, of warmth, of trust—everything you’ve always felt for her but never quite put into words.

Finally, she exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair in a rare show of frustration. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You step closer still, until there’s barely any space between you. “Why don’t you just tell me? Please Agatha” You’re silent for a moment. The bond feels almost suffocating now, a shared pulse of magic between you, thick with what she’s been holding back.

She finally speaks, and when she does, the words feel like they’ve been ripped from the very core of her. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, to push it down… But you’re making me want you so badly, okay?” She meets your gaze, and you can feel the rawness in her words—her vulnerability laid bare, for once. “I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that this bond, that you aren’t driving me insane. But you are. And I’m so tired of fighting it.”

Your breath catches, the magic between you sparking with the sudden intensity of her admission. You step closer, your heart racing as her emotions flood through the bond—she’s frustrated, yes, but there’s something more, something far deeper: the longing you’ve always known was there.

She continues, her voice barely above a whisper, “Every time you get close, every time you… tease me, I can’t think. The bond, your magic, the way you look at me, I—” She cuts herself off, visibly exasperated. “I’m not saying it’s just magic, because it’s not. I can’t keep pretending like it is.”

You take a step closer, backing Agatha against a tree, and this time, she doesn’t move away. The space between you is a breath, a heartbeat, nothing more. You can feel the heat in her skin, the pulse of her heart beneath your fingers as they brush lightly against her arm.

“You never had to pretend,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. The bond hums in agreement, a feeling of closeness, of shared emotion, building. “Not with me.”

Her gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, and the bond throbs, sending waves of heat, of longing, through both of you. She doesn’t speak, but you feel it in the way her breath hitches, in the way her hand shifts slightly, almost as if reaching for you. It’s too much, too close, and yet—there’s nowhere else either of you can go.

“Agatha…” You say her name, soft and almost pleading, as the bond pulses with magic too strong to ignore. “Please my angel… stop fighting this.”

She breathes in sharply, and before you can say another word, she closes the gap between you. Her lips crash against yours, urgent, hungry, desperate—as if the bond, the magic, everything between you is finally too much for her to fight.

The kiss is everything: the years of longing, the months of silence, the centuries of distance and heartache all colliding into one desperate, aching moment. Her magic flares around you, and you feel it in every touch, every press of her lips against yours. It’s not just a kiss—it’s everything, all at once, the bond weaving between you with threads of magic and emotion.

When she pulls back, breathless, her forehead resting against yours, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You both know now, in the deepest parts of your being, that this—whatever this is—is what you’ve both been craving for so long.

“I think I’ve been in love with you forever.” You lean forward and take her lower lip into your mouth, sucking on it and humming in response to her moan. You let the lip go with a pop and you look into her dark eyes. “I should’ve kissed you centuries ago.”

Agatha’s eyes are focused on your lips, unable to think of anything else, and she’s about to kiss you again when she hears the snap of a limb breaking underneath someone’s boot.

“Where the hell have you guys been! We’ve been walking hours!”

[atan-orofarne]

Not to be a party pooper and all, but…folks, you do know how many of these people making YouTube videos earn at least a portion of the money that allows them to spend time making the videos, right?

Yes, ads suck. And, yes, there's a big, shitty company involved. And I'm not shedding any tears for Google, but storing and serving up all that video is legitimately really expensive at the scale they're doing it at. Servers, hard drives and other storage, and electricity are not free. Neither is the time of the people who write the code to make it work. And, again, ad revenue can be an important source of income for people posting on YouTube.

People seem to expect that things on the internet should just be free of cost. But basically all of these things take time and money to produce. I regularly see people on Tumblr reblogging posts about how quiltmakers and knitters deserve to be paid for their time and labor when they make something. And how unreasonable it is when people devalue their time.

And there are obviously differences. With an artisan maker, there's usually not a big company involved.

But as big and shitty as those companies are, they're generally still the extremely, extremely imperfect conduit that money flows through to creators. To the people who make TV shows. To the people who make YouTube videos. To the journalists who do the vital job of reporting the news.

Thinking the system should change is valid. Not just valid, but absolutely true. The system should change. Ad revenue is an extremely shitty way to fund things. But if that's not the funding model we want, that stuff will still need to be funded. The people making it will still need to be paid. And expecting all this stuff to just be free…I still think that devalues the work of the creative professionals who are doing it.

And so…

*

And I just want to say, do not take this to be me doing a sideways lecture at people who cannot afford stuff. Honestly if you're a student or otherwise just don't have money, it's not exactly ethical, still, but it's absolutely understandable that one might pirate. I did it when I was a student, too. But I think it's worth being mindful about this stuff, too, even if you're in that position.

Though, as I can afford it, I do try to always support the shows and media I enjoy in whatever way it is that they make money.

youtube is pulling this bullshit again

praying for the firefox gods to save me once more...

[niallerspayno]

Behind Closed Doors (Harry Styles x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Anonymous request: Hiiiii can you do a imagine where it’s harry x reader and it’s during one direction and the reader is the sixth member of one direction and is dating harry but in secret because of the management and the boys catch them making out on the tour bus and never let them love it down? xx

Tags: Harry x reader, frat boy Harry era, friends to lovers, secret dating, fluff, smut

…

“You were amazing out there tonight,” Harry says softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. He’s leaning back, his arm resting along the back of the couch, his green eyes fixed on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You say that after every show, Harry. You’re not tired of repeating yourself?”

“Never,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “Because it’s true. Every single time.”

You try to laugh it off, shrugging. “I’m just trying to keep up with you lot. You’re the real stars here.”

“Stop that,” he says suddenly, his tone serious. You glance at him in surprise, and he’s sitting up now, his eyes locked on yours. “Stop brushing it off like that. You belong here just as much as any of us. You’re incredible, and it’s about time you believed it.”

You feel heat creep up your neck, his words catching you off guard. “Harry, where’s this coming from?”

He hesitates, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he starts, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “And I’ve been putting it off because I wasn’t sure if I should, or if it would mess everything up, but…” He runs a hand through his curls, exhaling shakily. “I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words settling over you. “What is it?” you ask softly.

“I care about you,” he says, his words rushing out. “More than I should, probably. More than just as… friends or bandmates. I have for a while now.”

Your breath catches, and you sit up straighter, your pulse thundering in your ears. “Harry…”

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I know it’s selfish, and I’ve tried to push it down, but it’s always there. Every time I look at you, every time we laugh, every time you’re on that stage killing it… I can’t ignore it anymore.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your chest ache, and you find yourself reaching out, your hand brushing his arm. “Harry, you’re not selfish,” you say, your voice trembling. “Because I feel the same way.”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You do?”

You nod, your heart hammering. “I do. I’ve just been scared. Because of the band, because of management…”

“Then let’s not tell them,” he says quickly, shifting closer to you. “At least, not yet. It can just be our thing, something that’s just for us. Please. I don’t want to miss out on this—on us—because of them.”

You hesitate, the weight of the decision pressing on you. But when you look at him, his eyes filled with hope and fear and something else—something deeper—you know there’s no going back.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Let’s keep it between us. For now.”

Relief washes over his face, and his smile is so full of emotion it nearly takes your breath away. He reaches out, his hand cradling your cheek as he searches your eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he’s afraid to push too far. But when you kiss him back, your hand sliding into his hair, he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he’s been holding back into it.

The world fades away, the distant sounds of the crew and the hum of the venue disappearing. It’s just you and Harry, and for the first time, everything feels right.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless. His forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, his dimples making your heart skip.

“One step at a time,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Together.”

And in that moment, you know you’ve just crossed a line you can never uncross—but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

…

A week later you’re snuggled with Harry in the back of the tour bus. Harry’s hand is warm against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. The faint glow of his phone illuminates his face, casting shadows that highlight his cheekbones and the soft curve of his lips.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low to avoid waking anyone, “I think this might be my favorite part of touring.”

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Sitting on a lumpy couch in a moving box with no privacy? Sounds dreamy.”

He laughs softly, his dimples appearing as he leans in closer, his curls brushing against your temple. “No, smartass. Being with you. Like this.”

Your cheeks flush, and you’re about to respond when the bus lurches slightly, making you both laugh under your breath. The sound feels too loud in the otherwise quiet space, and you instinctively glance toward the curtain, half-expecting someone to appear.

“Relax,” Harry whispers, sensing your nerves. “They’re all dead asleep. Besides, they’d never look back here. Too lazy.”

You want to believe him, but the weight of the secret feels heavier in moments like this. “I just don’t want them to figure it out,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “Not yet.”

He squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “They won’t. And even if they do… it’s not the end of the world, yeah? They’d understand.”

Before you can respond, his lips brush against yours, soft and careful, like he’s savoring the moment. You kiss him back, your hand slipping into his hair, and for a brief second, it’s just the two of you in your own little world.

“Oi, where’s my charger?”

The voice snaps you apart like a rubber band snapping under pressure. You both freeze, your eyes wide as you hear Liam’s voice from the bunk area.

“Check by the table,” comes Niall’s sleepy reply.

There’s the sound of movement, and you can hear Liam’s footsteps coming closer. Harry quickly sits back, grabbing a pillow and tossing it into his lap, trying to look nonchalant. You scramble to fix your hair and sit up straight, your heart racing.

The curtain pulls back slightly, and Liam peers in, his brows furrowing. “What are you two doing back here?”

Harry’s quick to respond, his voice casual but steady. “Just talking. Couldn’t sleep.”

You nod, hoping your expression is neutral. “Yeah, same.”

Liam eyes the two of you suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “Right. Well, if you see my charger, let me know.”

“Will do,” Harry says, offering a quick smile.

As soon as Liam disappears, you let out a shaky breath, your hand flying to your chest. “That was too close,” you whisper.

Harry grins, clearly amused by your reaction. “Admit it. You love the thrill.”

You glare at him, though you can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, leaning in to steal one last quick kiss before settling back into the couch.

Despite the close call, you can’t help but feel the smallest thrill in your chest. For now, at least, your secret is safe.

…

The arena is buzzing with energy as the boys prep for soundcheck. The stage is set, crew members moving around to fine-tune everything before the show. You’re standing at the side, leaning against a speaker, watching them all warm up. Harry stands next to you, hands tucked in his pockets, his usual mischievous grin on full display.

You laugh at something he says, just a little louder than you intend, and Harry gives you a playful wink, leaning in closer. The way you two interact is casual, but it’s clear to anyone watching that there’s something more.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” Louis calls from the center of the stage, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk. “You two getting all cozy or something?”

You freeze for a split second, your stomach dropping as your heart picks up pace. Harry quickly shifts, straightening up as though nothing’s wrong, though the faintest glint of mischief dances in his eyes.

“What?” Harry says, throwing Louis an easy grin. “We’re just messing about.”

“Yeah, totally,” you add too quickly, nervously brushing your hair behind your ear. “We’re just joking.” You catch Harry’s eye, both of you fighting the urge to laugh, but the tension in the air is undeniable.

Zayn, who’s been quietly tuning his microphone, glances up from across the stage, a subtle but sharp look in your direction. He doesn’t say anything, but you catch the way his gaze lingers on you both.

Niall, ever the curious one, furrows his brow as he steps closer, his eyes flicking between you and Harry. “Really? You two are just ‘messing about,’ huh?”

You flash him a nervous smile, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, of course. Just having a laugh.” Your voice comes out higher than usual, betraying your nerves.

Harry laughs lightly, a little too loudly. “Yeah, nothing to see here. Just good old banter, mate.” He nudges you with his elbow, leaning in slightly, making it look even more casual.

Louis narrows his eyes playfully but doesn’t push it. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But, Harry,” he smirks, “You’re not trying to steal our secret weapon, are you?”

“What? You mean her charming personality?” Harry teases, a grin tugging at his lips.

You bite back a smile, but you can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. “Harry’s right,” you say quickly, “I’m just full of charm.”

The other boys exchange looks, and Liam steps forward from where he’s been testing his mic. “You two are a bit too… familiar with each other. Are you sure there’s nothing more going on?”

You laugh nervously again, your hand instinctively reaching for your water bottle. “Nothing at all, Liam. Honestly.” You take a sip, hoping it’ll ease the tension, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Harry gives Liam a quick grin, trying to make light of it. “What can I say? We get along well. Nothing suspicious about that.”

Zayn’s gaze flicks between you two again, his expression unreadable. “Sure,” he says dryly, before turning his attention back to the mic stand.

Niall watches the two of you, a hint of suspicion in his eyes, but he shrugs it off with a grin. “Alright, whatever. You’re both weird, but I’m too hungry to care right now.” He heads toward the back of the stage, probably in search of snacks.

“Yeah, we’re all weird, Niall,” Louis chuckles, clearly dropping the subject. He starts fiddling with some drumsticks, but he shoots you both a look that lingers just a little too long.

The atmosphere in the room settles, but the unease lingers. You’re both careful now—trying to seem normal, to keep things light, but the tension between you and Harry is almost palpable.

Once the boys are distracted again, you exchange a quick look with Harry. His smile softens as he meets your gaze, his eyes saying everything words can’t.

“Close call,” you whisper, your voice still a little shaky.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “They’ll never figure it out.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress your smile. “You wish.”

He shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself. “Trust me, they’re too busy with themselves to catch on. But hey,” he adds, his voice dropping low, “we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you whisper back, feeling your heart race again, even as the other boys continue to rehearse. Despite the close call, you can’t shake the feeling that this game of pretending isn’t going to stay a secret for much longer. But for now, you’re safe—at least until the next time the boys catch on.

…

The tour bus hums softly as it barrels down the highway, the gentle motion lulling you closer to sleep. You’re curled up in your tiny bunk, the curtain pulled shut to block out the dim glow of the hallway light. Just as your eyelids grow heavy, you hear the rustle of the curtain, and Harry slips in without a word, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his phone.

“Harry, what are you doing?” you whisper sharply, your voice a little more panicked than you mean.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low, already sliding into the cramped space beside you. His body presses against yours, warmth flooding the small, cool space.

“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you shift to make room for him, your heart pounding at the proximity.

“Relax,” he whispers, tugging the curtain closed behind him, blocking the hallway from view. He pulls you closer, his arm sliding around your waist as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “No one will hear us. They’re all asleep.”

You want to protest, to tell him the risk isn’t worth it, but the feel of his body against yours makes it hard to think clearly. “One of these days, they’re going to catch us,” you mutter, though your words come out breathy.

“They won’t,” he promises, his voice confident but hushed. His hand slips under your shirt, the warm skin of his palm gliding slowly across your stomach. You shiver at the touch, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Before you can speak again, his lips find your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin just below your ear. You try to swallow back a breathy gasp, biting your lip to keep quiet.

“Harry…” you whisper, your voice breaking as he nips at your skin.

“Hmmm?” He hums against your neck, his lips moving lower, brushing just below your jaw. His hand slides down, fingers lightly tracing your side, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

You can’t stop the soft hitch in your breath, and you quickly bite your lip harder to stop yourself from making noise. But it’s impossible to ignore the way his touch ignites something deep inside you, the heat between you two building with each soft caress.

“Harry, we can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, trying to pull back slightly. But his hand moves to your waist, pulling you in even closer.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing to the curve of your shoulder, the sound of his breath warming your neck. His fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your hip, making you shiver.

Just as your mind is completely consumed with him, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

You freeze, your body going rigid against him as the footsteps draw closer.

“Where the bloody hell is my charger?” Niall’s voice rings out, groggy but loud enough that you can hear every word clearly.

You glance up at Harry, and his lips are still hovering near your neck, his eyes flashing with mischief and something darker. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, his lips press softly to the sensitive spot below your ear, his hands running up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs.

You bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound, heart hammering in your chest as Niall’s footsteps come closer. You can hear him mumbling to himself as he shuffles toward the back of the bus, then opening a drawer.

