#the lady who saw me looking at it just looked at me and said 'it reminds me of the jar do you remember the jar'

[starrystar]

So I teach college in the U.S. (English), but I often get these dual enrollment classes where I'll go to a high school and teach the supposedly high achieving high school students the college-level class, generally English 101, 102, and 103. It's free for the students and lets them get the GE's out of the way and spend less time in higher ed, which ostensibly helps them save money and makes it more likely that they'll finish their degree. It also makes the high school look good. In practice, most of the kids are just massive balls of anxiety constantly living one lost point away from a mental breakdown, but we vibe because I also did dual enrollment and I'm also Mentally Ill in That Way (tm), and they tend to really warm up to me over time. They are generally sweet and some of my favorite students even if they do some really "my brain is not fully developed yet" bullshit sometimes.

The downside is the high school does not have enough room, so I alway teach in some high school teacher's room. My contract says the high school teacher is supposed to vacate because they're not enrolled in my class, but in practice this is their planning period and their room and they have literally nowhere else to go to do very necessary work, so we all just agree not to interfere with each other and go about our day, and usually it's fine save for the odd high school teacher acting like an enrolled student (it is funny that they want to be the specialist and best English 101 student as an adult with at least a Bachelor's competing with children, and sometimes we have to talk privately). I have had new high school teachers literally break down in tears when I ask how they're doing, so I don't want to make their lives worse. There is a reason I dropped out of the credential program and pursued higher ed teaching.

I was honestly a bit startled by the pledge over the loudspeakers at first because I did independent study and it's been a while since I experienced that, and I didn't have fond memories (sometimes I was a Good Little Girl(?) who stood up and put my hand over my heart but didn't say the "under God" part, and sometimes I didn't say anything, and sometimes I wouldn't put my hand over my heart and would get in trouble—I didn't even hate America yet, it just felt culty). So when my kids asked if they had to stand, I said they didn't but they could if they wanted to, and some did and some didn't, and it was fine aside from occasional weird looks from host teachers.

However, I was placed in a room with this one lady who was just militant about the pledge. Just like, intense. She wasn't there the first day when we had the "you don't have to" conversation, so the next day when she saw me and some kids sitting she just went completely off the fucking rails. I'm telling you this middle aged woman was fucking screaming her face off at 14- and 15-year-old kids about how she is a veteran and what disrespectful trash they were, so I put my body between her and my children and explained that legally they didn't have to and this was my classroom, and she very nearly slapped me but settled for calling me a child and ordering us out of her room. So, me and 40 giggling teenagers trooped out and headed over to the college counselor's room.

First they (admin) tried to tell me I did need to force the kids to stand, so I pulled up v. Barnette on my phone. Then they said they couldn't force me, but I wouldn't be asked back to teach, and I said OK but this semester's class was mine and these kids didn't have to stand if they didn't want to (I was mad at this point and getting over my initial shock). The resolution they offered was that they would speak with the unhinged pledge defender about not interfering with my classroom, and for the next few sessions I would teach in her room while she silently glared daggers at me, slammed drawers, slammed her door, had loud phone conversations, and stormed around throwing paper in the back of her room. Then we came back after spring break, and she started demanding that my kids stand up again, and I told her that it was my classroom during my class period and she needed to leave, and she stormed out and I wrote complaints to the school and my college, and then I was put in a different room with a teacher who thought the whole thing was funny.

I was asked back because I'm the best fucking college English teacher that high school has and basically perfect in every other way (my kids earn fantastic grades and do really well in their later classes because I prepare them to succeed; I'm good at looping the counselor in when they need support I can't offer; I write great letters of rec; my kids get into Berkeley and Stanford; I am honestly just really good at teaching), but I still see that lady on campus and she always mean mugs me. I'll get a new crop of kids and they'll go wide eyed and ask if it's true that I went up against Mrs. Flag Defender like their older siblings said.

I have noticed that the whole high school moved the pledge of allegiance to be at the beginning of second period instead of first period, I suspect because college classes are always first period. This may have just been coincidence, but I always work in "a little trivia" about students' rights, including the right to sit for the pledge, as part of a greater "common misconceptions/critical thinking" module. I do sometimes hear that they've gotten in trouble in other classes, and I do warn them that punishment is a possibility, but I hope they're learning something useful from me besides just MLA and grammar.

dear usamerican high schoolers looking for a way to resist fascism: sit through the pledge of allegiance.

no getting up. no looking at the flag.

everyone will be looking at you. you'll be sweating like a fucking hippopotamus. your teacher will sternly tell you to get up. you'll feel stupid and that maybe its not worth it because you're just a kid in a classroom. but I'm here to remind you that there are no real life consequences to detention. there are however real life consequences to resisting a thoughtless performance of nationalism.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi I saw you wanted requests for older!eddie/sugar daddy!eddie and I have ideas! It’s a little sad so I’m sorry about that. Happy ending tho!

I can picture Eddie looking for a sugar baby because he’s had so much trouble with women in the past. He was always an outcast and he has a hard time believing someone wants to spend time with him. You’d been friendly (maybe like coworkers or neighbors) and when he offers the arrangement at first your like “you don’t need to pay me to spend time with you I like you” and you help him see how wonderful he is and show him how attractive he is.

Or alternatively (and way more smutty), you match on a sugar daddy/sugar baby site or chatroom or whatever and you and him have crazy good chemistry and then when you send him pics he’s like- holy shit it’s you the girl he’s been crushing on forever. Or maybe he doesn’t know you irl and the reader is a cam girl and Eddie pays for private zoom calls and you’re so surprised cause omg this client is so hot.

cw: MDNI (18+) Eddie receives a handjob, age gap (reader is 25 and Eddie is 40)

Eddie’s definitely the first to admit that he doesn’t have great luck in the dating department. He’s been on more dates than he can count, but for whatever reason, it never goes past more than one.

He doesn’t get it. He’s got the money and he thought the ladies loved that kind of thing. He’s even offered to buy them whatever they want, but that never seems to work as they often think he’s just flashing his wealth at them.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong. He’s not asking for much either. He just wants someone who he can spend time with, someone he can spoil because he’s got more money that he knows what do with.

So when Steve and Robin suggest that he become a sugar daddy, he immediately thinks that’s the answer. It seems like the perfect arrangement. He gets what he wants and there’s no actual attachment. He just doesn’t know who he’d offer it up to.

When he sees you at your desk when he heads to his office, he decides you’re the perfect candidate. He’s constantly heard you complain about your financial situation to other girls in the building and has even seen you eyeing an expensive bag on your computer when he’s passed your desk.

He’s nervous when he finds you in the elevator on Monday morning. He was hoping at least a few extra minutes, but he supposes that this is as good a place as any since it’s just the two of you and no one is there to possibly eavesdrop.

You greet him politely like you always do and he greets you back in his awkward manner and then the rest of the ride to the top floor is quiet, so much so that you could definitely hear a pin drop.

He’s staring at you and he knows it’s creepy, but he can’t help it. You’re just so pretty in your dress pants and blazer, your makeup done so flawlessly. You always look so professional for work and he admires that about you.

He’d by lying if he said that he didn’t have a tiny crush on you. Okay, huge. The second you stepped foot into his office to interview for the position last year, he was taken aback by you. Not only did he think you were beautiful, but he also admired how smart and funny you were. So you were attractive and completely qualified for the position. Surely there had to be a catch in there somewhere, but there wasn’t. Your were just perfect.

But he hasn’t told anybody. He can’t. So he just bottles up his feelings and only lets them out with a sock and bottle of lotion when he gets home. He knows you probably (definitely) be grossed out by that so he doesn’t do it nearly as much anymore, just when he really needs the release.

Eddie’s not the most social person. In fact, the three years you’ve been working for the company, he can easily count on his hand how many times you’ve had a conversation that wasn’t about work. Sure, at first, you were an intern on an entirely different floor so he never saw you, but now he sees you five days a week so what’s his excuse?

What he doesn’t know, which is surprising since you’ve tried to make it very obvious, is that you like him too. And why wouldn’t you? Not only is he hot and a very rich CEO of a company, but he’s also so intelligent. You can see it when you listen to him during meetings. You’re supposed to be taking notes, and you do, sometimes, but really, most times you’re scribbling “y/n Munson” onto the page like a school girl. You’re so in love with him that sometimes, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

He’s beginning to think that’s maybe this is a bad idea, wondering if he should just find a sugar baby online. He’s older than you by fifteen years and he’s also your boss which wouldn’t look so good. But he’s speaking before he can stop himself so there’s no going back now.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says and you turn to him in confusion, your eyebrows furrowing.

“And what would that be?” You ask and you can see that he’s visibly nervous. He talks to so many celebrities on the daily and you’re the one who makes him nervous? That has never made sense to you.

“You can absolutely say no, but I just wanted to offer it up to you if you’re interested.” Now your interest is piqued. Is finally going to ask you to fuck him like you’ve been fantasizing about for years?

“What is it, Mr. Munson?” God, why does you calling him that always make him so fucking hard?

You’re looking at him with concern now, your hand on his shoulder as you step closer, so close that if he moves just a few inches, he could-no, he’s definitely not doing that.

“I-well-as you know, I have a lot of money.” You laugh at that. He’s one of the richest men in the world, of course he has money.

“Right,” you nod, wanting him to proceed. You’re on the edge of your seat, desperate to know what he wants to ask you and why he won’t just come out and say it.

“And it’s come too much for me to handle so I need someone to spend it on, a companion.”

“Okay,” you drag out the word, still unsure as to why he’s telling you this. You’re just his assistant.

“And I’d like that someone to be you.” Your eyes widen at his words. Surely you didn’t hear him right. There’s no way that he wants to give you some of his money. That just doesn’t make any sense. “I can provide you with anything you want or need. Rent? Done. Clothes, shoes, even if you just want some extra cash. But in return, I would like you to spend time with me.”

You’re staring at him like he’s got three heads so he’s quick to backtrack. He really doesn’t want to upset you. “But that’s not a requirement. If you just want the money-“

“Mr. Munson, that is so generous,” you cut him off, your other hand moving up to his other bicep as you step even closer, pulling him forward as you bring your lips to his ear. “But you don’t have to pay me to spend with you. I already like you.” You press a lingering kiss to his cheek then flee the elevator as the doors open.

