#i knew id ramble but CHRIST

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

Big Boss: What Happened?

Big Boss: Info Dump Request

@qoppybirdie requested:

This is my attempt at fulfilling that, with my own take on it. And probably a whole lot longer than OP wanted. But here we are. 

Google Doc version. NOW ACCEESIBLE (Opened Access)

As a quick aside, I personally consider Portable Ops canon to the timeline and lore. Not everyone does, but in this I will be using examples from Portable Ops, as to me, it’s canon. I’m aware this is debated, so I’m putting it out there first and foremost.

Here we go!

“Politics are a living thing. They change along with the times. Today’s good may be tomorrow's evil.”-The Boss, to Big Boss (then Naked Snake) during the Virtuous Mission, 1964.

Big Boss, known as John/Jack, was born in the USA in 1935. Almost nothing of his life is known until the age of 15/16, when he met The Boss in 1950, becoming her apprentice. The Boss served as his mentor, and remains one of the most defining figures in his life, up until his death in 2014. Soon after meeting The Boss, John fought in the Korean War, and was part of nuclear testing in Bikini Atoll, in 1954.

This puts the FOX unit in jeopardy, and at risk of execution unless they can prove America wasn’t involved, with Big Boss given the task of rescuing Dr. Sokolov for a second time, assassinating the Boss, and as they put it “if possible, Colonel Volgin”. Volgin happens to have a metal gear, but that’s secondary to this story believe it or not.

This is the Operation where he also meets Ocelot, and Eva. Both of whom we’ll get back to later.

Cue Operation Snake Eater, and what is arguably the start of a nearly 60 year downfall for Big Boss. Big Boss defeats the Shagohod Metal Gear and Volgin, (does not manage to save Sokolov) and kills The Boss. When he returns to the United States, he’s given a medal for his service, and is left with a feeling of emptiness, grief and a whole lot of unanswered questions.

Whenever I think about the spiral of Big Boss, I tend to come back to the moment here, (and the one later, when he’s at the Boss’ grave). It can be argued that he never, ever recovers from this. While it takes him a lifetime to understand it, by the time of his death in 2014,he has fallen so far from the man he once was that it’s only at death he can acknowledge what he’s become, to his clone son  Solid Snake,(Dave).

“Boss, you only need one Snake now..no, the world would be better without Snake’s.” Big Boss (at the Boss’ grave to Solid Snake, in 2014)

I could almost end this here, on the notion that he was used by the military to kill someone he loved and cared about, and lost all sense of what he believed in, and himself, in doing so. That the next 60ish years are just him going through the motions, attempting to come to a conclusion that doesn’t exist.

Why was he used? Why was he the one that needed to pull the trigger? Big Boss wasn’t exactly what I’d call an ‘idealist’ before that, but he did hold certain preconceived beliefs about his place in the world, and what he was meant to do with it. And that he had all of them wiped aside in an instant, all to save face for a country that would discard him at a moment's notice.

Before she was assassinated, the Boss was legendary as a soldier, and an American. She was idolised by her country and the people she served and worked with. When we find out later that her defection was part of a mission, and that it was jeopardised by Volgin behaving in a way nobody saw coming, it took nothing for them to discard her. When Big Boss is being awarded a service medal and the president attempts to shake his hand, I can imagine those are the thoughts playing on loop in his head.

They honour him now, in the moment. Yet a week before he was almost going to be executed by that same government and country, and his mentor, someone so beloved by the USA, was given that exact fate

He realizes here that his role, his personhood means nothing in the greater scope of war, and he’s supposed to just stand there, accept a handshake and pretend this total farce is a good thing?

Just like she told him, “Today's enemy, tomorrow’s friend.” That was a lesson the Boss understood before he did, and it’s one that he grasps all too well afterwards..to a degree. Big Boss we come to see is betrayed again and again by the people around him, because up to a certain point, he allows people into his life. In the same need for human connection and meaning all people have. Something that is abused countless times by the people close to him.

It takes years, but at some point, he does eventually give up. As we’ll see. 

Following Operation Snake Eater, Big Boss leaves the military for a bit. He works at various jobs like hunting guides, only to go back to fighting and meet and rescue Frank Jaeger  during the Mozambican War of Independence in 1966, but ultimately ends up doing mercenary work. In 1970, he’s captured via drugging by another rogue FOX unit, headed by a rogue agent known as GENE in what became the San Hieronymo Incident. 

Gene had an idea, a nation of soldier’s. Made by soldier’s for soldiers.

This will sound extremely familiar, as it is almost verbatim to what Big Boss ends up creating himself later on. Outer Heaven. Even though the San Hieronymo Incident ends in Gene’s defeat, and with Big Boss returning to the USA and forming The Patriots with his former commander, Major Zero and members of the unit in Operation Snake Eater. Such as SIGINT (Donald Anderson), Para-Medic, Ocelot and Eva. Using some of the Philosopher’s Legacy, (money), The Patriots started out as an attempt to unify the world, but expanded and corrupted far beyond that original goal.

Big Boss himself leaves the Patriots in 1972, after facing the second major betrayal via the creation of Les Enfants Terribles (aka, ‘The Terrible Children), under Para-Medic’s care. Without telling Big Boss, or asking his consent, LET was undergone using Big Boss’ DNA, with an unnamed egg donor and Eva as the surrogate to make his clone sons, Solid Snake and Liquid Snake (Eli). As well as the ‘perfect clone’ Solidus Snake, (George). (He was not surrogated by Eva, however).

“They’re no sons of mine.” “Just a bunch of cells grown in a lab?”

“What they are is much sicker than that.”- John and Ocelot discussing the clone sons, in 1984.

LET existed because Zero and Para-Medic wanted to ensure the continuation of Big Boss’ genes and soldier capabilities. He saw them as an abomination and betrayal. After learning of LET, Big Boss leaves the Patriots, and the United States. Working again as a mercenary for higher. 

No matter what he does, he cannot get himself out of warzones. 

“The Boss and I may have gone down different paths, but we were trapped in the same cage.”- Big Boss to Solid Snake, in 2014

Really quick, the definition of a mercenary according to Merriam Webster is; ‘one that serves merely for wages’. They mostly find themselves in warzones, but they are not fighting on behalf of a country. They are not conscripted or drafted. The gain is purely financial. But most specifically, a mercenary is hired ‘for foreign conflicts’ in particular. This is largely because a country may want to get involved in a certain conflict, or mission, but are unable to legally, or without raising suspicions. Thus, they hire a non-related mercenary, for pay, to do what they cannot.

This is the sort of environment Big Boss finds himself operating in more often than not. He’s fresh off a second betrayal, mistrustful and hurt, and finds himself on the lam and a gun for hire in Columbia, eventually ending up hired by the Colombian government to work with their army.  I can imagine his attitude in Columbia being one that is grieving, disillusioned and bitter. It’s here that he comes upon a guerilla squad commanded by Kazuhira Miller, and wipes them out. Except for Miller. Who he ‘recruits’ under the idea of it being non-negotiable. Kaz is the only survivor, and if he doesn’t stay with Big Boss, he’ll be executed. (Instead, Big Boss blackmails a commander who could be responsible for it, in order to keep Kaz off the chopping block). Which is a nice little fact to hang over Kaz’s head, should he choose to escape.

Heiwa to Kazuhira no Blues (the Peace Walker audio drama) expands on this a great deal. His ‘recruitment’ is no simple thing, and Big Boss also puts Kaz through a number of rigged trials he knows Kaz can’t win, in order to further cement his place under him. Combining that in conjunction with the fact that Kaz will be executed should he not ally with Big Boss (and I’ll point out here that yes, Kaz does try to blow himself and Big Boss up with a grenade but does he really want to die?) it’s something of a hopeless situation and somewhat one-sided.

The entire relationship and scenario with Kaz is complicated enough on its own. Kaz isn’t a fully innocent victim either, but it is at this point and time that one can see a significant shift happening in Big Boss’ mindset. There’s a sinister element to the trials he puts Kaz through, and yet, there’s still a part of him that clings to the idea of companionship. He’s edging closer to the dark end of grey in his climbing scale, but he has not yet crossed that point.

Kaz spearfishing during one of the trials (art by Yoji Shinkawa)

Defeated, Kaz joins Big Boss, and as his subcommander they form one of the first ever PMC’s (or, Private Military Company)-Militaires Sans Frontières (Army without Borders, or MSF). The concept of the PMC later takes over in the world (and the disastrous environment Solid Snake finds himself dealing with come 2014). While in MSF, Big Boss finds himself in Costa Rica to deal with the Peace Walker incident, and becomes allied there with some revolutionaries from the Sandinista National Liberation Front, who are under the command of Amanda Valenciano Libre, after the death of her father (the original commander). And via Amanda, Big Boss meets her brother, Ricardo Valenciano Libre, or. Chico.

Chico is where this gets complicated. Chico is around 12 years old at the time, and one of the key elements to where we see Big Boss’ mindset shifting fully. While he’s still somewhat optimistic, even a little goofy at times (the way we see him in Snake Eater), Chico’s situation is a mixed bag. On the one hand, it’s easy to argue that Chico being part of the MSF is one of the only alternatives he could have at the time. He’s in the middle of a warzone with his sister. If he’s not under Big Boss, where else can he go? What else can he reasonably do?

-What makes discussing Big Boss so tricky, I think-and why I believe it’s almost impossible to say he had some sort of ‘turning point’, is that it is completely possible to look at everything he does, everything that happens, and find a way to excuse or come up with a justification, or even logic for it. This is not me saying that he is right, or a good person. Metal Gear cannot just be boxed into ‘good’ or ‘evil’ it is grey. It is supposed to be grey. It centres around people and themes that do not have such simplistic barriers to work with. That is the point.-

-The downfall of Big Boss does not happen overnight. It is a slow burning wreck that expands and grows. It is the make-up and conclusion of many factors, incidents and events. It happens slowly, and sometimes it happens below the surface.-

For all intents and purposes, Chico is a child soldier. But is that Big Boss’ fault? Children are as wrapped up in war as any other. War does not care if you’re a child, or an adult. Did Chico truly have anywhere else to go?

I don’t really have an answer to that. And I’m going to admit it out right. What I will say is that early on in Chico’s recruitment, Big Boss rescues Chico, but he doesn’t want to go back with him because he’s ashamed of giving up information (link should be time stamped for access) about the others to the enemy.

There are MANY ways to interpret this moment. I’ve seen various interpretations of it myself, but here’s how I’m going to explain it. As per how I see it. Again, this is a complicated story and scenario-and people’s view on it is going to differ a lot. One of the points I really want to stress in this far-too-long essay here is that none of what we see comes with the easiest answers. It’s all layered. How you view a moment may differ from how someone else views it. 

Anyway, to me, I’m going to put it like this. Big Boss knows that Chico doesn’t mean that. What I can’t say for sure is if he’d have really shot him or not (I don’t think he would’ve, not only because he promised Amanda he’d bring Chico back, and if nothing else Big Boss will usually complete his missions. But that as far as we know, he never outright executes a child in the series). But Chico does not know this. Big Boss is, essentially, showing Chico that no, he doesn't want to die, come on now. And that breaking under the situation isn’t something he needs to feel guilty about. Nor, is it worth dying for.

WE can assume that Big Boss isn’t going to hurt him. WE can realise that but there is no way for Chico to hold the same understanding here. 

But Chico isn’t a man. Chico is a child. When Chico dies in 1975, Skullface says something very similar. Negating the fact that at the end of the day, this is no adult. 

“No more wargames, you’re a real man now, soldier”.-Skullface (to Chico when he’s a tortured prisoner in Camp Omega, 1975)

Here, Big Boss is visibly (I can assume anyway) attempting to encourage Chico. Prove to him that he doesn’t want to die, and that he doesn’t need to die for the infraction he believes himself to have made. (None of Chico’s compatriots blame him for giving up information, and why would they? He is a kid).

But did he? Big Boss can think that the ‘child’ died,  and he became a man. But is any of that really true? Is Chico not as much a child now as he is when he dies a year later?

I find it very significant that the artist, Ashley Wood, has Big Boss completely in shadow here. It says a lot about what Chico must be feeling, and how we (the audience) might be meant to interpret him. There is none of the silly dork we know Big Boss to have been a decade prior. There is none of the innocence and even almost child-like awkwardness he was so beholden to. So much of his optimism, his original outlook and hope, is eradicated by this point.

Chico, I’ll note really quick is never seen off-radio. He is kept ‘safe’ (if you can call it that) on the MSF base itself. And working as radio support. I’ll note too that Chico always wants to be seen as an ‘adult’ by the people around him. But, come on. I’m sure we all remember being 13. I’m sure everyone had that ‘I am desperate to be mature and taken seriously’ awkward teen phase. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a child, who is stealing Amanda’s cigarettes one moment, and laughing about his favourite monsters and cryptids the next.

It’s no more justified (in my opinion) than Huey Emmerich is when he uses the absolutely pathetic reasoning behind letting a 4-year-old Hal pilot Sahelanthropus.

“He (Hal) wanted to get in!”-Huey Emmerich to Revolver Ocelot under torture. 1984. 

What Hal may have wanted is irrelevant to the fact that you don’t let a kid touch a hot stove because they want to. It is on the adults around them to make sure they don’t do things they can’t control. Granted, Chico is old enough in Peace Walker to have very valid feelings about what he might want, and more than old enough for personal agency, but still young enough to where adults around him should be protecting him.

And I know that in war, the rules are not the same. I understand that. Later on we see a 12 year old Liquid Snake and child soldiers in situations no child should be in, but does that mean they still didn’t need protection? In any case, I’m too close to getting off topic here, so let’s keep going.

We will see him goofing off a bit more in Peace Walker. But it is important to note that by its end, Big Boss’ ideology, and his view on the world has shifted a lot. 

He also comes to find out that Kaz was employed by Zero (now going by ‘Cipher’) and working as a spy. Marking the third time Big Boss is betrayed by someone close to him. In this, I’m sort of torn. My personal interpretation of the ‘spy Kaz’ bit is extensive and doesn’t quite belong here, but I’ll note that it’s another way in which Big Boss comes to find that he can’t trust anyone that it doesn’t matter how close someone is to him, they are going to find a way to stab him in the back.

He’s already become more and more cynical around this point, and it is not aided by finding out the truth about Kaz either. The cloud around Big Boss darkens all the more. 

By the end of Peace Walker, Big Boss has come to learn what he thinks is the truth about the Boss. When she put down her gun (stopped fighting) she (in his mind) betrayed the ideology and beliefs that he feels she taught him, and when Big Boss ‘let’s go’ of her (in disgust, as he takes this to be an example of her betraying the will of the soldier, and him). I don’t fully grasp how he comes to this conclusion, but in letting the Boss ‘go’ (by removing her bandana) he shifts again, willingly keeping a nuke on Mother Base in the MSF (at Kaz’s suggestion, I’ll note) To Big Boss, I guess he might see this as the fourth betrayal.

With another metal gear defeated, Big Boss declares the following to the MSF:

"We have no nation, no philosophy, no ideology. We go where we're needed, fighting not for country, not for government, but for ourselves. We need no reason to fight. We fight because we are needed. We will be the deterrent for those with no other recourse. We are soldiers without borders, our purpose defined by the era we live in."-Big Boss to the MSF, after the Metal Gear ZEKE battle.

But this is not where that speech ends. Big Boss is under few illusions about the sort of man he’s become, and he tells his men much the same.

Fairly self explanatory, in my opinion.

Thus, the MSF becomes a nuclear power. And this is the mindset that Big Boss has when he goes into the Ground Zeroes mission at Camp Omega. Chico has escaped to go rescue Paz and Skullface has planned an attack on Mother Base while they’re gone. The inspection approved by Huey Emmerich (who didn’t ask Big Boss or Kaz first, and was apparently under the belief it was legitimate..and I don’t know if it’s true or not, I can never fully come to a conclusion there). 

The base explodes, and while Kaz is seething and raging, Big Boss is left so shell shocked all he can do is sit motionless while Kaz shakes him repeatedly. Attempting to get any sort of answer from him. Answers Big Boss doesn’t give, nor does he have. After all, it’s not his fault the base went up in flames. The end result is the death of Paz and Chico, and the start of a 9-year- coma for Big Boss.

And, for the medic on that chopper, whom Ocelot and Zero turn into Venom Snake. Big Boss’ phantom and living body-double. Fully hypnotized, brainwashed and made into another man, all without his consent.

The creation of Venom alone is gregarious enough, but Big Boss didn’t sign off on Venom. He was already made by the time he wakes up in 1984. But aside from a moment of protesting it, Big Boss embraces it. Allowing Venom to wake up in a hospital that’s largely blown to shreds and turned into a massacre under XOF (Skullface’s unit), all so he and Venom can escape under cover. Countless people die in that hospital, and Big Boss has become arrogant and callous enough to where it doesn’t matter to him.

Ocelot is also the only one aware of the truth. (Someone Big Boss doesn’t seem to mind having that right, since up to this point, and the rest of his life, Ocelot is one of the few people who doesn’t betray him). Kaz, by contrast, has been completely abandoned and cast aside by him. And not told about Venom being a different man (until later). Which has a real element of cruelty in it, in my opinion. Especially since it’s Venom who saves Kaz after he’s been a POW for a while. But that’s another post in it’s own way.

Big Boss wakes up a new man, with a new (stolen) identity, and with his body double firmly in place and Ocelot pleasantly self-hypnotized to carry it out, he leaves to go begin the formation of Outer Heaven. Free to let others do his dirty work, while he continues to operate by himself. 

Putting aside the fact that he looks damn good here-that isn’t the face of a guy with a whole lot of humanity left in him.

Remember Zero? Let’s go back to him for a quick moment. Because it’s at this point in the timeline that Big Boss begins to embrace a concept that was originally propagated by Zero when they were still all working together as the Patriots. By the early 1970’s, Big Boss had a pretty good reputation behind him as legendary soldier. And Zero believed it would be a good call to emphasise that narrative. It was beneficial to have Big Boss’ legend spread throughout, and continued. It’s also important to note that Big Boss himself rejected being called ‘Big Boss’ as he believed the title should only belong to the Boss.

In San Hieronymo, he’s called ‘Snake’ (much like his original codename, Naked Snake) and in Peace Walker the sandinistas often call him ‘Vic Boss’ as they compare him to Che Guevara (as does Kaz). The comparisons to Guevara do not end there, as historically, Guevara was most known for having several jobs under his belt, and being a key figure in the Cuban Revolution. Until his execution by the CIA in 1965. Personal opinions of Guevara are extensive and far beyond the scope of what I’m going to cover here, and will undoubtedly vary by person. Thus, I’ve left it as a link. He was a radical revolutionary in his lifetime, and is mentioned periodically in conjunction with Naked Snake, which paints a suggested idea of how some characters in-series viewed Big Boss as a person.

This being a good or bad thing, is again up to personal interpretation. 

Either way, it’s notable (for me and I guess for the purpose of this essay) that up until the end of Peace Walker, Big Boss largely rejects the idea of being a figurehead, a martyr or particularly legendary. That is no longer the case in the 80’s. Where he is fully ‘Big Boss’ as we know him, and absolutely fine with leaving people in the line of fire (consent or otherwise) after a long coma, one too many betrayals, and the full disillusionment of his original beliefs at the hands of a lot of hurt, and years of pain and complicated warfare.

I don’t know that I’d consider Big Boss was ever a ‘humble’ sort of man. In the very beginning of his first mission we see him doing (the Halo Jump into the Virtuous Mission) he’s arrogantly smoking and ignoring the man telling him to put on his mask. But by the end of the 80’s he’s gone completely into the beast he and others created, arrogant and without care.

While Venom is working on the Diamond Dogs (who are also later transferred to Outer Heaven, while Big Boss himself operates Foxhound), he’s (at some point) reuniting with Frank Jaeger (now Gray Fox, at some point rescues and recruits Sniper Wolf, and building up Zanzibarland). By the 1990’s, Big Boss is kidnapping scientists, building metal gears, has children he saved on his base, and is nothing like the man we saw in the mid 60’s.

Hey, speaking of kidnapping, let’s go over how soldiers get ‘recruited’ to the MSF, Diamond Dogs (again yes I know that’s Venom), Outer Heaven, etc. Starting with the MSF, (but there was a taste of it in the San Hieronymo Incident), soldiers are knocked out and dragged back to the base. They’re left in the brig for a little bit, and come out completely and utterly loyal to Big Boss.

How loyal?

“We live and die by your order, Boss!”-Diamond Dogs infected with the Vocal Cord Parasite mutation, just before being mercy executed by Venom Snake.

That loyal.(Again, it’s best to operate when talking about Venom Snake in this specific case as if he and Big Boss are one in the same, because it’s not exactly about the man, but the situation, the cult for lack of a better word, of Big Boss). To these soldiers, who they are as people doesn’t matter as much as what the Boss demands. It’s that same energy, that mindset, that had Venom Snake (then the Medic) throw himself in front of a flaming chopper to save Big Boss’ life.