“Check by the table!” Niall mutters, clearly distracted.

You press your forehead to Harry’s, barely able to breathe as your hands clutch onto his shirt. You’re too afraid to move, afraid that the tiniest sound will betray you.

There’s a faint sound of Niall rummaging through the kitchen area, followed by the dull clink of a cup. You wait, your pulse racing, and when the footsteps start to fade, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Harry’s hand slowly slides back down your side, and he pulls back slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your lips. “Told you they wouldn’t catch us,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

You can’t help the small, breathy laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite everything. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you can’t help but kiss him back, your body relaxing just a little, even though you know the danger isn’t over yet.

...

The concert venue is a maze of hallways and hidden nooks, and Louis has, unsurprisingly, decided to turn it into his playground.

“Hide and seek! Thirty seconds to hide, and I’m coming for you!” he declares, hands covering his face as he starts to count.

Everyone scatters, laughter and hurried footsteps echoing through the backstage area. You find yourself heading down a narrow hallway, your pulse already racing—not just from the game, but from the thought of Harry finding a way to be alone with you.

You turn a corner and nearly collide with him, his green eyes lighting up with amusement.

“Lost, are we?” he whispers, his voice low and teasing.

“Looking for a spot,” you reply, trying to sound calm despite the butterflies swarming in your chest.

Harry grabs your hand before you can take another step. “This way.”

Before you can argue, he pulls you toward a door marked Storage. He pushes it open, and the two of you slip inside. The small room smells faintly of cardboard and cleaning supplies, shelves stacked high with boxes and equipment. Harry closes the door softly, plunging you both into shadows, with only a faint glow of light from the crack under the door.

“Harry, this is—”

“Perfect,” he whispers, cutting you off as he turns to face you. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him.

“Not perfect,” you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as he leans in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s anything but innocent.

You respond instinctively, your arms looping around his neck as his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens quickly, his lips moving with an urgency that sends your pulse racing.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, finding the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a sound when his teeth graze your skin.

“Shhh,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. “They’ll hear us.”

His hands slide lower, one settling firmly on your hip while the other sneaks beneath your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his touch despite the danger of being caught.

“Harry,” you try again, your voice barely a whisper, but he’s already moving. His hand slips lower, over the waistband of your leggings, and then beneath.

You gasp softly, your head falling back against the wall as his fingers find you, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

“Quiet,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again. He kisses you deeply, his free hand tangling in your hair to keep you anchored to him.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, your body arching into his as his fingers work their magic. The rhythm he sets is enough to make your knees weak, and you have to bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound.

“Harry,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough to make him grin against your lips.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” he says, his voice low and filled with amusement.

You’re about to retort, but he presses his mouth to yours again, swallowing any sound you might’ve made. His fingers move faster, his precision making it nearly impossible to stay silent.

When you feel a moan threaten to escape, Harry’s hand comes up, covering your mouth gently. His eyes meet yours, his gaze dark and filled with both heat and a silent warning.

“Not a sound,” he whispers, leaning in to press kisses along your jaw.

You nod weakly, your body trembling as the pressure builds, his movements relentless. His free hand trails down your arm, anchoring you to him as his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck again.

Your breathing quickens, your grip on his shirt tightening as you come undone beneath his touch. He swallows your muffled cries with his kisses, his hand never faltering until you’re left breathless and boneless against the wall.

Just as you’re catching your breath, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

“Where are you lot hiding?” Louis’ voice echoes, followed by Niall’s laughter.

Your heart leaps into your throat, but Harry doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grins, his forehead pressing against yours as you both listen intently.

The footsteps pause outside the door, and you hold your breath, praying that Louis won’t check inside. After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps continue down the hall, and you exhale in relief.

“That was close,” you whisper, your voice still shaky.

Harry chuckles softly, brushing his lips against yours one more time before stepping back. “Close, but worth it.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he teases, grabbing your hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

As the two of you quietly slip back into the game, your cheeks still flushed and your heart racing, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at what just happened. But one thing’s for sure—this game of hide and seek has never been so memorable.

...

The concert had been electric, the adrenaline of the crowd still coursing through your veins as the five of you spill backstage. The boys are buzzing with post-show energy, laughing and recounting moments from the performance as they head toward the tour bus parked outside the venue.

You and Harry, however, hang back, exchanging lingering glances that spark something hotter than just the high of the show.

As the others disappear into the bus, Harry gives you a knowing smirk. “You coming?”

“Not yet,” you reply, your voice low and teasing, tilting your head toward the quiet corner of the lot.

His brows lift in mock surprise, but he doesn’t need convincing. Within seconds, he’s following you into the shadowed side of the bus, away from the bright floodlights and prying eyes.

The cool night air brushes your skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building between you as Harry steps closer. His hands are on your waist before you can say another word, his mouth finding yours with a desperation that makes your heart race.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and thick with amusement.

“Maybe I like the heat,” you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back into another kiss.

The kiss quickly deepens, his hands roaming over your back and slipping under the hem of your shirt. The rough pads of his fingers against your bare skin make you shiver, and you press closer, your body molding against his.

“You’re going to drive me mad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he trails kisses down your neck. His teeth graze your skin, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning, the memory of the storage closet still fresh in your mind.

“Good,” you whisper, your voice breathy as your hands slide under his shirt, your nails lightly scraping along his abdomen.

His breath hitches, and he retaliates by pinning you gently against the side of the bus, his thigh pressing between yours as his lips return to yours, hungrier this time. The faint smell of engine oil and the distant hum of voices inside the bus fade into the background, your entire focus consumed by the way his body feels against yours, the way his hands know exactly where to touch.

“Payback,” you murmur against his lips, your fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans.

“For what?” he asks, his voice rasping as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“The closet,” you reply, tugging him closer.

He chuckles, low and deep. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a door swinging open makes you both freeze.

“Oi, where are you two—” Louis’ voice rings out, sharp and teasing, but it cuts off abruptly.

You turn your head just enough to see him standing there, his mouth agape. Behind him, Liam, Niall, and Zayn appear, each one registering the scene with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and disbelief.

“Oh, my God,” Niall mutters, a laugh bubbling out as he covers his mouth.

Harry steps back, his hands still lingering on your waist as he turns to face the boys, his expression a mix of guilt and defiance. “Uh, hey, lads.”

“You have got to be joking,” Louis says, a grin breaking across his face. “How long has this been going on?”

Liam crosses his arms, his brows furrowed. “So this is why you’ve been sneaking around?”

Zayn, ever the calm one, just smirks. “Well, that explains the looks.”

You feel your face flush, but Harry tightens his grip on your waist, grounding you. “Alright, fine,” he says, his tone firm despite the slight flush on his cheeks. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

“Secretly,” you add, your voice quieter.

“Obviously,” Louis quips, gesturing at the two of you. “What, you thought we wouldn’t notice the stolen glances and the disappearing acts?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his cool. “We just… didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“Too late for that, mate,” Niall says, grinning. “You’re both rubbish at hiding it, anyway.”

“Listen,” you interject, your voice more serious now. “You can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“Management,” Harry explains, his voice hardening slightly. “They’ll lose it if they find out. You know how they are.”

The boys exchange looks, their teasing expressions softening.

Liam nods first. “Alright. If it’s about management, we’ll keep it quiet—for now.”

“But,” Louis interjects, pointing a finger at both of you, “you owe us. Big time.”

“Agreed,” Niall says, still grinning. “This is prime blackmail material, and you’ve just handed it to us on a silver platter.”

Zayn shrugs, his smirk turning into a small smile. “As long as you’re happy, I’m not saying anything. But don’t think we won’t give you hell about it.”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Seriously, though,” Liam adds, his tone softer. “You know we’ve got your backs. Just… try not to get caught like this again, yeah? We can’t cover for you forever.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you.”

Louis claps his hands together, his mischievous grin returning. “Now, get on the bus before someone else catches you. And try not to make out too much in front of us. We don’t need the trauma.”

As the boys retreat back into the bus, still laughing and throwing jabs, you turn to Harry, your shoulders relaxing.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” you murmur.

Harry chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Worth it,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with amusement and something softer as he looks at you.

The moment you and Harry step onto the bus, the teasing begins.

“Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence!” Louis exclaims, sprawling on one of the couches with a smug grin. “Our very own Bonnie and Clyde.”

“You guys done snogging, or do we need to give you more time?” Niall quips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he munches on a bag of crisps.

You groan, your face heating up as you slip into the nearest seat, hoping the cushions will somehow swallow you whole. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?” you mumble, avoiding their gazes.

“Not a big deal?” Zayn drawls, raising an eyebrow as he leans casually against the wall. “You were practically glued together out there. Pretty sure the bus driver heard you.”

Liam sighs, though you can see the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, guys, ease up. Let’s not traumatize them too much.”

“Oh, come on, Liam,” Louis says, grinning wickedly. “This is the highlight of my week. I mean, think about it—Harry Styles caught red-handed. And with our very own Y/N, no less!”

“Shocking,” Zayn deadpans.

Harry, to your surprise—and slight annoyance—takes it all in stride. He sprawls lazily beside you, draping an arm over the back of your seat with an infuriatingly smug grin. “Jealous, are you?” he drawls, shooting Louis a pointed look.

Louis clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh, absolutely gutted, mate. I thought we had something special.”

Harry laughs, his dimples flashing as he leans back. “Sorry to break it to you, Lou. My heart belongs to someone else.”

You swat at his arm, mortified. “Harry!”

“What?” he asks innocently, turning to you with a playful smirk. “It’s true.”

Niall lets out a low whistle, his grin widening. “Look at him. Not even embarrassed. Meanwhile, she looks like she wants to sink through the floor.”

“She’s not used to your incessant chatter,” Harry retorts, giving Niall a pointed look. “Give her a break, yeah?”

“Oi, don’t act all protective now,” Louis cuts in, his grin wicked. “You didn’t seem to mind showing off out there.”

“Showing off?” Harry repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you lot interrupted what was shaping up to be a very good time for me.”

The boys erupt into laughter, and your embarrassment deepens as you bury your face in your hands. “I hate all of you,” you groan, though there’s no real malice in your voice.

“Aw, she loves us really,” Niall says, his voice sing-song as he throws a crisp at you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Zayn teases, smirking as he sits across from you.

Harry leans closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “They’ll let it go eventually. Maybe in a year or two.”

You glare at him, but his soft laugh and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to stay mad. “You’re not helping,” you mutter.

“Not trying to,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“Alright, enough,” Liam says, trying to restore some semblance of order. “Let’s at least agree not to bring it up in front of management, yeah? We promised we’d keep this quiet.”

“Fine, fine,” Louis says, waving a hand dismissively. “But you can’t stop me from enjoying the fact that you two got busted.”

“Enjoy it all you want,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “Just remember, I know all your secrets too.”

The boys exchange amused glances, and the teasing finally begins to die down as the conversation shifts to lighter topics. But you can still feel the occasional glance their way, and every now and then, a sly comment slips through.

Despite the endless ribbing, Harry’s calm confidence keeps you grounded. He doesn’t seem fazed by any of it, his hand casually resting on your thigh under the table where no one else can see. And when you catch his eye, the warmth in his smile reminds you why the chaos is worth it.

As the bus rolls into the night, the teasing fades into the background, and you find yourself leaning into Harry’s side, a small smile tugging at your lips. Because no matter what, you know you’ll face it together.

[peppermintquartz]

Read this first

Read this second

Read this third

---

He doesn't like to lose his temper, but this once he wishes he's well enough to physically throw every last one of his visitors out of his room.

He can't, so he uses his words instead. "Get out."

"Buck," Maddie begins placatingly.

"Out!" Buck hates the way she flinches and the way her eyes shimmer with tears, so he turns away from the sight.

"Buck, we didn't mean to lie to you, you needed to rest-" Chimney puts in, but Buck grabs the bottle of water from his meal tray and hurls it in their direction. Chimney catches it before it hits anyone or anything. "Buck!"

"Out! Get out! Get out get out get out!" Buck shouts with all the strength he can muster, and the commotion must have caught the attention of a passing nurse, who firmly ushers Maddie and Chimney away from the room. once he's left alone, Buck collapses back into the pillows. His bruised side hurts and so does his head. His right ankle is throbbing.

The nurse comes back and sets a new bottle of water next to him. "I'm guessing that was not the most restful of visits, Mr Buckley. Let me check your vitals, hmm?"

"They lied to me," Buck mutters. He shuts his eyes and covers them with his forearm, for good measure, while the nurse takes his blood pressure using the other arm. The edges of the bandage around his skull brush against his arm. "They told me Tommy's alright, that he'd been here. They fucking lied to me."

The nurse hums sympathetically. "Who is this Tommy?"

"Tommy Kinard. He's in the ICU." Buck's lips wobble. "He saved my life and he's in the ICU and I can't go to him. They won't let me."

"You are still recovering yourself, Mr Buckley."

Buck sniffs and smiles weakly, lowering his arm to see who the nurse is. "Nick, hi. Everyone calls me Buck."

"Oh, so you're the miracle," Nick says with a smile. Nick looks to be about Tommy's age, his plump features and confident manner very assuring. "They tell me you and your team are frequent visitors. That's not a good thing, Buck."

"Tommy joked that we should have our own wing." Buck can feel his throat closing with emotion. "We,uh, we seem to have pretty bad luck."

"But they call you the miracle. Said you survived being struck by lightning and your heart stopped for over three minutes."

"Three minutes and seventeen seconds."

"Wow," Nick marvels. "That is a miracle." Then he removes the blood pressure cuff and shines a penlight into each of Buck's eyes. "Well, all seems good. I hope this Tommy guy recovers too, Buck."

Just then, Bobby walks in. "Hi, kid. How are we doing?"

"I wanna see Tommy," Buck says immediately.

Bobby's lips tighten. "Buck, I've been to see him. He's... he's unconscious. I don't know if it's a good idea for you to go up there and see him like that."

Fed up, Buck pushes himself off the bed and tries to stand on his one good leg. "I'm sick and tired of everyone telling me what they think I should or shouldn't do, or lying to me, or stopping me from contacting him," he snarls. "Everyone trying to decide what's good for me. I don't give a shit. I want to see him."

When he wobbles, Bobby catches him and sits him back down. Buck is breathing hard, and he doesn't even bother to try to hide his tears of frustration and worry.

"Pops, please," Buck begs, bringing up the old nickname. "He saved my life from Irene. I need to see him. If the worst happens and I didn't even get a chance to... I can't. I can't, Bobby. The look in his eyes before the semi hit us... I need to see him."

Bobby sighs. "Yeah, okay. Let me get you a wheelchair."

"No, crutches will do." Buck grits his teeth. "I can move. My injuries look a lot worse than they are."

"Kid, you were one massive bruise from shoulder to hip, you had a major concussion and you now have seven stitches in your scalp, and you twisted your ankle."

"Tommy's in the ICU," Buck counters. "I'm fine. Crutches."

---

Bobby fills Buck in on the severity of Tommy's injuries as they navigate their way to the ICU. it helps Buck to mentally prepare himself, but seeing Tommy in the bed, unconscious, looking the worse for wear - it breaks something deep inside Buck.

Once the nurses in charge have their information, Buck hobbles over to the chair the other guy - Sal, he thinks, recalling a photo Tommy showed him before of the old 118 - vacates.

Tommy looks horribly frail, connected to too many tubes and wires, his handsome face hidden by the ventilator. His hand is icy cold when Buck holds it.

"Tommy, please," Buck whispers. "I need to say it back. I need to. you can't- You're not allowed to make a dramatic declaration like that and leave me. Baby, you gotta wake up. I have to say it back to you."