He’s following you, hurrying to catch up with you. Instead of heading to your desk, though, you’re entering his office, looking back at him with a flirty look.

You open the door and hold it for him before letting it slam closed and locking it. When you turn, he’s all the way across the room, trying to make sense of what’s happening, but he just can’t.

He’s loosened his tie and his hair is even more of a mess than it usually is. You make your way over to him, taking him by the hands and pulling to you and wrapping his arms around your waist while your hands wind into his hair, giving his scalp and little scratch before pulling his head forward. Your lips slowly press to his and he gasps into your mouth before slowly melting into you.

You’re kissing him hungrily and he’s matching your energy as this is something that the two of you have wanted for so long. It’s everything you could have imagined and more, his lips just as soft as you had pictured.

Your tongue quickly swipes along his bottom lip as you push him against the window. He lets you inside and can’t stop himself from moaning. You swear you’re to come just from hearing it and once you press your body to his, you can see he’s already one step ahead on you as you feel his rock hard cock pressing against you.

“Want me to take care of that for you?” You ask and he whines, unable to get the words come out of his mouth as he nods enthusiastically.

You hurry over to his desk and look through his drawers until you find a bottle of lotion that you’re sure if for the exact purpose to lucky you. You then unbuckle his pants and pull them and his underwear down, his rock hard cock coming into view. You pump some of the lotion into your hand then go to town, pumping his his cock hard as he pressed himself even harder against the window, trying to grab onto whatever he can as a loud moan falls from his lips.

You slap your free hand over his mouth and his eyes flutter shut as pleasure courses through him. He’s sure he’s going to come any second.

“That’s it. Just like that,” you encourage him. “Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll clean you up.” He mumbles something against your hand and before you’re about to ask him what it is, there’s a loud knock at the door, the two of you staring at it in fear as you pull away quickly, letting Eddie put his pants back.

“We can continue this at my place tonight,” you wink. “I’ll message you my address, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods as you make your way to the door as Eddie heads towards his desk, sitting behind it to hide is still very hard cock.

You unlock and open the door and sure enough, Steve is standing on the other side of it, looking between you and Eddie curiously. As you head out of the office with your head low to hide your smile, all Steve can think about is how he owes Robin twenty dollars.

taglist: @the-witty-pen-name @k-yurieee

[reginyani]

Bed Chem | s.reid x fem!reader

summary: Derek Morgan hits you up for you and Spencer Reid, a genius FBI agent, to connect. One things leads to another, and you both have really good bed chem.

cw: 18+, mdni, nsfw, drinking at a bar, p in v, unprotected sex, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, use of y/n, spencer comes in reader (if im forgetting something let me know)

wc: 3.2k

authors notes: i feel like its been 20 years since i've posted a fic, but here ya guys go!! i love the song bed chem, so this fic is sabrina carpenter themed💋. i don't really like this, but its been sitting in my drafts for a while now so i hope you guys enjoy(the smut isnt my best work im sorry!). if you did, just remember to like and reblog:)!

Spencer Reid wasn’t the type to go to bars, but when the team had finally wrapped up a particularly exhausting case and a few of them decided to head out for a drink, he couldn’t exactly say no. He didn’t mind spending time with his colleagues, but when the plan shifted from the corner booth to the bar, he felt his nerves start to rise.

Derek Morgan had a gift for getting people out of their comfort zones, and today, he’d decided that Spencer was due for a little socialization. 

Spencer sat awkwardly at the far end of the bar, sipping a glass of water, watching the team interact with ease. His eyes wandered around the room, but then they unintentionally froze when they landed on you. You were sitting with a friend near the center of the bar countertop, laughing softly at something your friend had said. There was an easy, effortless charm about you that made Spencer’s heart beat a little faster.

But, as usual, he couldn’t bring himself to approach you. His mind spun with a thousand reasons why it would be awkward— why he wasn’t the right person to start a conversation. What if you didn’t like him? What if he said something weird? What if he wasn't good looking enough for you? He ran his fingers nervously through his hair, trying to shake the unease. He tended to self-sabotage things like these.

Derek, who had been watching the entire conflict play out with a grin on his face, noticed Spencer's hesitation. He chuckled to himself, shook his head, and stood up. “I’ll handle this, pretty boy.”

Spencer glanced over, his eyes wide in disbelief and embarrassment. “What are you—?”

Derek flashed a mischievous smile, already walking toward your side of the bar. “Trust me.”

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Derek in the corner of his eye approach you. He couldn’t help but watch the whole thing go down. 

Derek walked up with his signature charm and a smooth smile. “Hey, ladies,” he greeted, leaning casually against the countertop. “Mind if I join you for a second?”

You glanced up at him, surprised, but smiled politely. “Sure, go ahead.”

Derek didn’t miss a beat. “Thanks. So, I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” he said smoothly. “Especially when I’ve got a buddy over there who’s been staring at you for a while.” He pointed behind him, subtly motioning to Spencer, who was frozen in the corner of the room, clearly aware that the jig was up. Spencer immediately felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

You glanced over at Spencer, catching his eye for a moment before he quickly looked away. You raised an eyebrow. “He’s shy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Derek said with a wink. “But he’s a good guy. Just a little... socially awkward.” He chuckled. “But I think you might make him a little less awkward.”

You smiled, intrigued now. “So what’s his name?”

“Spencer Reid,” Derek said, a little too smugly. “I think you should text him. He’ll appreciate it.”

Derek pulled out a piece of paper with Spencer's number already on it, like he had already planned this the whole time. “I’ll let him know you’ve got it,” he added with a playful grin.

You looked at the number in your hand. “Well, I’ll have to think about it,” you said, teasing Derek. “But thanks for the introduction.”

With a wink, Derek gave you a nod. “Don’t keep him waiting too long,” he said before turning back toward Spencer, who was now practically melting into his seat with embarrassment.

A few minutes passed before you decided it was time to approach him. You slid off the seat and slowly walked up behind Spencer, tapping him on the shoulder. He quickly turned around, clearly startled by your sudden touch.

"Uh… Spencer, right?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He gulped before responding, staring at you for a quick second. "Yeah…" 

"Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N; wanna get a drink?" You give him a friendly smile, trying to make him feel comfortable enough to come back to your side of the bar with you. 

He smiles back and nods quickly. "Yeah! Yeah... sounds good." He slides off his chair, letting you guide him back with you. You can feel his friend's eyes all on you as you walk away with him, leaving them speechless.

As you both sit down at a barstool, Spencer fidgets with his fingers rapidly. You look down to see his shaking leg and him picking his fingernails.

"Hey, it's okay. I don't bite, I promise." You chuckle, making him look up into your eyes with his own beautiful puppy eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I just… never really show my face at the bar. I'd prefer reading over this, but… here I am." he says with contempt as he slowly nods his head.

You smile, agreeing with a nod. "Yeah, me neither, to be honest. My friends dragged me out here, which I'm assuming yours did as well." you laugh.

"Yeah… but hey, I'm with you now, so…" he says, leaning his arm onto the bar countertop. You smirk.

"Your friends seem nice. How do you know them?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation as interesting as possible.

"Uh—you know... We're co-workers." He responds blandly, not wanting to reveal his place of work in case you were to get intimidated by it.

"Oh really? What do you work as?" You continue to ask him questions, pushing a response out of him. You were curious.

He hesitates a moment. "I—uh... well, I'm an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit," he finally says, taking a sip out of his drink awkwardly.

"FBI, huh?" You smirk, looking him up and down. "That's sexy. Do you carry your creds?" you ask, looking up into his eyes.

"Yeah… Uh…" his cheeks burn a crimson red as he fumbles around for a second before finally pulling out a foldable wallet. He opens it smoothly, holding it up for you to see. 

His picture looked nothing like how he does now. His hair smooth and slicked back with a side part, and a completely blank and pale face. 

"How many years ago was that picture taken?" you chuckle, scanning it one last time before he flips it over to see himself. 

"A long time ago." He laughs, his voice softening as he closes the wallet and slides it back into his pocket. "I should probably get it updated, huh?" 

You tilt your head playfully, taking another sip from your alcoholic beverage. "I don't know, I think it's cute. Kind of shows how far you've come and grown." 

Spencer blinks, not expecting the compliment. He adjusts his tie nervously, his fingers brushing over the fabric. "Thank you. That's... nice of you to say."

You lean in slightly, resting your chin in your hand. "So, Spencer Reid, FBI agent," you say, your voice teasing yet warm at the same time. "What's something you don't know everything about?"

He chuckles, his lips twitching into a shy smile. "Plenty of things, actually. You'd be surprised at how much I still have to learn."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like what?"

He pauses for a second, as if genuinely thinking about your question. "Well… I've never really been good at small talk," he admits, sheepishly smiling. "Or, uh, anything involving this…" he gestures vaguely between the two of you, his cheeks flushing again.

You laugh softly, the sound making his heart skip a beat. "I don't think you're doing too bad." you assure him. "And for the record, I'm not much of a fan of small talk either. Let's skip it—tell me something real about you."

Spencer quirks an eyebrow at your directness, but there's something about your tone that puts him at ease. "Okay, something real about me…" He thinks for a second. "I have an IQ of 187, have an eidetic memory, and can read up to 20,000 words per minute, but sometimes I wish I could slow down, y'know?"

You blink, completely shocked by this brand new information. "I— No… I don't know." You laugh, still completely taking it in. "That's... insane," you finally manage, shaking your head in disbelief. "187 IQ? You're like, literally a genius."

Spencer tilts his head a bit, clearly a bit embarrassed by your reaction. "Well, technically, yeah. But it's not as impressive as people think. It just means I remember a lot of things. Well… everything."

You grin, leaning a little closer. "Okay, Mr. Modest. If you're so smart, hit me with a scientific fact. Blow my mind." 

Spencer's lips quirk into a shy smile, but there's a glint of mischief in his eyes now. He pauses for a moment, as if sorting through the thousands of facts stored in his mind. He looks directly at you, his voice soft but steady.