And where Big Boss might’ve questioned that sort of thing beforehand, by the time of Diamond Dogs, Outer Heaven etc, it is fully embraced. It’s fine that he’s got another man doing plenty of his dirty work (without his consent). It’s fine that he left Kaz because Kaz hurt him and betrayed him and he doesn’t deserve to hear otherwise. It’s fine that thousands die in a burning hospital to save his own life.

And then it’s later ‘fine’ when a young Solid Snake (who doesn’t know he’s Big Boss’ son) is sent into Outer Heaven during Operation Intrude N313, to kill who he thinks is Big Boss, but is actually Venom Snake.

Venom Snake, who has now spent 11 years as Big Boss himself, who has one last mission to die. As Big Boss for Big Boss. Again. The tape to Venom is Big Boss at what I believe is one of his most arrogant moments yet. In it, he thanks Venom *sort of* for his work, and how he’s helped him build up their shared legend. A legend that later Big Boss takes all the credit for. Because Outer Heaven explodes, and the man is all but erased from memory. Absorbed back into Big Boss yet again. 

For a man that wanted to create a nation where soldiers mean something, and are revered, Venom’s discarded pretty quick (and he never agreed to be there to begin with). I cannot say if the Medic would’ve agreed to become Big Boss if he’d even been able to, but I can say that it is hard to deny that he’s used as much as any other soldier. Because at this moment, Big Boss now believes that dying on a battlefield is the only way to go, and Venom should be honoured to be him. Or ‘them’ as Big Boss puts it.

“I am you, and you are me.This story, this legend, it’s ours. I cheated death thanks to you.”-Big Boss to Venom Snake. 

And then Venom dies, all but forgotten. His purpose has been served. His job is done. He’s no longer needed. Him, nor any of the soldiers who die in Outer Heaven. With Solid mostly oblivious to the secondary layers happening below. (Big Boss has absolutely no issue using Solid, either. He’s past the point of caring). I can imagine someone telling Solid, “This guy used to laugh about eating glowing mushrooms that recharge his batteries” and being unable to believe it.

When Solid Snake faces down Big Boss for the second time in 1999, he is past the point of caring about anything that isn’t war. His speech to Solid in Zanzibarland before Solid defeats him is infamous, and sums up his general view of the world in a nice, succinct fashion for Solid (and the audience). 

This is the culmination of decades of hurt, betrayals and the knowledge that he is a man built and bred for the war machine. Big Boss has come to a point where he’s suffered enough, experienced enough, that war is all he can understand. War is all that he can possibly care about. He has stopped being able to feel, to connect with people. He is hollowed out, hardened and fully embracing the man he’s turned himself into.

These are not excuses. Big Boss can be a victim of his fate and the war machine, and still not be in the right here. The two can and in this case I’d argue, do very much co-exist. As I said above, his ‘downfall’ was not a matter of tripping down some steps. It was a slow, consistent decline that eventually accumulated. Despite this, Solid does defeat him, and Big Boss is put in stasis for the next few years. Left quite literally on ice. Conscious, but trapped in his body. 

Don’t YOU make your clone son kill your body double and use him almost as badly as others used you? No? (Solid Snake and Big Boss, Metal Gear Solid 2, Yoji Shinkawa)

“I never saw you as a son. But as a man, a soldier.”-Big Boss to Solid Snake, 2014

We know how this story ends. Big Boss spends a bunch of time on ice, gets re-fitted with body parts taken from Solidus’ and dies of the new Foxdie virus (which also kills Eva and Ocelot, just like it did Liquid before) in the same cemetery where most of it started. Leaning up against the Boss’ grave. Aware that he spent decades misunderstanding her will, and that he never quite got it right in life.

How then, would I wrap this up? Well, I guess you could say that I’ve cheated a little. Because I never truly answer the question, “how does Big Boss become evil”, did I? I suppose some of it’s because, as I summed up earlier, I just don’t see it as such a simple case. I do believe that we’re all meant to have our own interpretation, at the end of the day, and the easiest way to summarise it might be that a man becomes so enmeshed in the war machine, that he turns into the very machine himself.

Big Boss had child soldiers (but did the kids fight?). Big Boss used, and abused many people (and was used and abused himself). Big Boss created PMC’s (with help). Big Boss had nukes (at the suggestion of others).

Etc, etc.

At the end of the day, I’ll conclude this long, rambling spiral of thoughts to say that the moment Big Boss ‘turns’ is up to interpretation. Which may seem like a cowards way out, but is it not true? Whenever I pose the question, I see many different answers and responses out in the wild.

This, therefore, is my own take on it. My attempt. And I know I’ve probably forgotten something (or many something’s) but I personally, will end here.

If you made it this far, congratulations! I cannot believe how long this got, and thanks for coming along with me.

By,

Nate

[katyawriteswhump]

364 days later (Steddie holiday drabble)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31 prompt, New Year's Eve/Resolutions I AM SO SAD IT IS NEARLY OVER!!!!

When Steve is hurt on New Year’s Eve, he discovers there’s only one person he can truly go home to.

WC: 918 Rating: T CW: off-screen/pre-fic violence including domestic violence. Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff. Established steddie.

Also part of my steve whump fic series (mainly steddie) on ao3

***

“I hadn’t a clue where else to go,” says Steve, an odd tremor in his voice. 

Steve hadn’t knocked, hadn’t announced his arrival. Eddie simply opened the trailer door and found him. God knows how long he’s been standing at the bottom of the steps, cradling one arm in the other. It’s dark, but it’s screamingly obvious something’s wrong. Steve’s hair is kinda ruffled for starters. 

“I mean, yeah, we have a date later,” Steve rambles, “being New Years Eve and all that crap, and… uh…���

Holy shit! Eddie jumps down to him, freaking out big-time. Blood smears one side of Steve’s face, his lip is bruised, and his harsh breaths cloud the icy air. Eddie wants to hug him tight; instead, he briefly clams up, super-terrified. He’s never seen anybody so robust appear so… brittle.

Gently, he cups the uninjured side of Steve’s face, curves an arm around him. “What the hell happened?”

“I did it, man. Finally. My dad… I, um…”

“Your dad did this?”

“He wishes,” Steve says, snarky.

Eddie seriously can’t fathom whether he’s lying: “Who else, man?”

“Got jumped leaving work, and I… I…” Steve’s wretched laugh crumbles into an even more wretched whimper. Eddie catches him, as his knees buckle.

“Okay, big guy, I gotcha.”

He bundles him inside, sits him on the couch. Steve stares spacily, hugs his arm, rocks himself. 

Momentarily, Eddie literally flaps. Then he grabs a chilled beer from the fridge, douses a clean cloth in water. He coaxes Steve into holding the can against his swollen wrist, while Eddie dabs the blood from his face.

“Gonna sting,” warns Eddie. Steve hisses. “Sorry, Stevie.”

“It’s fine. Christ, I’m okay.”

“Not buying that BS today. Not sorry.”

Eddie frowns, concentrating hard. The cut, fortunately, has clotted already. He binds Steve’s wrist with a make-shift bandage. Steve mutters about getting kicked a LOT, when he was curled on the ground, shielding his face. Eddie feels sick, soothingly shushes Steve’s gasps of pain. Possibly as much to comfort himself as Steve. “Look, we should get you to the Med—"

“No way. I’ll fix… Listen, I finally did it,” repeats Steve, as his eyes flutter closed.

“Yeah? Did what exactly, Babe?”

 “Carried out my New Year’s resolution.”

***

Steve barely recalls how he got here.

He’d driven around aimlessly. His wrist hurt so bad that he goddamn cried, too far gone to give a shit. He couldn’t think; he was drowning, sucked deep into thick, suffocating waters. Some crazy inner compass drew him to the one place he could pull for the surface.

He found himself outside Eddie’s trailer. Standing there stupidly, hurting and shivering. Not even yelling to be let in. Now, he’s inside and getting warm with Eddie, who asks again what happened.

Crap, does Steve even know?

He honestly couldn’t ID his attackers. Sorta knew why he was attacked, being guilty of so much these days—hanging with geeks, being a king that lost his crown, not to mention his boyfriend being Eddie ‘spawn-of-satan’ Munson.

Then his Dad.

The look he’d given Steve, when Steve arrived home bruised and bloodied. 

“He didn’t need to say it,” says Steve, head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “It was written all over his smug-ass face. You deserve this.”

He’d yelled his butt off about Steve making trouble. Shoved Steve around a bit, knowing he was in no shape to fight back.

“I told him to stick it. Left with basically nothing. Okay, the car, though that technically belongs to him, and… Shit, where am I gonna go?”

His tardy reality check hits like a baseball bat to the gut. Huddled against Eddie, he’s shaking, breaths hitching, hating himself for it. Eddie wraps his other arm across Steve and holds him. 

Simply holds him.

And yeah, he calms a little.

“Seriously, don’t sweat it,” says Eddie. “You can stay here till you’ve figured stuff out. Forever, if you need.”

Steve glances up, swipes angrily across his damp cheekbone. “Uh, earth to Eddie? Wayne?”

“He’ll cuss under his breath. And love the heck out of you. Already does. What’s one more overgrown brat?”

“C’mon, he’ll—"

“Look, I’m genuinely blown away. It’s New Year’s Eve and you’ve already nailed your resolution.”

Steve buries his face again, and… Woah! He’s laughing. Eddie’s kickass painkillers are working, or… Screw it, life never sucks so bad when he’s with Eddie. 

“Leaving home was last year’s resolution,” he mumbles toward Eddie’s armpit.

“Oh.” Eddie plants a soft kiss on Steve’s hair. 

“Yeeeeah. I’m only, like, 364 days late.”

***

Eddie’s still freaking that he should get Steve better help. However, Steve is a dead weight against him, knee curled in Eddie’s lap, and refuses to budge from the circle of Eddie’s arms.

New Year ticks by, lost in a gentle, lingering kiss. Eddie ghosts his thumb, featherlight, down the uninjured side of Steve’s face. Steve scrunches his good hand tightly in Eddie’s hair, deepening the kiss more passionately than—given Steve’s bruises—Eddie dares.

“Happy New Year, Babe,” whispers Eddie, when they break apart. A sneaky smile plays on Steve’s lips. “What?”

“I hit a winning streak,” says Steve, “I’ve smashed this year’s resolution already.”

“Huh?”

“Do I really have to spell it out, dipshit?”

Fixing deep in Steve’s eyes, Eddie’s grin spreads slowly. Dammit, this was going down as the worst and best New Year ever, and sure as heck the most shamefully sappy:

Oh, I get it. Falling in love.

“Back at ya,” he says, and tumbles forward into another kiss.

[janeway-lover]

hey. this might be a bit of an odd ask?

I know youve probably had a lot of asks about everything thats happened so ill try to keep this as brief as possible out of respect

My name is Erin. I only knew daisy/charlie for about a month (i think? time is hard) before everything happened. but they were always incredibly kind and supportive and just a wonderful person and friend.

for context Im a bit of an ametuer game developer. ive been working on this one game for a little while now, and in memory of their passing I decided to add a little easter egg where if youre really, really lucky you have the chance of running into a person named Charlie, and become friends with them, and if you do they are the nicest person possible (and can never get sick, unlike every other character in the game), just as my own way of getting back at the universe. Because. idk. its not much but it felt right to try and immortalize them in the only way i know how

but still, you knew them far better than I ever had the chance to, so it only felt right for me to ask you for permission, or at the very least let you know what i was doing, before i did anything like that. if you dont want me to do something like that, i would completely understand and respect that.

(and just. god im so sorry. i know you dont know me and i dont really know you but just. christ)

(also im sorry if this comes across as rude or insensative. i know youre probably going through a lot at the moment so if you dont want to answer this id understand. I know this is a bit of a weird coping mechanism but its nice to think that maybe this way a bit of them can live on, maybe even longer than me. who knows)

(this is getting rambly isnt it. i should just send this now. this is probably filled with grammar mistakes and makes no sense but i know that if i tried to edit this to be perfect i would be here forever because i know theres nothing i can really say that could help is there.)

that would be really sweet and i think you should do it. i think they'd've liked that.

[sidebaxolotl]

If this isn't too personal, how did you come to Christ?

If this comes off disjointed or rambly im sorry lol.

Uhh when me and Sibling were really young we did go to church. Did not understand anything that was going on but I do recall wanting to know more and wanting to know God. I understood the concept of sin and being a sinner and i know i didn't want to be that. I considered myself Christian at that time but I probably wasn't tbh. I did pray a lot tho.

Up until high school i was basically living that same nominally Christian life--i was aware of my bible, didn't read it. Family stopped going to church years ago. I was hanging around a lot of athiests and it was that cringe ahh era of anti-sjw youtube which had a lot of athiests as well. Didn't really agree with the anti Christian things they were saying but i was very bothered by the fact that i couldnt refute any of it. No one i knew irl could answer my questions and i couldn't find anything. It was extremely distressing for me. Like if God was real then it should be able to be demonstrated and proven. Theology should be able to be defended.

Became agnostic for like. 10 minutes. It just felt so wrong and bad like in my body that i was like Nope Not Doing that. Basically stayed Christian out of spite during this period of my life but desperately begged God to show me proof that He was real.

Skip to college: I joined a really solid college ministry and discovered based Christian tumblr. My mentor and a bunch of tumblr Christians were able to answer all my questions and teach me about the faith. I was serving in that church and consistently reading my bible and hearing the gospel. I wanted to believe so bad but I wasn't sure I did. Not bc i believed that Christianity wasnt true, but because I doubted my own belief in the truth.

I remember the moment I really believed though. I was chilling in my freshman dorm on my laptop, reading about apologetics. And i think id found like a list of arguments for the existence of God. I read them and like. Something clicked in my head. Like my whole world shifted. I ran outside and was just staring at everything like God made that!! And that!! And me!! Like the full weight that nothing could exist without God hit me with full force and I couldnt go back to thinking or even existing the way I had before. I also remember calling my parents and excitedly trying to explain everything I'd learned to them and also just repeating God is real over and over. I probably sounded crazy and they definitely did not understand what i was saying but they seemed happy for me. I knew if God was real then the gospel and Christianity had to be true. No other religion compared.

Not too long after that, the head pastor at the time called me and asked if I wanted to be baptized and join the church. I was still a little doubtful of my own belief--what i didnt realize was that I was putting my trust in God to be who He said he was and do what He said He said he would do despite my unbelief, which is what true faith entails--but I said yes. I met with my mentor and pastor. They shared the gospel with me again, and I was baptized.

I didnt realize i was gay until like a couple years after that but yeah thats the story :)

[idabbleincrazy]

Never a Wish Better Than This Ch. 5

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: E

Pairing: Clex

Word Count: 5177

Warnings: smut, porn with feelings, banter, foreplay, bottom!Lex, needy Lex, anal fingering, anal, emotional smut, coming untouched, vaguely implied past Lex/Bruce

Summary: Lex finally gives Clark the best gift he could ever give him: himself

A/N: yay! smut!! should be at least one more chapter for to wrap this story up before heading on to episode rewrites.

Clark's POV:

"So, we're not done for the - Spaceboy?!"

Oh, I want to bite that smirk off his lips.

"What, too soon?" Lex was looking way too smug for someone who came like a geyser after only a couple minutes with my tongue up his ass. He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Fine. Compromise. You're only Spaceboy in the bedroom; everywhere else, you're Farmboy. Although…maybe someday I'll catch you wearing a cowboy hat…then I'll just start playing Steve Miller."

"You are such a dork."

"A dork I may be, but I'm your dork now."

That catches my breath in my throat. I clutch him closer, loving the way his hardening cock twitches against my hip.

"Are you, Lex? Are you mine?"

I bite back the groan of complaint as his hand releases my dick, but keep my gaze locked on his face as he slides the hand into my hair, his lips hovering over mine as he stretches up towards me.

"I think I've been yours since you breathed life back into me, Clark."

"I'm yours, too, you know. Probably since that night in the field. You saved me that night, more than you know." I want to tell him about Lana's necklace, about the green Kryptonite, but it's not later yet, and it'll take too long, raise too many questions that'll take us rambling down so many paths. He promised me more, more sights and sounds and tastes and…more. And I want that more than I want to relieve my burden of secrets. So, I close the distance between our lips instead, kissing him bruisingly, if fleetingly. "I'll always be yours, Lex."

A growl of hungry approval from him, and his hand is back on my cock, fingers wrapped around the shaft and roughly jerking me back to hardness. His head tilts to the side, dipping, and my eyes flutter shut as I feel him try his hardest to suck a hickey into my invulnerable skin.

"Christ, Lex, feels good. Wish I could carry your mark on me."

I let my hands wander over his pale, smooth, flawless flesh as he works me between hand and mouth, slowly driving me insane all over again. One hand slips down over the curve of his ass, and I squeeze at the handful of firm, muscled Luthor-buttcheek, nudging him up against me to feel that hard cock press harder into me. God, I love the sounds he makes.

"I…oh, yeah,...I believe you said something about showing me more?"

Lex breaks away, panting, his eyes dark once more. Lex aroused is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my short life, and it's a sight I'll never grow tired of.

"Honestly, Clark, after what you've shown me, I'm not exactly certain what you haven't seen. How much have you done before, Clark?"

I knew that the talk of experience, or lack of it, would come up at some point; I'd just hoped it wouldn't be now. I'd hoped to have more time before explaining the Red K Summer of Kent. 

Nudging him back a bit, I sat up against the headboard, looking away from him when his gaze turned curious.

"I…remember that whole thing with Edge and that summer I spent in Metropolis, while you were missing?" A slow nod from him. "Well, I wasn't exactly myself."

"In the hazy memories, he called you Kal."

"Yeah, well…Kal - he's, he's me, without restraint. Without all the worries about right or wrong, without guilt or fear. Kal cared about Kal, about doing what felt good, without caring about anyone else."

"Like, your id?"

Lex sat up beside me, pressing himself against my side. There was a flash of concern across his face, and it warmed me that he cared, and that he wasn't bombarding me with questions about why, if I had been doing drugs, all the questions I'd had to field from Chloe and Lana when I came back.

"I guess…he was me, just, freer. I ran away 'cause I couldn't deal with causing mom to miscarry - long story", and, of course his eyes are full of questions now, "tomorrow, I promise. I didn't want the guilt and the pain, so I let Kal out.

"I've had feelings for you for so long, Lex. And, Kal, he let my curiosity take over. I experimented in Metropolis, realized I was definitely bisexual. Those clubs were full of beautiful men and women, and so many of them were willing to follow me along, no questions."

"They'd have to be blind to refuse you on your best behavior, Clark, I doubt anyone would stand a chance against an uninhibited Clark Kent. But, that doesn't exactly answer my original question…how far have you gone in your experimentations?"

I didn't think I was still capable of blushing at this point, but apparently, I was wrong.

"I've kissed, I've groped, I've gotten head, from men and women - but never anything as good as what you just did," that earned me another appearance of the smug smirk. "I've given blow-jobs, gone down on girls, fingered a few - vaginally and…anally. That's about it. Even then, I didn't want to go further than that. I've never gone all the way with anyone, male or female."

Lex looks surprised, pleasantly so.

"So, that was the first time you've ever rimmed someone?" I nod my head, letting him get the questions out that I know are brewing. "And no one ever did that for you? How?"

"I've watched a lot of porn over the past few years."

Lex let out a small laugh.

"Think what you'd be like with a skilled instructor, then. Christ, Clark. Fooled around but still technically a virgin, huh? Not even Alicia? I mean, honeymoon in Vegas…"

"Not even then. Almost, but that was mostly Kal, too, and I snapped out of it before…and it just didn't feel right. Not like it feels now. I guess, Kal or Clark, I just always wanted it to be you. I loved Lana, I loved Alicia, and they'll have a part of my heart forever, but they're not you."

Oh, it's been a long time since I've seen that look of wonder on his face, maybe since I stopped him from being run over by Morgan Edge's car. I don't get much time to soak it in before his mouth is on mine again, his lithe body sprawled halfway across mine as his tongue delves deep. 

"So…still want me, then? Not turned off by my sordid past?"

"I wasn't asking you to judge you, Clark. I was genuinely curious, needed to know how slow, how careful, I needed to take this." Lex is pressing soft kisses to my throat now, the words whispered against my skin. "And you could never turn me off, Clark; I've had my own wild years, my own sexual experiments. It's almost a rite of passage in my world. I was just so thrown by what we've done so far, and, I'll admit, kinda jealous."

"Really? I made you jealous?" 

"Yes, Clark. I'm quite often jealous with you, or maybe you haven't realized I have a tendency towards obsession when it comes to you? The thought of someone teaching you that…just, don't point out anyone you might recognize from that summer if we ever do the Metropolis club scene together."

"I'll keep that in mind. And you have nothing to be jealous of, Lex, none of them compare to you." 