He doesn't even know he's weeping until he realizes that the mask on his face is damp from absorbing his tears. Sal and Bobby have retreated outside the door.

Buck squeezes Tommy's cold, limp fingers and presses the back of the hand to his cheek. The monotonous beeps and steady hisses don't change at all.

"You're not allowed to play the hero and exit my life, you understand? You must wake up and get better. I need to apologize and we need to talk, we have so many memories to make together, you can't just leave me like this." Buck is sobbing now, and he feels a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I need to say it back. You gotta wake up so I can say it back."

"Tell him anyway," Bobby says quietly. "Maybe he needs to hear it."

Buck looks over his shoulder and meets Bobby's gentle gaze. Behind him, Sal is watching stoically, but his eyes on Tommy are filled with concern.

Wiping away the tears under his eyes - a futile gesture, since his mask is already pretty wet - Buck leans forward to get as close as he could to Tommy's ear.

"Tommy, I love you. I love you so much. Come back to me so I can prove it." He presses the tip of his nose to Tommy's cheek. "I love you. Please, wake up."

[winonaparadise]

Maybe I’m somehow super unaware that I missed it but where’re you posting GWH nowadays? ;3;

Thank you for asking, and thank you for reading GWH! Unfortunately, it basically doesn't exist right now outside of like, the things I'm trying to make behind the scenes. I lost a lot of steam when the new format I worked really hard on lost a lot of traction and didn't sell as much as i had hoped (not anyone's fault besides my own and, maybe also Elon Musk's for kind of fundamentally destroying twitter dot com as we knew it) and also the second installment of it being 90% finished and then just being entirely lost to a hard drive failure also really just sent me into a spiral. And I also kind of just started hating my own work and art after that, have been working to try and improve, and keep my chin up despite watching a lot of my peers find success before me. Which is admitting one of my very selfish, ugly thoughts - but I do feel like maybe my webcomic was stupid and a waste of effort because it was never "legitimized" via publication like a lot of others surrounding me have been.

I've been kind of struggling with what to make lately. I have tried a lot of things that didn't really take off and it's left me confused about what to do. I feel like every shot I take at something isn't really met with much enthusiasm (again, nobody's fault but my own but if you want to blame this one on Musk as well sure why not) and I don't know how else to gauge if I'm doing the right thing. I think and write something for GWH almost every day, though. I am slowly chipping away at this vague idea of a "visual novel" version that will hopefully allow me to tell a contained story in one piece rather than falling off like I've done in the past. I really, really want to make that.

And in all total complete probably unsurprising honesty I'm just very depressed. Like seriously-considering-suicide-every-week-depressed. I'm sorry if that is a flippant way to express it, but I don't know how else to than to try and couch it in some flippant language. I don't have a lot of money, my health hasn't been very good, and I spend days and sometimes weeks entirely by myself. Making stuff is very difficult with these conditions and unfortunately (fortunately?) the cure to at least some of that is probably making more stuff! It's just taking some time and I really apologize for that. I hope you can forgive me and you'll like whatever I manage to make next. Thank you.

[queerdaisyjane]

oh sweetie, it’s so cute that you want to fuck me and think I’ll unlock you so you can, just because it’s Christmas and we’re on vacation. No sweetie, today is a big day for you. Go put on your sexiest little panties and meet me back here with your buttplug and lube bottle and I’ll tell you more. Excited? You should be. Ok are you ready? Lube your little boipussy first, darling. Get your fingers way deep inside and stretch your little hole open a bit. Now slowly but firmly force your largest butt plug into your sissy anus. Concentrate on how it feels as it stretches the tightest part of your anus, that inner ring. Pause and let it rest there a bit. Oh don’t cry babe; I know it’s hurting you. That’s the fun part for me! It will start to feel good in a minute.

Can you feel it now? How the pleasure will spread through you, radiating out from your tightest part of your anus? Pull the plug out and shove it back in a few times. Imagine it’s a big hard penis attached to a tall, dark, and sexy man. I know that’s what you truly desire, to give yourself completely to a man, to be his gay little sissy princess, his boiwife. Fuck yourself with the plug as you imagine it while I tell you the next part of the secret.

You know I’ve been fucking Marcus all the time we’ve been married. Yes, I know I gaslighted you relentlessly to make you think you were crazy, playing the innocent wifey. But you were right all along—I never stopped fucking my ex, even when we got married. When you came home and I seemed extra wet and excited for your little whiteboi peepee, four inches hard on a good day, it was because you were just fucking his black cum back into me. Couldn’t you smell it down there? His jizz smells so manly and rank to me, but I guess I’ve been trained by him to be super aroused by his scent.

Anyway, his brother Jamal is going to get out of prison soon and needs a place to stay. And Marcus’s lease is up on the apartment too babe. Yes, I told you it was a pied à terre for when i worked late, but really I was just sleeping there with Marcus. Yes, you paid for the very bed I, your lovely wife, fucked him in.

So here’s what I’m thinking. You’re going to sign over everything to me. Yes, every single thing. Then I’m going to divorce you, which you won’t contest, and Marcus will move in here. He will be my man and take your place in my bed. No i’m not marrying him! Do you think I’m an idiot? He’s just somebody to fuck. I’m done with men forever. Jamal will take the guest room and you will start to date him and sleep with him as his girlfriend. What do you think, sissy soon-to-be-ex hubby?

Well I don’t know sweetie, he’s been in prison, so I don’t really know much about him, other than he’s Marcus’ older brother. I know he played pro football for awhile but got busted for spousal abuse and was sentenced to four years away in a maximum security facility. Yes, she had to go to the hospital with multiple injuries but she didn’t die. She refused to press charges so he received a very light sentence, considering what he did to her.

Anyway, he’s had a little sissy whiteboi prison wife these past few years and decided he wanted to continue with one when he got out. Marcus showed me the poor boi’s picture. Jamal got him on HRT and starved him for months until he was the size and shape of a high school cheerleader. Problem solved! You’ll be Jamal’s next project. You can support him and all of us with your straight job earnings and you’ll do double duty when needed with Jamal’s clients, either as a drug mule, or as a tribute whore entertaining his business associates. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants you to start on hormones too, babe. You’ll pay for your own feminization, of course.

Jamal is also part owner in a strip bar and runs an escort service from there, so I’d at least try to act as if I was very happy about the arrangement if you don’t want to work in a brothel for the rest of your short, sad, drug-addled life. Oh sweetie, don’t cry, I’m sure if he’s anything like Marcus, Jamal will have a magnificent penis that he can stuff in your all your holes anytime he wants.

[chleem]

Not a big deal pt4

miniseries; basketball player drew x high scl student reader

Summary: You lose your virginity to a random guy at a frat party miles away from your home. A few days later, you find out that he’s your brother’s competitor, for the regional colleges’ basketball tournament. 

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing, age gap (18 & 24), protected sex (read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

���⸝⸝ p3 | index | p5

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The ringing of your phone jolts you awake, no longer dreaming. 

Your head throbs, the bright sunlight seeping through the curtains only adding to the ache. The loud ring of your phone makes it hard to focus, and for a moment, you can’t quite piece together where you are.

But the arm wrapped around you reminds you of just where you are, and who you’re with. 

Slowly turning your face, you find yourself looking into Drew’s. He’s asleep, completely unaware to the loud ringing. His features are relaxed, eyelids closed, his breathing slow, and a small smile sits on his face. 

What is he dreaming about?

You focus on memorizing every inch of Drew’s face, studying the soft lines, the way his lashes rest against his skin, the gentle curve of his lips. 

A strange mix of disbelief and nostalgia swells inside you. He looks so much like the Drew from four years ago—the one you lost your virginity to. 

Part of you wonders if he’s still that same person, or if he’s changed just as much as you have.

Your phone quiets down eventually, your caller giving up. 

Well, at least you thought so. The ringing comes back, and this time, it causes Drew to flutter his eyes open. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he focuses his gaze to you. The small curve of his lips from earlier is replaced with a grin that stretches ear-to-ear, and his eyes hold a lazy look.

“Morning, baby,” his voice is deeper in the morning, a raspy coat layered on.

You mirror his smile, the nickname causing your heart to skip a beat, “morning.”

“How long have you been staring?”

“The whole night,” you teasingly say, which earns a low chuckle from him.

“No wonder I had a nightmare,” he jokes back, his arm going around you once again and pulling you close. He nudges his face into your neck, a groan escaping probably from the loud ringing phone, “who’s calling?”

You frown, your hand reaching behind you for your phone on the nightstand. 

You glance at the screen, Luke. Your brother? Why on earth is he calling now?

“I just woke up,” you say, forcing out a groan, trying to sound as casual as possible. You can hear Luke moving around on the other end of the line—his footsteps shuffling. 

“Shit, were you in a fucking coma? Open the fucking door.”

What. 

Your heart sinks at the sudden shift in his tone, a sharp tension filling your chest. That last part… Open the door?

You push Drew away, immediately sitting up. “Um, what do you mean-“

“I’m outside your room. Did you not hear, I rang the-“

The rest of Luke’s words fly by your ear. You were wide awake now, the weight of the situation sinking in. 

Luke’s outside of your door. Drew’s naked in your bed. 

You know Luke. You know how he reacts to things like this. And it’s not going to be pretty. His temper is explosive, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

You cover your microphone, and whisper to Drew, “get. out.”

“What?” Drew chuckles, his voice dropping to a softer tone, confused by your sudden urgency. “Why are we whispering?”

Right after, Luke stops himself mid-sentence, his voice cutting through the line, sharp and loaded with suspicion. “…wait, are you with someone?”

“Get out,” you slap Drew’s arm to get him moving, mouthing the words, “Luke’s outside!”

Drew’s eyes widen the same way yours did before. He stumbles off the bed, catching himself just before he crashes to the floor. It would be funny if you weren’t on the risk of getting caught by your brother. “No, just, just give me a minute, yeah? I’m getting ready-“

You get out of bed too, the phone propped on your shoulder. Drew and your clothes are scattered around the floor, mixed together.

You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the nightstand as Luke's complaining echoes through the room. Quickly, you put on your nightgown, searching for a clean pair of underwear.

You glance at Drew. He’s in his boxers, scrambling to find his pants. Is he trying to get caught? “Hurry,” you whisper-yell, looking around for his clothes.

Drew shoots you a blank stare, moving to the other side of the bed.

“Are you done yet? My legs are dying-“

“Almost! Just wait, okay?” You yell back at the phone.

“Y/n, seriously, been out here for forever-“

You find his button-up from last night tucked under the couch, and you toss into his arms. A chuckle escapes his lips as he barely catches it. 

Drew walks past you with his shirt unbuttoned, tie and jacket in his hands. He grabs his shoes, and gets ready to open the door. 

You quickly pull him back, “are you stupid?” You mean that with all your heart; Luke is literally on the other side of the door, and he wants to open it? 

Instead, you swing open the bathroom door and shove Drew inside. "Stay here for a while, alright?”

"What, no—“

You slam the bathroom door shut without another word, then quickly turn to the front door, your hand already on the handle. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before facing Luke. 

Forcing a smile, the door opens, impatience written all over Luke’s face. “Finally,” he mutters, brushing past you. His rudeness isn’t a surprise—it’s just how he is.

You mumble something under your breath, closing the door behind you. Luke’s already sprawled out on your couch, legs propped up casually like he owns the place.

At the same time, both of you spot the wine glasses on the coffee table, their presence suddenly hanging in the air, adding a layer of tension you can’t ignore.

“Alright, where is he?” Luke asks, his voice low but demanding as he sits up, scanning the room to find the owner of the other glass. 

Your first instinct is to stop him from getting anywhere near the bathroom. You quickly sit down beside Luke, your hand pushing him back onto the couch. “It’s... yours,” you say, the words coming out quicker than it should. 

Luke looks at you, confusion flickering in his eyes, then down at the wine glass, before he narrows his gaze. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his tone sharp now, sensing- no, knowing something's off. 

“Y’know, it’s a nice hotel, let’s have some coffee,” you say, a lame attempt at sounding casual. You grab the glasses, and with the coffee maker in the small kitchen, you press the open button. 

Sneaking a glance at your brother, his gaze never leaves you, his tongue poking against his tongue. 

“Latte? Oh, they have espresso,” you continue, keeping your voice steady, scrolling through the options. 

“No,” his voice stops you, and you turn around, watching as he gets up. “I gotta leave anyways.”

This time, the smile on your face isn’t fake. “So soon?”

“Yeah, just came to check on you,” Luke gives you a tight smile, his hand reaching for the door handle. “I’ll send an Uber, ‘kay?”

You nod, a bit too eagerly that shows your interest in him leaving. 

Although still suspicious, Luke gives you one last glance before opening the door and stepping out. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost like he's unsure of what to make of the situation.

The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since he walked in. 

Finally. 

Opening the bathroom door, you look around for Drew. 

Only to find him laying in the bathtub, fully clothed, his tall figure awkwardly trying to fit in the small space. His arms are thrown out to either side, and his fingers fidget with his ring. 

You lean against the doorframe, and when his blue eyes peek at you, a smile appears on his lips. “Hey,” he says, “made myself a home here, I guess.”

You chuckle at his words, and you sit down at the edge of the tub. “Real comfortable there.”

Drew lets out a breathy laugh, shifting lightly. He glances at his watch, the smile fading just a bit, “I’ve got to go too.”

Right, team practice. 

A brief, almost impulsive thought crosses your mind—to ask him for his number, to stay in touch. Is that a ridiculous thought? You’re not sure. You’re not even sure why the idea is lingering, but it feels... right, somehow. Maybe because, despite everything, you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

At least, not with this Drew. 

Your chain of thoughts breaks, with a tough tug on your wrist. 

When you’ve come to your senses, you’re in the tub with him, seated in his lap. 

The warmth radiating off of him is ridiculously comfortable, the blue eyes almost smitten as they look into yours. 

You lean into him, closing your eyes, instinctively tilting your face toward his. You can feel the breath between you both, the tension building, and just as you’re about to close the distance—nothing.

No contact.

You peek at him through one eye, a little confused.

A throaty laugh escapes him, full of amusement. 

Shyly, you move away, only to be pulled back towards him, his hand finding the back of your neck. 

And then, he finally kisses you, gentle yet affectionate. 

It feels different than last night; The kiss feels deeper, more meaningful, and the thought that it might end soon makes your chest tighten with an ache. 

To last longer, you rest your arms around his neck, thrusting your tongue deeper into his mouth. 

Another chuckle escapes Drew, and he pulls away this time. 

With hooded eyes, you catch the soft smile on his lips. “Tryna get me in trouble?” The teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flutter, along with the way he stares at you. 

“Maybe,” you giggle, and with a roll of your hips against him, he groans, his hands squeezing your waist. He rests his head at the rim of the tub, and you take the chance to kiss his neck. 

“Could be late-“ his words come out hushed, as your tongue grazes over the soft skin of his neck, “a minute or two.”

“Mmhm,” you bring your lips back up to his, and you kiss him again, this time, hungry and demanding. Your hips roll against his, and you could feel his boner poking your inner thigh. 

Your heart speeds up at the thought of doing it right here with Drew, in the bathtub. 

One of his hand slips under your nightgown; kneading your ass. 

It’s the way his blue eyes lustfully stare up at yours, that you continue rubbing your pussy against his lower abdomen. 

Drew readjusts his position, to allow the dent in his pants to rub closer to your wet pussy, your hips riding off the closeness. His low grunts sounds like music to your ears, the occasional rise of his hips offering more satisfaction to your core. 

“You like that?” Drew's voice, low and raspy, breaks the noise of soft moans and grunts, as his hand gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Grinding on my cock?”

Fuck. Your brain races with the thoughts of last night, his cock buried deeply in you. The hard length fucking the senses out of you. 