"Did you know," he begins, "that during intense physical contact, your brain releases tons of chemicals, including dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins, which heighten pleasure and create emotional bonding?"

You blink, the corners of your mouth twitching upward as the suggestive undertone sinks in. "Intense physical contact, huh?" you repeat, tilting your head at him with that same smirk on your face. "That’s a pretty specific fact to share."

Spencer's eyes widen, his mind now racing and wondering if maybe you took that fact to offense. "I just meant… It's a common and well-documented physiological response. I wasn't implying—" 

You laugh at his fumbling words, cutting him off before he goes and spirals even further. "Relax, Spencer. I'm just teasing you." You lean back, taking another sip of your drink, your eyes twinkling. "But hey, maybe we can test that out sometime." 

His mouth opens, seemingly caught off guard. He looks at you, not sure whether you're joking or not. "Uh… yeah," he says, barely audible. "Maybe."

You smile, tilting your head a bit. "Hey, wanna get out of here? Maybe go to my place? We can call a taxi," you say suddenly, finally finishing your espresso martini and putting the glass down with a clink.

He hesitates for a second, looking back at his coworkers with an open mouth. "Uh… Yeah, sure. I don't see why not." 

The ride back to your apartment is quiet at first, with Spencer sitting stiffly beside you in the back of the taxi, his hands fidgeting in his lap. You can practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of him, and it makes you smile.

"You alright over there, genius?" you ask softly, tilting your head over to look at him.

"Yeah," he says quickly, too quickly. He clears his throat and glances at you, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. "Sorry. This is just… not exactly something I usually do."

You nod slowly in understanding, trying your best to make his discomfort fade away. "No judgment. I don't either, to be honest, but you seemed too interesting to leave back at the bar."

This earns a laugh out of him, and his shoulders relax a bit. "Well, uh… thanks." 

When the taxi finally pulls up to your apartment building, you pay the driver and lead Spencer upstairs. He follows closely behind, his eyes darting around as he takes in his surroundings.

"This is a nice apartment complex," he says as you unlock the door and step inside, gesturing for him to follow.

"Thanks," you say, flicking the lights on and setting down your bag on a nearby chair. You toe off your shoes and look back at him. "Make yourself comfortable." 

Spencer hesitates for a moment before awkwardly shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. He stands there for a second, unsure of what to do, until you notice and step towards him.

"You don't have to look so nervous, y'know," you tease gently.

"I'm not nervous," he replies, though the slight tremor in his voice was surely nervousness. 

You tilt your head, studying him. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" 

His lip stretches into an upward shy smile.

"So I've been told," he admits.

You laugh softly at his words, and you gesture towards the couch. "Sit down. Do you want something to drink?"

He shakes his head, making his way to the couch and sitting on it stiffly. "I'm alright. Thanks."

You sit down beside him, close enough to brush shoulders but not so close as to make him uncomfortable. For a moment, there's silence, and then you glance up at him with a playful smile.

"So… want to share another one of those scientific facts of yours?" you ask, leaning slightly closer to him.

Spencer chuckles, his shoulders loosening as he meets your gaze. "Only if you're ready for it." 

"I'm ready," you say, settling in and giving him your undivided attention.

He thinks for a moment, then smirks slightly as he chooses one. "Did you know that the human brain processes the sensation of touch faster than almost any other sensory input? It’s why even the lightest touch can feel so intense."

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips curving upward. "Is that so?"

He nods, his confidence growing as he begins to explain. "It’s because of specialized nerve ending called mechanoreceptors. They send signals to your brain almost immediately, making touch one of the most primal and powerful ways to communicate."

You hold his gaze, letting your hand grab his cheek. Now your voice is soft but laced with curiosity. "And what exactly do you think touch is communicating right now?" 

His breath hitches slightly, his gaze flickering down to your arm as it reaches his face.

"I think," he says, his voice quieter now, "it’s.. saying a lot."

"Good," you murmur, leaning in just a little closer, "because I think I like what it’s saying."

Spencer’s eyes meet yours, wide and full of something you can’t quite put into words. And for the first time all night, he doesn’t hesitate, and in one swift motion, his lips are crashing into yours. 

The kiss started off soft and warm but quickly grew heated. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. You could practically feel his nervousness melting away as you two continued, replaced by confidence. Gone was the shy, awkward man from the bar.

You tilt your own head, your fingers sliding up to his head, tangling in his soft hair. Spencer's breath hitched at your touch, and he let out a quiet whine that sent shivers down your spine. For someone who looked and sounded to be inexperienced, he sure as hell didn't make it seem like that.

When you both pulled away, it wasn't forced, it was synchronized. You searched his face, cheeks flushed with a deep pink, and his eyes watery as he stared into yours. 

You both stood up from off the couch and pressed your lips together once again. But this time, it was slower, as you savored the way his hands gripped your hips. 

Spencer broke the kiss this time, looking at you before saying, "Where's your bedroom?" You smirk, grabbing his hand and leading him to your bedroom before slamming the door shut. 

When you both finally make it to your bed, you lay down, him on top of you as his lips trail down your jaw to your neck. "God, you drive me insane, Y/N." He murmurs, his words muffled against your skin.

You tilt your head back, groaning as his lips continue to work against your skin. "Fuck, Spencer…" 

His hands fumble around your body until his fingers finally catch onto the zipper of your dress. His fingers quickly move to unzip it, then skillfully move to take the straps off your shoulders. You whine in disappointment as he takes his lips off of your neck to slide the dress down your body and off at your legs. He throws it somewhere on the floor before quickly going back to press his lips to yours.

You squirm as his fingers graze over your lace panties, practically teasing you in a place you need him most.

"Spencer…" you let out, huffing audibly. He quirks an eyebrow, the erection in his pants growing by the second.

"Yes, baby?" he coos, his fingers continuing to trace circles on your panties.

"I need you..." You whisper, embarrassed at your own neediness. He smirks, pretending to not hear you.

"You what? I need you to speak up for me," he teases, and this drives you mad. 

"I need you!" You yell in desperation, tired of the teasing. "I want you to… fuck me," you mumble, looking up into his eyes.

"Didn't exactly take you as a begger, Y/N," he snickers, continuing to look down on you. "But all you had to do was ask." His hands swiftly move to his pants, quickly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He pulls them down, still stuck on his thighs.

He looks down and slowly moves your panties to the side. "Already wet, huh?" he teases. He then grabs your legs and swings them over his shoulders. "Ready?" he asks softly. You nod your head, squinting your eyes shut. 

When the tip of his cock hits your entrance, you squirm slightly, getting out a small whimper. "Oh, god…" you murmur.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he slams into you, making you let out a loud yelp as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you with swift movements. He groans, the feeling of your warm pussy making him throw his own head back. 

"Holy shit… you're so tight, baby…" he says breathlessly, the loud sounds of heavy breathing and clapping filling your bedroom. "Look at me," he demands. "I want to see those pretty eyes of yours."

You follow his command, your watery eyes looking into his wide brown eyes. "Fuck, Spencer… right there!" you're practically yelling at this point.

Both of your bodies are moving at the same time, practically glued together, stuck together like magnets as your body bounded on his cock. Your hands gripped your baby pink sheets harshly, knuckles turning white as you arched your back.

"Sweet girl… 'm going to come." he warns, breaking eye contact with you to throw his head back once again.

You finally feel relieved, knowing you were chasing your own high. "'M almost there, baby. Oh, god…" your voice cracking between each word, warning him of your own orgasm.

As you begin to rock your hips, you finally moan, "Come inside me, baby! Please, yes, please!" and that, finally drives him over the edge. 

As your body starts to give out, you and Spencer release at the same time. Feeling the warmth of his release spilling inside of you as you both moaned in one synchronized motion, making your own orgasm feel even better.

When he finally pulls out, his body collapses next to you, both of you breathing heavily as you try to catch your breath. You turn your head to look over at him, smiling softly.

"Well, I guess you can say you seduced me with your scientific facts," you admit, laughing lazily, which earns one out of him as well.

tags:

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Kind of want Lilith/Lucifer/Adam)

Au Idea that when Adam was made, he was just to be the prototype. To see if they could actually make something like him to begin with. Lucifer didn't even know about him. Adam wasn't made to be anything special. Almost like a default skin. Plain to look at. Accept for his eyes, a brilliant gold, nothing else stood out.

They cheered at their creation but decided Adam had played his part and stuffed him in a remote part of the Garden where they could forget all about him. Adam didn't know how to do anything. He didn't even know how to talk and then the strange beings grabbed him and left him alone in some small part of the Garden he couldn't leave. Maybe the beings would come back. Maybe they wouldn't. Adam was made to be Subservient to anyone, the Angels wanted something that could worship them, but being alone made him stagnate.

Then Steve and Lilith were made. Steve, a more dominant and controlling person made Lilith's life miserable and she wanted out. Why couldn't she be in charge? Why did she always have to spread her legs for this man who always seemed to push her down, ignore her ideas, and slap her around if she said no?

Lucifer tried to get Steve to see reason but he hated the fact that Lucifer so easily charmed Lilith when he couldn't. Why was that dumb angel so special? Steve was perfect. Lilith should listen to him and only him. If she won't do it willingly, then he'll make her.

One day, while Lucifer was busy with his jobs, Lilith ran away to hide from Steve who once again trying to procreate with her. Disgusted, she kicked him in the groin and ran as fast as possible away from him. While running, she came across and enclosed part of the Garden she had never been in before. Tall trees stood close together, almost like a wall with how they were tangled with each other, and, curious, climbed them to see what was on the other side.

Adam was watching a snail in fascination when he heard rustling from above him. He didn't pay any attention to it because he had no idea what the concept of danger was. Lilith grunted but finally climbed to the top to peer down. She nearly fell out of the tree in shock. Another human. Another human.

She and Steve were not the only ones here in the Garden.

OOOOU!!!

Lilith thought that it was only her and that...... Brute they call her husband. But this, guy? He looks like a man, he doesn't have the body type that she does so another man?

Hopefully better than Steve.

She got down and walked over, gently placing her hand on his shoulder once she was close enough.