My hands are rubbing up and down his back, each sweep down bringing my fingers back down to the firm cheeks of his ass. Lex's brushing kisses haven't stopped even through the talking and petting, his mouth slowly traveling down my neck and across my collarbone. I let my head fall back against the headboard, just enjoying the feeling of his lips and tongue on my skin, the slick trail his hard cock is leaving along my hip as he shifts to reach across me. On a downstroke, I let the fingers of one hand trail between the cleft of his ass, the tip of one digit glancing lightly over the puckered skin I'd focused so much eager attention on earlier. Apparently, that particular bit of skin is a definite trigger for Lex.

Lex's POV:

I feel the slightest pressure there, a tease of air more than anything, really, and a jolt of arousal courses through me, resharpening my focus from the indolent foreplay I've been engaging in. With a moan I can't contain, I straddle Clark, my attention shifting from the slow build up and idle, if informational, chatter. Our cocks brush against each other and Clark lets out a hiss at the contact, bucking up even as his hands clasp around my waist, tugging me down, grinding us closer together. 

"Enough talk", I manage to gasp out, "time for that more I promised you."

He lets out a groan of agreement. 

"Yeah, good plan. Show me, Lex, show me everything."

And I plan to. Mostly. I may have rebounded quickly from the first orgasm, but at twenty-five I'm not sure I've got more than one more round in me tonight. There's still time left in the day to give him one last present…

"Gonna worship you, Clark, like you deserve." I shimmy back a bit, straddling the breadth of his thighs now, and dip my head down to lick over his skin, tasting the sunshine and slight salt tang of his flesh, trailing my tongue down to one pebbling, dusky-brown nipple. He arches into the touch and I have to mumble around the pert nub as one hand slides up to cradle my head, oh so gentle, keeping me from moving too far. "Dreamt of this for years, baby, tasting you, feeling you, beneath me, above me, around me…in me."

His breath hitches at that, and I smirk around his nipple, knowing I've just thrown him for a loop. No one would ever dare to presume a Luthor would bottom, ever. And, typically, I don't, haven't for years. Too much control given over in that act, too much trust. But I don't want complete control here, want us, if nowhere else, to be equals here; he's trusted me, finally, with his secrets, and I need to give that trust in return, starting with this.

"Lex, God, you sure? We don't have to-"

"I'm sure, Clark. It's what I want, what I've wanted for so long." I can feel him tensing slightly beneath me, and I can't have that, so I push back against his hand; I know it's only with his allowance I'm able to pull back, his hand sliding down to the juncture of my shoulder as I meet his gaze. "This isn't just a fuck, Clark. There'll be no diamond cufflinks waiting on the dresser in the morning, no parting gifts. I love you, and I want this."

"I don't wanna hurt you, Lex. My strength…if I lose control…"

"You won't hurt me, Clark. Not more than I can take, anyways, and nothing permanent. Hell, I don't think you could bring yourself to cause me real physical pain even if I asked you to. You can let go a little with me, I bounce back quicker than most." 

"Have you ever…y'know, bottomed?" Aww, shy Clark is back, that blush I'll never grow tired of infusing his tan skin. And, wow, that blush travels further than I thought it could.

"Yeah. But it's been years. I haven't wanted to with anyone in a long time. The guys I've been with for the past few years, I didn't feel anything more than passing lust for them. This is so much more than just lust. Until you, I didn't think I'd ever want to bottom again. I want you in every way, Clark, starting with this."

There's a brief pause and then a nod, his body relaxing under me again as his fear abates. I smile down at him, losing myself in those bright, green eyes until his cock twitches against my stomach, pulling me back to the moment. 

"Okay, but...I mean, I know the mechanics of it, Lex, but…I don't…what if I'm not…not good, or-"

"I'll guide you, Clark. And, trust me, baby, if earlier was anything to go by, you'll be better than perfect." God, sex-god and tender virgin rolled into one, and mine, here, in the bed I insisted on setting up personally. I'm torn between worshiping this exquisite creature further and just impaling myself on his cock with just the brief stretching his tongue provided to ease the way. My cock aches at the thought of the pleasurable burn Clark's thick length will bring, swaying me closer towards just getting on to the main event. His face is so open right now, lust and love and confidence and uncertainty all clear in his wide eyes and small smile. "Christ, don't look at me like that, or I'll cum again before you're even in me."

"Wouldn't want that, would we?"

This boy's gonna give me whiplash. 

"No, we certainly wouldn't, Clark."

Abandoning my plan to taste and tease every considerable inch of his body, I roll off of Clark, stretching out in the empty space beside him, smirking at the noise of confusion he makes. 

"Want you on top of me, baby. Been too long since I've had anything close to as big as you in me for me to ride you just yet, and I wanna see your face when you fuck me."

Clark rolls to his side, his hand cupping my face like he's holding a wounded bird, eyes dark and serious.

"Not fuck, remember? Making love."

Making love", I assent, turning to press a kiss into his palm. "Gonna need lube…am I right in assuming condoms won't be necessary? I haven't gotten sick since I lost my hair."

"I don't get sick, ever."

"Good. Wanna feel you, just you." I let out a groan as his hand slides down my body to grasp my cock. There's a cheeky grin on his face as he jerks me, exquisitely slow. "Lube, Clark…bedside table…bottom drawer."

I bite back the whimper of loss as he rolls away, off the bed. 

"Jeez, Lex! Just in case you need it. Be safe, have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Lex." His brow is raised as he waves the sheet of stationary at me. "That doesn't leave much out, now does it? Would you have really just let me bring girls up here to sleep with? Or guys?"

"I wouldn't have wanted to know about it, but I really do want this to be your own private place away from everything, Clark. And, I figured it would have been better for you to be prepared, if you ever brought Lana, or someone, over. I'd do anything for you, Clark, and anything necessary to protect you, even against yourself, haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Think I'm getting the picture." He looked back into the drawer, a nervous chuckle falling from his lips. "God, how many kinds of lube do they make? And, good guess on the condom size."

"Looking at you now, in all your glory, I think they might've ended up a bit tight." I should've grabbed the lube myself, and avoided all this time-wasting chatter. "I'll introduce you to the varied world of flavored lube later, Clark, just grab the blue bottle and get back up here. Need you, now."

As Clark complies, I shift on the bed, glad I picked a mattress nearly as grand as my own, spreading my legs wide enough for him to settle between when he climbs back up. I feel the heat of his gaze as he looks over my body, eyes falling shut for a moment after he reaches the point between my thighs. Maybe that heat wasn't just imagined, and I'll have to remember to ask him the full extent of his powers after I see a flicker of something in his eyes when they open again. 

I grab the bottle from him, pleased to see he's unwrapped it in that special speed of his, and take his hand in mine. Deftly popping the lid with my thumb, I pour a sizable amount of lube over his fingers. I know it's gonna be a four-finger kinda job to get me even nearly ready for his girth, and I feel myself clench in aroused anticipation as he rubs his fingers together to warm the slick gel.

"Please."

His clean hand soothes along my inner thigh as he trails sticky fingers down over my balls, along my perineum. His eyes snap back up to mine as I let out a hushed gasp at the feel of a digit circling around my rim. That seducer look is back on his face, a fallen angel seeking pleasure from a corrupt humanity, lips parted with panting breaths as a finger nudges against me.

"Open up for me, Lex. Let me in."

And I do. I stretch my legs further apart, forcing my muscles to relax and allow the almost foreign intrusion. And, oh, God, so good. Just knowing it's him, his finger slipping inside me so gently, instead of my own, instead of one of the faceless women I'd allowed to tease back there as I pictured his face behind closed eyelids. I arch my head back against the pillow, eyes closing, just enjoying the feel of Clark's index finger easing in and out of me. Already not enough.

"More, baby."

He groans and on the next push in I feel the slight burn of stretching muscle. I bear my hips down, taking the two thick fingers into me faster than he was willing. Need his cock soon, can't stand the wait as he exacts such tortuous care and diligence. Wonder if mind-reading is one of his abilities as a third soon pushes past the clenching ring of muscle; more delicious stretchburnpaineuphoria, deeper now, as space is made within, tip of a finger glancing over my prostate, needle-sharp pleasure bolting up my spine.

"Oh, God, Clark!"

Have to clamp a hand around my cock, squeeze until the overwhelming need to cum subsides. Teasing lick of tongue over the weeping head prolonging my fight to regain control. 

"Fuck, you're evil."

"Couldn't help it, Lex. Needed to taste you again. Jesus. You're just so fucking beautiful, baby; love you like this best, I think. Won't know for sure till I'm in you, till you're cumming on my cock." A desperate whine fills my ears, I think it came from me. His fingers are still pumping steadily into me, tugging at the rim briefly before plunging back in. "Do you need more, Lex? Is three enough? Don't…can't hurt you, baby."

"You won't. One more…I can take it…one more, and spread them a bit. And then I want you in me."

There's a moment of resistance as his pinky tries to join the others, and I will myself to relax further, pushing down against his hand, glad that Clark is quick on the uptake as he stills and lets me take the digit in on my own. One huge hand on my thigh, spreading me as open as I can go in this position, his gaze drifting back down to where he's stretching me, a low growl of hunger falling from his lips.

"God, I'm so tempted just to eat you out again, Lex. Have you cum on just my tongue again."

That does it. Control, meet window. Can't stop the stream of babble from flowing, hips working against his fingers as he slows his thrusts.

"Jesus fucking Christ, now! Now, Clark, in me…evil little shit, fuck me! Need you, baby…make love to me."

"Yeah. Shit, yeah. I've got you, Lex."

Pathetically needy sound I didn't even know I was capable of making escapes at the loss of his fingers, feeling empty and hollow as his hands tug my legs up, pushing trembling limbs up towards my chest, breathless command to hold them there forcing my own hands into action. Twitch of my cock against my stomach at the sound of lube slicking skin, snick of a cap and thud of the bottle landing somewhere on the floor. 

Blunt pressure against my loosened hole makes me hiccup a breath, and above me, his face is so young again, so innocent as he teeters on this cusp of adulthood. I feel like a teenager again, fifteen and in the arms of the classmate I once thought I'd love forever. For a millisecond, sapphire replaces emerald as my eyes blur with unbidden tears, broad body hovering still over me. Thumb brushes away the tear that escapes, and I blink away the rest. The other disappears, Clark remains. Salt on my tongue as that thumb brushes over my parted lips, his head dipping down to press a benediction of a kiss to my forehead.

"Where'd you go, baby?"

Shake of head, voice thick with time as I answer.

"Doesn't matter. It's the past. I'm here, right here, with my future."

"I love you, Lex."

"Show me." 

A smile gracing his pouty mouth as he braces his hands on either side of my head, and pushes forward.

"Slow", I utter the warning as the head of his cock breaches me, stretching me beyond the girth of his preparation. He heeded, easing himself into me just an inch before stilling, his breath fanning across my face in harsh puffs. Just seven or so more to go. God. "More, Clark, don't stop. Just slow. Till you're all the way in me, 'kay?"

"Yeah. God…so tight, Lex. Lemme know…if I hurt…hurt you."

"It's a good hurt, baby. The best hurt."

He moaned and slid in further, his substantial girth consistently gliding into me on the copious amount of lube. And, God, was I glad I made him use four fingers. There was no doubt I'd still feel this in the morning. 

In and in and in, until I felt him, thighs flush against mine. I let my hands slide from where I was gripping at my legs, to grip even tighter at his back, nails digging into undamageable skin for purchase as he bottomed out, panting for breath as my body fought to adjust to such unbelievable fullness. He held himself over me, his face swimming into focus as I forced my eyes open. When had they closed? 

"Baby? Lex? Did I hurt you? God…ohhh…te-tell me I didn't hurt you."

"Never, Clark. You could never hurt me. Not like this. Feels…Jesus…so good, baby. So full. Never…ahh…never felt like this before. It's never felt so right. Perfect." As I became used to the stretch and the burn abated, I moved testingly, my legs wrapping around his waist. The change in position pulled him in impossibly further. "Ohhh! Oh, God, move, Clark…need you to move!"

"Yesss."

His lips closed the small distance between us to capture mine in a scorching kiss as he pumped his hips, my groan muffled by his mouth. He kept his pace slow, and I knew it was just as much a sign of his care as anything. Keeping slow so as not to lose control over his strength. 

He could have torn me to shreds for all I would have noticed, my brain simply a running loop of in me, Clark Kent is inside me. Lord knows what kind of noises I was emitting as he drove me to the brink of combustion, every ounce of my remaining willpower directed on holding back the threatening orgasm, needing this to last as long as possible; eternity would make a good start. 

His voice filtered in through the haze of arousal, bringing me back to the surface.

"Love you, Lex. God, love you. So beautiful, so perfect. Knew you would be, baby. Oh, fuck, love the way your ass feels…so tight. So good. Shit, makes me want to lose myself in you, just let go. Can't…mmmh…need…"

"Do it, Clark. Let go for me. I can take it." I wanted to feel him, his glory, unrestrained, free. "I don't break easy, baby. Give me everything."

Clark shifts with a growl and quickens his pace, the angle thudding the head of his cock into my prostate on every thrust. He shuffles closer, bending me nearly in half, his mouth clamping down on mine, tongue leaving nothing unexplored as he smothers my cries of pleasure. My cock aches, trapped between us, riding the ridges of his abs as he rides into me endlessly. I wish I could match his stamina. Turn my head to the side for a breath, pressing hot kisses to his throat and shoulder as I clutch him closer, heels digging into the round globes of his ass. 

"Fuck, Clark…not gonna last. Gotta cum, baby. Shit, Clark, fuck me harder. Wanna feel you…feel you cum, filling me up. Oh, God, harder, make me cum."

Short burst of speed, barrage of thrusts abusing my prostate, his breath loud and hot in my ear as he enfolds me in his arms, lifting me up. Tendons strain as he holds me close to him in an angle that should be impossible, arms and legs wrapped around him like a baby koala, and I should be embarrassed at my desperate clinging, but I'm beyond caring about anything other than the feel of his dick hammering into me and my own swollen length striving for release. 

"Cum for me, Lex", he whispers in my ear, voice rough and deep, a man's voice now. "God, baby, lemme feel you cum."

The most unhinged, animal sound rips through me at the command, and I stiffen, muscles clenching around him so hard it would have hurt anyone else. Wet splashes between us, sticking us together, cock spurting thick bullets of cum as he fucks me through my release. 

"Shit. Oh, shit! Fuck, so beautiful when you cum, Lex…so beautiful. So fucking tight around my cock, so perfect. Christ! Gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up. Love you so much, Lex."

Wordless moan of discordant syllables uttered into his flesh as I fight for the coherence to echo his sentiment. Hips still pistoning in and out of me as he tries to make it last, but even his stamina must come to a plateau at some point. With muscles turning quickly to putty in his encompassing embrace, I clench around him once more, finding my voice at last.

"Give it to me, Clark."

A broken groan sounds and he pumps into me one last time, cum hotter than I've felt before spilling into me, filling me well past full to where I can feel it leaking back out and down my thighs as his climax stretches out into forever. Incongruously gentle kisses press to the side of my face, my temple, my scalp, as still he cums. 

I lift my head from his shoulder, into the rain of kisses, and see the ceiling much closer than it should be. Clutch tighter on instinct, fear of heights, a small itch at the back of my brain.

"Uh, Clark?"

"Mmmh?" 

"Are-are we floating?"

Spill of seed tapers off as my question brings him back to clarity. 

"Shit!" 

Lurch of stomach as he rolls me over in a burst of inhuman speed before we land with a heavy thunk on the bed, wooden frame creaking in offense. And he's still in me.

Absurdity strikes and manic laughter rings in the air before I can rein it in. He's looking up at me more than a little dazed and confused, and utterly debauched, and I lean down to capture his mouth in a sloppy kiss before untangling my limbs from around him and sitting up. The movement jostles his still half-hard cock within me, and I hope he doesn't catch the fleeting wince as the girthy length twitches. I know I'm grinning like a loon, jaw threatening to crack at how wide my lips are spread. 

Clark Kent loves me. Clark Kent made love to me. Clark Kent is an alien from a planet that no longer exists, and can survive car crashes, bullets, crazed mutated humans, can lift at least my hundred and eighty pounds like it's nothing, can move faster than the eye can see. Oh, and floats. And fucks like Zeus on steroids.

"Um, Lex, you okay?"

"Peachy." I hiccup a laugh, trying to hold back the return of mania. "You?"

"I think I've cum most of my brains out, but other than that…amazing. Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little…I don't know…shellshocked?"

"Just a little reality catching up." I break the concerned gaze he has trained on me and glance at the clock; 11:59. "Happy birthday, Clark. So…floating?"

Oh, that fucking blush again. If I weren't so wrung out from two rounds in as many hours, I'd probably be hard again just from that. And my cock does make a valiant effort, twitching feebly against Clark's stomach.

"Yeah…it usually only happens when I'm asleep, when I dream."

"Naughty dreams?"

"Uh-huh."

"Huh, hormone-based powers. That must've made puberty fun. But, we'll save the in-depth scientific analyzing for tomorrow. Wanna bask."

Reluctantly, I ease myself off his cock, still somewhat jelly-legged, and slide off him to the side. Immediately, his arm slips under me, tugging me close against his side. Rallying strength, I toss my arm over his waist, heedless of the mixture of cum and sweat sticking to the golden skin.

"I never thought sex could be like that, Lex. So perfect, so mind-blowing."

"It's never been quite that spectacular for me either, Clark. Think it's the fact that it's you. That it's love, along with the lust. That, I think, makes all the difference."

"Whatever the reason, I'm glad tonight happened. All of it." He lets loose a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Sleepy?"

"Yeah. You wore me out, stud."

Undignified snort followed by a groan of bone-deep exhaustion, the night's activities taking their toll at last. 

"The day I wear you out will be the day my father cuts his mortal thread."

"Please, don't mention your father in bed ever again." Well, that made his erection wilt. At least I know I won't have to worry about him pulling a Victoria. "No mentioning of any parents at all when we're naked."

"Duly noted."

I yawn into his shoulder and before my mouth even closes, he's maneuvered us beneath the plush covers, the lights extinguished. His cum is still dripping from my used hole, and I feel slightly empty without his girth stretching me, but I'm just too damn comfortable like this to bother an attempt at a clean up. Sheets can be changed, muscles will retract back into place. His warmth surrounding me is all I really need right now.

"So, tell me, Clark," I voice one last curiosity before I allow slumber to claim me. "When you blew out the candles, what did you wish for?"

If it's at all within my power, I'll make it come true.

"This, Lex. I wished for this."

*****

@leatafandom

[go-to-the-mirror]

look, hear me out, hot jon ri- [EXTENDED SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PIPE MURDER]

@a-mag-a-day

One thing you should know about me is that i will defend jonathan sims head archivist of the magnus institute london to my dying bloody breath. Another thing you should know about me is that i can do nuance, i just don't want to a lot of the time.

But. I will, put my... love... for the Jarchivist... to one side. sort of. a little bit. Look, you can't be unbiased, an attempt is all you're gonna get, mate.

But like, let it be known that I have talked extensively about scrutiny on my story, and most of it wasn't "but i love him, so, <3" actually most of it was "headinhands, jon, why"

Like, yk? Why didn't we see this coming, he's an Avatar, he's a monster, it's not making what he's doing better -- obviously -- but like, I feel like it's like... it's like... yk? we knew it in a theoretical way, and then we're like, oh, yeah, he doesn't get protagonist privileges.

I'm just rambling at this point, so, let's get onto the relisten, I guess, and I'll freak out there

ARCHIVIST The tape recorder. [SUDDEN INHALATION FROM BASIRA] BASIRA Get ready. Any idea what’s coming?

i think it's neat that they're realising that tape recorder on = (rqg pessimistic train driver voice) DOOOOOOM!

ARCHIVIST No, I… I think… [Calling out] Excuse me?

Jonathan "I don't think it's me doing it" Sims when he literally calls the guy back, fuck Jon, that's not okay!

SHIPHAND I don’t know you. ARCHIVIST [Archly] But I know you.

[ID: Marina and the Diamonds Smirk Meme /End ID]

look, hear me out-

LIKE OK HRHNR ITS COOL OKAY! IT'S COOL! IT'S AWFUL, BUT IT'S COOL!!

BASIRA Jon, I’m not sure about this. ARCHIVIST I am. Tell me what happened.

(tim voice) don't do it.

like, jon, jon, no, fuck? what the fuck, jon headinhands, headinfuckinghands

this is the theme of this ramble, okay? just headinhands but also his voice tho-

ARCHIVIST Whenever you’re ready.

it's so creepy, he's so creepy! that's just like- "whenever you're ready" SPOOOKY!!!! im kicking my legs i just think it's NEAT oKAY

The thing that was grabbing him, trying to reach down his throat and pull him apart… it was a pattern. Diamonds and swirls and colours that seemed to imprint itself upon his skin even as it pushed itself messily into his nose and mouth.

THAT'S SO COOL! I mean, uh, sucks to be him, but that's hnnrhrhnrnh <3333 it's so spooky and weird and I love it.