“Drew…” you moan out, sounding more desperate than expected. Your hands clutch on his suit jacket in tight fists, bouncing yourself on his clothed length. 

A breathless chuckle leaves his mouth, his other hand resting at the back of your neck. You feel the rough and cold material of his ring against your jaw, his thumb grazing the skin of your bottom lip. 

“Don’t stop, baby,” he coos, and you feel his dick twitch beneath you. The subtle movement sends your mind into further frenzy, encouraging the orgasm building inside of you. 

Ring! Ring! Ring! 

This time, the sound comes from inside the bathroom, in the tub, the phone that lays beside Drew’s thigh. 

You don’t even glance at it, consumed with building your orgasm. 

He’s not gonna answer anyways-

Drew picks it up, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey,” he breathes into the phone. 

A moan escapes your lips, and he sticks two fingers into your mouth, deep until it hits the back of your throat. Gagging, you cough out, which makes Drew chuckle softly, a mumbled “sorry” escaping his lips, followed by a quiet, ‘shhh.’

You feel a knot grow in your lower stomach, as he raises his hips and thrusts into yours. You suck at the fingers in your mouth, the ring rubbing against your cheeks. 

“Nothing- I’m working out,” he forces out, speaking into the phone. There’s a certain thrill in his voice, a hint of excitement that lingers as he speaks. 

He couldn’t be honest and say currently having your sister ride against my cock.

Although, the thought turns him on more, and he feels another twitch down at his dick.

“Mhm,” he hums mindlessly into the phone, leaning his head back. His mouth parts in awe, forcing his eyes to stay open. 

The hand on your ass grips tighter, averting all the desire to moan there. 

Whimpering against his fingers, you feel the knot inside of you come undone, the warm juice flowing out and definitely staining your underwear. 

You stop sucking his fingers, and you send him a lazy smile, your hips moving slower to ride your orgasm out. When you glance down at his pants, you can see the light stain, yours or his unsure. 

“What, no-“ his brows furrow together, listening in on whoever’s on the other line. 

You move back further until you’re no longer on his lap; tilting your head to study his face. 

But Drew’s hand catches yours, and guides it to the bulge in his pants. He’s still hard. 

You almost moan at the feeling of his thick length underneath your fingertips, Drew stifling back moans too. 

With that, your hands work its magic; palming and massaging his dick, as Drew tries his best to listen intently on the phone. 

“Mhm, yeah,” he agrees into the phone, his voice hitching slightly to hold back moans. You chuckle quietly at that, your hands continuing its touching of his clothed length. 

His hand reaches for you once more, and when you straddle his waist again, it slides to the back of your neck. His lips crash against yours almost desperately, as if he couldn’t get enough. 

Your hands cup his face, kissing him back with the same urgency. 

Drew groans into your lips, but not before hanging up on the phone. It drops inside the tub, the loud thud ignored by the both of you. 

His orgasm flows through him; the liquid spilling out onto his boxer briefs. 

The kiss breaks, and you both lean your foreheads together, gasping for air.

It’s silent, only the distant sound of AC running. 

Then, a breathless laugh slips from you as you process what just happened.

“Who were you calling?” You ask, genuinely curious. Your thumb rubs circles on his cheek, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. 

There’s the same mischievous glint in his blue eyes, causing your stomach to twist slightly. “Best if you didn’t know,” he murmurs, his grip on your waist tightening as he straightens up.

You furrow your brows, ready to ask him more. 

“You wanna have lunch together?" His suddenly asks, his voice softening. 

The question catches you off guard. You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze, your mind racing. Is it... a date? Of course it is. But... is that what you really want? 

Well, four years ago you would’ve loved to go out with a dude named Drew.

But the reminder of your brother meeting with you later flashes by. 

“Can’t,” you shrug apologetically at him, as the hand on the back of your neck starts to play with your necklace. 

Having some fun of your own, you run your hands through his hair, the short strands brushing against your fingers. “Okay…dinner,” Drew suggests instead. 

His blue eyes now stare pleadingly into yours, biting on his lower lip as he silently waits for your answer. 

Okay. You’re leaving tomorrow night, it wouldn’t hurt to have a private meal with him. 

You nod, reaching up to gently pull his lip away from his teeth, a soft smile tugging at your own.

The look in his eyes softens, a hint of curiosity flickering as he leans in a little closer. His hands leave you, reaching for his phone. ”Number?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Just as you’re about to tell him, he adds, “not your brother’s, though.”

Your eyes furrow at his comment; what’s that supposed to mean?

But he just shakes his head, finding his own joke amusing, “no- never mind. Go ahead.”

Slowly, you tell him his number, and soon enough, you hear your own phone ringing in the background. 

“Thanks, I’ll text you,” he kisses your cheek, gently shifting you off of him, “now, I really need to go.”

You watch as he gets up, and you immediately miss his warmth. He gets out the tub first, but not before turning around to offer his hand. 

You smile at the simple yet soft gesture, and take it, letting him help you out the tub. 

“I might see you later,” you tell him, as Drew leads you along with him, to the door. 

“Really?” Drew’s hand catches the door handle, pushing it open. He turns back to face you, and with your hand still in his, he takes the opportunity to place a gentle kiss there. “I’m looking forward to that already.”

Why can’t he just skip practice? 

“Alright,” you smile, taking your hand out of his, patting down the roughed part of his suit jacket, “get out of here.”

His lips curve into a half-smile, and he gives a playful shrug as he takes a step back. "Bossy," he teases, his voice light but warm, “see you.”

The soft click of the door closing echoes in the quiet room.

 With your back against the door, you slide down to the floor, your legs pulling up as you wrap your arms around them.

Blush creeps onto your cheeks as your mind races, replaying the moments with Drew—the look in his eyes, the feel of his lips on your skin, the way he seemed so different, yet so familiar.

You close your eyes, leaning your head against the door, trying to shake off the warmth still lingering in your chest.

Why does it feel like there's more to it than just... whatever that was? You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know one thing for sure: this wasn’t how you imagined your visit here to be like.

——

You’ve never been to a real basketball stadium before. 

At first, the staff was unexpectedly rude, shutting you down before you even had a chance to introduce yourself. Just as things seemed hopeless, the manager stepped in, recognizing your name and quickly handing you a ‘visitor’ badge.

He guides you through narrow corridors, until you make it into a more promising section of the place. The air was filled with the scent of fresh gear, and before you knew it, you passed by one of the locker rooms. You catch a brief glimpse inside - a few tall, fit, shirtless dudes who walked around, chatting away. 

Even at your grown-up age, seeing half-naked guys still made you fluster, averting your gaze. 

Following the manager, the path leads to a visible court ahead, the bright lights blinding into the small tunnel. The loud sounds of dribbling and sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor echo, growing louder with each step. 

Stepping out the tunnel, the staff leads you to the front seats, finding one that isn’t occupied by towels or bags. 

Something about an empty stadium with only its players sends a weird feeling to your brain - the scene surreal somehow. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him, who just nods, walking away. 

Sitting down on the black leathered seat, you look out at the court, taking in the players currently practicing. 

Your instincts kick in, and you scan the floor— spotting Drew, even with his team members running around and dribbling. He's easy to find, his tall frame and confident stride standing out as he lines up for a three-pointer. 

The ball leaves his hands with a smooth flick, arcing toward the hoop, and you watch as it swishes through the net. 

Shit. It’s the way he nonchalantly grabs another ball from the rack, dribbles it once, twice, before casually sinking another three-pointer, his expression completely unbothered that gets you. Other than your heart, something else is throbbing inside of you. 

Like magnets, your eyes focus solely on Drew, even more when you realize the waistband of Calvin Klein peeking out from his shorts. And of course, the v-line that follows-

Thwack!

A ball hits you square in the face, snapping you out of your trance. The sharp impact leaves you blinking, momentarily stunned. 

Slowly, pain creeps into your right jaw, mostly centered there. 

Great. Sitting down for what, not even five minutes? 

As you raise your hand to your face, trying to steady yourself from the blow, the blurry figure of a man slowly comes into focus. He looks flustered as he stammers an apology, but you don’t respond. The pain in your jaw is all-consuming, your head still spinning from the unexpected hit.

“What the fuck, man!”

The loud yell of your brother cuts through the stadium, sharp and full of anger. You don’t even have time to react before he’s charging toward you, his face red. Without hesitation, he roughly shoves the man in front of you, sending him stumbling back a few steps. 

For fuck’s sake, your brother’s outrage might be more frustrating than being hit by a ball…. Does he always have to cause a scene? What a drama queen. 

Even with the pain radiating through your jaw, you manage to drag your hand up and pull the edge of Luke’s shorts. The movement is slow, but it’s enough to make him turn around immediately.

“Shit, y/n, you okay?” He tones his voice down, his features softening as he sits down beside you. 

The lights above you start to drown out; which was because of the crowd gathering around you. They pretend to take a break- but everyone knows it’s to catch a glimpse of a fight threatening to erupt between Luke and his teammate. 

The ache is unbearable, and yet you still manage to lock eyes with Luke. Through clenched teeth, you choke out, “you idiot.”

Luke's eyes widen, guilt flooding his features. Hesitating, his hand hovers near your shoulder, unsure of what to do. 

“Get me an ice pack, dummy,” you rasp, voice thick with frustration. 

Luke winces at your tone, and you catch the muffled laughter from his teammates. 

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, “I’ll get it.” He hurries off, without another word. 

The guy that hit you with the ball apologies once again, and you reassure that you’re okay. Your eyes drift over to the other players, who immediately pretend to be busy with something else. 

You sigh, closing your eyes, as you lean back into the chair. The noise and ruffling of bags fade away as you focus on the pain, trying to relieve it. You place your hands in your lap, relaxing yourself. 

But not even a minute in, a soothing, familiar voice brings you back. 

“Hey baby,”

You crack your eyes open, and there he is, standing in front of you, a concerned smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His blue eyes stare down at you, the gleam in them brighter than the stadium lights. 

Drew.

Your brain immediately replays the scenes of this morning— his lips against yours, his hands all over you, and the call during the…sex? 

He doesn’t wait for an answer; simply sits down beside you, his presence warm and steady. You can feel the tension in his body as he watches you carefully, fidgeting with his hands that lay on his lap. 

The uncontrollable ache in your chest isn’t from the pain, but rather nervous. Fuck. He probably saw the whole process of Luke getting mad! Now you’re embarrassed. Your face is definitely swollen, red, ugly-

“Um, I’ve been hit…multiple times too,” he carefully starts, and you avert your gaze to his face, locking eyes with him. “Ice packs don’t, really work.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, your lips in a small frown as you wonder where he’s going with this.

His eyes flicker to his teammates, who are clearly stealing glances at the two of you. The quiet murmurs around you seem to make him shift slightly, though, and suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the space between you two. His body scoots closer, letting his knee rests against yours.

The contact is casual, but it sends an unexpected jolt of warmth through you. You catch yourself glancing down at where your legs meet.

His voice lowers just a touch, teasing, “kissing…much better.”

You blink, caught off-guard by his words. The smirk on his lips only deepens, his gaze locked on yours. “Official recommendation?” You manage to say, reflecting the teasing tone back at him. 

He shrugs, sending you an air-kiss, his lips pursed in a playful manner. “Worked in the past.”

“And how many…have you offered?” You jokingly ask, a small smile now present on your lips, as your body relaxes itself in his presence. 

Now it’s Drew’s turn, taken aback by your reply. You giggle at that, as he licks his lips, nodding slowly. He rests an arm over the back of your seat, fingers brushing your back and burning the skin there. 

“You caught me,” Drew says, readjusting his hips to angle his body inches closer (even more close; if that’s even possible) to you. “…just wanted to kiss you…again.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but you hear it. 

You swallow, trying to keep the flutter in your chest under control, but the soft touches he starts giving on your back makes it hard. His fingers rub circles on the bare skin that your top doesn’t cover; making your heart skip a beat. 

It feels like you’re back in high school again, a silly crush. 

Or rather, the specific crush you had on the Drew from WCU. 

Drew’s gaze flicks down to your lips for a moment, a slight shift in his expression that’s almost too subtle to notice — but you catch it. His eyes meet yours again, and you can sense a change, something a little deeper in his look now, less playful and more... intent.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice now softer, changing the topic. The teasing from before has faded, replaced by something a little more earnest. “Feeling better, at least?”

“Yes,” you reply with a smile. The pain was long forgotten since he sat down. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head lightly, before muttering, “as long as you’re okay,” the sincerity in his voice palpable. You feel a strange warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that makes you forget all the chaos around you. 

“Um, do you like the place I sent?” Drew changes the topic, and you quickly understand what he’s referencing—he texted you with an address earlier, just before practice. A restaurant that looks like it belongs in a hidden corner of an old European city. 

You get ready to say yes, that it’s great, but of course, your eyes drift over his shoulder, and you see the faint image of Luke running over. 

The moment- over, just like that. 

You quickly look away from Drew, and sensing the change, he sits up, adjusting his position away from you. His hand back in his lap, his knee no longer resting against yours; he creates an invisible border between you two. 

It stings for a moment; but your brother reaching you distracts it. 

“Here,” Luke hands you the ice pack, breathing heavily. You take it, placing it against your jaw as Luke’s eyes flicker over to Drew beside you, acting nonchalant.  “Starkey.”

Drew looks up at the call of his last name, a tight smile on his lips, “yeah?”

“In my seat,” Luke replies, his voice casual but the tone carrying an underlying edge, even though the other seat beside you was empty. 

To which, Drew glances over your shoulder, at the said seat. But Luke doesn’t follow his gaze. Instead, his eyes stay locked on Drew, and you can almost feel the tension between them, thick and unspoken. Drew's posture shifts slightly, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to protest.

But he doesn’t.

With a small shrug, Drew stands up, walking past Luke to the court. He doesn’t turn around for another glance; and joins another teammate to practice. 

Luke drops to the chair that was previously occupied, and his body relaxes, his features softening. “You alright?” He asks again. 

“Took you long enough,” you complain instead, turning your body towards the court. Unknowingly you had your body shifted over to Drew when he was still sitting here. 

Luke doesn’t react; his glare enough to melt the ice pack. “I could get him benched, y’know?” 

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. "What?" You ask, raising an eyebrow, your heart sinking slightly. “Drew? He was just checking up on me-“

“Smith, the one that hit you.”

Oh. 

Well, unless it was Drew, you truly cared less. 

“No, Luke, it was an accident,” you shrug, trying to sound sincere. Your eyes follow Drew on the court, as he successfully jumps and bats the ball out of the other player’s hands. 

“Yeah…no,” Luke mutters, clear that he’s definitely telling the coach. His eyes follow your gaze, and he pokes your shoulder roughly to get your attention. Tearing your eyes away from Drew, you send him a glare. “What did, uh, Drew talk to you about?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter slightly, but ultimately shrug, playing it casually, “he asked if I was fine. That’s all.”

Luke looks at you, clearly not persuaded. 

“Nothing big,” you add on, sending him a smile. 

The ice pack starts to melt in your hands, and noticing it, Luke reaches over to a bag (probably his) and takes a towel out. He hands it to you, but you just narrow your eyes at it, unsure. 

“Relax; it’s unused,” Luke says, and reluctantly you take it. You wrap it around the ice pack, putting it on your jaw again. “I don’t think so- Starkey’s full of shit.”

“More than you?” You tease, earning another poke on your shoulder from him. 

A part of you wanted to know what your brother meant; another part of you didn’t. Even if he was an asshole, you didn’t want to know. At least, not now, when it’s your vacation, and this lovely dream is washing over you. 

“I’m hungry,” you cut whatever Luke wants to say, standing up. “Is the, I don’t know, food court open?” 