Lilith: Excuse me?

Adam jumped at the contact and voice, he looked at this lady, she was beautiful with long blonde hair and violet eyes that shimmered like amuthst. Who was she? He wasn't alone?

Lilith gasped when she saw his eyes, they were so bright they put the sun to shame.

Lilith: My name is Lilith, who are you?

Adam titled his head to the side, he knew his name but he didn't know how to tell her. How was she making those sounds?

She saw the confused look on his face and sighed, he probably didn't know how to talk. This could be a problem.

Lilith: You can't talk..... That's okay, maybe Luci can help with that when he comes down.

Adam was confused, who was this Luci?

Hours passed and Lilith stayed with Adam, she talked to him just to fill the silence and they watched the snails together.

The familiar flap of wings got her attention and she went to get him.

Lilith: Luci! Over here! I have something incredible to show you!

Lucifer smiled, he wondered what it could be. New plant maybe? Though, he wasn't accustomed to this part of the garden.

Lucifer: What is it Lily?

He went over and that's when he saw Adam.

Lilith: I found him here all alone, why would he be here? Why wouldn't they have him in the rest of the garden? Why can't he talk?

[ladyescapism]

The Fourth Archeron Sister - Part 5

summary: the baby of the family, Deirdre Archeron, is growing up and finding herself. on place she has already found is in a unknowingly requited crush with a certain shadow singer. will they be able to find each other? or will expectations, honor, and other forces get in the way?

a/n: oh wow look at me - I can still write and post. crazy. I promise that I will be wrapping up this series and the fractured bonds series in the next few weeks/month or so. I have been dealing with some mental health issues so I thank you for your patience as I ease back into writing. nonetheless, enjoy!

masterlist

part 4

warnings: barely proofread, males being jerks 

wc: 1,450

DIERDRE

Deirdre had paled when she saw the gathered court.

“I didn’t want everyone to know at once.” Her voice sounded so timid in the family room with the entire court looking at her for any explanation. Rhys had called a family meeting to discuss what Cassian had heard from Azriel about your failed date. 

Feyre’s face clouded with anger and disappointment. Deirdre turned to Azriel to find his gaze elsewhere. His eyes found every other assembled member of the court - acting like an insult from Alex was a matter of court security. 

"It's good he told us, Deirdre. You could have been seriously hurt," Rhys chided. "Besides, insulting members of my family is not acceptable." 

She looked to Nesta. Her insistence that Cassian exercise restraint was the only reason he stood at her side, tension roiling in his body. 

Deirdre cast pleading eyes to her eldest sister. 

"Deirdre is right," Nesta agreed. "She told Az something private in confidence. She could have come to me when she was ready. A meeting about this is ridiculous." 

Nesta stood, slowly moving around her swollen belly. 

The words of contradiction rose in Feyre's throat but paused as Deirdre confirmed. 

"I was planning on asking to catch a flight to the House of Wind to do just that," Deirdre said. "I needed some time and then I was going to head up for lunch to tell Nesta privately." 

Deirdre put an aggressive emphasis on the last word. 

"I didn't think this a matter of court business. The words were spoken about Nesta and me. Beyond that, it should be up to us who knows about the situation." 

Deirdre didn't miss the look of hurt in Feyre's eyes. She had told Azriel first and planned on telling Nesta second. 

Rhys sighed. "Deirdre, Nesta - do you think there is anything to be done?" 

The sisters shared a glance, unspoken words passing between them. 

"It's my past that came back into Deirdre’s face," Nesta said in a hushed tone. "It's not fair, what he said. He was out of line. But I see no reason to jail him or beat him senseless." 

Anyone could see the objection rising in Cassian.

"Then we're in agreement," Feyre said in her High Lady voice. "The matter is settled." 