I followed slowly, unsteadily, but got there just in time to see Salesa throw both him and what looked like a blank rug over the side and into the ocean.

So, the pattern comes from the rug and then... attaches itself to people and/or things? That's neat!

He was drunk for the next two days, and we kept sailing on towards Cape Town.

:D I was so happy when I heard this on my first listen :3 like yay! South Africa is mentioned :3 I'm South African :3

Come to think of it, Floyd might have an Afrikaans accent. Don't quote me on that, I'm not sure, but I think so.

There was a storm over the island. I don’t know where it came from, it can’t have been more than a minute since I’d last looked at it, an-and the skies were completely clear. But now it was covered in lightning, the rolling clouds above it dark and angry.

So, the camera was keeping the island not sinking.

So I jumped ship the next chance I got. And I have tried ever since then to leave those memories behind me.

Would be lovely if someone *cough cough* Jon *cough cough* would let him. He's going to have nightmares about this till Jon dies. Like, poor him. That sucks, like even with Jess, she was leaving it behind, she was getting better and he took that from her. The bastard, christ Jon, you can't just do this to people, you can't just ruin their bloody lives because you're feeling peckish.

ARCHIVIST [Soothingly] You can go. FLOYD Erm… I, I don’t… ARCHIVIST Thank you Floyd. You’ve been… very helpful. FLOYD C— ARCHIVIST It’s alright, Floyd. You just… need a break.

I just like the way he says it, when Jon's being all monster-y, in this episode, sometimes when he's talking to Helen, I think, in MAG 187, and of course in the Crew Retrospective (speaking of, if you have stuff about the crew retrospective, please tag me, I want to see it), it's so suave, and for what. Charisma of 1, unless he's being... evil. I love him, I love that, it's so bloody suave, and charismatic, and smooth. He knows exactly what he's doing, he's in his element. Oh god, he's in his element.

Look, he may be slightly evil, but he's doing it with style, damn.

Like "It's alright, Floyd. You just... need a break" and it's like!!! HMNnn!!! No, Jon! You shouldn't be doing this to people, but also like hnhrhfhhnh so fucking cool!

ARCHIVIST Yes, Basira, he is. And I am sorry about that. But we needed it. Anyway you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams? BASIRA No. ARCHIVIST No. She got the job done, and didn’t care about the cost. BASIRA But I thought you did. ARCHIVIST … I had to know, Basira. BASIRA It wasn’t right. ARCHIVIST You could have stopped me.…But you wanted to know as well, didn’t you?

Mr. Jarchivist Sims, your flimsy rationalizations are visible from space, you didn't want to be like Gertrude, you don't want to be like Gertrude, good lord, man, just... good lord.

I don't know what to say, I'm shaking this episode vigorously /pos

Ramble over! See y'all tomorrow where I'll be once again setting aside my flimsy belief (not even a belief) that Jonathan Sims did NOTHING WRONG if you ignore everything he did wrong.

End recording.

[starheirxero]

Firstly, I am glad you enjoy my silly little words! :D And you are really, really fucking cool!! I love seeing everything you post, from thoughts and rambles to even just the things you reblog, and what you say about them in the tags!! I am eating it all up-

As for the Laes episode…I AM GOING SO FUCKING INSANE- IF I COULD, I WOULD RUN UP MY WALLS AND TOSS MY PHONE AROUND LIKE A CHEW TOY-

THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS SUCH A FUCKED UP MESS- IT IS SO TOXIC, IT IS SO TRAGIC, IT IS MY FAVORITE THING- EVERYTHING INVOLVING THESE TWO TOGETHER MAKES ME SCREECH IN EXCITEMENT-

WHERE THE HELL DO I EVEN BEGIN??! WHERE CAN I BEGIN??? THERE'S SO MUCH GROUND TO COVER!!!

For one, Lunar sought out the conversation!!! They didn't have to, they could've simply walked away, yet they saw him and called out his name, asking him what he's doing with nothing but curiosity! Insisting on talking to him even! There was no fear, no hesitation even! WHAT IF A PART OF THEM KNOWS, THAT ECLIPSE COULD'VE BEEN SOLAR- WHAT IF THAT REALIZATION WAS WHAT MADE THEM REACH OUT, WHAT TOOK AWAY THEIR FEAR-

They did not fall for his taunts either- They did not get angry, only showing exasperation- They are so used to this, so familiar with this sharade, now that the terror is gone- DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW PHYSICALLY ILL THIS MAKES ME/POS

LUNAR TRYING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE'S DOING, ECLIPSE TELLING THEM, THEIR "SMALL MIND" WOULD NOT UNDERSTAND, LUNAR ASKING HIM HOW MANY VOLTS ARE IN A LIGHTING BOLT- Jesus christ, there's something so tragically desperate in there, even though I might just read too much into it- Eclipse always called them an idiot, always called them stupid and small minded- It was his go-to insult- And here Lunar is, trying to prove that they are smart enough to understand, trying to get him to see it, to see them- Please, I can't-

The way Eclipse keeps calling himself a copy- Everytime he comes back, he feels like less- He sees himself as less everytime, to the point of refusing to see himself as the "real Eclipse" - Lunar told him, that he is a real person, yet he refuses to hear it- THEY CAN'T JUST DO THAT, OW-

THE FACT, THAT LUNAR TOLD ECLIPSE FACE TO FACE THAT THEY ARE TERRIFIED OF HIM, THAT HE TAKES THEM BACK TO THE TIME, IN WHICH LUNAR WAS A TOOL- I cannot tell you, how emotional this makes me! Lunar was created as a brother, with the knowledge of being a tool. with the knowledge, that they are disposable, if they mess up, something they told old Moon-

They lived with the knowledge, that their brother, who they were made to love, didn't love them back, didn't care- Monty told Eclipse he'd get the star, if he killed Lunar, Eclipse not even hesitating, and then they tried to tell them, Eclipse didn't care- Except they knew. They knew he didn't, they've always known, but what else did they have?

They tried to do the show in hopes of making them happy, of fixing things. Sun and Moon, who used to be so far apart, grew closer through their show, even making Moon see his faults. So why should this be different? They thought, Eclipse would finally be their brother, just like they had been his. They thought, they could finally be happy, finally have everything they wanted.

Except they didn't. The thing that was meant to bring them closer broke them apart completely. Eclipse became more irritated, which made him drop his mask faster, which made him snap. And of course Lunar snapped back, until eventually, things spiraled out of control, until Eclipse went too far, and pushed Lunar over the edge, causing them to leave.

Eclipse called them a "science experiment gone rouge", and Lunar accepted that, because they know. It's all they've ever been to him, they are well aware of that fact. Their quiet acceptance of it is honestly heartbreaking.

And of course their acceptance causes Eclipse to snap, causes him to get defensive! He doesn't understand. He thinks, everyone is out to get him. He is so used to that, to being hated and despised, partially just for existing. The idea, of someone just sitting down and talking to him, trying to understand his perspective and telling him theirs is such an abstract concept to him!

And the there's Lunar's apology. They don't forgive him, because he hasn't earned it yet, but neither do they blame him. They actively acknowledge their own mistakes, apologizing for breaking his trust, and not doing what they were told, because there must've been a reason for it. Even trying to explain to him why they went against it, telling him their thought process!

Yet all this only causes more confusion for Eclipse, so he puts the blame on them, actively trying to make them snap, to lash out! Yet they don't fall for it, not anymore. They can see his actions for what they are now, because they have done the same thing! They've shouted at him before too, trying to get a reaction out of him!

AND THE THERE'S A FUCKING LINE THAT BROKE MY HEART- Lunar telling Eclipse, that he will probably hate them till the day they both die. And they accept it. They simply accept it, because there's nothing they can do, and they know that. If he didn't love them before, he probably never will. And the fact that he hasn't harmed them, hasn't lashed out yet, proves that he either wants something, or doesn't care anymore.

In their eyes, Eclipse will only ever bring harm upon them. In their eyes, the only reasons he wouldn't is, so he can either use them, or because he doesn't care even the tiniest bit about them, not even enough to hate them.

But there's also this line: " I would love to do nothing more than condemn you" He would love to, but he doesn't. Because I think he can't. And it is breaking me-

"I didn't act in self-defense. I acted the way, you did to me" Lunar realized, what happened- They realized, that they fell into the cycle of abuse, and now they are determined to break it- They won't be like him, they refuse- CAN YOU HEAR MY HEART BREAKING YET-

Then there's Eclipse's pride- And you already said it, but BY GOD- He is only proud of them, when they act like him. He is only proud of them, when they do exactly what he wants them to do. He was only proud of them, because they continued this dance of anger and hatred the two have found themselves in…

But the one thing that really got me was Lunar's question. They wonder, why they were ever scared of him, even seeming amused by it- It's so symbolic! It feels as though they grew from a child who saw a monster, to an adult seeing only a man in disguise! Even boldy asking him, if will hit them again.

And he doesn't. He acts like he "doesn't have time for that", but I think he doesn't want to.

And so Lunar watches him from afar, for just a moment, thinking he might have changed this time.

I AM GOING SO FUCKING INSANE, I CANNOT- I LOVE THIS SO MUCH- I WILL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS-

I do want to point something out though!

Something I realized, while reminiscing about the Lunar and Eclipse show.

The thing is, that things would've always turned out that way. Eclipse's heart has already hardened, he was pushed over the edge, before Lunar was even created. He learned long ago, that love will bring him nowhere, that it will only break him apart. So instead he learned to bite, to tear his teeth through the people around him, before they could hurt him. Things never could've ended differently. Sure, Lunar could've stayed, but besides how unhealthy this would've been, theres the high chance, they might've ended up like Lunara. Eclipse was lonely, so instead of actually getting rid of Lunar, he likely just would've reset them, creating a cycle of it happening again, and again, and again, likely turning Eclipse more irritated and violent in the process, until Lunar would've snapped. Just a bit of angst, to end it off-

-Stardust

YESYYEYSYEYSYYESS YOU GET IT YOU GET ITTTT!!!!!!!

THE WHOLE EPISODE WAS SO MANY LAYERS AND THE GROWTH AND THE TRAGEDGY DOWN TO ITS VERY CORE AND ITS SO AAOAUAGGGGHHHH

YOU SUMMED IT ALL UP PERFECTLY IT MAKES ME UNWELL!!!! Lunar has grown so much and admitted so many things I truly didn't know if they'd ever admit out loud AND THEY EVEN SAID THE HEAVIER STUFF TO ECLIPSE'S FACE TOO!!!!!

THAT THEY WERE SCARED AND THEY DID BETRAY HIS TRUST AND THEY THOUGHT THE SHOW WOULD HELP AND THEY'LL LIKELY HATE HIM FOREVER AND THEY SAID IT ALL WITHOUT ANY SHAME DESPITE HOW MANY TIMES ECLIPSE TRIED TO TEAR THEM DOWN AAUAAHAGGGGGHHHHHH

AND ECLIPSE GHOD YEA ECLIPSE. I CAN'T EVENNN HIS WHOLE VIBE WAS SO TERRIBLY FASCINATING TO WATCH WHY IS HE LIKE THIS /POS

GRABS YOU BY THE SHOULDERS AND SHAKES YOU AROUND!!!!!!! THEY MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAAAAMMMMM AAUAGAGARRRERAAAAAA

[therattsden]

Did a little Doug Rattboy writing, you can find it here or under the cut! Got the inspiration for a bit of employee Doug moments. Just a lil guy.

Doug had always hated networking events. Technically this was more of a convention, one focused primarily on his own specialties of computers and code, something he was comfortable with - but with it being a social event and all, he was expected to be friendly. After all, he was here with his colleague Dr. Henry Hartless on behalf of the company. He was supposed to be there when Henry gave his little presentation, meant to be nothing more than someone to keep an eye on the man if their supervisor was to be believed. Given his usual hesitation to even smile at work, however, said supervisor had ribbed at him before they left, telling him to ‘play nice’. He would have the sense to be offended if he thought it would help, but he knew it wouldn’t. 

However, Henry had long since abandoned his side, rambling something about a seminar on the future role of artificial intelligence in the workplace. He wasn’t particularly surprised with the other’s interest given Mr Johnson’s insistence towards working on it starting a few years ago, but Aperture was likely to be far ahead with their core experiments. Maybe, Doug considered, Henry just wanted to attend in order to laugh about how out of date their information was. Doug himself wasn’t a fan of the project, however. With that in mind he had decided not to go, despite the thought of being alone making his blood pressure spike.

“For Christ sake, Doug, you’ll be fine on your own.” Henry had said, adjusting his dark coat before checking his Casio calculator watch. Doug had always considered it odd-looking on the man’s thin wrist, though he never commented on it. 

“Just go out there and talk to some people. I’ll meet you at the banquet in two hours.” His expression must have soured given the sigh Henry gave as he patted him on the shoulder. ”Have fun with it, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” How laughable, given just what the man could get up to in his spare time.

That had been a while ago, and since then, Doug had found a table with trays of finger foods to snack on in the corner of the room. This was it, he'd thought, this was where he could hide, maybe even use eating as an excuse not to talk. So there he stood in his little piece of the well lit room, thankful his height and timid demeanor made him less noticeable to the other convention-goers.

Well. Most of them, anyways. It was as he picked up another tiny triangular sandwich that he noticed the feeling of someone staring at him. Given his own usual paranoia, he considered himself quite good at noticing stuff like that, but to look around would make himself stand out. So in his typical fashion, he kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone who passed as he nibbled on the food. Maybe they'd ignore him in favor of someone more interesting?

No dice. He heard soft footsteps making their way toward him, first spotting the man’s shoes out of the corner of his eye. Doug couldn’t help the brief ‘oh crap' moment that followed, knowing he would need to look up to avoid looking odder than he already must… Finally, he brought his gaze up to the slightly younger man before him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression; It must have looked funny, if the man's friendly little laugh signified anything. 

“Hey there,” The stranger spoke, his voice soothing in a way Doug very much needed at the moment. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are those sandwiches any good?”

He eyed the others ID badge briefly, noticing the Black Mesa logo with a newly found worry. Even talking to him could spell out disaster if anyone back at the facility found out. But after a moment of waiting for the guy to recognize his badge and realize they shouldn’t be talking, he noted he wasn’t going to. Fine, he just needed to play it cool. Maybe he didn’t know of the company rivalry, he thought to himself. After all, he looked about as young as he was.

“... They’re fine.” He finally managed to mumble as he avoided eye contact, taking another bite just to have a reason not to speak.

“Oh?” The sympathetic look on the man’s face made him think inwards just what it was about. Perhaps he looked pitiful, ready to melt into a little puddle of primordial ooze and sandwiches destined to seep into the cheap carpets that lined the convention hall. He couldn’t help but try to change his own expression at the thought, managing a tightlipped smile and brief eye contact.

“... Yes.” He was keeping it short and to the point, hoping maybe it would help the stranger get the hint to leave him alone. 

Evidently not, given his response. “Great, lemme try one.” He had a smile on his face as he grabbed one of the ham sandwiches between three fingers, taking a bite and swallowing. “Hey, you were right! These are pretty good. Much better than the last conference.” He chuckled warmly to himself, as though in on a joke Doug wasn’t privy to. “I’m Eli Vance by the way.”

Doug inwardly cringed as he watched the other hold out a hand for him to shake. He’d almost become paralyzed with thoughts of how it would look to shake hands so casually with someone who worked under their competitor, especially if Henry saw. It’d be over for him. It felt like all eyes were on him, observing his response, suffocating him, waiting for him to screw up-

And just like that, as though noticing his absolute reluctance to even lift a finger, Dr. Vance raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck as his smile faltered. He must be trying to play it off.  “Ah, I didn’t mean to assume…” How strange, he thought. Had his voice quieted?

Doug glanced away from his kind face, finally looking around for anyone who might be actively watching their exchange. It didn’t seem like it. “It’s fine.” He visibly winced. Did he sound too snappy? “I’m… Dr. Rattmann.” 

Vance blinked, his smile returning. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dr. Rattmann. You know, it’s just occurred to me that I’ve never met someone from Aperture before? I’ve heard some crazy th-”

“I’m not going to talk about Aperture or what we do there with you, if that’s what you’re about to ask.” Doug interjected, bringing his free arm around himself in a self-soothing manner. It would be a cold day in hell before he would even consider getting himself in trouble for such a thing. He paused briefly however, realizing how rude he must sound, before speaking again. “... I apologize. It’s just company policy.”

With a confidence he could only wish to have, his supposed scientific rival waved him off. “No, I get it. I’ve heard your NDA contracts are pretty lengthy… Are there any topics you are willing to discuss? Or are you just planning on hanging out in the corner here alone?”

Doug considered that briefly. He would much rather be alone or, at the very least, not speaking at length with someone from Black Mesa. So he gave a noncommittal shrug, glancing away again to look out for Henry.. “... I’m waiting for my colleague. He should be back any moment, and I would rather not have to explain myself…”

“Ah… I see.” Dr. Vance gave a well-intentioned little laugh, trying to ease the tension before he would take his exit. “Well, it was wonderful meeting you, Dr. Rattmann. I’ll leave you to your uh… Sandwiches…” 

He hummed in response, popping another sandwich into his mouth to avoid saying goodbye. Dr. Vance, thankfully, took that as a good time to wander off. 

It was a few minutes before Doug noticed Henry wandering the convention hall, likely in search of him. Why his colleague would think to search for him in the middle of the room, he could only guess, but he released a sigh of relief in knowing he hadn't been seen. Rather than let him continue to aimlessly search, he worked up the nerve to raise his hand above his head and wave. “Dr. Hartless, over here!”

Henry turned to face him with a mix of relief. “Jeez Doug, thought I lost you for a second there!” He called out, making his way over with a sense of glee.  “You know, you should’ve come to the seminar; it was fantastic to see how far behind everyone is, very eye-opening. Did you know these dunces only just now started thinking an AI should have a body to show real intelligence? Hah, if they only knew how much further we’ve gotten already with that premise!” 

Doug wasn’t so sure, but rather than say it out loud, he simply nodded. He had tried voicing his worries to Henry regarding the cores and the GLaDOS project that had recently started. Each time he had been brushed off as a ‘worrywart’, supposedly spoiling Henry’s and the team’s fun. Why bother bringing it up now? “Isn’t it almost time for your presentation?” He asked, changing the subject with a tilt of his head.

“Huh? Oh uh…” The balding man checked his watch and furrowed his brow. “Yeah, we should probably start heading over… You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. It’s not like I’ll be doing any of the talking...” He muttered, wiping the breadcrumbs from his hands. “... Do you think this will go smoothly?”

Henry let out a short laugh, the sound a little grating against his more sensitive ears. “Hah! As if I could mess this up. Have some faith in me, Doug! Come on, let’s get going.”

He followed closely behind, considering what he’d said with a slight frown. Faith? In him ? He had the feeling that would lead to his damnation.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 3)

(part 1) (part 2) 

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3k

chapter warnings: mention of past sexual harassment, very mature karaoke (lol), mention of pornography

Day 63 and you still hadn’t talked about it.  He’d actually gotten to know you a lot better over the past two months, even almost confessing his feelings for you with that stupid half-asleep storybook thing he’d done way back when, but you still hadn’t talked about the night you saw him looking in the rearview mirror.

Tonight actually reminded him of that night; this time was a premiere, for a movie you hadn’t actually been in but apparently you were supposed to go anyways?  He didn’t get it but he figured he didn’t need to.  As long as you came back alone this time, he’d be happy.

Of course, when he saw you step out to the car to leave for the venue, he was confident that would be impossible— not that you ever looked bad on a red carpet or anything, but wow… this was different.

“It’s not too slutty, is it?” you asked him nervously, spinning around to show him the back.  Don’t look at her ass don’t look at her ass don’t look at her ass—   

“Just slutty enough,” he responded with a gloved thumbs up.

“Perfect,” you smiled, and he opened the door for you to get in the back.  He took a moment to catch his breath before circling around to the driver’s side.

You actually chatted with him on the way, which was a new thing you two had started doing when he drove you.  He looked forward to your talks a lot— especially the ones where you ranted about whatever was on your mind.  You would usually apologize for rambling but he liked it; and, you were cute when you got really worked up about something, even if he thought it was kind of trivial.

As he pulled up to the red carpet, with cameras flashing and the indistinguishable yelling of reporters and fans, you shot him a look as if you didn’t want to go.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” you shook your head incredulously, “I just… I wish you would’ve come and seen it.”

He recalled a few weeks back when you offered him a ticket to the premiere showing, but he’d insisted on just sticking to what he knew and letting your assistant have the spare ticket.  “I’ll catch it on Netflix,” he dismissed.

“No, I mean, I wish you were coming with me,” you explained.

Was it hot in here, all of a sudden?  Because his cheeks felt warm.  “Uh, you don’t want me in there.  I always fall asleep in theaters anyways.  Just go have fun and I’ll catch you after.”

“Okay,” you nodded with an adorable little smile.