Luke watches you stand, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches you, clearly weighing whether or not he should push further. But you can tell he’s deciding against it.

“Nah, that shit’s ass,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips as he stands up. He throws an arm over you, adding extra weight to your shoulders. “I’know a place.”

The strong smell of his sweat hits you; the aftermath of practicing all morning. Your face scrunches up in disgust, as he leads you to the tunnels again, “shower first, you smell like shit.”

He laughs, unfazed, and squeezes your shoulder. 

And as the two of you walk towards the locker rooms, Drew watches, his eyes lingering just a second too long. 

——

The lack of effort your brother brings truly is, amazing. Blows your mind every. time. 

The restaurant he brings you to is the same one as last night, expect well, it’s noon, menu’s different, and oh, you’re sitting outside. 

“Anything else?” The waitress says, as she bats her eyelashes over at your brother. 

With a cocky grin on his face, he gestures the waitress to lean forward. And when she does, he whispers in her ear, causing her to nod enthusiastically. Great, now he’s even flirting with the staff. 

“Food will arrive shortly,” she shyly says, walking away. 

Once she’s gone, the discontent is evident on your face, the frown deepening as you cross your arms. “Seriously?” You almost bark at him, causing him to flinch. 

“What?” He shrugs, oblivious to your frustration. 

“It’s the same place as last night,” you tell him, gesturing around. 

“…that’s why we’re here,” Luke says, with that stupid grin on his face, “Hawk players eat here free.”

Your eyebrows furrow deeper at his words, your gaze shifting to the stunning garden view. Now that you’re really looking at it, the place is beautiful—a secret little oasis that could’ve come straight out of a fairytale.

It’s Luke’s rough kick under the table that snaps you back to reality, your attention shifting to him as he gives you a…rather serious look. 

“So who were you fucking last night?”

“Luke!” You whisper-yell at him, glancing around. Okay, not a lot of people sitting outside. “You can’t just ask that-“

“C’mon, I’m not a fucking idiot,” he interrupts, leaning back in his chair. It’s clear he didn’t buy whatever you said this morning, his eyes scanning you with the annoying know-it-all look. “You forgot how well I know you, y/n.”

With a roll of your eyes, you press your lips together. No way were you telling him. 

Luke scratches his eyebrow, a frown taking over his face. He falls quiet, clearly lost in thought, before his eyes light up with some idea. “How about this…a secret for a secret?”

How ridiculous. This isn’t some middle school game.

“Luke, forget it, I’m not telling you who it was.”

“Ha! So you were with someone,” he exclaims, gently tapping the table. 

Your shoulders drop in exasperation, and you give him a seriously? look. 

Maybe because it’s the first time (other than Zack) that your brother has actually caught you with someone. The thought makes you cringe, the idea of him knowing about that part of your personal life. It’s always been a no-go zone, same for him. 

You open your mouth to tell him off, but he starts his own conversation. 

“I fucking hate Drew Starkey.”

The sudden mention of his name catches you off guard, and you freeze, the words hanging in the air. The change in your brother’s demeanor is immediate—his usual cocky attitude replaced with something colder, sharper. It’s unsettling.

However, can’t help but think, Okay…so he is sharing a secret. 

“What?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, unsure whether you actually want to know more. You’d already cut him off earlier, back at the court.

“I tried…I tried liking him, and shit, it’s impossible,” Luke laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m still petty after all these years, but-“

His eyes meet yours, and seeing how confused you are, his tensed features relax slightly. He looks at you like you're missing something obvious, like he’s just about to reveal a truth you've been blind to.

“Do you not fucking recognize him?”

You swallow hard, feeling your stomach tighten. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your brother truly hate someone, different from his usual short-tempered self. 

“Fuck- he’s the guy I lost the championship to? WCU? Setting my career back-“

His words fade into the background, replaced by a loud sting in your mind. 

You blink, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on you as you slowly sink back into your seat. The cool surface of the chair feels oddly grounding against the storm of thoughts swirling in your head.

Drew—that Drew, the one who had been your brother's rival, the one he'd spent years trying to beat—the one you lost your virginity to. 

The one…you slept with last night. Fuck- that’s why he looks so familiar! The face, his attitude, his jokes- shit. 

The memories come rushing in, vivid and jagged, each one like a slap in the face. 

You can almost hear the loud music from that frat party, the sound of Drew's voice as he took away your first time - when he rejected you. 

“I really like you,” he suddenly admits. 

“But you don’t want me,” you say, finding his sudden confession really stupid, not at all flattering to hear. 

“Don’t say that.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“Do you like me too?”

You blink again, trying to steady your breath, but the air feels thick. 

Your chest tightens, the pressure of everything unsaid between you and Drew settling heavily on your shoulders.

You’ve always thought you were over it—over Drew, over that night, over everything. But the realization hits you now, sharp and unexpected: you weren’t.

You force yourself to focus on Luke’s voice again, but it’s like you’re hearing it underwater. Everything feels muffled, distorted. 

“I mean, every time I see that fucking face, I just wanna-“

Shit. Tonight. Your date with Drew. 

“-Worse, coach thinks we’re ‘prefect’ together, so I always have to look out for him-“

You no longer have the courage to meet him, the confidence you’ve gathered all destroyed, shattered by your own thoughts. It’s as if every word Luke says is a reminder of how messy everything with Drew really is.

“Fuck- I deserved that win more than anything,” he mumbles on, pettiness written all over his face. 

Luke’s words echo in your mind, but you don’t respond. 

Your thoughts are loud enough to drown out everything else.

——

Drew sits on the edge of the fountain, just outside the restaurant. The stone surface feels cool beneath him as he stares at the water, the soft ripples catching the dim light.

It’s been nearly thirty minutes, and ever so often, his eyes flicker upward, searching for any sign of you. He’s trying to steady his nerves, but the longer he waits, the more the uncertainty gnaws at him.

Did you stand him up?

He checks his phone screen again- hundreds of texts but none from you. 

A bitter smile tugs at his lips as he stares down at his lap, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He’s just here, waiting, when the answer is so painfully obvious.

“Not a big deal,” Drew mutters to himself, trying to convince his racing thoughts otherwise. He repeats the words again, more firm this time, “not, a big deal.”

He sighs, his eyes darting around as he avoids the curious stares of passersby. The minutes drag on, each one heavier than the last. He waits. waits. and waits.

But you never show up.

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

word count: 6.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: FINALLY. i sat down, stared at my laptop, and the words just exploded out of me. sorry i took so long T_T be a bae and ignore any typos xo

do you guys like smaller or bigger fonts? just found out how it change it, and must say, damnnnn. the difference it makes is crazy.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One ThirtyEight

“Hey baby what are you...doing?”

There’s a tree in the lounge. A live one. It’s not that big, maybe four feet tall but...it’s in a bucket filled with dirt.

“Decorating the Christmas tree.”

“Right,” Steve can clearly see the trail of loose soil across the lounge carpet, where Eddie has had to wriggle the bucket back and forth to get it in. It looks like it was probably heavy. It’s also not a Christmas tree, which Steve figures is usually a...fir tree. Or a pine, something like that, anyway. But this tree...it’s just a regular tree.

“I thought we were going to go and pick one up?”

“I found a nice one here,” Eddie tells him, “and I don’t like that they cut them down.”

“Oh...so you’re just going to take that one back out, after?”

“Yeap,” Eddie’s concentrating really hard on getting the decorations on the tree, a task made even more difficult by the narrow, wispy looking branches. Eddie doesn’t actually have any decorations since they’re in the attic, but he’s doing a sound job of improvising; Steve’s pretty sure half his mother’s jewelry box is on there. Steve’s not one hundred percent sure about the sock Eddie has limply draped over one of the branches, though, “Baby, what’s with the sock?”

Eddie tilts his head, frowning, “we put socks on the mantle,” Eddie points to where their stocking hang, Steve took the blue one with the stars, and he likes to think he managed to be tasteful and understated with his decorations. Eddie’s looks like Christmas vomited on it.

“Those are stockings baby, that’s different.”

Eddie shrugs, “I really like socks, they keep my feet warm.”

“I have...no argument against that.”

“I couldn’t find the lights,” Eddie tells him, moving on to more important matters.

“Yeah, they’re in the attic, you want them?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles as he finally looks over at Steve, “what’s the attic?”

“Uhm. There’s a ladder, it’s the space in the roof, we store stuff up there.”

Eddie blinks, then frowns, “inside the roof? The house roof?” He points up.

“Yeah, want to come and look?”

Eddie nods, getting up to follow Steve, eyes wide and then grinning when Steve pulls the ladder down, “hidden secret,” he says, suitably awed.

Steve laughs, following Eddie up the ladder. It’s dark up there, but when Steve finds the pull for the light, Eddie lets out an impressed, ‘ooooh’. The attic is kind of cluttered, lots of...stuff. Boxes of forgotten things that have been stored up here, some old pieces of furniture, long term storage of his mom’s clothes protected by plastic covers...just all sorts of dusty stuff. “The Christmas stuff is over here,” Steve pretty sure he hasn’t been up here since last Christmas, and he remembers coming up for the lights and decorations...Steve swallows thickly, Eddie was sick, and Steve decorated the tree to try and cheer him up, even though part of him knew it might be useless.

“Okay Stevie love?” Eddie asks as he opens a box.

“Yeah...yeah I’m fine. We can take whatever you want downstairs baby.”

They hunt for a little while, Eddie getting a little tangled in some lights, and Steve having to perform a very small rescue. Eddie keeps hunting through boxes, and Steve lets him, taking the box with the lights down, and then the box with the ornaments in case Eddie wants any of them for his tree.

“Stevie!” Eddie calls, “come and look at this!”

“What you found?” Steve ambles over, Eddie sitting criss cross apple sauce on the dusty floor. He has a thick book open on his lap, a photo album, “holy shit, I haven’t seen that stuff for years.”

“Photographs?”

“Yeah...that’s me,” Steve points. It’s summer, he’s wearing a floppy white hat, a yellow shirt and blue dungarees. Steve figures he might be two or so in the picture, he’s barefoot on the grass and his bare legs are chubby baby legs.

Eddie turns the page, “this you too?”

“Yeah, it’s probably mostly me.” There are a couple of staged family photos in there, but largely it’s just random toddler pictures of Steve.

Eddie sits, staring, and when he gets to the end of the book he flips it and goes right back to the start again, “can we take this with us?” he asks when he’s about half way through his second pass through the photos, “you’re just a little guy,” he adds absently.

Steve snorts a laugh, “sure baby, of course.”

They don’t add very many decorations to the tree, it just can’t hold them. They end up improvising and wrapping the bucket in lights, since the tree can’t handle many of those, either. It looks...charming, by the time they’re finished. Steve struggles vaguely for positive descriptors, but chooses to avoid them entirely and simply tells Eddie, “I really like it. I am absolutely sure no one has a tree like ours.”

Eddie grins, and they head into the kitchen to make dinner together.

They settle in for a film, some inane made for TV movie about the magic of Christmas and the little kids get their puppy at the end or something equally saccharine and painfully acted. Steve doesn’t remember nodding off, but he wakes up slumped over on the couch. Eddie’s not paying attention to him, he’s still looking through the box of photos and albums he chose to bring down from the attic, half watching the movie.

Steve blinks the rest of the way awake just as the children save the magic of Christmas, or whatever it is that’s happening. Steve yawns, joints cracking. Eddie sniffles.

Steve scooches the length of the couch immediately, “baby?”

“I’m okay.”

Eddie isn’t crying, but there’s a tell tale mark on his cheek; Eddie’s tears are a bit of an off color, even now, “what is it?”

Eddie’s attention is drawn back to the books in his lap, he’s found a picture of Steve, maybe eight years old? Grinning proudly, sitting on his new bike. It wasn’t that long after that that his parents lost interest, or at least, it doesn’t feel like it was. The next picture he’s on the couch with his mom, Steve has no idea what the photo was in aid of, they’re both just sat there, but they’re sitting close enough that it’s a bitter reminder of when his relationship with his mom was a good one. He’s never been that close with his dad, not really, the man has always been disinterested...but his mom, that was different. Steve thinks she really loved him, once upon a time.

Eddie has a loose picture in one of those card frames, another staged one, his mom holding baby Steve, swaddled all in white, dads hand resting carefully on her shoulder as he stands behind them. “This is a proper family, right?”

Steve shrugs, “I think family is...not a set thing. As long as you care for each other, then that’s family.”

“But you want kids?”

“I…” Steve considers lying, briefly, but doesn’t see what it’ll achieve. A lie won’t explain to Eddie how he feels, or why he’s changed his mind. A lie won’t tell Eddie how much he loves him. “I thought I did, at one time. But only because it feels like what I should do, find a nice girl, get married, have kids it...felt like something I had to do just because everyone's doing it. But I chose you Eddie, and everything that means, you know?”

Steve closes the book in Eddie’s lap, taking Eddie’s hand instead, they link fingers, the last little bit of Eddie’s webbing is really obvious when their hands are pressed together like this. His collection of rings kind of hide it though, or at least camouflage it, “don’t feel bad, okay? I love you,” Steve tells him.

“I love you too,” Steve senses a ‘but’. Eddie opens his mouth, closes it again. Sighs a little, like he’s thinking. Steve just plays with his rings a little while he waits for Eddie to arrive wherever it is he’s going. Eventually, finally, he just asks, “are you sure? I don’t want you to be sad you chose wrong. You know, later.”

“Nah. I’m sure. No regrets; I'm not choosing wrong."

“Okay,” Eddie leans over for a soft kiss, but Steve senses his melancholy, and doesn’t really know how to dispel it. The only way he can show Eddie he means it is to keep meaning it, and Steve intends too.

Eddie stands, looking out of the window, as Steve gets ready for bed. It's uncharacteristically clear out, so Steve’s fully prepared for everything to be frozen in the morning, “Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Santa...isn’t real. Like, he’s a bunch of stories right? Like...Santa’s been around a long time, but he’s not real? Right?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean I think there’s like...a saint or something, like historical figures that might be...might have kind of caused the story of Santa but, yeah, Santa’s not real,” Steve climbs into bed, but Eddie’s still there, looking at the sky.

“But reindeer are real. They’re in my book.”

“Yeah,” Steve snuggles into bed, “reindeer are absolutely real.”

Eddie hums, but doesn’t move from the window, watching the sky, “are there any reindeer in Indiana?”

“I...I mean maybe? In like, petting zoos maybe a few? I think they live in cold places though, normally," Steve yawns, "like Canada and stuff I guess."

“Oh...so I won’t see any?”

Finally, it clicks, “Eddie...reindeer can’t fly.”

“What?”

Steve laughs, “come to bed baby. Reindeer are real...but they don’t fly.”

“Oh for fucks sake. I’ve been looking every night all week!” Eddie comes to bed, grumbling, “how am I supposed to know?!”

Part Forty

[little-jana]

"Unspoken"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: heated, no smut, fluffy ending

Warnings: kissing, flirting

Words: 1.1k

Summary: The tension finally snaps...

The air in the room felt heavier than usual, though that could’ve been the exhaustion finally catching up with me. Another late night, another grueling case, and I should’ve been too tired to feel anything but the ache in my bones. But sitting here, across the table from Spencer Reid, exhaustion was the last thing on my mind.

We’d wrapped up the case hours ago, yet neither of us had left the precinct. The others had trickled out one by one, but Spencer and I lingered, tying up loose ends or pretending to. In truth, I wasn’t sure why I stayed—why I always stayed when he was around.

He was typing furiously on his laptop, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that made my fingers itch to brush it back. He always worked like this—laser-focused, utterly absorbed—but tonight, there was something different.