No one objected. 

~~~

Deirdre darted out of the family room. Embarrassment flooded her chest, and she didn't want anyone else chastising her or telling her what she should have done. 

A soft hand caught her by the arm before she could make her escape. 

It was Feyre. 

"I'm sorry about all of this," she started. "You should have been allowed to tell us this when you were ready and when you felt the time was right. Azriel was worked up and with the situation involving Nesta, he felt Cassian had a right to -" 

" He felt Cassian had the right?" Deirdre interjected boldly. "It was Nesta and her past that were mentioned. Not him. There was no insult to his character." 

"Yes, but," 

"But what?" 

"If you were mated you would understand. An insult to one is an insult to the other." 

Deirdre scoffed. "I don't have to be mated to understand that Nesta has a right to know about the situation from my mouth before Cassian heard it second hand." 

The males in question looked out from the study into the hall where the sisters argued. Rhys looked shocked. A fight between the two youngest sisters had never been heard of. The rage in Cassia's face and body was relaxing into contempt and concern.  

Azriel just looked ashamed. 

Good, Deirdre thought. He should be. 

~ ~ ~

         Deirdre stomped her way back to her apartment. She earned some confused looks from passing pedestrians – the mild insanity at the muttered curses she spoke to no one in particular. She intended each syllable to one male in particular. 

            She almost couldn’t believe the last hour. Being summoned to the River House with no warning about the reason beforehand. Only to arrive to face the reality that her desire to keep this situation private unless her sister deemed it important to share was completely ignored. She didn’t tell Azriel her plans to speak to her sister, but she shouldn’t have had to. 

            Deirdre wanted to get Nesta’s opinion before telling anyone – even Feyre. She wasn’t sure of her feelings, and she need time to sort herself out. But she knew that speaking to Nesta held an importance. She didn’t need to run to Feyre and Rhys or Azriel to tell her how to feel or react. She could do that on her own.

            She looked around her apartment. Deirdre’s hand twitched with the urge to throw something. She spun, looking for an innocent object to destroy. After she couldn’t find an item worth taking her anger out on, she stilled with her hands on her hips. 

            Hot, angry tears began to flow. She wasn’t sad for herself or Nesta. She was pissed. Pissed that a male who she trusted went behind her back, deciding for her that he knew better.  Deirdre spent the last five years treating Azriel as if he always acted the perfect male. 

            And yet for the second time in a week he proved that he didn’t think of her as an adult but a child whose instincts could not be trusted. 

“He’s here he’s here,” the shadows whispered. 

“Go away!” 

Azriel knocked at the door. 

Without thinking, she moved for the sound, nearly ripping the door off the hinges. 

“Am I a joke to you?” she started. “Am I a child in your view?” 

“Deirdre, may I speak with you?” 

She didn’t slam the door in his face. She spun for the center of her living space, leaving the path open for him. The click of the door closing into place seemed to echo in the room. 

He had entered her space. Despite not turning to look at him, some instinct in her marked his presence. 

“Yes, Deirdre, I’m sorry that this escalated. I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand.” 

“I told you not to tell Cassian!” She spun on him. He didn’t sound very sorry.

“You’re sorry that it escalated but not for the violation of my trust,” she pointed to her chest. “I had a plan, Azriel. I was going to tell Nesta. I was going to be with her when we told Cassian and Rhys and Feyre if she wanted to.”

“I didn’t know that when you told me I could leave, Deirdre. I thought I was helping.” 

“I didn’t ask for your help!” she forced out, exasperated at his presumption. “I didn’t know what I was feeling, I didn’t know what to do right away. My first instinct was to wait and tell my sister.” 

“You told me first.” 

“You practically forced it out of me!” 

“I did not force you, Deirdre. Do not accuse me of that.” She saw the anger rising in him. The use of force meant something different when it came to Az. 

“I was compelled,” she spat. 

“If you would have told me to leave, I would have.” 

“I wanted support, Azriel! I thought I could come to you, and you would help, if I asked, and that you would treat me like an adult.” 

“I have never treated you like a child, not in recent years anyways.” 

“What do you call this, then?” she insisted. “Going behind my back to tell my sister’s mate about what happened to me before I get the chance to explain anything to her myself? You call that treating me like an adult who can manage her own relationships, on her own time?” 

“Clearly you can manage relationships.” 

            Her heart fell. After his long speech about supporting her and saying that she had the capability to handle herself. Obviously, he just wanted her to stop yelling at him.  

            “Get out.” 

            “Deirdre, wait. I didn’t mean it like that.” 

            She moved away from him as he reached for her. Before he could register what her movements, she dipped down, snatched a book from the table, and threw it as hard as she could.  

            Azriel brought his arm up to block the tome from hitting him in the face. When he peered down at her from behind his raised arm, shock marred his fine features. 

            “I’ll go,” he resigned. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry, Deirdre.” 

            She turned her back to him, swiping the tears that began to fall so that he wouldn’t see. With the closing of the doors, she crumpled to the sofa. Her head fell to her hands and she began to sob. 

taglist:

@feysandzoyalailover @fanfictioniseverything @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @singhillada @marina468 @acourtofbooksandshadows @kristeristerin @xcastawayherosx @bunnyredgirl

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington stepped out of his car and onto the campus, the weight of his dad's expectations settling heavy on his shoulders. His dad's connections had landed him a spot at this prestigious college, but the reminder came with a warning .”Your actions reflect badly on the family, so you better behave, or you won't have a cent of my money.

As he lugged his suitcases toward the dorm, Steve's eyes scanned the crowd of students milling about in the halls. That's when he saw him Billy Hargrove, the last person Steve had expected to run into here.

Bill was standing next door, flirting with some girl who twirled her hair and pushed out her chest. Billy seemed to notice Steve and smirked. "Well, well, well, look who it is king Steve ."steve rolled his eyes. "Billy," he said, his tone neutral.

Billy raised an eyebrow. "What did Daddy pay for you to be here?"

Steve remained silent.

Billy smirked. "Figures."

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm surprised you're here, Billy."

Billy's expression turned smug. "Yeah, well, I didn't need Daddy's money. I got a scholarship."

“What ever,” Steve said dismissively and as he’s about to open the door he stoped by Billy’s voice. “I’m dorm room advisor so you should expect to see a lot of me. His tone almost mocking. It reminded him a lot of when they were in high school.

Steve trudged to his room, dropping his bags on the floor. He couldn't believe Billy was the dorm advisor.

That night, Steve headed to the payphones to call Robin. As soon as she picked up, she bombarded him with questions. "Oh my god, Steve, you have to tell me everything! How's college?"

Steve filled her in on the details, leaving out his encounter with Billy. But Robin knew him too well.

"What's wrong, Steve?" she asked, her tone concerned.

Steve hesitated. "Nothing, Robin."

"Don't lie to me, Steve. I can hear it in your voice."

Just as Steve was about to open up, Billy walked into the payphone area, snatched the phone from Steve's hands, and hung up.

"Seriously?" Steve asked, annoyed.

Billy blew a bubble with his gum and popped it in Steve's face. "Phone's done for the night."

Steve scowled. "It's eight o'clock."

Billy shrugged. "Rules are rules, Harrington."

Steve's face twisted in annoyance. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Billy chuckled. "You have no idea." With that, Billy turned and walked away, leaving Steve seething with frustration. Steve trudged back to his room, his mind racing with thoughts of Billy and how he was already making Steve's life difficult.

Steve that night slept peacefully , only to be startled awake by a loud noise. He put on the light besides him to find a young man who he assumes is his missing roommate, Ryan, standing amidst scattered suitcases.

"Oh, hey, you must be my roommate," Ryan said, lifting his glasses from his nose.

Steve was silent, trying to process his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, I was told I was getting a roommate," Steve said sleepily.

"Yeah, sorry about the noise. My bus ran late, then I got lost, and I'm totally rambling , aren't I?" Ryan asked.

Steve couldn't help but laugh and replied “No you’re good,” Ryan reminded him a lot of Robin.

As they talked, Steve learned that Ryan was from Ohio, had never been this far from home, and had a bunch of sisters and was saying it must be sad being the only child and Steve couldn’t help but think he was right, he would of liked to have a sibling being alone in that house all the time. He was grateful he had Dustin.

Just as they were getting comfortable, a knock at the door interrupted them. Ryan opened it to reveal Billy.

"Lights out, ladies," Billy said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

When the door closed. Ryan raised an eyebrow. Looking back at Steve "What's his deal?" he asked Steve.

Steve shrugged. "He's had it out for me since high school. He's an asshole."

But Ryan just chuckled. "Oh, don't worry about him. I'm sure he's just a big softie on the inside."

The next morning, Steve returned to his room, but was stopped by Billy's voice.

"Did you and Four Eyes have a nice bitch sesh about me?" Billy sneered.

Steve scoffed. "You seem to be really focused on me. Not enough girls giving you attention?"

Billy smirked. "Oh, I got plenty of bitches getting me attention. Don't you worry, Harrington."

Just then, a girl appeared outside Billy's door. "Are you coming back in?" she asked.

"Just go back in, Lisa. I'll be there in a minute," Billy replied.

"It's Sarah," she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You have fun," he said, walking into his room.

Billy's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, turning to follow Sarah back into his room.

As the days went by, Steve and Billy continued to clash. It seemed like no matter what Steve did, Billy was hell bent on finding fault. Steve couldn't catch a break from this guy, and it was starting to get under his skin.

One night, Steve found himself at a college frat party, surrounded by people he barely knew. Billy was there too, drinking with his friends. Every so often, Billy would glance over at Steve, a smirk on his face. Steve tried to avoid him, but it was hard to ignore the tension between them.

This wasn't really Steve's scene, but a couple of guys he'd met in class were throwing the party, and he'd tagged along. Steve was getting a bit tipsy, and the guys kept giving him shots. Billy's friends were boasting about his beer pong skills, claiming he was a champion.

Steve, feeling bold, stumbled over to Billy and challenged him to a game. Billy laughed and accepted, his friends warning Steve that Billy was really, really good. Steve just slurred, "No, I'm gonna win. I'm gonna do this."

To everyone's surprise, Steve actually won the game. The crowd cheered, and Steve exclaimed, "Ha! I won!" right in Billy's face.

But instead of being angry, Billy looked impressed. "Not bad, Harrington," he said, a hint of a smile on his face.

As the night wore on, Steve and Billy found themselves stumbling upstairs together, both of them drunk. The tension between them was still there, but it was different now. It was like they'd reached a tentative truce, or maybe something more.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Billy turned to Steve and said, "You know, Harrington, you're not as boring as I thought you'd be."

Steve just laughed and replied, "Thanks, I think."

And with that, they stumbled into Billy's room, the door closing behind them with a soft click Billy's lips crashed into Steve's, rough and insistent. Steve's eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, he felt himself kissing back. Their lips mashed together, the pressure almost painful. One of them bit too hard, and Steve tasted the coppery tang of blood.

They tore at each other's clothes, laughing and stumbling in their tipsy haze. Anger and frustration melted away, replaced by a fierce, primal desire. Steve's shirt ripped down the middle, and Billy's jeans slid to the floor with a clatter.

As they fell onto the bed, Steve felt a rush of excitement mixed with a little fear. What were they doing? But Billy's hands and lips were everywhere, and Steve couldn't think anymore. All he could do was feel.

Steve groggily opened his eyes, his head pounding in sync with his racing heart. He was met with an unfamiliar ceiling and a wave of nausea washed over him. As he slowly sat up, he realized he was naked. of the previous night came flooding back, and Steve's eyes widened in shock. Billy. The kissing. The...everything.

"No, no, no," Steve muttered to himself, trying to shake off the memories. "I'm straight. Billy's straight. We can't stand each other." But as he tried to convince himself, his mind betrayed him. He couldn't shake off the feeling of being alive that night, of being wanted by someone he thought he despised.

Steve's thoughts drifted back to their high school days, when Billy would smirk and wink at him, taunting him with every glance. Steve had told himself he hated Billy, but now he realized that his anger had been a thin veil for his attraction. He had been so drawn to Billy's confidence, his charm, and his infuriating smile.