So he waited, wondering if he should’ve taken you up on it all those weeks ago, but decided he probably made the right call.  He would just embarrass you in a place like that, more than likely, and you had enough to deal with already.  He felt more useful waiting in the wings than being in the spotlight, to use a fittingly-timed theater metaphor.

It was a few hours of him killing time in the car, but he got to relax a little more since the event already had pretty good security on its own.  You’d recommended a book called Flowers for Algernon to him, even lending him your copy for the time being, and so he leaned his seat back and picked up where he’d left off from this morning.  Of course, if he had known that you’d be gone long enough for him to finish, and that the ending was going to make him cry, he probably wouldn’t have read it.  WIth his luck, it was inevitable that he’d be all but sobbing when you texted him to pull the car around.

Wiping his tears and hoping his eyes wouldn’t be too red, he tossed the book into the glovebox and started the engine.  You waved cheerily when you saw him from the entrance, and he attempted to navigate through all the other cars pulling up so he could reach you.  Thankfully, you didn’t have a new friend with you this time— or an old friend.  Jealousy crisis averted, for now.

“How was it?” he asked with a smile as you opened the door and slipped in, unable to hide how happy he was to see you.

“The premiere itself was a lot of fun, I got to see some people I hadn’t seen in ages; the movie, though?  Sort of pretentious,” you admitted as you shut the door and he got the car moving again.  “And way too long!  I could watch movies all day, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch a movie all day!”

“Fair enough,” he laughed.

“What did you do?” you asked innocently.

“I finished your book,” he frowned, trying not to think about it so he wouldn’t get emotional again.  

“Ah, I can tell you’re still a little hurt about it,” you smiled mischievously.  “Should’ve warned you about the ending.”

“No, no,” he disagreed, “it’s not a bad ending just because it’s a sad one… it was a good book.”

You’d already been smiling, but your smile undeniably changed as he watched it in the rearview mirror.  Something softer, something more sensitive.  He liked this one better.  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Just in time to interrupt the moment, you saw something on the passing street outside that caught your attention.

“Ooh, karaoke!” you piped up, pressing your face against the inside of the window excitedly.  “Pull over!”

He chuckled at how easily distracted you were, but did as you’d asked.  He barely found time to slow down to a stop before you were opening the door and running out, flashing your ID to get inside.

He groaned as he realized how completely unsafe it was for you to be in a bar… especially now, when you were at your most recognizable and literally still wearing what you’d had on at the premiere.  Thankfully, he managed to pull the car around and park in the closest spot he could find, jogging to join you inside the bar and hoping you hadn’t already made too much of a scene.  His hopes were dashed the moment he pushed through the door, however.

“Is she perverted like me?  Would she go down on you in a theater?” you sang along with the grungy backing track of Alanis Morrisette’s You Oughta Know; your lips were curled into a faux snarl as you stood on stage with your heels in one hand and the microphone in the other.

Bucky’s head fell into his hands, looking around to see hundreds of bar patrons, nearly all of them with their phones out filming you.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Bucky mumbled to himself, hoping you would somehow hear it and take his advice.  Instead, you pantomimed sucking a dick with a cute little wink and everyone cheered.  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“And I’m here, to remind you,” you continued, jumping around wildly; you looked like you were having the time of your life, honestly.  If he wasn’t so worried about you, he would’ve let himself smile seeing you so happy.

During the bridge, you stole someone’s water off their table and poured a bit on your head, slicking your hair back and shivering from the cold.  There was something about the water dripping down your face, starting to soak your clothes and make your skin glisten...

Bucky glanced around to make sure no one was looking at him before subtly adjusting his jeans.

He watched you sing the entire song, making most of the notes and definitely capturing the anger of the original song— if clearly having a lot more fun with it than most would.  The entire bar cheered when you finished, and you took a moment to take some pictures with people and meet a few fans, which he thought was sweet even if his bodyguard instincts forced him to interrupt after a moment.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he guided you away gently.

“Goodnight!” you waved goodbye to someone who was already buried in her phone and posting the photo you’d taken with her.

“Have a good time?” he asked sarcastically as the two of you began to walk out together.

“Would’ve been better if you hadn’t been glaring at me the whole time,” you smirked.

“I wasn’t glaring, I was just… watching.  You have a good voice, you know.”

You seemed surprised by the compliment.  “Oh.  Thanks.”

“And your stage presence is certainly… energetic,” he grinned.  “I bet your little charade is already trending.”

“I checked, and it is,” you giggled, showing him your phone for a moment where Twitter was open and you were the #7 topic in the United States and climbing.  “And the part where I poured that water on myself is pretty gif-able, don’t you think?”

He raised a brow as he held the back door of the bar open as you slipped back on your heels and walked past him.  “Is that why you did it?  For the reaction?”

“I did it cause it was fun,” you corrected.  “You wouldn’t know anything about that.  And the water thing was just practical, I was getting hot in this dress.”

That didn’t seem to be a problem anymore with the way you shivered in the night air as he walked you through the parking lot.  “Want my jacket?” he offered.

“No,” you frowned, but you eyed the leather with a hungry stare.  He chuckled and took it off, draping it over your shoulders anyways.  “How far is the car?” 

“Uh, a block?  Not much parking this time of night,” he explained.

“Ugh, these heels,” you groaned, “they hurt so bad.  I don’t know if I can make it.”  You began to slip them off but he stopped you.

“You can’t go barefoot out here, god knows what’s on the ground,” he shuddered; what if there was broken glass or something?

“Well, I can’t wear these,” you frowned, “and I probably shouldn’t be walking on asphalt in red bottoms anyway…”

He probably should’ve warned you before he scooped you up into his arms, but it was sort of instinct and he kinda forgot to say anything first.  You squealed a little but then went lax in his grip.

“You’re gonna carry me the whole way?” you asked incredulously.

“It’s only a block,” he shrugged, adjusting you in his arms a bit before starting the walk. 

It got quiet after that, the cool night air rustling the trees and blowing through his hair— frankly, he was a little chilly without his jacket, but it looked better on you anyhow.  The drive home was quiet, too, or at least quieter than usual, but it didn’t feel awkward, necessarily.  It didn’t feel like a lull in the conversation; it felt more like the conversation had just changed from verbal to non-verbal.  You both looked around at the city lights surrounding you on the drive, silent because there was nothing that needed to be said.  It wasn’t nervous, or tense, or anxiety-inducing like most of his interactions with you (or with anyone) could be.

It felt like time spent with an old friend.  He hadn’t known you long enough for that to be accurate, but he was happy to think of you as a new friend.  He just hoped you thought the same.

Arriving at the house, he dropped you off at the front and watched you make a mad dash for the stairs and presumably your bedroom, smiling to himself as he parked the car and came in to follow you.  He saw his jacket tossed onto the couch and your expensive shoes discarded right by the door.  Going upstairs and peeking into your room, he saw your limp form flopped onto the bed, your back exposed from the low cut of the dress.

“You’d better not get comfortable, you’ll kill me if I let you fall asleep with all that makeup on,” he frowned, leaning against the doorway.

"I couldn't fall asleep yet, anyways.  I'm wired."

“Any plans to burn off all that energy?” he pressed.

You groaned a little as you sat up, starting to unclasp all the jewelry on your wrists, around your neck, and on your ears.  “It’ll take me a while to get out of all of this— but not as long as it took me to get into it,” you laughed.  “Then I’m thinking TV and beers.”

“Beers?” he questioned, emphasizing the plural.  “You plannin’ to get toasted right before you go to sleep?”

“No, it’s plural because there’s one beer for me and one beer for you,” you explained with the slightest air of condescension, but he couldn’t really think of it as rude since it was an invitation.

“I don’t want to intrude on your chill evening,” he refuted.

“No, really, you’re not intruding!” you insisted, standing up and setting the jewelry on a nightstand before approaching him and turning to face away from him.  “Will you unzip me please?”

He stammered a little.  “I don’t… see a zipper,” he admitted with a weak voice.

“It’s on the side here, see?” you lifted your arm a bit, and pointed to it.  

Reaching out to touch your zipper was reminiscent of that old boardgame Operation: he needed to touch the zipper and only the zipper, cause if he bumped into anything else nearby, he got the feeling he’d get zapped.

His breath caught a bit as he watched more and more of your skin become exposed, the zipper ending up so low that he could just barely see the top of something lacy around your hips— and he had to stop there because anything more could induce cardiac arrest.  

“Thanks!” you piped up happily, slipping away to your closet to do the rest in private.  “Will you get the beers while I take my makeup off?” you requested through the shut door.

“Sure,’ he replied, turning to leave but realizing he should ask first: “Shiner or Pabst?” 

“Don’t patronize me,” you grumbled, and he laughed because it was a stupid question.  Trodding downstairs, he grabbed the Shiners from the fridge, stopping to check his phone only to see that it had started to automatically send him headlines pertaining to you.

‘Touch of Blood’ star gives impromptu karaoke performance at Queens dive bar!

He laughed at the picture of you onstage, even though he thought it was kind of reductive to describe you by a movie you’d been in so long ago when you had so much great new stuff coming out.  Jumping back up the stairs, beers in hand, he found you makeup-free (aside from some leftover mascara and eyeliner that hadn’t really made it all the way off) and in a robe, laying on the bed as you pointed the remote at your TV.  He thought you looked almost more beautiful like this than you did on the red carpet; of course, objectively, everybody looks better when they’ve been painted to the point of perfection, but he liked the domesticity of this.  When you were casual and relaxed like this, he could almost, almost pretend you were his girlfriend or something.  And not, you know, a global superstar and his employer.

“Beer me,” you requested as he sat down next to you, handing you a bottle and trying to ignore the thorough view of your legs he was getting in that robe.

“Anything good on?” he prompted as he watched you scroll through the channels on the guide.

“Uh, not particularly,” you frowned.  

“They’re showing a game,” he pointed out as you passed the sports channels.

“I’d rather watch this pay-per-view porn,” you rolled your eyes.

He cleared his throat but said nothing because he was confident there was no good response to that.

“Hey, I’m in this!” you beamed, changing the channel quickly.  He nearly had a heart attack until he realized you weren’t scrolling through the porn channels anymore.

He recognized the film instantly as the one of yours that he’d seen the most, for one very embarrassing and slightly sinister reason; looking down to the corner, he saw the HBO logo and realized it wasn’t going to be edited.  His palms got a little clammy but he tried not to worry about it too much.

“Oh, this girl was super nice,” you remembered as you pointed to a character on-screen.  “She had a bigger role but most of it got edited out.”

“That must be a bummer,” he imagined.

“Eh, it happens,” you shrugged.  “Beats getting fired, or recast in the sequel.”

“Have you ever been fired during filming?” he pressed, morbidly curious.

“Once,” you nodded.  “We were only a few days into it so they had no trouble finding somebody new and redoing my scenes.  Just think: I could’ve been a Bond girl if I’d slept with that producer.”

“You— what?!” he squawked.  “You got fired because you wouldn’t have sex with a film exec?”

“I got fired because of ‘creative differences,’” you explained with exaggerated air quotes, “and, unrelatedly, those creative differences surfaced the morning after I refused to get down and dirty with the EP.”

“Jesus,” he shook his head, “that’s… I hope you told someone.”

“Yeah, anonymously.  Somebody will care someday, but not yet.  He’s still too profitable, and not enough people have come forward.”

He glanced over at you, admiring your profile as you kept your eyes on the TV and took a sip of your beer.  When you turned your head and looked back at him, he realized he’d been staring a bit too long.

“What?” you asked, quirking your brow a bit. 

“What?” he repeated.

“You’re staring at me,” you frowned.

“Sorry, I was just… sorry,” he shook his head and looked back ahead.  What he found there wasn’t much less embarrassing, though: he knew all too well that this was the scene right before THE scene.  The scene he’d watched over and over until his arousal overpowered his shame.  The scene that he’d used to try to satisfy his crush on you, but it only made it worse.  The scene that had burrowed into his mind and deepened his obsession even as he fought it with everything he had…

You know, that scene.  And he was about to watch it with you.  

Bucky was completely, entirely, and supremely fucked.

[etherrealoblivion]

A Broken System

MASTERLIST

Summary: At her birthday celebration, Y/N is out on the town enjoying herself when she runs into a cute FBI agent who she’d love to take home and do terrible things to. Normally, someone meeting an FBI agent at a bar wouldn’t be that big of a deal. There’s just one, miniscule, microscopic, meager, problem... Y/N is only twenty.

tags: Large Age Difference, power imbalance, choking, Dom/sub, safe sex, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, cliffhanger.

A/N: this just made so much more sense in third person. i tried replacing it with second person, but trust me it did not work. hope you enjoy! gif by @toyboxboy​

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5,930

~

Spencer Reid never really thought he was attractive.

Probably had something to do with his perpetually messy hair, gangly stature, and his tendency to ramble on and on and on and. . .

Yeah. Like that.

Another factor definitely was the fact that he was in his 30’s and had never really had a stable relationship. Sure, he’d had relationships with a few women. Well, two women. The first being a girl he’d met in college with whom he had a brief fling. Spencer didn’t really count it as a stable relationship due to the fact they barely even kissed. And the other woman, the only woman he’d ever really loved, died tragically several years ago. 

Maeve.

Maeve was the real reason Spencer didn’t like going to bars with Morgan or being set up on dates by Penelope. She was the reason that Spencer wasn’t interested in anyone anymore. Who could possibly compare to Maeve?

Damn it. That was the other reason he wasn’t looking to date. He knew how the mind worked and there was no doubt that if any new person came into his life, she’d be unconsciously compared to Maeve. He couldn’t put anyone through that. 

So, Spencer Reid stayed single. Which, for him, was relatively easy. Whenever someone started to get a little too close with him, he’d blabber and spout facts until they ran off. Morgan would ask what happened and Reid would just put on a slight frown, mumbling how she had to go. 

The charade got more effortless the more they went out. Morgan, almost always going home on the arm of some woman and Spencer content to get a cab back to his own place, have a quick efficient orgasm, and fall asleep.

He had a system. And no one was going to break it.

~

Y/N hated the summertime. 

Well, she didn’t usually. Anywhere else on the planet it would be mildly enjoyable. The beach, ice cream, staying up all night. All that fun crap. In Washington D.C, however, summer was hell.

But! When one was accepted into Georgetown and their parents offered to pay FULL tuition plus housing, how can one say no?

Seriously, she wanted to know.

After two whole years in this armpit of a town, Y/N had finally gotten used to the sweltering heat that plagued the city during the summer. Whatever. She just stayed in the comfortable A.C. all day anyway.

But, the summer before her third year was almost over, and the only thing she could think about now was graduating with a major in Journalism. She didn’t really like most of the courses, but it’s what she needed to do to become a full-time editor.

Living in a rent-free apartment was heaven. No roommates meant no worrying about, well, anything. The only problem was, her parents could hold it over her head every time they called. Which is why she never answered their calls.

Today, however, answering was unavoidable.

Because not only was it the day before her first class, today was her twentieth birthday.

Y/N was in the middle of getting dressed to go out with her friends when her phone vibrated from the kitchen table.

“Hello?”

She tried so hard to suppress the cringe at her mom’s voice.

“Sweetie! How are you? Are you eating?”

“Yes, mom.”

Oh boy. Strong start, mom. 

“You look skinny in the pictures on Facebook!”

Yeah, she was definitely going to be late.

Surprisingly, it only took five minutes to push her mom off the phone, insisting that her friends were on their way and she had to keep getting ready. 

A sharp rap on the door saved her.

“Come on!! It’s almost ten!” Y/N’s friend, Mina, said, annoyed. “All the old people leave the bars at ten and if we don’t get there soon, the bouncers won’t let us in!”

Y/N didn’t really understand the logic there. Hot girls always got into bars. Especially late at night. How were there not more crimes committed in clubs? Maybe she’d find out in her first class tomorrow.

“Hey!” Mina snapped her out of it, “Come on! Let’s go.”

They arrived outside a dinky little club a few minutes later. It had taken Y/N a while to get accustomed to how close everything was together in this town. Before college, she had been a small-town girl. Promise ring and everything. That, uh. That didn’t last long.

Before they got in line, Mina took a long satin sash out of her purse and secured it across Y/N’s torso.

“What the hell’s this?”

The sash was white with large pink flowy letters that poignantly spelled out: Birthday Bitch.

“It’s a sash.”

Three of Mina’s friends strode up, quickly exchanging hugs and wishing Y/N a happy birthday.

“I see that it’s a sash, but why am I wearing it?”

Mina confidently strode up to the bouncer, Y/N at her side, fake ID at the ready. Technically, it was the right birthdate, the year was just a little off.

“Go through. Happy Birthday,” the guy said, barely sparing the ID a glance, more focused on the huge sash. It made sense. She didn’t look her age. No one would think she was only in college by taking a glance at her.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Look,” Mina pulled her aside just before they entered, “this makes every single guy in there want to buy you a drink. So, go enjoy a free Shirley Temple, on me.”

Y/N scoffed and entered the club, immediately overwhelmed by the booming of the music.

Jesus Christ. How did people not die from this? It felt like her heart was beating out of her chest.

Sure, she’d been in a bar before. But not a real, proper club. She was pretty sure she saw some people wearing neon. Oh my god, there was a DJ.

Suppressing a laugh, she headed to the bar. At least there was a bar. There were so many people gathered around though that she couldn’t get much access to the one bartender on staff.

Luckily, he spotted her sash that seemed to shine under the blacklights.

“Hey, make some room for the birthday girl!” 

And the crowd parted like the red sea, every man’s head turned towards her, and she cautiously approached the bartender who gave her a quick wink.

“Scotch. Neat.”

A dark man with a silver nose ring slid onto the stool next to her.

“It’s on me,” he addressed the bartender, staring at her the whole time. “So. Birthday girl. How old are you turning?”

She smiled softly. The sash was working great, but now she had to come up with a way to answer his question without explicitly lying. 

“Who wants to know?”

Maybe flirting would be distracting enough.

He smiled, glancing down for a moment, then holding out his hand. Ha. Men.

“I’m Jon.”

Ugh. She hated handshakes. But for this man, she might be able to make an exception.

“Y/N.”

Five minutes later, she wished with all her heart she could take the handshake back. Y/N should have known better than to talk to a guy at a club. They were all sleazebags. But! She did manage to get a couple of drinks out of it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said after his fifth time mentioning Outback Steakhouse.

But before she could leave the bar discreetly, a hand wrapped around her arm, yanking her back.

“Hey, what’s the matter? I thought we were talking?”

Y/N may have been a small-town girl, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his shoulders and driving her knee up into his crotch, stomping off toward the exit.

Only when she got outside did she realize how fast her heart was beating. She leaned over, hands on her knees to catch her breath.

A soft hand on her shoulder made her snap around, grab the hand and twist it around the stranger’s back, shoving him up against the alley wall.

“I’m sorry!” the man squawked shrilly. “I’m sorry!” It wasn’t Jon.

“What were you doing?” she demanded, not releasing him yet.

“I saw you lean over. I just wanted to see if you were ok!”

She finally drank in the man’s appearance. He was wearing a soft purple sweater vest over a grey button-down, slacks, and worn black converse on his feet.

Confident that he wasn’t a threat, she released him and took a step back.

The man rubbed his elbow softly, glancing at her chest. Before she could tell him off for staring at her rack, he pointed to the sash.

“Is it your birthday?”

She looked down. Oh, he’d been looking at the sash of course. Then why did she feel … disappointed?

“Oh, yeah. Some guy bought me a drink and got a little, er, touchy.”

Suddenly, the man’s face went dark.

“Who is he? Where is he?”

He started to walk back into the club but she stopped him, reaching out and gently grabbing his arm.

“Hey! It’s fine. I kicked him in the crotch.”

The man’s eyes switched from anger to surprise in a flash. He flustered for a moment, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back into the alley.

Y/N now took a closer look at his face. He had deep, wise brown eyes, a small five-o-clock shadow gracing his jaw, and very full lips, the latter of which he was biting profusely. Aw. He was nervous. But why?

Maybe because he was in an alley with a random girl who had just been groped at a club and he didn’t know what to do.

She chuckled, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Um. I didn’t get your name?”

He smiled brightly, thankful for the change in topic.

“Oh! Of course, sorry. I’m Spencer!”

And Y/N braced herself for the telltale outstretching of the hand.

But none came. He simply stood there, one hand in his pocket and the other waving at her, a dopey smile on his face.

Her face lit up. 

“You didn’t try to shake my hand,” she muttered, awed.

The man, Spencer, got an embarrassed look on his face, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I, uh. I’m a bit of a germaphobe. But, really, everyone should be! The amount of germs passed in a handshake is staggering. They really should be abolished altogether.”

“Right! People should just bow their heads or, or, wave!” she said excitedly, gesturing to his hand. “I mean a handshake is like a hug with a part of you that comes in contact with everything! Might as well go up to someone and start making out with them.”

As she spoke, his face lit up in wonder.

“Right? It’s crazy! But the thing is, some people actually do that! I was in that club for fifteen minutes and I swear I saw three couples leave together that definitely didn’t go in together.”