He’d been quieter than usual, his responses clipped, his gaze sharper. I couldn’t figure out if it was the case or something else entirely. But every time his eyes flicked to me, the heat in his stare was enough to make my pulse quicken.

“You’re staring,” he said suddenly, not looking up from his screen. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it that made my breath hitch.

“I’m not,” I lied, though my voice betrayed me.

He glanced at me then, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly perceptive way of his. “You are.”

I crossed my arms, trying to look unbothered. “Maybe I’m just waiting for you to finish so we can leave.”

He smirked, a small, barely-there curve of his lips that made my stomach flip. “You could’ve left hours ago.”

“And miss the pleasure of your company?” I shot back, my tone more teasing than I intended.

His smirk grew, and he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Is that what this is? Pleasure?”

My cheeks burned, and I looked away, pretending to be very interested in the file on the table in front of me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Reid.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, his voice softer now, but there was something in it that made me look at him.

His eyes were locked on mine, and the intensity in his gaze made it impossible to breathe. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and I could feel my resolve slipping with every passing second.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I countered, my own voice shaky.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away either. The tension between us was unbearable, a charged current that neither of us seemed willing to break.

“You do this,” I said finally, my words tumbling out before I could stop them.

“Do what?”

“This,” I said, gesturing between us. “You... stare at me like that. Like you’re waiting for something.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to deny it. But then he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and the look in his eyes made my heart stop.

“Maybe I am,” he said, his voice low and rough.

The air between us crackled, and I felt my pulse hammering in my ears. “Spencer...”

He stood then, rounding the table in a few quick strides until he was standing right in front of me. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, and the heat radiating off him was enough to make my knees weak.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.

“Say what?” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I could form a coherent thought, let alone words.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking right now,” he said, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

“I...” My voice faltered as his fingers trailed down, brushing against my jaw. “I can’t.”

His eyes softened, but the intensity didn’t waver. “Why not?”

“Because,” I said, swallowing hard. “It’s... it’s not appropriate.”

He smiled then, a slow, wicked curve of his lips that made my breath hitch. “Since when do you care about what’s appropriate?”

“Spencer,” I said again, his name coming out as more of a plea this time.

“Tell me,” he urged, his hand still lingering on my face.

“I...” I hesitated, my mind warring with itself. But then his thumb brushed against my cheek, and the dam inside me broke. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He exhaled sharply, his hand dropping to my waist as he closed the remaining distance between us. “Good,” he murmured, his lips so close to mine that I could feel his breath. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

And then he kissed me.

The world fell away as his lips claimed mine, soft and insistent. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. I gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees buckle.

I clung to him, my fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss grew hungrier, more desperate. The tension that had been simmering between us for weeks finally erupted, and it was overwhelming, all-consuming.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing hard, and his forehead rested against mine.

“Wow,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

He chuckled softly, his hands still on my waist. “Yeah. Wow.”

I looked up at him, my cheeks flushed, and for the first time, I saw him smile—a real, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

“Me too,” I said, my own voice barely above a whisper.

His smile grew, and he leaned down, pressing another kiss to my lips, softer this time but no less intense.

And in that moment, with his arms around me and his lips on mine, I knew there was no going back.

[madameevil]

These are just my own thoughts, I'm not here to try and prove anything is right one way or another.

"Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are our villains. And they are your typical evil for evil’s sake villains."

Those two didn't come across that way to me. Elgar'nan started out as a general of the army against the Titans. He didn't relinquish the power he obtained after that because he believed the Elven people needed guidance ("stern leadership") and that his strength could protect them from future threats. Mythal agreed in the sense that they needed leader to unite their people.

Elves being, as far as we're aware, the first spirits to take on a mortal form were not aware of the potential corruption that would occur. We know this occurs when they can't fulfill their initial purpose. Through this Elgar'nan grows to be a tyrant when he's unable to abide by his initial purpose. What was his initial purpose? Hard to say. Emmrich calls him a "Manifestation of Tyranny." We'd probably have to look into exactly how the spirit corrupted to then deduce what he was prior.

Ghilan'nain was the only (?) mortal elf brought into the pantheon. She used to create living wonders. After she was brought into the pantheon, we know that she grew to be more twisted. She sought to push the boundaries of creation further. Since she was mortal first, I don't think her corruption to "villainy" is like Elgar'nan's. Given the dialogue she has with Solas in one of the memories, I interpreted her need to keep pushing as "I have to continue to prove myself." / "Prove to the others that I actually belong here." because she doesn't have the distinction of being a first-born and immortal.

Now we take these character flaws and we add a dash of blight to them...

The blight comes from the compressed anger and suffering of the titans. It's anger and corruption seeps into the individual and slowly consumes them. So the blight would them amplify any anger those two had pushing them to the extremes. With the codex entries we get featuring letters, Solas's memories with the wolf statues, or his memories in the crossroads that we play through...or even the way Elgar'nan talks to. I wouldn't put them as "evil for evil's sake" villains. I think their character flaws or corruption they faced was simply amplified by the blight. The blight they thought they could control. Which leads me to "A God's Arrogance"

"For some reason. This guy can move a satellite!? And he just let Rook walk away in previous encounters… twice. Ok. Sure."

I think the concept of "A God's Arrogance" explains this fine. They're two individuals who still view themselves as Gods. If they viewed the far more advanced ancient elves as well beneath them then modern elves or any other beings are even lower. If ancient elves were cattle, modern creatures are ants. Why would a God ever think that an ant could be a problem? Why would a God ever think that an army of ants be a problem? From a more "evil" God perspective: If that's not enough then why kill something when you can try to break them down? Why kill them when you can relish in their squirming? And better yet, this one is a pawn to the only being you actually still view as a threat. So why not make them watch you break down their piece slowly?

Now if Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain were actually Gods then perhaps they would have just stepped on the ant and moved on. But they're not. They're pretending to be Gods. They're acting how they think Gods would act. It's honestly a difficult thing to write. Writing Gods in general is hard because we're physically incapable of putting ourselves in the shoes of a being with so much power. Writing someone who is acting like how they think Gods should act and then adding in thousands of years of isolated torture and corruption, is another thing.

"they want to unleash the full force of the Blight onto the world. Because they are evil. And they were thwarted last time they tried to Blight the entire world. Why do they think Blighting the world is a good idea? What’s the point of ruling a world if everyone is dead?"

This also relates to "A God's Arrogance." When we play through Solas's memories in the Crossroads we hear Ghilan'nain claim she can control the blight. That she is somehow stronger and can hone it into something more than just a mindless raging plague. Elgar'nan then continuously reassures her of this fact if you eavesdrop on their conversations at the golden tree thing at the start of the Crossroads. Ghilan'nain believes she can take the blight and control it to not end up with everything/everyone dead. She believes this is the next step in evolution and it's a gift to receive it from her. This isn't "Because they are evil" , to me that is a gross oversimplification of their motivations.

Whether those motivations strike you as compelling is your choice.

"This reveal will surely throw the Andrastian religion into chaos! This puts the very existence of the Maker into question! The Evanuris are a lie; it’s only fair Catholicism—oh, I mean—the Chantry is a lie too. We briefly touch on that in Veilguard… then it is quietly discarded."

The companions do discuss it. The reason they choose not to bring it up is because of how they believe it would impact the elves and there's nothing to gain by throwing the world into further chaos than it already is. The Elves are already discriminated against, then two of their Gods emerge and cause an apocalyptic situation, so why would they then choose to add another target on their back by challenging the chantry? I agreed with the characters here. I don't think it's the right time. I would love to see this lead to a gradual change in future games though!

Whether this reasoning is enough for you, is your choice.

"We never really learn why Solas wants to tear the Veil down, or why he thinks it will help anyone. “The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed,” he says. And that’s basically all he says about it in Veilguard. [...] His only motivation now seems to be he’s too deep in his sunk-cost fallacy. [...] His role in this tale was over before ours began, and he really is just some relic from a long-past age. He has no role, no purpose in this story. He is here to be thwarted. [...]Solas is never given any nuance or complexity to his actions. Nuance and complexity have actively been taken away. Both him and the Veil are looking like they are the worst things to be in a story: pointless. Why introduce the Veil if it’s just going to remain unchanged? Why introduce a character like Solas, bother humanizing him (for lack of a better term), giving us his backstory, setting him up as a cunning antagonist, only to make him look stupid, then put him on a shelf until the last ten minutes of your game?"

I think there are far more eloquent people who can talk about Solas's role in the story and his motivations. His actions seem heavily based in both The Cycle of Abuse and Survivors Guilt. These are powerful motivators. These motivators also parallel the individual companion stories.

Lucanis has suffered abuse at the hands of his grandmother and family members. Lucanis also has survivors guilt when he believes his grandmother was killed. He tries to avoid it but you hear about it in his mind prison.

Davrin has suffered from institutional abuse. He's convinced his sole purpose in life is to die now. He brings it up constantly. He also suffers from survivors guilt after Weisshaupt. You can talk to him about it when he presents to you the wood carvings of his friends who didn't survive. He even shouts out, something along the lines of "why am I still here when they're not?"

Neve has survivors guilt about what happened to Rana's partner. She talks to you about how everyone around her dies or gets hurt.

Emmrich has survivors guilt about what happened to his parents that leads into his fear of dying. If you choose not to save Manfred, he's heard crying in his room and struggling to accept it.

Bellara has survivors guilt about what happened to her brother. She blames herself for it. She hopes that she can do enough that she'll be able to forgive herself.

I think Taash's story relates to Solas's predicament in a different way. I think their theme of struggling between two worlds whether that be culturally or with their gender can relate to Solas's struggle between the ancient culture he was born into and the modern elven culture he finds himself in. Since I'm not part of the nonbinary community or diaspora community, I can't talk in detail about this from their perspective and won't try to.

With all this in mind, I do think these comparisons help place Solas as a "foil character." Solas's reaction however is DRASTICALLY different from our protagonists (plural for companions included) but also offers a contrast to Rook (our protagonist) who inherits Varric's vision.

With all that though, I don't think his purpose in the narrative is "nothing." Whether making him a foil character was what he should have been or what was desired is up to you.

As for why he wants to tear down the Veil, a lot of it is hidden in subtext. "People are always dying. It's what they do." And it's his fault they are. Solas often always speaks in riddles and literally veils the true meaning. Every time he talks to Rook there's a hidden purpose and meaning behind it. If you analyze it, which others much better at literary analysis than me have, you may find more motivation, complexity, and reasoning. I think picking apart his words adds a good amount of nuance to it as well.

"It really felt like this was the setup they were going for. Solas causes the death of Mythal, and this is his catalyst for creating the Veil, which ushers in a world without magic."

Is that not what happened? Her death was a catalyst to spur his rebellion against the Evanuris. It's her death and service that binds him and why she's required to get the good ending. She has to release him.

"I was expecting a few remaining Titans to wake and join the fight. But we don’t get any of that."

Would have been cool, but since all that seems left of them is the blighted part and that's thoroughly severed, I don't think it would have worked. Without some possession that helps sooth the anger, it's so maddened that it's not quite coherent. I didn't really ever expect them to wake up. I did expect to learn more about them from the Descent DLC in DAI and I did get to learn a lot more! So I was satisfied with that.

"The Veil felt like Chekov’s gun to me. Chekov’s Veil, if you will. It’s been here from the beginning of our tale, the spectre hanging over our protagonists’ heads for multiple games."

To me the Veil was more like a key aspect of World Building. You need to know about it to understand the religions, how magic works, how spirits and possession work, etc. So it makes sense to introduce it as a concept in each game. It takes a beating in the games and we see the effects of that. So in this game, it ending with it being fully repaired. It did have a role, could it have been bigger? Sure.

"It just ends, and everything is the same. I got to the end of Veilguard… and everything was more or less the same as it was at the start of Origins."

I don't know how it is the same. Elves have to reconcile the differences between what they believed and what they now know. They've uncovered ancient artifacts and have a grasp on the Eluvians now which they certainly didn't have in Origins. The blight is forever changed with the Veil fully repaired. There's no more small leak. The Calling is implied to be gone due to this. It's implied that the blight can be cured or slowly die away instead of lingering. Which brings me to this...

"The Veil isn’t even a permanent solution. It wasn’t to begin with. It was some duct tape wrapped around a broken pipe, and we’ve just slapped an extra piece of tape on it. It’s still leaking. It is still unnatural, and will fall eventually one way or another.

It feels like keeping the Veil up just pushed a big problem onto Thedas’ future generations. We’ll keep slapping bandaids on it until it all falls apart. Someone else can deal with the fallout, but we’ll be dead by then, so who cares."

It is fully repaired now though. It's reinforced. It's not us slapping duct tape on it like we did with elven relics in DAI. The ending tells us this. Now this doesn't stop people from doing what the magisters did and poking holes in it in the future, but we also don't know how Solas (and possibly Inky) presence will affect it. Will it help prevent holes? Will it help ease the blight even more? There's a lot of room to expand on these, but it'll take time for the world to change. So I expect any consequences in future games - not immediate.

"For some reason, this game seemed terrified of letting us think about anything for more than two seconds. It shied away from complexity or nuance at every turn."

I actually think the game had a lot of complexity and nuance just perhaps, not in the way many went in expecting. There was complexity in the companions and their stories, how it intertwined with the overarching narrative and Solas's. How grief and regret shape a person. How all the propaganda the South had been feeding us for years wasn't always accurate. It's different from "moral complexity" of previous games but if I'm being honest, I never found the previous games to be morally complex. There was a clear cut "good" option and a clear cut "bad" option. Literally some choices people gush about boils down to "Is slavery bad? Yes or No?" ... it's bad guys. It's not complex. It's bad. "Is forced imprisonment from childhood bad? Yes or No?.... yes. Imprisoning children in a tower with police brutality is bad. It's not complex. It's always been pretty black or white. The complexity typically came from the factions we interacted with. The Wardens portrayed as glorious heroes have a darker side to them. We saw it in Origins. We see it in DAI. We see it in DAV with the Griffons. This organization isn't all white. It's more of a grey.

Meanwhile the opposite occurs with the crows. We get horrendous portrayals of them in DAO, DAII, and a little bit in DAI and yet we interact with a different family and we see, no this organization isn't actually all black. It's more of a grey.

All of that is still present and emphasized in DAV. I think the game just decided not to shove it in your face like it did in other games. It's more subtle but to me it's still there.

"The game is called The Veilguard—ironically, that word is never uttered in the game—but we are given no real motive for guarding the Veil. We’re unquestionably the hero. The villains are uncomplicatedly evil. Save the world… never wonder what you are doing or why."

I honestly don't know why they would ever utter the phrase "Veilguard" specifically and why that should be a bad thing that they don't. It would just feel like an "Avengers Assemble" moment or forced in. Further more and relating to this piece:

"I wanted the game to make me question if the Veil staying up or coming down was the right choice. I needed to be given a real counter argument. Convince me the alternative would actually be better or worse, because as I mentioned…"

I don't think the game was ever going to be that. You are picked by Varric. Varric who watched what the Kirkwall companions did. Who watched what happened to the Inquisition. Varric who was going to go try and stop this friend from making a mistake when he couldn't in the past. The person Varric brought on the team wasn't going to be evil. They weren't going to disagree with his vision. They weren't going to go against him. They were going to be his second in command and by into what he told them. He is after all a famous storyteller. Viewing it as Rook is an extension of Varric and tasked with carrying on Varric's role...it limits the characters available. I don't necessarily mind this, but I think it's a big reason why people go so far as to say "it's not an RPG" which is honestly just disgusting. It is an RPG. You can't call Monster Hunter or FF that have little to no story or choice impact RPGs but not this.