Steve's face burned with embarrassment and confusion. What did it all mean? And why couldn't he stop thinking about Billy?

Steve stepped out of the room, his torn shirt clinging to his chest. He was scared shitless people were going to get a sight of Steve and know what he did with billy last night. But as he walked out into the living room he was greeted by the sight of guys passed out everywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief, thanking his luck that his sight had had gone unnoticed.

He made his way to his dorm room, wincing with each step. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt dry. As he opened the door, his roommate looked up from his bag packing.

"Seems you got lucky tonight," his roommate said with a smirk.

Steve nodded, his voice rough. "Yeah, I guess I did."

His roommate raised an eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a pill, which he dropped into Steve's hand. "Tylenol."

Steve looked at the pill, then back at his roommate, who was now holding out a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. "Thanks," Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His roommate nodded. "I gotta go. Hope you feel better, man."

Steve hummed, took the pill, and washed it down with a swig of water. As his roommate left, Steve collapsed onto his bed, letting out a deep sigh.

Steve's eyes widened in horror as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His neck was covered in huge hickeys, looking like he'd been attacked by an animal. Shit," he muttered, grabbing a scarf to cover his neck. He knew it would look suspicious, but he didn't want people to see the state of his neck.

As he walked to class, he spotted Tony, his friend from the party.

Tony let out a low whistle. "Shit, Steve, she must've liked it rough, huh?"

Steve's face turned bright red as he quickly glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Shut up, Tony," he hissed, trying to play it cool.

But Tony just chuckled. "Dude, I'm just saying. You look like you've been through a war."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "It's not what you think, okay?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Then what's with the scarf and the...ahem... 'battle scars'?"

Steve's face grew even hotter as he realized Tony was staring at the hickeys peeking out from under the scarf.

"Just drop it, Tony," Steve said, trying to brush it off.

But Tony just grinned. "Sure thing, Steve. But you're not fooling anyone with that scarf."

Steve sighed, knowing he had to come up with a better cover story. But for now, he just shook his head and continued to class, hoping to avoid any more awkward encounters.

After class, Steve walked upstairs passing the a common room spotting Billy with a cigarette dangling from his lip chatting with his friends. Steve's eyes locked onto Billy's neck, and his heart skipped a beat. The hickeys were unmistakable and they matched the ones on Steve's own neck. Billy was bragging to his friends with a tale of the girl he'd supposedly slept with, bragging about her huge tits. The guys were eating it up, but Steve knew the truth.

As their eyes met, Steve thought he saw a flicker of something nervousness, maybe? in Billy's gaze. But it was quickly replaced by his usual smirk.

Steve turned and walked into his room, his mind reeling. There was a knock a second later steve opened it to reveal billy Steve raised an eyebrow, surprised by Billy's nervous demeanor. "What's up, Billy?" Steve asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Billy's eyes darted around the room before focusing on Steve's face. "Can I come in?" Billy asked, his voice low and uncertain.

Steve nods, but figures he should say something before billy tries to threaten to kick his ass if her says something.

"Listen, Billy," Steve started, but Billy cut him off.

"Movie. Tonight."

Steve’s taken a back. “What?”

"There's a new movie out with the guys with horses or some.

"You mean young guns,” ?" Steve questioned.

Billy nodded. "Yeah. I'll pick you up when curfew ends."

Steve's confusion deepened. "You want to go see that with me?"

Billy's eyes flashed with impatience. "Christ, Harrington. Yes or no?"

Steve hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I'll go with you."

Billy nodded curtly and turned to leave, leaving Steve staring after him in bewilderment.

That night, Billy waited by the door, his hands tucked into his pockets. Steve couldn't help but notice how nice he looked, his hair perfectly messy, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. And he smelled amazing, too a subtle mix of cologne and something else, something uniquely Billy.

They drove to the movie theater in silence, the tension between them palpable. As they bought their tickets and settled in with popcorn and soda, Steve couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a friendly outing. He wondered if it was a date, but he didn't dare ask, fearing embarrassment if he was wrong.

But as the movie played on, Billy kept glancing at him, their eyes meeting in the dark. Steve's heart skipped a beat each time, his mind consumed by Billy's proximity, his smell, his warmth. When they both reached for the popcorn at the same time, Steve's breath caught in his throat. Billy looked around nervously, then took Steve's hand in his.

The rest of the movie was a blur. Steve had no idea what it was about, couldn't recall a single scene. All he knew was the feel of Billy's hand in his, the thrill of their secret

As the weeks went by, Steve and Billy's relationship deepened. They slept together, attended parties together, shared midnight cigarettes together and hung out with Billy's friends. To the outside world, they were the epitome of best friends. Every one knew if you invited billy somewhere Steve would be with him and vice versa.

Girls would often try to catch Billy's eye, but his attention always seemed to drift back to Steve when he would talk to girls Yet, Billy continued to see other girls, leaving Steve confused and uncertain. Were they together or not? It felt like a mind fuck to him.

One day, Steve confronted Billy, asking if they were in a relationship. Billy sighed, his expression unreadable . "We're just having fun, right?" he asked.

Steve's anger flared. At that how dare he thought. That night, at a party, he slept with a girl from class. Billy's face darkened with outrage when he found out.

The argument that followed was intense. Steve felt like Billy was stringing him along, and if Billy was going to sleep around, Steve would do the same. The hurt and anger between them was palpable, and it seemed their fragile relationship or whatever they had was on the verge of shattering.

One night Steve and Billy decided to walk into the bar, the sounds of laughter and drunk college kids . Billy slapped Steve on the back. "I'll be back, I gotta take a piss." He handed Steve some money. "Get us a couple beers."

Steve nodded and made his way to the bar, sliding onto a stool. "Two beers, please," he said to the bartender who looked like she would rather be else where

As he waited for their drinks, a brunette with a bright smile sat down beside him, twirling the straw in her drink. "You by yourself?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

Steve hesitated, thinking back to Billy's comment "We're just having fun, aren't we?" A slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I am."

The bartender handed Steve their beers, and the girl asked, "Can I have one?" Steve handed her a beer, and they chatted for a few minutes.

Billy returned from the bathroom, his eyes scanning the bar until they landed on Steve. Steve was kissing the girl's neck, and he looked up, winking at Billy.

Billy's face darkened, and he laughed angrily, muttering under his breath. "Oh, that's what we're doing."

Steve didn't notice Billy's anger, too caught up in the moment. But when he saw Billy disappear into the bathroom with a waitress, his fury ignited. "That son of a bitch," he growled.

He turned to the girl, his voice tight. "Excuse me."

"Hey, where you going?" she asked, confusion etched on her face.

Steve didn't answer, storming into the bathroom, his heart pounding in his chest.

Steve stormed into the bathroom, the sounds of moaning and laughter hitting him like a punch to the gut. Billy's voice was low and husky, "Oh yeah, you like that?" The girl's moans were high-pitched and forced.

Steve's anger boiled over, and he ripped open the stall door. The girl shrieked, "What the hell?" as Steve yelled at her, "Get lost!" She quickly gathered her clothes, shooting Steve a dirty look. "Freak!" she spat, slamming the door behind her.

Billy just laughed, "Jealous, huh?" But Steve grabbed his jaw, kissing him aggressively, biting his lip on purpose. Billy moaned, his eyes flashing with desire.

"You're mine," Steve growled, his hands tearing at Billy's pants. Billy's eyes locked onto Steve's, his voice barely above a whisper. "All yours."

As they climaxed, Billy's hands tangled in Steve's hair, pulling hard. "No one can have you, Stevie, I’m yours and you are mine no one can take you away. he growled.“ If I see you with someone else, I'll kill you."

Steve moaned, his body shuddering with pleasure. "I'll do the same, I swear to God."

That night, Steve and Billy returned to their dorm, their newfound exclusivity. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, their passion igniting whenever they were together.

Billy had made sure they'd never be apart, arranging for his roommate to move in with Steve's. "I don't want to be separated from you ever again," Billy confessed.

Steve agreed, and they settled into a comfortable routine. Steve was happier than he'd ever been, deeply in love with Billy. He yearned to confess his feelings, but fear of ruining their relationship held him back.

However, Steve sensed Billy felt the same way. The way Billy gazed at him, his eyes filled with adoration, spoke volumes. Billy even become more affectionate.

Just as things were falling into place, Steve received a call from his father. The dean was threatening to fail Steve's classes, and his father warned him to get his act together.

Billy noticed Steve's distress and offered to help. "I'll tutor you, and we'll get your grades back on track," he promised.

True to his word, Billy proved to be a patient and dedicated tutor. Unlike previous tutors, Billy didn't make Steve feel stupid or frustrated. Instead, he encouraged Steve, explaining things easier for him.

As they studied together, Steve felt his confidence growing. With Billy by his side, he knew he could overcome any obstacle.

When steve got his grades back Steve sprinted up the stairs, excitement coursing through his veins as he thought about sharing the news of passing his exams with Billy. However, his happiness was short lived. As he approached their door, he was halted by the sound of arguing.

An older man's voice, slurred from intoxication, echoed through the door. "What, you think you're a big shot now that you're in college? You think you're something. Well, let me tell you something..." The voice grew louder, more menacing. "You're nothing, and you'll always be nothing."

Steve's heart sank as he heard a muffled response, which he assumed was Billy. Then, a smack and a shuffling sound followed. Without hesitation, Steve burst through the door.

The scene before him was chaotic. Billy lay on the ground, blood streaming from his face, while his father loomed over him, fists clenched. Steve's eyes locked onto the man, and with a surge of adrenaline, he shoved him as hard as he could, trying to separate him from Billy.

However, the man turned on Steve, head butting him with a sickening crunch. Steve felt a wave of pain wash over him as the man's fists began to rain down on him.

Steve's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself in a hospital room. Billy's face, etched with worry, hovered above him. Billy's eyes were red rimmed, and his face was bandaged.

"Steve, oh my god, I'm so sorry, baby," Billy whispered, his voice trembling.

Steve groggily sat up, trying to process what had happened. His voice was hoarse. "Billy...what happened?"

Billy's voice cracked. "My asshole dad...he showed up demanding money. Ever since we lost the house with him gambling , he's been demanding money. I don't have any...I don't know why he keeps harassing me."

Steve reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Billy's face. "I'm so sorry, Billy."

Billy's eyes flashed with anger. "Why are you sorry? It's my fault. I should have met him where he told me to meet him. God, I hate him...I want him dead!" His voice grew louder, his fists clenched.

Steve's heart went out to Billy. "It's not your fault," he began, but Billy cut him off.

"Steve, please...don't," Billy snapped, his eyes welling up with tears.

Steve nodded, understanding Billy's pain. He wrapped his arms around Billy, holding him close. Billy held back, his lips brushing against Steve's head. "You shouldn't have intervened," he whispered, his voice trembling. "He could have killed you. You should have left me."

Steve's grip on Billy's hand tightened. "I couldn't just stand by and let him beat you up," he protested. "I...I love you," he admitted, his heart pounding.

Billy's face went white. "No, man, you can't love me," he said, his voice shaking. "Take it back."

Steve's heart ached, but he stood firm. "I do, Billy," he said, his voice unwavering. "I can't help it."

The argument escalated, with Billy's voice growing louder and more desperate. Steve tried to reason with him, but Billy's words became more and more hurtful.

Finally, Billy stormed out of the hospital, leaving Steve feeling hopeless and worried.

I was actually trying to write a prompt and it sorta just became this fanfic kind of. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. If you guys like it maybe I’ll polish it up and continue. Also I didn’t purposefully try to make them toxic when I was writing it just sort of happened.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Wait for your love.