“I know!” she said, starting to pace in the cramped alley. “I mean, who goes home with someone that you just met! They could be a serial killer for all you know!”

She looked at Spencer and was delighted to see a joyful expression on his face. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t introduced herself.

“I’m Y/N. Sorry for blabbering,” she waved, chuckling slightly.

Spencer smiled even wider.

“Don’t be sorry! Usually, I’m the one who has to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Blabbering,” he said sheepishly, hands back in his pockets. When he was talking, they had been moving about wildly. It was kind of endearing.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, considering. “Blabbering is underrated. One could argue it’s the best way to learn useless information.”

“Well, I’d agree but no information is really useless.”

Y/N held up a finger.

“‘Information is useless if it is not applied to something important or if you will forget it before you have a chance to apply it.’”

Spencer’s mouth fell open.

“Timothy Harris?”

She nodded. “The 4-Hour Workweek. Outdated, but still applies.”

When she noticed his expression, it nearly knocked her breath away. He was looking at her like no one ever had before. Like he’d just realized the most important thing in the universe.

Before her cowardice could catch up, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His face went blank, shocked by the sudden approach. He nearly gasped when she spoke.

“It’s totally ridiculous to go home with someone you just met, right?”

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Totally.”

“Why were you out tonight in the first place? You don’t exactly seem like the club-going type.”

He smiled softly.

“I, uh, just got a promotion last week. My friend Morgan wanted to take me out to celebrate. It was either this or karaoke.”

She chuckled softly, their faces so close he must have felt her breath.

“I don’t know, I’d have liked to see your rendition of Bad Romance. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a whole Lady Gaga vibe?”

“You should see my Beyonce.” And he did a little mime of the Single Ladies dance, sending Y/N into a fit of giggles. Without thinking — probably due to the trace amounts of alcohol in her system, not enough to be drunk, but enough to be tipsy — she reached up her arms around his shoulders, clasping them together behind his neck like a teen slow-dancing at prom.

Spencer seemed startled by the sudden physical contact. He froze, hands unmoving at his sides.

Y/N pulled her arms back, stepping away from him, discouraged and embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said, collecting herself and walking back towards the club door. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Wait!” he called before she could reenter the club. A tiny part of her let out a breath in relief. She turned around to see him with a hand outstretched toward her, frozen with the uncertainty of what to do next.

He recovered quickly, a blush visible on his cheeks in the lamplight of the alley.

“If you’re leaving, would you, um. Could I walk you home?”

She had no idea what possessed her in that moment but just as he spoke, she walked up to Spencer, threaded her fingers through his hair, and pulled him down into a passionate kiss.

To her surprise, he responded immediately, running his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him, eagerly returning the kiss.

His lips were so warm. He tasted very faintly of alcohol and maybe a breath mint? Y/N let herself fall into the sensation.

Suddenly, her back was pressed up against the wall of the alley, Spencer’s hands lighting a trail of fire down her body. He hesitated, pulling back briefly to make sure she was ok.

A glint in her eye, she yanked him back down, tongues clashing together in a blaze of glory. He hiked her leg up around his hips, pressing them closer together. Y/N could feel the hardness in his pants pressing into her stomach, sending a wave of heat down to her core.

She pulled back. If they went any further, she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave the alley.

Y/N tried to hide the smile on her face but it was no use. She beamed at Spencer, linking her arm through his elbow.

“Lead the way. Wait, that doesn’t make sense, you’re taking me home. I’ll lead the way!”

And so they walked, arm in arm down the busy D.C. streets, silently enjoying each other’s company.

They arrived outside her apartment fifteen minutes later, Y/N clumsily unlocking the door, nervous from the thought of what was about to happen. They hadn’t explicitly said anything in particular. Was he going to come in? Would she invite him?

Spencer, it seemed, was also daunted, standing awkwardly on the threshold of her place, hands buried in his pockets.

An idea sprung into Y/N’s brain.

She approached him, wrapping her hands around his neck again only this time, his hands rested lightly on her waist.

“Still think going home with a stranger is a bad idea?”

Spencer chuckled softly, stroking the exposed skin of her waist from where her top had ridden up.

“I’m still debating it.”

“Oh?”

He slid his hand around the sash, fingers hovering above her chest.

“I never asked, how old did you turn?”

She smiled. For some reason, she felt she could trust this man. The worst that could happen was he calls the cops on her for having a fake ID. She could deal with that. Destroy the evidence, bat her eyes. Easy. Besides, he looked barely of age himself. She quickly wondered what he did for a living? He did say he got a promotion.

It would be easiest to just tell him the truth.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this…”

He chuckled lowly in her ear, moving his lips gently across her neck.

“I can handle it.”

She gasped at the sensation, legs clamping together.

“Officially, it’s my twenty-third. At least, that’s what it says on my ID. One of them.”

Spencer froze, waiting for her to go on.

Y/N quickly backtracked.

“It’s okay! I’m twenty! Not a minor, no worries.”

But Spencer pulled away, an extremely worried look on his face despite her assurance.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re underage.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah? Come on, by one year. What, you never had a fake ID?”

“No!” he said shrilly, running a hand through his hair.

“Spencer, it’s ok! It’s not like I’m gonna get caught. I look much older and when are there cops at a place like that?”

He reached into his pocket and fished out a folded wallet. Snapping it open, Y/N’s jaw dropped at the FBI badge with his picture in the corner.

She floundered for a moment, unable to truly comprehend what was happening.

“You’re . . .”

“Yep,” he said shortly, pocketing the badge.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my reaction too,” he said, sighing. “I should arrest you.”

Y/N took a step back, incredulous.

“Arrest me?”

“You have a fake ID. You’re clearly drunk.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Great idea, Spencer. Book me. Take me down to the FBI and tell them exactly what happened to lead to you finding out I’m only twenty. I’m sure they’ll need very specific details.”

A look of realization flitted across Spencer’s face and he buried his head in his hands, groaning.

“How old are you anyway?!” she demanded, upset at him for being upset.

“Thirty-four!” he shouted, throwing his arms up in the air.

Oh shit.

This was bad.

He was fourteen years older than her, in the FBI, and probably was seconds away from arresting her.

“There’s no way you’re thirty-four. I mean, look at you!”

He rolled his eyes, snorting, and beginning to pace the small hallway.

“This is exactly what I get. I meet a girl I really like for the first time in years and she’s decades younger than me. And a criminal!”

“Hey!” she said, shoving his shoulder. “Not decades. I’m not a criminal. And how the hell do you think I feel?  I’m out trying to have fun on my birthday, some guy gropes me leading me to run into the perfect man, take him back to my apartment thinking I’m gonna get lucky only to find out he’s a cop who’s gonna arrest me. Best birthday ever.”

Spencer eyed her carefully.

“Get lucky?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Shit. She hadn’t meant to reveal that part. Even though it was pretty obvious, something about it not being said added to the excitement.

“Did you really . . . I mean were you…. Um.” Spencer seemed to lose all authoritative tone suddenly, stammering nervously. It was such a 180, it shocked Y/N. 

“Was I going to let you fuck me?”

He cringed at the bluntness but nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, Spencer. I was.” She scoffed. “Honestly, I still would. But I understand if I’m more than you can handle,” she said coyly, trying to keep a straight face. “Just please don’t arrest me, Sir.”

His expression darkened at her words. Something deep and lustful behind it. Feeling bold, she went with it.

“Or is it Agent?” she cocked her head, holding a finger to her lips in thought. “How do I address you properly, sir?”

A small groan left Spencer’s mouth and he stepped forward, brushing a hand over her hair.

“We shouldn’t do this, Y/N…”

Slowly, she backed up into her apartment, pulling him with her.

“We shouldn’t.” She gently led him to her bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed, him towering over her. “To be fair, you’re the one with handcuffs.”

He groaned again, wiping a hand down his face.

“This is a bad idea.”

But he crouched down in front of her, pressing his forehead to her exposed knee, breathing deeply.

“Spencer,” it was barely a whisper but he met her eyes instantly. She smiled gently, reaching out to him and coaxing him up from the floor so he was hovering above her, mouths inches apart. “Listen, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she assured him. “But I want this.”

She leaned back, pulling him with her so he was lying atop her, an obvious bulge pressing against her through their clothing.

“I want this, Spencer.”

Y/N hoped that he knew he could leave if he wanted. She didn’t want to pressure him into anything. Despite the age difference, she seemed to be the one more in control.

Spencer lowered his head, sighing.

“Fuck,” he moaned, lightly thrusting against her, a moan escaping her mouth at the contact.

That seemed to be the last straw.

He sat up, ripping his sweater vest off along with his button-down, quickly moving back over her, lips latching to her neck and chest.

Oh thank god. She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to stand it if he’d left. But from the way he was touching her, hands moving up and down her sides, gently pulling her skirt down, looking up at her every now and then to make sure it was alright, he wasn’t going anywhere.

She just spurred him on, stripping off her top and bra, now only wearing her panties.

Spencer groaned at the sight, a hand reaching up, hovering over her breast. She arched her back up into his hand, letting out a gasp as he started to fondle her. 

God, his hands were huge. And nimble. Oh, so nimble.

She reached for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tossing it across the room, pushing his pants down faster than possible.

He groaned again, a magical sound, reaching a hand down to stroke her through her panties, coaxing a gasp from her beautiful lips.

In a flash, Spencer had pulled down her panties and buried his head between her legs.

Y/N gasped, hand flying to the back of his head, edging him on.

He slipped two fingers into her, his tongue flicking against her clit wildly, making her writhe and moan on the bed, gasping his name.

“Spencer, Spencer.” It took all the resolve she had to pull his head away from her. “I need you to fuck me.”

Spencer looked at her, trying to read her expression.

“Y/N . . . are you sure?”

Rather than answer, she yanked him up, crashing their mouths together, one hand quickly pushing down his boxers, his erection springing free.

Good god.

Wow.

How the hell was she supposed to fit that inside her?

She looked up at him, impressed, only to see a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Well,” she said, kicking off the panties pooled around her ankles, laid bare underneath the stranger on top of her. “This night gets better by the second.”

His size was a little daunting, but the thought of him slowly filling her up, probably not being able to fit all the way in, only added to her desire.

He dipped his head down, stealing a quick yet passionate kiss.

“Do you have . . ?”

“Yeah, in the drawer.”

He reached over, grabbed a condom, and rolled it on. It looked extremely tight on him. Y/N unconsciously licked her lips. Spencer chuckled.

“Maybe next time. I need to be inside you.”

And with that, he flung her legs around his hips, positioning his cock at her entrance, slowly running it up and down, moistening the condom with her juices.

God. The feeling of him being so close and yet so far was almost enough to push her over the edge right there. He had been a god with his tongue and she was desperate for more friction.

Reaching down, she lightly circled her clit, moaning at the instant pleasure.

Before she could enjoy it much, hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her on the bed, Spencer staring at her with a dark look.

“If you wanna touch yourself, you have to ask permission. Understood?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Words escaped her so she settled for a small nod.

“Use your words.”

His tone was so commanding the word left her mouth the moment he finished speaking.

“Yes.”

He lightly placed his hand around her neck, not applying any pressure, just hovering.

“Yes, what?”

Fuck. She wondered if it was possible to come just from being talked to.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, he slid inside her, slowly filling her up with his length, moaning roughly at the sensation.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, watching as Spencer’s face tightened, jawline even sharper, and a dark look in his eye. He carefully applied a bit more pressure to her throat, quickly releasing his hand afterward.

They were both still as she adjusted to the size of him inside her.

“Is this ok?” his voice sounded so different than it had a moment ago. He had shifted back to the geeky guy she’d met in the alley.

She nodded gently at him, running a hand over his cheek in a way that was surely far too personal for a one night stand. 

“My safeword is apple.”

He froze for a moment, shocked. Apparently she was kinkier than he’d expected. 

Tired of not being fucked by this man, she dug her heels into his back, directing him to move.

He did without hesitation, groaning at the sensation of slowly pulling out and thrusting back in. 

The feeling overwhelmed both of them, a litany of curses and moans falling from their mouths. Spencer’s hand moved back to her throat, squeezing much harder now that he knew what to listen for if she wanted to stop.

The sound of her moaning was enough to make him come right there and then. That, with the feeling of her around him and the fact that his hand was around her throat, totally in control.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Oh my god, where was this coming from? Her nails scraped down his back, leaving a trail of marks.

“You like feeling me fuck you?” he wrapped a hand around her leg, pulling it higher to try to hit the magical spot inside of her. “You like when I wrap my hand around your pretty little neck? Showing you how in control I am of you.”

She nodded ecstatically, legs tightening around him. She was definitely close to coming.

“What were you thinking? Going to a bar when you’re underage. Then leading a stranger to your home, intending to let him fuck you silly. Finding out I’m ages older than you and still practically begging me to bend you over and pound you till you can’t see straight. Is the age difference what gets you off, Y/N?”

At the sound of her name, she let out a raucous moan, no doubt waking up the other tenants of the building.

Spencer smiled, drilling harder and tightening his grip on her throat.

“Oh, you like it when I say your name? You like when I shove my big cock in you and moan your name in your ear?”

She practically screamed as his hand started to circle her clit, the stimulation practically knocking the air out of her.

He was hitting her g-spot with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She was so close. She just needed….

“You gonna come for me, Y/N?” he punctuated it with a particularly hard thrust, feeling her begin to clench around him, orgasm washing over her.

Her walls tightening around his cock was enough to send him barreling over the edge, grunting as he thrust in her four more times before feeling his balls tighten up and spill his seed deep inside her.

“Fuck,” he grunted, using his forearms to stay above her, both of them completely out of breath.

Slowly, he pulled out with a sigh, discarding the condom in the trash by her bed.

Y/N was seeing stars. This man had just given her her first penetrative orgasm. And, possibly the best sex she’d ever had.

‘Fuck’, was right.

Spencer flopped down next to her, still naked, trying to catch his breath.

Y/N turned to him, placing a hand on his chest.

It was strange. Even though they’d just had some of the best sex Y/N had ever had, she didn’t even know this man. And yet, somehow, she felt like she did. Did that happen a lot once you had sex with someone?

Her eyes refocused from where they’d been staring off into space to see a concerned Spencer looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

He studied her for another moment before speaking.

“You were biting your lip.”

A blush crept up her cheek.

“Yeah sorry. Helps me think.”

He let out a sharp breath, a sort of soft laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said as he retrieved his underwear, slipping them back on and starting to button up his shirt.

Oh. Was he going to leave? Of course he was! That’s all this was, anyway. A one night stand. You had sex. That was the point.

Then why did it feel like hell?

“You okay?”

Her thoughts had drifted into space again. Spencer had laid back down, now on his side facing her, holding her hand, looking at her intensely. His gaze was practically burning.

“Yeah.”

“I, uh, I don’t normally do . . . that.”

She chuckled. It was rather obvious he wasn’t the hookup type. Despite the dirty things that had come from his mouth.

“Me either.”

He softly stroked her cheek. 

“Are you going to stay?” she blurted.

His face fell.

“Oh, no I wasn’t going to impose if you-”

“NO! I mean,” she took a breath. “I want you to . . . I mean, if you want . . . I'd . . . I’d like you to stay. If you want?”

God. She sounded like a teenager asking their crush to prom. This was no stuttering sophomore she could kick in the crotch if he said no. He was a man. Although, he did tend to stutter. Maybe it wasn’t all that different.

He lit up, a wide smile brightening his features and he began to stroke her hand.

“I’d like that too.”

Wondering if it was possible for cheeks to sprain from smiling, she pulled up the covers, cuddling up against him, falling asleep almost immediately.

~

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Ugh. The stupid alarm. She had been right in the middle of a wonderful dream involving Spencer’s hands and her bruised throat.

What time was it anyway?

The red clock radio proudly displayed: 7:00.

Right, it was the first day of classes. Maybe she’d just ditch and stay in with Spencer. He had been so warm she was sure he had a sun where a heart should be. College didn’t matter anyway, right? Ugh.

A shiver ran through her. She reached out for Spencer, only to find the cold other half of the bed.

Sitting up in bed, she stared at the empty spot.

Had he really walked out on her in the middle of the night? No…. No? Fuck. How could she be so stupid. Of course he didn’t want to-

Oh, he’d left a note.

In a fast yet tidy scrawl, Spencer had left the following message on a little notecard.

Good morning! I am truly sorry to walk out like this, but I have a class at 7:30 and I have to stop by my place and get ready. I’ll be back at the bar tonight, 10:30. I’d love to see you there.

-Spencer. X

Her heart melted into an ocean at the sentiment behind each individual letter. The man she’d just had a dirty one night stand with wanted to see her again.

Wait, he’d said a class? He hadn’t told her he was a student! To be fair, neither had she. That’s another thing they had in common apparently. It made sense why he didn’t tell her. A lot of people were ashamed of going back to college later in life. She thought that was ridiculous. Good for him.

Maybe she could look him up in the student registry. Actually, he may not even go to Georgetown. There were plenty of colleges nearby. She couldn’t have looked him up anyway. She didn’t even know his last name.

It was probably a good thing he left, because she, too, had a class at 7:30.

It only took her twenty minutes to shower, get dressed, and walk the very short distance to campus.

She arrived in the lecture hall with exactly one minute to spare, finding a seat next to a brightly dressed redhead holding a fuzzy pen.

“Hi! I’m Allie.”

“Y/N,” she said, suppressing the cringe as Allie reached out to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you! What’s your major?”

Oh god. The inevitable college question.

“Journalism. You?”

“English,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Super boring I know, but it lets me take fun classes like this one. Why are you taking this class?”

“Oh, um. It looked fun, I guess. My dad was a lawyer and he kind of piqued my interest in the criminal justice system.”

Allie sighed.

“Thank god. You know half the girls are here just because the Professor is a hottie,” she said with air quotes, rolling her eyes again.

“Really?” Y/N asked, glancing around at the seats noticing the vast majority of the population were women. “Wait, I thought Ms. Merklins was the teacher? Did something change?”

“You didn’t get the email? It just went out the other day, Ms. Merklins had to retire. Something about a club foot. Anyway, the new teacher is supposedly super overqualified. Plus, he’s cute.”

“Huh.”

“Yep. I talked to this one girl in the hall, she actually said she’d sleep with him! Can you imagine?”

Y/N laughed.

“Nooooo. I cannot and I don’t want to. I’m just here to learn, I promise.”

“Same here. Although, if I start getting C’s, all bets are off.”

Y/N laughed and politely chatted with Allie while they waited.

The Professor’s office door swung open and Y/N reached into her bag to get her laptop.

“Hello, class.”

“Hello,” the class echoed.

“Welcome to Criminology. I am Professor Reid and I-.”

Y/N looked up over her screen as he stopped talking, making sudden eye-contact with the Professor.

She froze in her seat, blood running cold.

No way. No fucking way.

Spencer?

~

TAGLIST

~

@whollytaciturn​ @101donuts​ @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid

[comphersjost]

All for You | 4 ➸  Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

thank you all so fucking much for all of your kind words and support and love. i though about making an epilogue type of part to tie up loose ends, if that’s what you guys want. let me know?

A week after Matthew walked out on you at the arena, his teammates show up at your door, dragging their wreck of a teammate to the only one he wants - but refuses - to see: you. 

word count: 3.5k+

warnings: alcohol, using alcohol to cope, mentions of sex, quite a bit of angst

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

The moment the vibrating starts on your bedside table you know that something’s wrong. The Caller ID reads Noah Hanifin. You should have deleted his number really. Especially after the trainwreck of a game last week. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it, needing some sort of lifeline to Matt. 

You watch as your phone stops ringing, revealing the notification for 4 missed calls from Noah and the time: 2:04 am. The screen lights up with a photo of him again, and this time you pick up. 

“Hello?” you answer groggily, sitting up to turn on the lamp as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Open the door.”

“What?” Your head feels heavy from being woken up in the dead of night. “Noah what are you-” 

“Is that Y/N?” you hear through the chaos in the background, and your sleep addled brain faintly registering that the words came from Elias. 

“Y/N!” you hear another voice exclaim, and suddenly you're wide awake. “Hi, Y/N, Hanny, dude, tell her she's the most beautiful girl in the world - Hanny listen to me - and her Instagram post was so cute - hey, Hanny!” 

You hear more shuffling over the line, and a sharp “Shut up Chucky!” from Noah. Suddenly there’s silence, and Noah’s voice comes out clearer than before. 

“Hey,” he says, “We’re bringing Matty up in the elevator, please open the door.” 

“Why?” you ask, “He made himself pretty damn clear at the game that he didn't want to see me so -” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Noah interrupts, voice seeping with frustration. “He won't let us take him anywhere but here, okay? He saw you post that photo today and got all sad and mopey when he left practice and then Lindy and I found him like this. He’s been drinking since like 6 o’clock and we barely managed to cut him off like an hour ago and he's a fucking wreck so, please, Y/N, just open the door.” 