In addition to that and to talk about this:

"They are surprisingly patient while Rook fixes all their companions’ problems…"

Which is talking about our two escaped gods again, it's just QoL for the Game. It's a game first and foremost. Would you prefer everything be on a timer? Maybe you would, but many wouldn't. Many gamers actively hate timed quests. So this isn't a narrative reason so much as a gameplay reason. They want to give you time to do the quests. The same thing happens in all the other games. "Ah god we have to get to the top of the tower! ASAP!" - yea yea hold on I have to loot all 5 of these bodies and all these crates over here and do one last glance over. OR "Oh dear the empress is going to be assassinated we have to move quickly!" - Uh huh yea I get that but let me spend about 10 more hours in the Hinterlands trying to kill this fucking dragon. Not ever decision in the game is a narrative one. This one isn't.

How does this relate to the choice of the Veil coming down or staying up? This was never going to be a choice. The impact it would have would be too drastically different that there'd be no way to reconcile it in future games. You'd have to make two completely different games for that choice. So they were going to choose one or the other. In the end they chose this. Would the opposite have been cool? Maybe! Or it could have been the end of the world like that one proposed ending in the Artbook where everything is obliterated. I mean people are already pissed that "their world state is destroyed in the south" imagine the outcry if the whole world was wiped with the veil coming down. There just doesn't seem a good way to make this work for everyone or keep it a choice. Unfortunately.

Now that that's all done. These are just my thoughts and how I interpreted it. Part of the beauty of art and games by extension is that they should be open to multiple interpretations. There should be discussions surrounding the narrative that aren't just masked bigotry. And with that, Ima log off Tumblr since this too me way to long...and no I'm not going to reread it to make sure it's coherent. Ima just send it.

Castles in the Fade, or What Was the Point of the Veil Anyway

Something that will now haunt me until the end of time is why was the concept of the Veil ever introduced into this series.

We’ve been hearing about it since the very first game. There’s a codex entry about tears in the Veil in Origins. Tamlen mentions a thin spot in the Veil if you play a Dalish elf. Sandal has a prophecy in Dragon Age 2: “One day the magic will come back—all of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.” Admittedly, this is just one line said by a character who often says odd things, but it hinted to the fact they were planning to do something with the Veil from the very beginning. The state of the Veil is repeatedly brought up. It all had to mean something! Or so I thought. 

When I saw “The Dread Wolf Rises” quest in Veilguard, I said, “Oh, here we go!” The Veil is coming down, magic is coming back, and it’s going to set up such an interesting story for the next game. 

Alas, no. 

I hadn’t really enjoyed my time playing Veilguard up until this point. It felt like the game was ducking and dodging every bit of world building and lore that could possibly bring nuance or complexity to the story. Every returning character or faction was a cardboard cutout of themself. They shoved Solas is a time-out box and gave him nothing to do. They refused to let him have any impact or influence on the story when he had been set up to be our main antagonist back in Trespasser. This game used to be called Dreadwolf! And while we learn about his past… we never talk to him about it. In the present, he’s in stasis.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are our villains. And they are your typical evil for evil’s sake villains. They are mad, bad, and only as dangerous as the narrative will allow as to not give Rook and co too much trouble. They are surprisingly patient while Rook fixes all their companions’ problems… until Elgar’nan moves the moon to cause an eclipse. A vital component in making his own lyrium dagger. For some reason. This guy can move a satellite!? And he just let Rook walk away in previous encounters… twice. Ok. Sure.

The Evil Duo need their own dagger ostensibly to tear down the Veil, because they want to unleash the full force of the Blight onto the world. Because they are evil. And they were thwarted last time they tried to Blight the entire world. Why do they think Blighting the world is a good idea? What’s the point of ruling a world if everyone is dead? I guess they haven’t thought that through, because of the madness and the evilness.

Ok, I thought. Perhaps the gods will be the one to tear down the Veil. Or maybe we’ll have a choice to let Solas do it his way before they can, which will be less chaotic and less full of Blight. Because the Veil has to be coming down one way or another? Why introduce the concept of the Veil, especially a Veil that has been thinning and failing since the series began, if it’s just going to… stay.

There is a principle in storytelling called Chekov’s gun. If something is mentioned in a story, it must have a purpose. If you keeping mentioning that gun hanging on the wall over the fireplace, it’s because at some point in the story, someone is going to take it down and use it. The Veil felt like Chekov’s gun to me. Chekov’s Veil, if you will. It’s been here from the beginning of our tale, the spectre hanging over our protagonists’ heads for multiple games.

The Veil has been a character unto itself. It was the central focus of the third game, and its dissolution was set up to be the core conflict of the fourth game. We learn everything we thought we knew about the Veil was a lie. It was not created by the Maker to separate the Fade from this world because of jealous spirits, it was created by a guy named Solas to trap the elven gods and the Blight from destroying the world. Also, the elven gods were never gods, and they are also evil.

This reveal will surely throw the Andrastian religion into chaos! This puts the very existence of the Maker into question! The Evanuris are a lie; it’s only fair Catholicism—oh, I mean—the Chantry is a lie too. We briefly touch on that in Veilguard… then it is quietly discarded. Religious crisis averted.

But I digress.

When the title of the fourth game was changed from Dreadwolf to Veilguard, I started to see the writing on the wall. Still, I held out hope the Veil would have some greater purpose in the story. That its introduction as a concept was for a reason. That something in this world would change.

Instead, from the get-go, the question of the Veil is no question at all. We only get Solas and Varric making oblique or catastrophizing statements about it. Solas says little beyond he has a plan. If I ever wanted to hear a villain monologue about their plan, it was now! Varric, on the other hand, decries Solas’s plan. He warns that should the Veil fall, it will destroy the world and drown it in demons. And that’s that.

We never really learn why Solas wants to tear the Veil down, or why he thinks it will help anyone. “The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed,” he says. And that’s basically all he says about it in Veilguard. In Inquisition and Trespasser, we learn it took the immortality from the elves. It cut most of magic off from the world. Spirits are trapped and are being corrupted into demons, and most of what we know about spirits and demons is wrong. There are ancient elves possibly asleep? That part is left vague, but ancient elves are still about. We meet some in Mythal’s temple. There seems to have been some merit in bringing it down, because elves were flocking to Solas’s cause at the end of Trespasser. He had agents working for him already. What do they know that we don’t know?

Apparently nothing, because by the time Veilguard rolls around, there are no mention of agents. He is working alone. His only motivation now seems to be he’s too deep in his sunk-cost fallacy. The Veil is unnatural, so it must be removed—consequences be damned. We are never given any reason to think Solas has a leg to stand on in his pursuit of tearing down the Veil. We never hear any kind of counter argument from anyone, not even Solas, as to why the Veil should come down. We are only told it will destroy the world. It will drown the world in demons. This is all Solas’s fault.

There is no nuance. No complexity. No moral quandary to mull over. The game gives us vague warnings with no explanation as to what exactly is so world-annihilating about the Veil coming down. We must take Varric’s word at face value. We’re the heroes; Solas is the villain. Stop him.

It makes me wonder why Solas was ever a companion in Inquisition, let alone a romance option. Solas was presented to us as a complicated character in Inquisition. We had the potential throughout the game to make him see the value of this world, to help him realize he was wrong about it. “We aren’t even people to you,” the Inquisitor says in Trespasser. Solas replies, “Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong...again.” He began the third game viewing the world as tranquil, seeing the people in it as nothing more than figments in a nightmare, just as we saw our companions in the In Hushed Whispers quest. He ends the game having made friends, having recognized he was mistaken. He might have even fallen in love. (Or he may still seen no merit in this world if the Inquisitor antagonized him the entirety of their time together.) But something makes him continue with his plan to tear down the Veil, despite recognizing this world is real. He must know something we don’t. Something we’ll learn about in the next game.

We’ve been hearing about the Veil for three games now. We’ve set up our complex antivillain for the next installment, and he’s going to tear the Veil down. We swear to stop him or save him. But it has to be more complex than that. It can’t be so straightforward. Uncomplicated. Simple. Boring. Right? Right?

Nope. He really is just the villain, mustache-twirling and all. He apparently had no greater motivation, no as of yet unrevealed knowledge that would put this whole Veil thing into a new context. It was really as simple as the Veil falling will destroy the world, so Solas must be stopped. There is no new information that is revealed which makes us question what we are doing. Solas is never given any nuance or complexity to his actions. Nuance and complexity have actively been taken away. Both him and the Veil are looking like they are the worst things to be in a story: pointless. Why introduce the Veil if it’s just going to remain unchanged? Why introduce a character like Solas, bother humanizing him (for lack of a better term), giving us his backstory, setting him up as a cunning antagonist, only to make him look stupid, then put him on a shelf until the last ten minutes of your game?

Solas was the trickster archetype of this tale. He was our version of Loki from Norse mythology. What is the role of the trickster archetype? To challenge the status quo. To bring about events of extreme change, like say, the tearing down of a Veil that holds back all of magic. Loki is a huge contributing factor in Ragnarök. Through his manipulation, he causes the death of the beloved god, Baldr. This ushers in a long winter, which signifies the beginning of the end. Loki is imprisoned for this crime. When the final battle between gods and giants begins, the sun and moon are swallowed, plunging the earth into darkness. The earth shakes and Loki is freed to fight on the side of the giants. The world burns in raw chaos, falls beneath the sea, and is reborn. The world is remade, and a new realm of the gods and a new, better earth is formed.

It really felt like this was the setup they were going for. Solas causes the death of Mythal, and this is his catalyst for creating the Veil, which ushers in a world without magic. This could be seen as equivalent to the long winter. Solas falls asleep, trapped in dreams. He wakes and sets in motion bringing about the apocalypse. It’s not a perfect one to one, but it’s there if you squint. We have a war against the gods in Veilguard. I was expecting a few remaining Titans to wake and join the fight. But we don’t get any of that. There is a final battle, but it does not end in the end of the world. Or a better world. It just ends, and everything is the same.

It seems our trickster god caused his apocalypse thousands of years before our story started, when he created the Veil. His role in this tale was over before ours began, and he really is just some relic from a long-past age. He has no role, no purpose in this story. He is here to be thwarted. He is no Loki at all.

If you can’t tell, I wanted the Veil to come down. Did I think the Veil coming down would be painless? Have no negative consequences? No. Of course not. But keeping it up has negative consequences too. And it made for an interesting story. Or at least it could have. But we never explore that. The game presents no counter argument to having the Veil stay up, which, again, begs the question: what was the point of introducing the concept of the Veil at all?

Did I think the Veil coming down was actually the best solution to help Thedas become a better place? I don’t know, and I never will, because the game never argues for it one way or another. It just tells you to want it in place and to stop asking questions. In real life, a catastrophic event is not the best way to solve any of the world’s problems. But this is the realm of fiction. We have gods and monsters, magic and myth. We have introduced the status quo of Thedas, recognized it needs to change, then our trickster god appears ready to fulfill his role in the narrative. 

Instead, it all comes to nothing.

I got to the end of Veilguard… and everything was more or less the same as it was at the start of Origins. Veilguard actually tries its hardest to pretend any previously mentioned problems don’t exist, so of course the Veil coming down has no merit. There are no problems to solve in this world, apparently. Solas is just stuck in the past and can’t get with the times. Silly Solas.

The Veil isn’t even a permanent solution. It wasn’t to begin with. It was some duct tape wrapped around a broken pipe, and we’ve just slapped an extra piece of tape on it. It’s still leaking. It is still unnatural, and will fall eventually one way or another. Large amounts of bloodshed weaken it, so I guess Thedas better achieve world peace real quick to avoid any battles. There were seven super-powered mages holding it together… now there is just one. Ironically, the Veil was going to fall after two more Blights anyway. The Wardens were doing Solas’s work for him! It would also have released the full force of the Blight at that time… which Solas was trying to avoid, I presume.

It feels like keeping the Veil up just pushed a big problem onto Thedas’ future generations. We’ll keep slapping bandaids on it until it all falls apart. Someone else can deal with the fallout, but we’ll be dead by then, so who cares.

Primarily, I wanted the Veil to come down from a storytelling perspective. The Veil was an interesting concept and I wanted the story to do something interesting with it. Conflict is what makes stories stories and the Veil coming down could create so much compelling and complex conflict. And the Fade is weird, and I like weird. Stories are also about change, and I wanted to see Thedas change. Yet, Veilguard is over, and barely anything has changed. Instead of magic coming back being a conflict for the next game, they went with Fantasy Illuminati. Oh.

The Veil turned out to be a nothing-burger, and no problems in this world are even close to being solved. Slavery is still rampant in Tevinter. The elven people are still oppressed everywhere. Mages have no more rights in the South than they did in Origins. Spirits are still trapped and being corrupted. The Calling still exists, though might be different somehow now? They don’t really get into that. The Chantry’s validity is still not allowed to be questioned. The Blight still exists in some form, but again it’s vague. Oh, and we learn the dwarves have been gravely wronged, and the Titans are still tranquil. At least if you redeem Solas and a romanced Lavellan joins him, they can work together on healing the Blight and helping the Titans. Oh, good. One problem is being acknowledged and some action will be taken. Offscreen. Hurray? Solas doesn’t have a really great track record of fixing problems, so Lavellan is definitely going to need to be there to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.

For some reason, this game seemed terrified of letting us think about anything for more than two seconds. It shied away from complexity or nuance at every turn. The game is called The Veilguard—ironically, that word is never uttered in the game—but we are given no real motive for guarding the Veil. We’re unquestionably the hero. The villains are uncomplicatedly evil. Save the world… never wonder what you are doing or why.

I wanted the game to make me question if the Veil staying up or coming down was the right choice. I needed to be given a real counter argument. Convince me the alternative would actually be better or worse, because as I mentioned… things suck quite a bit in Thedas already for a lot of people right now. Let the Veil’s fate be a difficult choice to make. If the conflict cannot be what to do about the Veil, it should be am I doing the right thing about the Veil. If the heart of your game is so thin on motive, everything else falls apart around it.

I hoped they were setting up a complex, Thedas-sized existential conflict for this game in Trespasser, but no. I wanted something to happen, but nothing did. 

I want to feel challenged and changed by a story, not left feeling empty. I’m tired of superficial entertainment. I want to sink my teeth into a narrative that doesn’t paint the world in broad strokes of black and white, good and evil, heroes and villains.

Ultimately, I think my issue is why even introduce a concept like The Veil if you’re not going to do anything interesting with it. Or anything at all. What I thought was Chekov’s Veil turned out to just be a MacGuffin. And that’s disappointing.

[guiltyc0nscience]

camille’s master list ⋆˙⟡🩰

completed matt fics — 6

completed chris fics — 15

key — ꣑ৎ = angst ˗ˏˋ = personal favs ☆ = fluff ❀ = smut

matt sturniolo ⋆˙⟡

— ❀ matt the munch

“in which matt’s favourite thing to do to you, is going down on you.”

— ꣑ৎ ☆ where do broken hearts go?

“in which matt feels like you aren’t considering his feelings and not putting as much effort into your relationship as he is, so he brings it up to you which results in conflict but was quick to be resolved.”

— ☆ if the world was ending i’d wanna be next to you

“in which cute things matter does in a relationship.”

— ❀ he’s so pretty when he goes down on me

“in which your favourite part of sex with matt is when he goes down on you because you think he just looks so perfect.”

— ❀ behind the frames

“in which while making out with matt, his glasses get in the way and you have to take them off mid make-out.”

— ꣑ৎ lacy, oh, lacy

“in which your ex-boyfriend, matt, gets a new girlfriend and you envy her.”

chris sturniolo ⋆˙⟡

— ❀ hickey

“in which while you and chris were having time alone, matt interrupted you both.”

— ꣑ৎ josslyn

“in which while chris was in the shower he got an incoming call and he told you to answer it without thinking and when you do, you find out that he had another girl on the side.”