content warnings (for the whole series): mentions of drugs and alcohol, age gap, gaslighting, billy being TOXICCCCC, mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts, mental health issues

↳ currently playing ;

Midnight's Regrets - 1978

1:56 ——————•———— 3:24

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In July of 1978 Y/N made her reappearance.

Y/N: "I was gone for about a year." "And for the first 6 months, I was focusing on getting myself together. I got clean and started writing again." "I was slowly putting together a small album. I had told myself that if I wrote about change and forgiveness, I could heal." "I had heard...rumblings that the band was preparing to release a new album, but I had tried to stay away from the media." "That was until this...one interview came out." "I forgot...who was interviewing the band, I just- I remember being on the phone with one of my friends and I had the radio on. It was just playing in the background, but then I heard a familiar voice." "I told my friend that I would give her a call back. So I hung up the phone and turned up the volume on the radio." "It was Billy. He sounded...drunk. Really drunk. And- I wanted to stop listening, but the minute he brought up my name, I couldn't." "He called me selfish. Said I used him. That I didn’t care about the band, that I just wanted to be bigger than all of them." "He said it- he said it so cruelly. And the worst part was that some of the fans believed it." "I- I didn't know how to react. I was just- angry." "Here he was calling me selfish and say that I used him, while in reality, he put me through so much."

Her voice shakes, and she takes a deep breath before continuing.

"And then, as if that wasn’t enough, a month later, I see pictures of him in a magazine with some girl who looked like me. Like, exactly like me." "It hurt. It really hurt. All those times that he told me I was replaceable, that he told me that I was just another pretty face and that he could have any girl he wants, it all felt- it all felt real when I saw those pictures."

Karen: "Oh, the lookalike? Yeah, we all noticed it. It was... unsettling, to say the least."

Graham: "We told him it was weird, but Billy being Billy, he brushed us off. Said we were imagining things."

Warren: "Nah. That wasn’t imagination. That was some next-level shit."

Y/N: "At that point, the album I was working on? It wasn’t about forgiveness anymore. It wasn’t about love or hope. It was about him. About the anger, the betrayal, the heartbreak. About every time he let me down and every time I let myself believe he wouldn’t." "I didn’t want to make an album that just said, ‘This is what you did to me.’ I wanted to make one that screamed, ‘This is what you’ll never do to me again.’" "The funny thing is, I didn’t write it for him. I wrote it for me. But I knew he’d hear it. I knew he’d know. And I wanted him to feel every single word."

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

You were at a radio station to make your first step back into the spotlight, everything was ready to go. You just hoped that he would be listening.

You watched the show host stop the music to speak into the mic, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special guest with us tonight. This guest has been out of the spotlight for about a year, and now she's back to tell us what's been going on in her life" "Please, give it up for Y/N L/N!"

The sound of applause fills the studio as you slide into the chair across from the host, offering a small, nervous smile

"Y/N, welcome back! I have to say, a lot of people have been wondering where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to. So, let’s start there. How are you feeling?"

"I feel..good. I’ve been focusing on myself, my health, and really just trying to find myself again."

"Well, you’ve certainly been missed. Your fans have been waiting for this moment for a while now. What made you decide to step back into the spotlight?"

"Honestly, I think it was time. I needed to disappear for a bit to figure out who I was outside of everything else. But I missed making music, missed connecting with people. It’s why I started in the first place. So, here I am."

"So...I hear that you have a special announcement for us, something you've been working on while you were gone."

You laugh, "Ah yes! Um...this is something very special to me. And I'm so excited to everyone to listen to it. So my brand new album, Midnight's Regrets will be in stores...tomorrow at midnight."

"An album? Wow you must've been busy while you were gone! Is there anything you can tell us about it?"

"Midnight’s Regrets is…probably the most honest thing I’ve ever written. It wasn’t the album I originally set out to make....but sometimes life takes you in a different direction. It’s raw, it’s vulnerable, and it’s everything I needed to say."

"Now is there....anything or anyone that inspired this album?"

"It's...really just about the past few years."

"Well, I can’t wait to hear it, and I’m sure your fans feel the same. Y/N, thank you for joining us tonight. It’s so good to have you back!"

"Thank you! It feels good to be back."

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Karen: "We were in the studio just hanging out and we heard her voice. Billy told Graham to turn up the volume and everything just went quiet."

Graham: "Billy tensed up when she said she was releasing a new album. Like visibly tensed up."

Warren: "Nobody said anything for a while. It wasn't until the lookalike came in...."

Eddie: "No one liked the lookalike. She was rude, entitled, and just nothing like Y/N. Honestly I don't even think Billy liked her. He was just using her to fill Y/N's spot. Which was still fucked up."

Daisy: "Billy left with the lookalike for a while. This was normal he'd leave with her, they go and probably hook up and then she'd come back attached to him. Warren bet Eddie 20 bucks that he was gonna break up with her. Eddie bet 40 against it." "When he came back this time...the lookalike was nowhere to be seen."

Warren: "I asked him where she was...And then he mumbled something like 'she's gone'." "Eddie slipped me my 40 a little while after."

Y/N: "I walked out the the interview with my stomach in knots. I was so nervous for the release, I really was. I was nervous about how people you react to it, I was nervous about what the press would say..." "And I was nervous about what Billy would think of it." "I remembered how I felt listening to Aurora. I was just...in shock and in awe because it was the best album that the band created." "I was just hoping Billy would have a similar reaction to my album."

Eddie: "We all stayed late at the studio that night. We ordered pizza, Warren ran out to get beers and soda, and then at exactly midnight on the dot, Teddy came in with two vinyls." "He placed them both on the table and said 'Listen to the one on the right first' and then he left."

Karen: "Billy was just, staring at them, he didn't move. So I grabbed the first one and opened it."

Y/N: "I wrote a sort of prologue to be put on the inside." "Midnight is the hour where everything feels raw. The highs, the lows, the moments you wish you could forget but never do—they all come alive under the quiet of the moon. This album wasn’t supposed to exist the way it does now. It was going to be a story of forgiveness, love, and second chances. But life has a way of rewriting your narrative for you." "These songs are a reflection of everything I’ve carried: the heartbreak, the betrayal, the anger, and, most importantly, the resilience. They’re not just about what happened to me—they’re about what I refused to let define me." "I wrote this for anyone who’s ever felt shattered and wondered if they could ever put themselves back together. I promise, you can. I promise, you will." "And to the one who broke me: I hope you’re listening. Because I always have."

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

As Karen finished reading the prologue, a haunting silence took over the room. She carefully placed the record on the player, the soft hum of the start up began to play. Taking the tracklist in her hand, Karen read from it, "First one is...How to disappear."

The soft beat of the song filled the room, then her vocals came in.

"It sounds like her older stuff" Graham says.

A hum of agreement went through the room.

Then the next track began to play.

"Happier Than Ever," Karen says.

The soft strumming of guitar filled the room, it was angelic sounding. Billy didn't say anything, your voice sounded gentle, almost a whisper, as sing about being happy alone, about finally finding yourself. But then the shift happens.

"You call me again, drunk in your Benz. Driving home under the influence. You scared me to death, but I'm wasting my breath. 'Cause you only listen to your fucking friends."

Everyone went quiet.

"She fucking went there" Warren whispers to Eddie.

They all looked over to Billy who was looking down, his hands balled into fists.

"'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty. You made me hate this city. And I don't talk shit about you. Never told anyone anything bad. 'Cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything. And all that you did was make me fucking sad."

Billy's thoughts were swirling, he felt a mess of regret and anger, not towards you, but towards himself. He treated you like shit, and now he was hearing how you truly felt.

 The track ended with the sound of crashing drums and a wailing guitar, leaving the room in a tense, suffocating silence. Before anyone could speak, the next track started, immediately shifting the mood.

The upbeat melody of 'love is embarrassing' filled the room.

"Loser who's not worth mentioning. My God, love's embarrassing as hell"

"It's catchy" Warren says, smirking drumming his fingers to the beat.

Before the group could fully process the last track, the next one began. The smooth, upbeat sound of 'Read your Mind' filled the room. 'Feather' had the same effect.

Karen tilted her head, listening closely. "She’s experimenting. This is different from anything she’s done before."

"I bet you those two will be the ones that the radios pick up." Eddie says.

Graham looks over at Billy, "Billy, you good?"

He doesn't say anything, he just grunts and nods.

As the next track begins to play, everyone had expected it to be another pop song, but nothing would prepare them for the whiplash of what was about to play.

The track opened with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a distant, echoing sound that seems to pull everyone’s attention into the quiet before your voice cut through the tension. It’s raw, soft, yet layered with emotion.

Karen’s face tightens as she listens, and she glances around at the rest of the group. Eddie's usual smirk is gone, replaced with a furrowed brow.

"Fell in love for the first time. With a friend, it's a good sign. Feelin' off when I feel fine. 21 took a lifetime. People say I look happy. Just because I got skinny. But the old me is still me and maybe the real me. And I think she's pretty."

Warren, who had been tapping his foot along to the previous tracks, suddenly stops and sits up straighter, the weight of the song sinking in. "Shit…" he mutters, his voice barely audible. "This one’s…heavy."

The song continues, and the production swirls around your voice, adding layers of echoing distortion, mirroring the chaos and confusion in the lyrics.

"I never did you wrong. And my, my patience is gone. And I, I never did you wrong. I loved you for so long"

The song begins to fade out, leaving an unsettling quiet in its wake. No one speaks immediately. Everyone is still processing the shift, the unexpected vulnerability.

The next 5 tracks, vampire, pretty isn't pretty, making the bed, the grudge, and logical, are like a punch to the gut for Billy.

"You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart"

"I could change up my body and change up my face. I could try every lipstick in every shade. But I'd always feel the same. 'Cause pretty isn't pretty enough"

"Another day pretendin' I'm older than I am. Another perfect moment that doesn't feel like mine. Another thing I forced to be a sign."

"And I doubt you ever think about the damage that you did. But I hold onto every detail like my life depends on it. My undying love, now I hold it like a grudge. And I hear your voice every time that I think I'm not enough"

"'Cause loving you is loving every, Argument you held over my head. Brought up the girls you could have instead. Said I was too young, I was too soft. Can't take a joke, can't get you off"

Every word, every line, every lyric, it hit Billy. He hurt you, badly. And now everyone would know how badly he did.

The room was silent.

Graham moved to the record player and stopped it. "Maybe we should take a break." he murmurs.

Billy shakes his head, "No- no let it keep playing," he says as his voice cracks.

The opening notes of 'Clean' began to play. It was vulnerable like the last few tracks, but it felt more hopeful.

"It sounds clean...does that make sense?" Warren says, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Ten months sober, I must admit. Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it. Ten months older, I won't give in. Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it."

The words strike a chord in Billy. He knows there's a double meaning. You're sober, you're clean of drugs, but you're also clean of him.

The sparkling beat of 'Bejeweled' then filled the room, everyone’s heads snaped up, and for the first time in a while, there’s a slight tension breaking in the air.

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Karen: "While we were listening to the album...I think we were all just a bit worried with how Billy would react to Better Than Revenge."

Warren: Laughing "Yeah, I mean, I knew it was coming. You can't hide something like that forever."

Daisy: "Y/N asked for our help. She needed something that felt raw, something real. We couldn't say no to her."

Eddie: "I think we would've gotten away with it if Billy didn't have such a good ear."

Graham: "The minute it started playing, I knew he knew. I mean open a song with Warren playing drums? That's a giveaway automatically."