Maybe that lifeline was a good idea after all.

Cursing under your breath, you reluctantly get out of bed, turning on the lights as you make your way through your apartment. Just as you're swinging the door open, Matt is stumbling out of the elevator, each of his arms thrown around Noah and Elias. 

Matt’s eyes light up when he sees you, attempting to escape the grasp of his teammates to rush towards you. “Woah!” Noah says, grasping Matthew’s arm so he doesn't go anywhere. “Dude, relax, you can barely walk.” 

You see Matt pout as they get closer, and for some reason the sight makes you tear up. There's something about the way he looks right now, helpless and wide-eyed, being carried by his teammates like a child, that makes your heart ache. When they finally reach your door you try to hide your grimace at the smell of liquor on his breath. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Matt slurs with a grin, his head lolling to the side. “Did we wake you up?” 

“Yeah,” you say softly, stepping aside to let Noah and Elias practically drag him inside. “That's okay though.” 

Matt mumbles something unintelligible as his teammates deposit him on the couch. Noah turns to you when he’s sure Matt won't fall over. 

“I'm sorry-” he starts but you put your hand up to stop him. 

“It’s okay, Noah,” you reassure him, eyes flickering to the curly-haired boy on your couch. “Is he…?” 

“No,” Elias pipes up from beside Matt. “He's the furthest thing from okay, Y/N.” You flinch at his harsh tone, even though you knew he was right. This was your fault. Elias’s expression softens when Noah shoots him a reprimanding glare. “I'm sorry,” he steps towards you, “I didn't mean to-” 

“You're right,” you say abruptly, gaze focusing on Matt’s face. His eyes are closed but he's not sleeping, that lopsided grin still on his face. “You're right, Elias. Thank you for bringing him here.” 

Noah opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by a complaint from the couch. 

“Why are you guys still here?” Matt whines, “I wanna hang out with my girl.” Noah and Elias both glance at you sideways at the last words, but you just sigh. 

“You guys can go,” you say softly, “I can take care of him, I got this.” 

The two men hesitate for a moment, glancing at each other and seemingly having a silent conversation. They seem to come to an agreement as Elias claps Matty on the back and stands from the couch. You follow the two of them to the door, leaning on it as the two turn to you. 

“Guys,” you say, stopping them as they turned to leave. You pause, unsure if you should even ask but- “What did Brady say on the ice?” 

Elias inhales sharply, looking at Noah as he attempts to mask the reluctance in his eyes. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

Noah looks at Elias for a split second before he sighs and his shoulders slump. “He said-” Elias cuts him off before he can finish. 

“He said that if Chucky wasn't such a wimp that was afraid of his feelings he could’ve been the one to get the girl.” 

You stop breathing. 

“That little shit,” you seethe, curling and uncurling your hands before you punch something. “He's such a fucking instigator I'm going to kill him.” 

“Why?” Noah asks, tilting his head in confusion. “I mean, Matty came at him for it but, he’s right isn't he?” 

“What?” your head snaps towards Noah, eyes wide in shock. “What are you talking about? Brady and I tested the waters and figured we’d be better as friends. He started a fight because he could.” 

“No way,” Elias says, “Chucky said-” 

“He would have known if he just listened to me!” Noah steps back at your exclamation, glancing to each side down the empty hallway. Your voice drops to a hoarse whisper, “He would have known if he stayed in the fucking trainer’s room and let me explain!” 

“You fucked his brother,” Noah reminds you. 

“I was in love with Brady, Noah!” you snapped, “That was the point of this whole thing - of everything! And then he told me he loved me out of nowhere!” 

Noah scoffs, though he doesn't miss your use of past tense. “It wasn't out of nowhere, Y/N, and you know it. He brought you to games. He brought you to team events. He bailed on us at least once or twice a week to hang out with you. Have you ever even seen him flirt with a girl since you've moved to Calgary?” 

“I didn't know what to do! I’m sorry!” 

“You don't have to apologize to us,” Elias reminds you, motioning behind you. “He needs you, he's been needing you and I don't - he can't keep doing this to himself. If he's not at practice or a game he's drunk off his ass and even then he can't stop fucking talking about you. God, Y/N, do something and fix this.” 

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I'll try,” you whisper. “Thank you for bringing him here.” 

The two bid you goodbye, leaving you alone with Matthew for the first time in months. 

“Hi Matty,” you say gently as you find your back to the living room. You brush your fingertips against his forehead, pushing his hair back. His eyes flutter open, adoration and sadness practically shining through his gaze. 

He reaches for you, making grabby hands until you sit beside him, maneuvering the two of you so that his head was in your lap. He hums contentedly as you run your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly. 

“I saw your Instagram post,” he says quietly. “With you and the ice cream? I love that place, it reminded me of when I took you when you first moved to Calgary.” You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips as he rambles. “I cried when I saw it. I cry a lot lately.” Your chest aches. “I thought it would be easier by now. I thought it wouldn't hurt as much but -” he cuts himself off. Neither of you speak for a few minutes, sitting in silence as the thoughts whirl around your head. 

“Y/N/N?” The use of your nickname has you humming questioningly. He hadn't called you that in nearly a year. Whatever it is you thought he might say, nothing could have prepared you for the next words out of his mouth. 

“Why don't you love me?” He doesn't sound sad, but his tone tells you he's given up, and you can feel your heart shatter. You stay silent, unsure of whether or not he even wants you to answer. You know it was the right decision when he keeps talking. “Like, why him? Why not me? I love you, did you know that? You know that. I told you, right? You're so pretty Y/N/N, did you know? And you're funny. So funny. And my friends like you, my friends never liked girls I brought around before you moved to Calgary. I didn't like them either - isn't that weird? I don't know why I even bothered. It was always you. Even when we were kids.” 

You freeze your movements at that, holding your breath and waiting to see what he says next. 

“I mean, I didn't like, know that, yet,” he continues, words slurring slightly. “I always just thought that like, if you asked, I guess, I don't know. But it's always been you. But you kept picking him and I just wanna know why I wasn't enough for you, you know? Elias keeps telling me I’m being dumb and shouldn't be mean to myself or whatever but like, you're it for me, and I just want you to love me like you love him.”

“Matty…” you start, but you're interrupted by a squeaky hic from Matt. You stare at each other for a moment, before the two of you burst into giggles. 

“I have the hiccups,” Matty snickers, one hand coming up to grab yours. He intertwines your fingers together, squeezing as your laughter dies down. “God, I love you. You probably don't wanna hear that huh? Well, I missed you. So much.” 

“I missed you too Matty,” you lean down to whisper the words against his forehead, kissing the spot gently. “I wish you would've let me explain.” 

“Why?” He asks, scrunching his nose. “You love him don't you? I promised to help you and I-” his tone falters for the first time since he got to your place, and he pulls his hand away from yours. “I did what I promised and I thought - I thought maybe when you saw that I loved you like you wanted him to that maybe you'd realize. I thought maybe if I didn't tell you about Autumn you'd finally see that it was me that loved you this whole time. But then you just, you left when you found out and I - I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have never kept it from you. But it's always been him for you right?” 

“Not always,” you say quietly. “Not since last year.” 

Matt pulls away from you, staggering for a moment from dizziness as he stands up too quickly. 

“You can't say that!” he cries desperately, tugging at his hair. “You can't say that to me when you're - when Brady - you and him -” 

“Me and him, what, Matty?” you stand up as you ask, taking a step towards him and grabbing his collar to make him look at you. “Me and Brady, Matt, we’re not - I didn't mean for this to happen.”

“I know,” Matt murmurs, eyes flashing to your lips before he squeezes them shut. “I didn't mean for it to happen either.” 

“He's still my best friend.” Matthew’s eyes fly open at the statement. 

“Wha-what do you mean?” His voice is shaky and uncertain, but there's an unmistakable hint of hope. “Last week - at - at the game?” 

You open your mouth to reply, finally say what you've been meaning to for so long and - Matt sways where he stands, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he turns on his heel and runs. You follow him quickly into the bathroom as he falls to his knees in front of the toilet just in time to retch out the contents of his stomach. 

You rub his back gently, murmuring sweet things in his ear when his stomach has finally stopped heaving. He coughs a few times before slumping over to the side, head lolling back weakly. You clean him up as much as you can and flush, attempting to help him up. You struggle slightly as his 6’2 frame slumps against you. 

“Matty, you gotta help me out here,” you nudge him gently, “I can't carry you, bubs, c’mon, stand up okay?” 

He mumbles something about how tired he is, but still stands up as straight as he can. With Matt’s arm around your shoulders, you manage to get him to your bed, letting him slip out of your grasp as he collapses on your bed. You turn to leave the room but a soft groan from your bed stops you. 

“Please don't go,” Matt whines softly, grabbing your hand, eyes shut as he lies still over the sheets. “Please.” 

“I won't,” you brush his hair away from his forehead affectionately. “I just have to go turn off the lights and get you some water okay?” He hums in acknowledgement and reluctantly drops your hand. You turn off all the lights in your apartment as quickly as you can, grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen and a bottle of ibuprofen before going back to your room. 

“See?” you said as you placed the water and pills down on the bedside table. “Not even two minutes.” Matty grumbles “Still too long” under his breath and you snort in amusement. You pull his arm so that he's sitting up on the bed, kneeling in front of him. His eyes flutter open, blurry for a moment before focusing on you. A dopey smile spreads on his face as he watches you take off his shoes and socks. 

“C’mon, arms up,” you instruct, rolling your eyes when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you. “Matt, you have to go to bed, arms up.” He sighs and relents, letting you change him out of his clothes without any more suggestive looks. You manage to get him into a pair of sweats and t-shirt he’d left months ago. 

“Is this mine?” he asks tiredly, smiling softly when you nod. “Thanks for keeping it.” 

“I don't steal your clothes just for the fun of it you know, I actually wear them?” you tease, pushing his shoulder lightly. He lets himself fall backwards when you do that, sighing as he pulls the sheets over him. 

“You'll stay, right?” he whispers into the dark room after a moment. “Even if you kick me out in the morning, and Brady beats me up again, right now just, please don't leave me again.” 

“I’m right here, Matty,” you reassure him, scratching lightly at his scalp. “I promise I'm not going anywhere.” 

“Y/N/N?” 

“Matt, what part of you need to go to sleep don't you understand?” 

“I know lemme just -” he rolls over to his side to face you, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand. He stares at you for a few moments, blinking slowly to try and fight the exhaustion. “I'm sorry for fucking everything up.” Before you get a chance to respond, Matt is out cold. 

-

When your eyes flutter open a few hours later, Matt is still dead asleep. It's times like these you're thankful for your body being used to waking up semi-early. You figured while Matt sleeps his hangover away you could make him breakfast, and maybe actually have a long overdue talk. 

You're flipping the last piece of french toast when you feel eyes on you. You turn to see Matt standing awkwardly in the entrance to the kitchen. He seems hesitant, closed off, and you notice he’s wearing his clothes from the night before. 

“Hey, good morning,” you smile gently at him, “I was just making some -” 

“I should go.” The words are abrupt, and they feel more like a knife to the gut than a slap to the face. “I'm sorry about last night, it won't happen again.” 

With that he's turning towards the door but really - you've had enough. 

“Sit. The fuck. Down.” 

He spins around quickly, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. “I really shouldn't be he-” 

“No!” you shout angrily, ignoring Matt’s taken-aback expression. You transfer the last piece of french toast to the place and turn off the stove, taking a deep breath. “Do you remember anything about last night?” you ask quietly. 

“Not much, bits and pieces.” 

“Well you're not walking away from me again,” you hiss, pointing at the dining room table. It’s already set, the only thing missing being the plates of french toast and eggs in your hands. “Sit.” 

Surprisingly, Matt does, watching you carefully as you set the plates down and sit. 

“Why didn't you tell me about Autumn?” you ask slowly, watching as he tenses, sitting up straight. “Tell me the truth.” 

He's silent for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to get the words out. “I was sick of seeing him hurt you,” he finally admits. “I watched him hurt you for so long, Y/N, I held you while you cried and I - I never want to be the one to make you feel like that.” 

“It hurt more when Brady said you knew.” Matt grips the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turn white. “And then you said that you loved me and - we’d spent so long trying to get me to tell Brady how I felt that I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what else to do except walk away.” 

“I know,” he says quietly. “I'm sorry.” 

“I know,” you repeat. 

Matthew clears his throat, eyes focusing in his lap as he says his next words. “Living without you is the worst thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire life. And I know it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. And I’m sorry.” A tear slips down his cheek and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching out and brushing it away with your thumb. You tilt his head towards you, taking in the defeated expression on his face. He keeps talking. “I should have - I shouldn't have told him for you, I shouldn't have told you that I loved you and I - god, Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry for everything.” 

“You didn't let me explain last week either,” you remind him.

“I know,” he says, “He just - he said -”

“I know what he said,” you cut him off, “Matt, when you saw me and Brady in December-” 

“I really don't wanna hear about you and Brady’s-” 

“Shut up, Matt!” You know you're probably being too harsh on him, but you're so incredibly tired of feeling like there's something - someone - missing, and you need his stubborn ass to just listen to you. “Brady and I are not together.” Matt’s mouth drops open, before he frowns. You know what he's going to say and you speak before he can. 

“I didn't just fuck him just because Matt, we were - we were testing the waters, okay?” You pause for a moment to try and discern his reaction. When he says nothing, you take a deep breath and say what you've been meaning to for too long. “It didn't work, Matt. Brady is my best friend but, he's not it for me.” 

Matt’s eyes are wide, cheeks reddening with every passing second. He grabs a piece of toast and shoves half the thing in his mouth. He chews for a moment, swallows, and then clears his throat. 

“He's...not it for you?” You shake your head. 

“And…?” 

You laugh, reaching for his hand. “And you are, Matty. It just, it took me a little longer than it should have to figure it out.” 

Matt seems frozen in place, unsure of what his next move should be. Instead of speaking he wolfs down the rest of the toast. 

“So you mean to tell me,” he stands, pacing in front of you, “that Brady was fucking with me?” 

“Of course he was fucking with you,” you said exasperatedly. “It’s Brady. He's a dumbass though so he fucked with you over something that was causing you real pain. I - I was causing you real pain. And myself. And I’m sorry.” 

Matt freezes, turning on his heel to face you. 

“Say it,” he says, reaching a hand out to you.

A grin spreads across your face as you take it, letting him pull you up until you were standing chest to chest with him. He looks down at you with bright, hopefully blue eyes. He's already leaning down to meet your mouth with his when you say it. 

“I love you too, Matty.”

fin (sort of)

[giowritess]

straight to my head [henry cavill]

masterlist

Pairing: Henry Cavill x bestfriend!female!reader

Request:  “Hi! May you please write a Henry Cavill one where you’re hanging out with him and you have feelings for him but haven’t had the guts to tell him but that day your sister called you and you started speaking in Spanish to her about Henry but little did you know that he actually knew Spanish and he teased you about it. Happy ending please, thank you!”

Warnings: cursing, some angst, fluff

Word-count: 2,697

Author’s note: HEY GUYS! I can’t believe I’m finally posting my first writing piece here on Tumblr! It’s my first attempt at writing this kind of fanfiction (well, the second, actually), and I truly hope you like it, especially you, dear anon, who requested this. I did some changes, hope you don’t mind. This one was based on the song Straight to My Head, by You Me At Six, and I’d really like if you listened to it. A big thank you to my best friend, @naturiz​ for the Spanish part, and a big shoutout to my amazing beta/daughter/friend/love of my life @amirahiddleston​ <3333 I’d be lost without you!

gif credit goes to @b-n-a-o​

Straight to My Head

  You had never been the kind of person to enjoy dancing. 

   Yet, here you were, jumping, moving and swaying your hips to the beat of your favorite song in the middle of an empty dance floor. A little tequila-and-other-alcoholic-beverages-induced, yes — but you were happy, not even minding the glances you were getting. All the stress that had built up in the past few weeks had finally left your body, and you had your friends to thank for that. They were the ones who’d dragged you down here, to a cosy small pub. It had been way too long since the last time all of you had spent time together, and everyone seemed to benefit from a bit of fun and forgetting the real world. 

   Exactly as you were doing right now, completely oblivious to everything and everyone else. How good it felt to be trapped in your bubble, with nothing but your fuzzy mind and your favourite song.

   “Didn’t know you could dance, y/n,” Henry teased, not far from you. You could even hear the smirk in his deep voice.

   “Shut up, idiot,” you replied, snapping out of your bubble and walking closer to your friends.

   “Seriously, though,” he insisted, grinning like a kid, “those were amazing dance moves. You should teach me.”

   You just rolled your eyes, making him laugh, and tried to hide your smile. Your relationship with Henry had always been playful like this, ever since you met a couple of years ago. You two had been through a lot together — it was quite a fun and exciting journey to follow his success as an amazing actor that close, which meant celebrations, parties, even a few premieres.

   As the boys got ready to play some pool, you stood in the back with a beer in hand, watching him — always him and no one else. You sighed as you watched him move with the ease and gracefulness of a cat. A big, fluffy cat who seemed to be serious and almost dangerous on the outside, but was nothing more than a playful little kitten on the inside.

   The dim lighting in that corner of the room sent shadows over his godly features, the sight sending warmth up your core. He was always the most handsome man in the room. And in your head.

   That was where he was. He’d taken over your thoughts ever since you met, and there was nothing you could do to take him out; he was already at home and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. You tried as hard as you could, even dated other people, but it was pointless. You still fell hard for him anyway.

  But Henry was your best friend, and you were his. You talked about everything, helped each other with everything — even his own love life. It hurt you. Like hell, but there was nothing you could do about it but listen and be there for him when he needed, just like he did for you. His friendship is one of the most precious things on Earth to you, but that is all you were meant to be. He was yours, but not in the way you truly wanted.

   Which was why sometimes it got too hard for you. Sometimes you had to step back and pull yourself together when it was too much for your heart. Seeing him with other women, especially when you knew he was happy, was far more than you could take, a pain you couldn’t avoid. 

   You straightened yourself up and dropped the bottle on the table. You needed to sober up. Being drunk around Henry was always a dangerous idea — you were a complete mess. Crazy, unpredictable and suddenly brave. The possibility that you’d end up saying or making anything that could lead to regrets and ruining your friendship was a giant risk — one you couldn’t take. So, you always tried your best to be as sober as possible, but tonight you desperately needed the freedom and release that only alcohol could give you. And he happened to be around.

   “Be right back,” you muttered to no one in particular, making your way towards the ladies room. They were too entertained in their game to miss you, anyway. 

   Thankfully, the bathroom wasn’t crowded, just a few girls who seemed half your age, many who had probably got in with a fake ID. You went straight to the sink and splattered the cold water in your face one, two, three times. But it was the girls’ conversation that caught your attention.

   “Did you see Henry Cavill playing pool by the back? Jesus fucking Christ, that’s Heaven made of flesh,” one of them said. 

   “Can you believe our luck? Gotta be fate,” the one applying mascara in front of the mirror replied.

   They laughed together and started to make their way outside.

   “I think I’m gonna try my luck, who knows,” you heard one of them say as they left the bathroom, and you gripped the sink with both hands, taking a deep breath. 

   You had no right to be angry with their words. In fact, you understood a-hundred-per cent how they felt — you felt that way almost all the time, too. But fuck. There was no way in controlling the anger that was taking over you, as well as the few lonely tears that escaped the corner of your eyes. There was nothing you could do about it but simply accept it. That was your job as his best friend.

   After a few deep breaths, you pulled yourself together, and finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. Your anger alone, still tingling through your face, your arms, your fingers, had sobered you up some seventy-per cent by now. You stopped by the bar to buy some chocolate and was met with one of your friends.

   “Hey y/n, wanna play some pool? We need someone,” he asked.

   “Yeah, sure,” you replied, eating the chocolate before you walked back to the pool table.

   You grunted at the scene in front of you. The girls from the bathroom, one sitting in the back with her arms wrapped around one of your friends and the other one — the prettiest one, with long, dark hair and a beautiful black dress that hugged her body in the best way — tangled up with Henry, laughing and touching him whenever (and wherever) she could. Which meant all the time (and everywhere). 

   It wasn’t that this kind of thing didn’t happen often — it did, in fact; of course it would, when your group of friends had you as the only woman. And you didn’t care for your other friends, they could do whatever they wanted if it’d bring them a bit of happiness, even if momentary. But Henry was… Henry. He would never be like everyone else, and you couldn’t fool yourself or your heart to believe that.

   “Girls, this is y/n,” your friend said, and the girls smiled at you.

  You tried your best to look sympathetic.

   “Hey, I’m Devon,” the one in the back waved at you.

   “And this is Julia,” Henry told you and motioned at the girl beside him.

   With another deep breath, you smiled and hoped it looked real enough.

   You didn’t know what happened to you. You’d never been this jealous, you’d always been able to control your emotions and prevent them from rising to surface. But that night felt completely different. Probably because of all the alcohol, but there was no way you’d be able to look unaffected. 