— ꣑ৎ ☆ pretty isn’t pretty

“in which one year ago you suffered from an ED, where at one point you thought there was no turning point but chris proved you wrong. fast forward one year, you’re back in the same dark pit, but chris is there yet again to help you out.”

— ❀☆ we can hear and see, ya know?

“in which while you and the triplets were in chicago, you and chris were having a moment, you didn’t think matt and nick could see you but you were proved wrong.”

— ☆ surf curse

“in which you convinced chris to do the latest tiktok trend with you.”

— coke and vodka

“in which while at one of chris’ frat parties, he takes a shot of vodka and a line of cocaine off of your body as he is head-to-head with his frat brother who can do it quicker off their girlfriends.”

— ❀ yapper

“in which chris is yapping away with his fingers in your mouth because you kept interrupting him while he was talking.”

— ☆ clothing haul

“in which whole you were away visiting family in florida, chris sends you a video of him showing you the clothes that you had ordered online.”

— ❀ flashed

“in which while arguing with chris, you flashed him to shut him up.”

— ꣑ৎ this is me trying

“in which chris tried so hard to support you through your drug addiction that had been ongoing for a year. every time he got you out, you fell back into the same hole. one day, chris had finally had enough and had a talk with you about wether or not you were willing to change for him, but once you say you can’t, he leaves your relationship behind for good.”

— ꣑ৎ☆ dumb teens in love

“in which you and chris were young and you fooled around with each other, and after realising things weren’t right, you took a pregnancy test. finding out you were pregnant and were having a baby with chris sturniolo at 18.”

— ꣑ৎ at your worst

“in which after a hurtful fight between you and chris, he comes and apologises after a few days, and he promises to stay forever—even at your worst.”

— ꣑ৎ i hope ur miserable until ur dead

“in which you walk away from chris after releasing he’s run out of chances to break your heart.”

— ꣑ৎ tough love

“in which you and chris struggle to confront your growing distance and fear of losing each other.”

blurbs ⋆˙⟡

chris is obsessed with the bulge in your throat when sucking him off

[scripts4dreamers]

Me and my one (1) friend who has also had their brain corrupted by the blight (dragon age) have been fighting about this for two days but I’m so sure I’m right, so I humbly present my thesis to you lovely people.

1. After the events of the Veilguard, if Rook and Neve ended up together, Neve tries to leave you.

LET ME EXPLAIN! (Spoilers for the Veilguard ending)

I love Neve. She’s my favorite romance from Veilguard, she’s an incredible character and she does not deserve all the hate she gets. Having said that, she does 1000% try and leave Rook.

The one thing we know about Neve, almost from the moment we meet her, is that she is not a believer. She doesn’t believe Solas is a god, at first, she doesn’t believe anyone will have her back, she doesn’t believe Minrathous will improve and she doesn’t believe she’s going to survive this job. But still she fights on, not out of a genuine belief that she can win, but because she has a soft spot for lost causes.

Neve has devoted her life to being the champion of lost causes. She tells Rook that, even if this job doesn’t get her, one of them will. She risks her life, day in and day out, in service of a city that has done nothing but hurt her. Neve believes she’s a dead woman walking, and all she wants to do is go down protecting the people of Dock Town because someone has to. Someone has to.

And then she meets Rook and Harding and now gods are real, and they’re destroying the world and oh well everything was always going to go down in flames, so why not help out? She’s always been a magnet for bad news, for bad luck, for the worst of humanity, so why not spend her last days fighting for what little good is left?

She tries to fight falling for Rook, but they’re everything she wishes the world could be. They’re the lifeline she’s been waiting for since before the world forced her to stop believing. They’re good and kind and full of life and how can she do anything but love them for that? But she’s already dead, they’re both already dead and she can’t survive another loss.

She throws herself into loving them only after she lost them to the Fade. Only after Harding/Davrin died. After her world already ended, because that’s when she really realizes how quickly it can all end and how much time she wasted pushing people away. The goddamn WORLD IS ENDING and the person you love is THERE and they’re REAL and they WANT YOU, so why not? What is there to lose? It’s easy to love someone when the world is ending. It’s easy to love someone when you’re both already doomed.

But then the world doesn’t end. The sun rises on a blighted Minrathous and they’re both still alive, and now she’s faced with rebuilding. There’s so much work to be done, she’s a bloody, scarred mess and the job she was brought in for is over, isn’t it? She’s not a cool noir detective who died saving the world anymore, she’s someone’s partner, someone’s friend and lover and those aren’t jobs she had ever prepared herself to take.

Suddenly, without the haze of panic and the urgency of stopping the gods, things look different. She needs a new apartment. Minrathous needs a detective. Life goes back to normal and Neve still isn’t a believer.

Of course, everyone says they’ll stay in touch. Bonds formed that can never be broken and all that, but Neve knows better. You don’t hang around once the party is over. You don’t give the world more ways to hurt you, more people to take. You don’t give people a chance to leave you.

So she leaves first.

She regrets it. She hates herself for it. She cries herself to sleep wondering how she could be such a coward, but she leaves. She packs a bag, writes a goodbye letter and leaves before morning.

Now, do I think her and Rook get back together? Absolutely I do. I just think that, with all the events of Veilguard happening in such a short time, there’s going to be some major questions for all the companions once the dust settles, and leaving before you can be left is Neve Gallus’ answer to those questions.

[ghostgirl-22]

feminization art this… feminization art that… feminization with patrick. i need him in pink lingerie IMMEDIATELY i need to see his full balls being hardly contained by the cutesy lacy pink panties!!!! i NEED ITITITIT and how would art react.

Hi anon! So I wrote this then saw you said pink. Sorry he’s in white lace. I hope that’s okay <3 also if you’re curious I added the reference here.

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Feminization kink

—-

Art grew up with only sisters, spent summers with his Grandma who also happens to be his favorite person. Oddly enough outside of Patrick, he’s always more naturally gravitated towards women. He felt pretty comfortable when chatting with women and they generally felt comfortable around him. Though it often meant that he saw too much or heard too much, and occasionally girls he met would think he was the “gay” friend and they’d undress in front of him or walk around in just a bra and underwear.

Sometimes even after he’d clarify many times that he was very much into women, some of his friends would do it anyway. It could get a bit confusing if he’s honest.

Patrick would tease him with that reductive take, “men and women can’t be friends.” And Art would disagree and then two weeks later one of his “friends” would tell him she was crushing on him. And as sensitive as Art could be, he’s still a red blooded male and he’d end up proving Patrick right.

He’s sitting in the dorm with one of his close friends Kelsey and a few other girls. One who happens to be Patrick’s ex girlfriend Ashley who Art doesnt know that well outside of the fact that she’s not that great of a tennis player. For whatever reason they’re talking about the silliest thing you’ve ever done for a boy. Ashley brings up the time she made her boyfriend try on lingerie at Victoria’s Secret.

Kelsey’s giggling. “You can’t mean Patrick Zweig.”

“Oh I definitely mean Patrick Zweig. And when I tell you it was so hot. Like his cock barely fit in those lacy white panties and he was just so…hard…” she giggles. “I think he liked it. Like a lot. We ended up fucking in the changing room.”

“Oh my god!” Kelsey says and she glances at Art, mouthing sorry. As she often did when girl talk got to be a little too much. Art forces himself to smile hoping he looks nonchalant but his palms are suddenly sweaty and his heart rate has picked up for some reason.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Ashley continues. “I had to fucking buy it all. It was so embarrassing. I just pulled off the tags and brought them to the register so they could ring everything up but it was so obvious to the sales lady what we did.” She says, grinning. “He didn’t care of course. I spent like two hundred bucks gave the whole set to him for his birthday and then he fucking cheated on me with Cali.”

A few minutes later Kelsey points out that Patrick is his roommate and best friend and Ashley giggles awkwardly and starts fidgeting with her curls. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that about your roommate.”

Art mumbles that it’s no big deal and that he knows Patrick can be an asshole so he doesn’t take offense.

But hours later he can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like his mind is stuck. He can’t move on from that story. Patrick tells him just about everything but he’s never told him that. Art is certain he would have remembered lacy white panties.

He’s not sure what’s happening to him but when he gets back to his room he’s relieved to see it’s empty. It’s twelve in the afternoon and he’s touching himself. His head all wrapped up in that story. He tells himself it’s not about Patrick. And so what if his slightly addled brain is imagining Patrick’s tall, lanky form in barely there lace panties. His too big cock just overwhelming the fabric, jet black pubic hair everywhere. Imagines him fucking into Ashley’s pussy while she calls him a good girl. It’s not about Patrick, it’s the lingerie. Art moans as he spills all over his mattress. He collapses on the bed and sighs, “Such a good girl.”

He hears laughter and he freezes immediately, heat flooding his skin. Patrick must’ve snuck in sometime before he finished. Art hadn’t heard the door but to be fair he wasn’t gonna hear much of anything once he’d reached that state. He sits up in bed, most likely red as a tomato as he pulls his shorts up over his thighs.

”Who’s the good girl?” Patrick snorts, dropping his book bag by the door and settling across from Art on his own bed. “And I’ll take a wild guess, you were hanging out in Kelsey’s room. I told you man. Boys and girls can’t be friends.”

“It’s not— it’s nothing, um— how was tutoring?”

”Oh come on, don’t do that. Tell me.” Patrick says grinning.

Art can barely look at him. His imagination had just been so vivid. He’s so fucking grateful Patrick can’t read minds but of course it’s not gonna stop him from trying.

“Wow look at you, she must be really hot. Come on, sunshine… spill.” Patrick demands. When Art doesn’t offer anything Patrick starts guessing names. Following him around the room while he cleans up after his… activities. Art lets him talk himself silly until he gets distracted by something else. He is determined to never, ever, mention it to Patrick ever. But his brain doesn’t let go of the image. In fact, night after night the fantasy just expands.

Patrick on his knees. Lacy white bra on now and he’s playing with his nipples. And now instead of Ashley it’s Art with him at Victorias Secret. And he’s rubbing Patrick through the panties with his socked foot and calling him good girl. “Good girl. Pretty girl. You were so nice all day. I’m gonna fuck you in the dressing room. Don’t take the panties off.”

Art wakes up all sticky nearly every night and has to sneak out of bed to change his boxers. No excuse now for how or why he’s taken Ashley’s place. No excuse for why he’s horny all the time, touching himself every minute he has alone. Touching himself till he’s dizzy. He’s driving himself crazy. It’s not Patrick, it’s probably his brain being weird because they spend so much time together. He’s not gay. He definitely likes women. He just really, really needs to see what this lingerie looks like. Maybe that will calm him down.

He waits for Patrick to leave for practice, making an excuse about his shoulder even though he’s been fine for over a month since he pulled that muscle. And when he’s sure Patrick’s gone he goes digging through his things. He’s so disorganized compared to Art, he doesn’t have an assigned drawer for anything so it takes some time. He doesn’t even find it in the drawer actually. He ends up looking in his closet and there’s a little pink bag tucked in the top in the corner. He’d almost given up. Art pulls it down and something lacy and white falls out.

Art kinda regrets his decision. It’s this little baby doll lace slip and tight little see through panties. Art is even more obsessed now. The image in his head screaming loud and clear. Patrick’s big thighs in this. He can’t help himself. He crawls on the bed and starts touching himself. “Such a pretty girl. Such a good girl. Want me to play with you. Make you feel so good.” He’s whining. His head all wrapped up in fantasy. Imagining the soft sound of Patrick’s voice, (Mm yeah, yes. You can do whatever you want, sunshine).

He hears the door this time. It’s entirely too late to hide the evidence but he’s still trying. Patrick’s got his tennis bag and he’s all flushed from practice. “Um…” he says stopping in his tracks as he reaches the bed and notices the lingerie.

Art doesn’t think he can possibly be anymore embarrassed and then Patrick starts grinning. “Oh fuck. Did Ashley tell you?”

Art nods because his voice isn’t really working.

“Fuck,” Patrick looks over Art and Art secures the blanket over himself trying to hide it. “You can try it on if you want, I washed em,” Patrick says, lightly.

Art bites his lip and then clears his throat. “I was thinking maybe you… you could?” In his fantasies he always sounds more assertive.

Patrick looks at him amused. “Oh Donaldson, am I the good girl?”

Art feels himself flushing so much he ponders going into the bathroom and hiding in there until they finish their senior year and he can disappear to Stanford and never see or hear from Patrick again.

“Fuck… okay…” Patrick says, chuckling all soft as he gazes at Art. “I can be your good girl.” He picks up the lingerie.

Art almost starts touching himself again, right then and there for the way Patrick says it.

“You want to watch me put it on? Or you want me to just come out ready for you?” Patrick asks, like this is just the most normal thing in the world.

Art clears his throat again. “R-ready?”

Patrick grins. “Okay stay there. Don’t touch.”

It’s a good thing he said that because it’s all Art wants to fucking do. He ponders lying on his side and just humping the mattress as a workaround. He hears the shower run but Patrick doesn’t take too long. Doesn’t take long at all. Whatever Art imagined, whatever his brain managed to conjure up the real thing is just… infinitely better.

“Fuck, I forgot how horny this shit made me,” Patrick sighs. He’s so tall, his legs long, unshaven. Knees, knobby and pink from being out in the cool air and then the hot shower. The top is lacy, thin straps, a smattering of freckles on the backs of his arms. The sheer fabric opens in the front over his flat abdomen. He’s got a four pack at the moment. A few freckles dot his stomach and theres a dark treasure trail leading down.

Patrick’s dick is… It’s absurd the way Patrick’s not being held in by the panties at all. Big heavy balls slipping from the bottom, cock shaft and head pressing out of the waistband, precum leaking out of him already. Art can’t help himself… he’s rubbing himself right away.

Hes not sure what he’s doing when he starts licking Patrick through the lace of the panties. “Just wanna taste your pussy.” He whispers, his voice foreign to his ears.

“Fuck, yeah taste it sweetie. It’s all yours.” Patrick breathes.

Art’s licking stripe after stripe along the sheer fabric and then he can’t wait any longer. He’s easing it out and taking as much as he can into his mouth.

“Mm fuck…” Patrick breathes sharply. “You like the taste, don’t you? Fucking delicious pussy.”

“Mmhm,” Art says, he’s helpless. Smelling him, licking him, tasting him. He’s losing his mind. His cock is throbbing mercilessly between his legs as he keeps going and going. Patricks just standing there so solid in front of him. So fucking full. So much. Too much. He’s taking it as Patrick slowly starts to thrust his hips. Deliciously desperate moans escaping his lips.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Patrick gasps. “I’ll be the best fucking girl for you.”

”Mm,” Art groans.

“I’ll ride you if you want. Squirt all over you. Get you wet… So wet.”

Art’s got his hand working between his thighs, he’s gonna fucking cum.

“Fuck baby… I’m gonna fill your mouth with so much, and you can fucking kiss me when I’m done and tell me I’m your good…nnngh—-”

Art can feel the heated liquid in his mouth everywhere all at once. Feels it, coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth, sliding down his throat with his spit.

He doesn’t want to but he pulls it out, wet and obscene like he’s just been sucking on a lollipop. All of the excess dripping from his mouth onto the floor while he finishes jerking himself off.

He collapses onto his back on the bed, chest heaving and breathless when he’s done. “Fuck,” he gasps.

Patrick chuckles softly and crawls on top of him. “Good?” He asks.

Art pulls at the sheer fabric and Patrick comes closer so Art can kiss him. “You were right.” Art says softly against his lips.

“Mm was I?”

“Mmhm,” Art says, grinning. “Men and women can’t be friends, sweetheart.”

Patrick smiles back, “Fucking insane.”