Warren: "What can I say? I didn’t hold back." he grins "If she needed something to match the fire, we gave it to her."

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

As the song blasts through the speakers, the energy in the room shifts. The aggressive drums hit, then the guitar riff, and Billy’s jaw clenches as he hears your voice.

"He’s not a saint and he’s not what you think. He’s an actress, He’s better known for the things that he does, On the mattress."

Billy’s eyes narrow, his fists tightening at his sides. The words feel like daggers. But it’s not just the lyrics. The way the song sounds, the drums, the guitar, the bass, everything. He knows that sound.

He grabs the lyric book and flips it open.

Track 14- Better Than Revenge.

His eyes scan the page, and there on the bottom of the page Graham, Warren, Eddie, Karen and Daisy are credited as part of the production of the song.

"What the hell is this?" he says, throwing the booklet onto the table. "You guys helped her with this?"

The room goes quiet, the song continuing to play in the background.

"She came to us Billy. She asked for our help." Karen says.

Billy's voice rises, sharp, accusatory and a little hurt. "And none of you thought to tell me?"

Eddie steps forward, arms crossed defensively. "We promised not to."

Billy scoffs, "You all took her side. You didn’t even think about how this would make me look."

"This wasn’t about sides, Billy. It was about making sure she didn’t feel alone in this. You had your chance to make things right, and you didn’t." Karen says, glaring at him.

"I didn’t-" Billy starts, but Warren cuts him off.

"You didn’t do anything, man. That’s the problem. You're getting mad over what? The fact that she come to you?" Warren says, "You hurt her, you can't expect her to come to you for help."

The song fades out, leaving a tense silence in its place. Billy was fuming. But he couldn't find it in himself to leave.

The final song on the first vinyl began to play.

Billy sat back down and took the lyric booklet back into his hands, track 15- Out Of The Woods.

The sound was different, everything about this whole album was different.

"The rest of the world was black and white. But we were in screaming color."

Billy began to really listen to the lyrics, the way you described everything was so...perfect. Like he could really picture everything.

Graham speaks up. "She’s not pulling punches Billy, she’s not out to destroy you. She’s trying to make sense of it all. Of you. Of herself."

"To move the furniture so we could dance. Baby, like we stood a chance. Two paper airplanes flying, flying, flying. And I remember thinking."

"It’s not just about the bad, is it?" Billy murmurs, his words just loud enough so they could hear him.

Daisy shakes her head, "No, it’s not. It's about the good, the bad, the messy in-between. She's just telling what you guys had."

The final chorus plays, "Are we out of the woods yet? Are we in the clear yet?" echoing over and over again, sounding haunting and hopeful all at once.

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Daisy: "When we finished the first record...it was just quiet." "We were all feeling different emotions." "But I have to say, I was fucking proud of her. She- she took something so horrible and turned it into a masterpiece."

Karen: "We were confused why there were two different vinyls, but after Graham took a closer look at the jacket of it, we realized the second one was the deluxe version of it."

Graham: "On the inside of it, it said there were 4 additional tracks. So I took the first one off and then put the second one on." "I sat back down and read the song titles...and I knew we were in for another ride."

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Nobody speaks, they only listen. And the lyrics, once again, hit Billy like a fucking bus.

"Cause you kiss me and it stops time. And I'm yours, but you're not mine…"

Billy rubs his face with both hands, his fingers tugging at his hair. Everything rushes back, the whispered promises, the unspoken words, and all the ways he let her down. He slams his hand against the armrest of the chair, his frustration barely contained. "Jesus Christ."

"Why'd you have to make me love you? I said, 'I love you.' You say nothin' back."

This hits Billy like a freight train.

"She's- She's making me seem like the bad guy!" he scoffs, "After I wrote Aurora for her- after I poured out my entire heart on a fucking album for her!"

"Billy, shut up and listen to the lyrics!" Daisy shouts, "You fucking hurt her! You only wrote Aurora because of the fact you hurt her! She's allowed to feel how she wants to! She's allowed to feel angry! She's allowed to feel sad! So just- listen to her lyrics!"

Billy finally shuts up. He leans back in his chair and the next song starts up.

The echoes of 'Is It Over Now?' fill the room. And then...

"You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor. You search in every maiden's bed for something greater"

"When you lost control. Red blood, white snow. Blue dress on a boat. Your new girl is my clone"

"If she's got (y/c) eyes, I will surmise that you'll probably date her. You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor. You search in every model's bed for something greater"

"I was hoping you'd be there. And say the one thing. I've been wanting. But no."

Billy's head was now in his hands again. His heart feels like it's sinking to the bottom of his chest, his mind spiraling with thoughts of all the mistakes he made. And then before he could fully collect his thoughts, the next song starts playing.

While the opening notes of 'I Wish You Would' started to play, Billy's heart skipped a beat.

"I wish you would come back. Wish I'd never hung up the phone like I did. I wish you knew that. I'd never forget you as long as I'd live. And I wish you were right here, right now. It's all good. I wish you would"

"I wish we could go back. And remember what we were fighting for. Wish you knew that. I miss you too much to be mad anymore. And I wish you were right here, right now. It's all good. I wish you would"

"We're a crooked love. In a straight line down. Makes you wanna run and hide. Then it makes you turn right back around"

"You always knew how to push my buttons. You gave me everything and nothing. This mad, mad love makes you come rushing. Stand back where you stood. I wish you would, I wish you would"

Billy’s chest tightens as the final line rings in his ears. He wishes, too. He wishes he could take it all back, wishes he could undo the damage he caused. But hearing the lyrics, hearing your regret, he knows it’s too late for that. You're not coming back, not in the way he wants. The realization washes over him, leaving him feeling hollow inside.

But then the sparkly distorted intro of 'Karma' starts playing.

"This is the last one" Graham says as he reads off the vinyl jacket.

It was a catchy song, similar to 'Bejeweled', it had that glittery sound.

Billy knew it was another song directed towards him, but when he heard "Cause karma is my boyfriend" his heart sunk.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

A wave of jealousy, mixed with deep regret, crashes over him, had you moved on?

The song keeps going, and with every line, Billy’s heart breaks a little more.

“Karma is the guy on the screen. Coming straight home to me.”

He could hear the smile in your voice, he could hear how happy you were. He was happy you were happy, but he wanted you to be happy with him.

The song ends, and Billy looks at everyone.

"So...guess she's moved on." he says.

"We don't know that Billy" Graham says, "She could've just- written it because it rhymed or something..."

Billy shakes his head, "No...that's not like her. She doesn't just write out lyrics for nothing."

Graham looks over at Billy, his expression filled with a mixture of concern and frustration. "I’m just saying, man, we don’t know for sure. We don’t know what’s going on in her head. She could be trying to move on, or she could just be putting her feelings into music. You can’t take everything in her songs at face value."

Billy scoffs, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to scrub away the frustration that’s been building up for hours. "No, Graham. I’ve been around long enough to know when she’s really saying something. And she’s saying something. She’s telling me, loud and clear, that she’s moved on."

"She’s telling you that she’s moved forward, not necessarily on. There's a difference." Daisy says in a defensive tone.

"Moved on- moved forward- same shit. What difference does it make?" Billy says, getting up and pacing the room. "I wrote Aurora for her. It was for her. All of it. I thought- I thought it was going to be enough."

"You can't just expect one album to fix everything Billy" Karen says, "You hurt her, badly. An album won't fix that."

Billy remains silent for a moment, processing everything they’re saying.

But then his attention went back to the record player as it started to play this awful sounding static.

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Y/N: "On the jacket of the vinyl for the deluxe version of Midnight's Regrets there were only four new tracks listed."

"There was really five."

  🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

"Graham, why didn't you turn the player off?"

Graham walks over to the player, "There's still grooves, there's another song."

Not even a second later, the room is filled with the haunting opening notes of a new song.

Everyone stands in silence and confusion as the song plays.

"You were born bluer than a butterfly. Beautiful and so deprived of oxygen. Colder than your father's eyes. He never learned to sympathize with anyone."

"I don't blame you. But I can't change you. Don't hate you. But we can't save you."

"You were born reaching for your mother's hands. Victim of your father's plans to rule the world. Too afraid to step outside. Paranoid and petrified of what you've heard"

The words pierce Billy's already broken heart, he can't hold it in anymore. He feels the tears trickling down his face, and when he looks around, everyone else has tears too.

Your voice is so hauntingly beautiful, they've never heard you like this.

As the song fades out, they can hear what sounds like crying under all the instrumentals.

The silence afterward is deafening.

"Billy…" Graham says, his voice breaking the stillness.

"I fucked up," Billy whispers, the words barely audible. "I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I even can anymore."

A/N: HOLY FUCK THIS WAS A LONG CHAPTER 😭 anyways I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED!!!! this was honestly so like stressful to work on cause of the lyrics BUT I PULLED IT OFF I THINK! anyways next chapter will probably be out sometime next week and hopefully the next chapter of GOU will be out by sunday night or monday night!!

heres all the songs from readers album (IN ORDER) -> 1978 album

[running-in-the-dark]

ooooh. we got an apartment!!!

the house isn't completely finished yet so we can't move in until April. we'll have to figure that out. but that's fine. it's in the town where my husband works! which is amazing.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[passionpluto]

you think you're past your mlp phase until you see a sunset shimmer glitter keychain at the walmart claire's and you feel a certain need

[houseofwolvess]

i am once again overwhelmed by love for humans as a whole

[avvocarlo]

god I hate asshole 4wd owners

[ittybittydovahkiin]

controversial take: if ur “monster girl” has a 100% human and traditionally sexy torso & head then ur both a poser and a fucking coward

[my-darling-boy]

I was at a bookstore looking through the art section and I saw a spine that said The Camden Town Nudes which was interesting because this didn’t seem like the bookstore where I would ever find something like that and I wanted to have a casual look but like. This also wasn’t exactly the bookstore where you felt like you could look at naked pictures let alone just suggestive paintings of them, it’s a really small shop as well, so I was like right I’ll just take a quick peek, I’m an art student, I love history, maybe I’ll buy it. I looked both ways and saw the shopkeep had left momentarily and no one was about, so I opened it and found it was an entire book featuring nude Edwardian women all painted by Walter Sickert between 1905-1912 and it was actually quite a revolutionary set of paintings for its time given that it featured very raw depictions of working class nude women in dark London instead of the elegant, white bedsheet clad, Demure middle and upper class women usually depicted.

And of course RIGHT as I flip to this lady’s boobs practically taking up an entire double page spread, every customer in a 5 mile radius appeared from around the corners of the shelf including the shopkeep and immediately regressing to a wet, pathetic Edwardian man from 1908, startled, I dropped the large book which caused a giant SLAP on the floor in this already silent store thus causing all patrons to look down at me scrambling on my knees to close a giant book of Edwardian boobs and let me tell you it would not have been nearly as funny had I not immediately felt like some Edwardian local pervert who just tried to sneak a cheeky peek at the erotic book in the bookstore only to drop it dramatically causing a scene, red up to his ears trying to shove it back on the shelf. Like such a casual and normal thing in modern day but looking at Edwardian women suddenly turned it into this egregious act as I apparently became possessed by the spirit of a moustached man in a bowler hat and morning coat going Good Heavens I mustn’t gaze upon these images in public lest the constable haul me away!

[shiroselia]

Still thinking about the absolutely legendary woman who works maintainance for my housing peeps who saw my ass coming back from ikea carrying 700 things on me rushing to help me open the door to my apartment because she saw how much shit I was carrying

I hope she has the best 2024 literally fucking ever she was legitimately so fucking sweet

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."