   “Ready to kick some asses?” your pair asked, handing you the stick. 

   “Born ready, baby,” you replied, applying chalk to the end of the poolstick.

Julia was Henry’s partner, of course. He had to show her how to properly hold the stick and how to play, but you had your doubts if she truly didn’t know or was just pretending. Well, you’d pretend if you were in her shoes. 

   It was no surprise when you made the first ball — you had a natural talent for the pool. Especially when drunk. And angry.

   The chocolate in your mouth felt bitter because you kept hearing Julia’s giggles and saw the way Henry touched her. Every fucking time she was going to play, he had to be glued to her back, lingering touches on her hand, her arms. It began to piss you off way more than you imagined.

   You made a ball. And another, and another, and another. Four in a row, leaving only two of your balls on the table. 

   “Fuck, y/n,” your partner said, and laughed, clearly a bit shocked. “Where did that come from?”

   “What can I say,” you replied, “the effects of anger.” 

   The game soon came to an end, you made the victory hit. You started another, trying your best to focus on the game and nothing else. But it was hard. It was so fucking hard when Julia and Henry didn’t even pretend to play properly, due to their drunken stupor and lust for one another. When his lips went closer to her ear, you finally snapped. There was no way in fucking hell you were going to endure that. No. Enough.

   “I’m through,” you stated before dropping the stick on the table.

   You didn’t care about the stupid game. All you wanted was to leave the pub, to get away, and cry and scream and fill up your sister’s inbox with countless messages rambling about it. 

   That was exactly what you did the instant you crossed the door, drinking in the cold night air and fishing for your phone. After finding her contact, your fingers started to fly across the keyboard, but you realized that wasn’t enough for how angry you were.

   “No puedo creer lo enojada que estoy por eso [I can’t believe how mad I am],” you started. Of course, it’d be in Spanish, your mother tongue: it was the only way you truly could express your anger. 

   You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say, but you had to say something, to get it out. There was a pressure in your chest that’d only be alleviated after you opened your heart to someone, obviously your sister. 

   “Tú no creerías lo tan enojada que estoy. ¡Pero ugh! ¡Simplemente no puedo controlarlo y no mames eso me deja demasiada enojada! [You wouldn’t believe how mad I am. But ugh! I just can’t control it and that makes me so fucking angry!]”

   You sent that first audio message to her. You didn’t even have an internet connection, so she’d only receive it after you connected to wifi or something, but it didn’t matter. You just had to speak. Get it out of your system.

   “Dios, desearía que pudieras verlo con tus propios ojos todos los toques y coqueteos. Simplemente me mandaron por un tubo y no sé cómo enfrentarlo, sabes? No hay ninguna explicación más allá de la verdad, que él debe haber entendido, de todos modos. O no, apuesto que Julia lo mantiene demasiado ocupado para que yo ocupe su mente [God, I wish you could see for yourself! All those touches and flirting. It just pushed me off the edge and now I don’t even know how to face him, you know? There’s no explanation besides the truth. Which he must have already figured it out, anyway. Or not. I bet Julia is keeping him too busy for me to occupy his mind at all],” you said in a single breath. There. Now you felt as if the weight was off your chest.

   After pressing the “send” button, you took a much needed deep breath. The cold weather had a calm, soothing effect on you as you breathed in the night air; you could feel yourself getting calmer. Still angry, yes, but a bit calmer.

   So trapped in your own space, you almost jumped when you heard his voice.

   “No hay nada que nunca pueda sacarte de mi mente [There’s nothing that can ever keep you off my mind].” 

     Even in a perfect Spanish, his deep British accent was still present.

   Oh, my, god. There he was, behind you, and you wanted to bury yourself six feet under and never, ever come out.

   “Henry!” Your voice was a shriek. “I… I’m… I sh…” you stuttered, not knowing what to say. You could feel your heart pounding violently against your chest.

   What to say, what to do, how to act. You had no idea Henry even spoke Spanish, and you sure as hell hadn’t expected him to follow you outside. Díos mio. Had he heard every single word you just said? You were glad that it was dark, ‘cause your face must’ve definitely been on fire.

   “I’m sorry,” he said, making you look at him with a visible question mark on your face. “For making you feel like that. I did want to affect you, though, and I’m quite glad I did.”

   “What? Henr—”

   “See, y/n,” he interrupted you, “I had a theory, and you just proved it.”

   He came closer, his beautiful face stepping under the thin lightning which made his baby blue eyes to shine. He hovered above you, like a lion over his prey, but you weren’t intimidated at all. Though confused and with your head spinning as fuck.

   “My theory was that you and I feel the same way about each other,” he continued, getting closer and closer at each word that left his lips.

   Díos. Were your dreams coming true? Was this real? Were you dreaming, or even seeing properly? You could hear your speeding heart, and you wondered if he could hear it, too.

   “Henry, I… I’m… I’m lost in translation here,” you replied, your weak voice almost a whisper.

   He had to say it. You needed to hear the words coming out of his very own lips, otherwise, it wouldn’t be real. 

   A low chuckle came from him. He left very little space between your faces when he got even closer and cupped your face with both hands.

   “I’ve been falling in love with you ever since you entered my life, love,” he said. Your knees were weak, and you felt as if you were going to fall dead on the ground. “But you never gave me any signal that you felt the same. Until I started to notice the small details. Your face, your eyes, your hands. Your words, your expressions. The little things gave you away, y/n.”

   The warm touch of his big hands on your face, all the love and tenderness with which he spoke every single word made your heart swell. No one had ever spoken with that much affection towards you, no one had ever held you that gently as he did. Your best friend. Your soulmate. 

   “So? Am I right then? He asked playfully, chuckling because you hadn’t said anything yet.

   You felt as if a lightning bolt had just gone through you, your skin prickling. 

   “Yes!” You instantly said, feeling some tears on your eyes. “Yes, Henry, yes. You are. I don’t even know for how long I’ve loved you. I was… I was scared of ruining our friendship. I’m sorry, if I’d kno—”

   He shushed you with a gentle kiss, timidly placing one of his hands in the back of your neck. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders.

   “No regrets or apologies,” he murmured, touching your forehead with his. “Though I do regret the method I used to prove my point,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sorry. I was getting desperate and running out of options. I just couldn’t bear to spend another entire day being nothing more than friends with you,” he explained, his eyes locked with yours. One of his hands started tracing the line of your bottom lip. “Not being able to touch you, to kiss you… God knows how torture it was to be around you all this time.”

   It was your turn to laugh. He felt exactly like you did, then.

   “Henry?” You whispered. “Come home with me?”

   An affirmation, an invitation, an order? You didn’t know. But all that mattered was his answer.

   “Yes.”

A/N: I hope from the depths of my heart that you enjoyed it! For now I do not have a taglist, but if you’d like to be tagged in my future works, let me know <3 

xoxo, Gio

[amarits]

Jason tried to settle in the uncomfortable metal chair. Whoever had designed it had put what looked like cushions on the seat and backrest as if to give it the appearance of comfort, but the cushions didn’t seem to have any actual padding. They were just pockets of air that weren’t thick enough to protect from the hard aluminum underneath. He was never going to complain about taking the jet again. Sleeping in alleys was more comfortable than this.

He scowled down at the bookbag he’d hastily packed that morning. If he’d taken the jet, he wouldn’t be sitting around at all. Layovers weren’t necessary when you made the flight plans. If he’d taken the jet, Bruce or Alfred or even Dick would be with him instead of him being stuck replaying arguments in his head. But if he’d been in the position to take the jet, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. Probably wouldn’t be doing this.

Christ, he didn’t even know anymore. He buried his face in his arms, his knees pressed to his chest. It had been such a bad month. No, two months. It had been over two months since he’d told Bruce about Chirp and everything had gone to hell.

It wasn’t even fighting; it was this constant tension, a heaviness of guilt and blame and doubt that was making it hard to breathe. He’d gone back to Crime Alley to escape it for an hour, to try to remember who he was and how much he’d survived. To remind himself that he’d survive this too.

And then he’d run into a neighbor who’d saved a box of old stuff from their apartment. Some pictures, a few report cards, and a smudged birth certificate with the wrong name. He thought about the S at the beginning of his mom’s name, the only visible letter. Of the women in his father’s address book. Three potential mothers halfway across the world.

What was he doing? This was so stupid. None of his other parents had been that great. What made him think the one who’d never even bothered to be in his life in the first place would be any better?

He wondered if Bruce had noticed he was missing yet.

He looked out the wall of windows at a plane driving across the tarmac. From here, he couldn’t even tell he’d left the country. It looked like every tarmac at every airport across the world. He could still turn around and go home.

But this wasn’t Gotham; it was Zurich. By the time he could get home, everyone would know he’d been gone. There would be arguments, accusations, even more being grounded. If he was going to have to deal with all that anyway, he might as well let this play out first and see where it led.

His phone rang. Here we go, he thought. Time for the yelling.

It took him a few seconds to fish the phone out of his pocket, around his keys, the small address book he was keeping close, and the snacks he’d grabbed for the trip. He was so deep in debating whether or not he was going to answer Bruce and how he was going to answer if he did, that he almost accepted the call before he realized the Caller ID was blank. Not even a phone number. Fucking spammers.

He took a breath to slow his heart rate, and stared out at the plane pulling into their gate. He’d be on it soon, on his way to Israel. This was better. He shouldn’t answer when Bruce called anyway. After all, Bruce had the jet. He’d be able to intercept Jason and take him home before he even managed to reach his first potential mom.

The phone rang again. He glanced down at it, expecting it to be the same spammer. This time, the Caller ID said, “CHIRP” in all capital letters. Just that. Chirp.

He stared at it, not immediately understanding. Why would Chirp be calling him? Why would Chirp be calling Jason him? He wasn’t Robin right now. How did Chirp even have his number?

Of course Chirp had his number. Chirp could access anything digital. He was tracking them, watching them through the cameras. He…

...knew who they were.

It was obvious the moment he thought it. How could Chirp not know who they were? How could they hide their identities from someone who could see everything?

He hunched down in his chair, jacket collar rising around his ears, and answered with a deep, “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” the familiar, too young voice asked.

“Why is it any of your business?” he shot back.

The line went completely silent. He’d never really noticed on the comms how Chirp’s audio didn’t have any background noise, but the lack of ambient sounds was obvious on a phone. It sounded unnatural.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” Chirp said, tiptoeing through the words one hesitant syllable at a time. Jason used to think Chirp was practically an all-knowing entity, on par with Batman, but now he sounded so uncertain.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, opening his mouth to apologize. He shouldn’t take his anger out on Chirp. He was just…

His mouth snapped shut. No, you know what? He had the right to be mad. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for Chirp. Bruce would still trust him. The manor, which had started to feel like home, wouldn’t have become suffocating. He would still have his life. Maybe Chirp wasn’t the Copycat, but that didn’t make him Jason’s friend.

He almost hung up right then and there, but Chirp spoke, his voice slow and quiet, like he was trying to calm a snarling stray. It only made him angrier. He wasn’t an animal with irrational feelings that needed to be soothed.

“Is something wrong?” Chirp asked.

“Everything’s fine,” he spat. “Why? You gonna tell Batman on me? He doesn’t even like you.” The words tumbled out before he knew what he was saying.

He could hear the answering silence like a gasp. He shouldn’t have said that; he’d only done it to be mean. But it was true. Bruce had always been against Chirp.

“I’m not going to tell on you,” Chirp said, stumbling over the words. His voice reminded Jason of the scared kids he’d known on the streets, the ones he’d wanted to protect.

Manipulative, he thought. That’s why he sounds like a child.

Or he was a child. Jason didn’t know anymore. He trusted Chirp, but he didn’t trust Chirp, and it was all jumbled in his brain. He didn’t want to be taken advantage of. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wanted Chirp to go away.

“Just, be careful, okay?” Chirp said, starting to ramble in the face of Jason’s silence. “Call me if you need back up.”

With what phone number? Jason thought. Chirp hadn’t even been reliably on the comms lately, and they were going to be half a day apart.

“Actually,” Chirp said, seeming to realize the same thing and laughing nervously to himself. “I’ll program something. Just, uh, say my name. I’ll set up an alert. If you say my name, I’ll know.”

Jesus. Like everything Chirp did, it was one minor chord away from being full-on horror movie, but he was pretty sure Chirp was just trying to help. Probably.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m going to go back to being by myself and not monitored, okay?”

Chirp was quiet long enough to make it clear that request was gonna be ignored, but he finally said, “Okay.”

Jason hung up instead of pushing it. He held the phone in his lap, knuckles white around the dark red case. A few feet away, the flight attendant started calling for passengers in five languages. It didn’t look like Bruce was going to call before his next flight. He should probably be relieved, but it just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Chirp noticed he was gone before his… before the person who was supposed to be his dad did. Figured.

He turned the phone off as his group was called. In four hours, he’d be in Israel. Bruce would have another chance to yell at him then. If he cared enough to try.

Read more on AO3

[ellaenchanting]

Hypnovember 2019 Master List

Jesus. Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of writing. I don’t really consider myself a writer generally and this is definitely the first time I’ve written this much this quickly. I’m going to look at my word count soon, but- I think I may have written a novel’s length of words? Wow.Thanks to everyone who encouraged me during this or provided support/ideas: thinking of @daja-the-hypnokitten , @liminal-wanderings , @mr-ackerman , @spiralturquoise , @wellgnawed , @sex-obsessed-lesbian , and @hypno-sandwich especially here but there were lots of y’all who reblogged or made kind comments. I appreciate every one of them. :)

Here’s a catch up of everything I’ve written so far this month. In honor of @jukeboxemcsa, I’ve also included a HypnoBS rating where 1 is absolute bullshit and 5 is normal Tuesday night.

Icons- 📰- story. 🔊- audio 💻- technology 😍- romantic 🌈- queer 😴- regular ole’ hypnosis 🛀- brainwashing and/or hypnotist in a tub 👻- spooky 🐈- at least one happy pussy ❓- bad or reeeally questionable consent ✝️- author's weird religious feels that somehow kept coming up

Day 1: Base Character-F/f 📰😍🌈🛀🐈 

Choice quote: ”Or maybe it was the ship of Theseus- Janine seeing how many little pieces of her she could replace until she fundamentally just wasn’t the same person anymore.”

HypnoBS- I haven’t done this kind of play and have no first hand experience. Let’s say 3.

Newly added 11/18: @undersleeper requested some extra information on how the brainwashing was actually done in this story so I added this non-canon sequel. (I think the sequel boosts the BS score to a 4.)

Day 2: Colors- F/nb 📰😴 🌈

Choice quote: “Bri used to consider themselves a bad hypnotic subject.”

HypnoBS- 4. I haven’t done this induction specifically but love doing these kinds of overloads

Day 3: Dizzy- no gender specified🔊😴

Choice quote: “When you take deep breaths, you feel like you’re getting more oxygen, but actually the opposite is true.”

HypnoBS-5. Should get you in trance, we’re not ranking the accuracy of all the science herein.

Day 4: Sing- m/f kinda I guess? 📰👻❓

Choice quote:  “Tonight wasn’t the night to give in, he told himself. Not yet.”

HypnoBS- 1. Thank God.

Day 5: Poison- M/f 📰😍🛀🐈

Choice quote: “Lila could admit it. She was kind of a brat.But Sean? He was worse. He was a fucking troll.“

HypnoBS- 4? Haven’t done it, could probably make something in this realm work with the right person.

Day 6: Summon- F/f 📰😍😴🌈🐈

Choice quote: “Number one, there is no butch street cred. And number two- if there was such a thing, you and I both know that being seduced by a beautiful woman would only increase it.”

HypnoBS- 3 or 4. It’s quick and there would need to be a lot more talking generally. But sure.

Day 7: Underwear- F/f 📰😴🌈

Choice quote: “Under….where”, Destiny tested the word out loud. It sounded like a portmanteau of some sort. She understood the word “under” and the word “where” (or “wear”? “where are” maybe? maybe it was German?) but those two words together didn’t form much of a picture.”

HypnoBS- 5. Although have only done this as a hypnotist so I can’t speak to subject POV. This kind of thing is adorable to watch, though.

Day 8: Neighbor- F/f📰😍🌈 ❓

Choice quote: “When Jiyeon tapped her pencil, Alyssa tapped her pencil lightly to match.”

HypnoBS- 1. Maybe 1.5 since there are no monsters or demons.

Day 9: Idiotic- no gender specified📰😴

Choice quote: “Because Id-iotic. It’s literally what you want deep down”

HypnoBS-4. Not my thing but with the right people- sure.

Day 10: Smell- F/m 📰😴😍🛀🐈

Choice quote: “Belinda had also woken up from sexy dreams at night to the feeling of Ray’s head buried in her cunt.”

HypnoBS- 3 on the details. Some parts are more plausible than others. We’re outside my realm of experience here so others could probably rank more accurately.

Day 11: Broadcast- Hypnovirus/f 📰💻🛀✝️

Choice quote: “It felt important to present herself to the screen in a way that demonstrated her vulnerability and openness to instruction.”

HypnoBS- 4. Probably not likely, but I could see this kind of symbolic bleed with the right person pretty easily.

Day 12: Stage- M/m 📰😍🌈😴

Choice quote: “Brandon had not mentioned the hypnosis thing to Scott- it felt weird and personal and he had already half-convinced himself that he was being creepy in response to Scott’s platonic friendliness. He didn’t want to scare him off. He had never expected to see him here.”

HypnoBS- 5. At least as far as the hypnosis goes

Day 13: Bath- no gender specified 🔊🛀😴

Choice quote: *insert rambling about Pat Collins here*

HypnoBS- 5. But also a high general BS score. I was tired and needed to finish a thing. I am surprised but grateful people liked this one. :P

Day 14: Machine- M/f 📰😴💻😍✝️

Choice quote: “For as long as she could remember, Deidre had longed for self-annhilation.”

HypnoBS- 1. That’s not how brains work.

Day 15: Ooze- there’s a m and a f 📰😴🛀❓

Choice quote: “For example, your badge- did you know that putting all the stickers on the top of your badge like that usually means that you’re a hypnotist?”

Amy’s eyes widened a bit. “It does?”

HypnoBS- 2. Sadly.

Day 16: Wedding- something/f 📰👻❓

Choice quote: “She knew then that she was alone. No one could help her. No one could even see her.”

HypnoBS- 1.

Day 17: Gentle- a different something/f  📰 kinda 🐈❓✝️

Choice quote: “As long as she didn’t focus on it, it would write the story for her.”

HypnoBS- 1. I think. :P

Day 18: Infection- not stated/m 📰 🛀❓

Choice quote: “If he could just get the song out of his head, maybe he’d have a chance.”

HypnoBS- 2. 

Day 19: Hideout- F/f 📰  🐈 😍😴🛀🌈

Choice quote: “’Come to me, pet. Come to me.’ 

Mesmera.

 She could always sense when Galaxy Girl was weak. She consistently picked the perfect time to strike.

And now, she had found her apartment.”

HypnoBS-4.5

Day 20: Watch- no gender specified 🔊 😴

Choice quote: “Feel your thoughts just tick tick tick tick ticking gone”

HypnoBS-5

Day 21: Fighting- F/m 📰 😴

Choice quote: “His mistress loved resistance play. She delighted in watching him struggle and strain against an irresistible impulse.”

HypnoBS-5 Mmmm :)

Day 22: Mistaken- F/an entire hypnocon  📰  😴

Choice quote: “Ginger- submissive, wide-eyed, bottomy Ginger- was holding a crowd of 8 people in her hypnotic thrall. Some had their eyes closed already, while others were staring at her with the rapt look of early trance.“

HypnoBS- 4. But only because I haven't seen it yet. :P

Day 23: Heist- F/m  📰  🛀❓(😍 but it’s pretty messed up)

Choice quote: “The inside of the vault had gotten somewhat sparse-looking- David had been cleaning out the bank out at a much quicker pace recently- but there were still plenty of treasures here to bring to his mistress.”

HypnoBS- 3, maybe 2

Day 24: Business F/f 📰 😴😍🌈

Choice quote: “Summer was a well-mannered southern girl at heart. She knew that if something was none of her business, it was impolite and rude to know it. Best not to think about it too much. She didn’t want to be nosey.”

HypnoBS- 4

Day 25: Babble F/m📰 😴 🛀 (💻 kinda)

Choice quote: “You can feel your access to language lessening….and lessening. Feeling those parts of your brain losing blood, quieting, going to sleep. Imagine what that might look like on the fMRI- the color draining, darkening, going black. Your ability to use language can be almost completely gone.”

HypnoBS- 5 (Neuroscience BS- closer to 3)

Day 26: Enemy M/f 📰 😴😍🐈 

Choice quote: “When she was denied for long periods of time, everything became sexual.”

HypnoBS- 5. Unf.

Day 27: Confidence F/m 📰 😴❓

Choice quote: “Dr Eleanor had been recommended to Richard by his friend Jon who had seen her previously. “She won’t bullshit you,” he had said, “she just gets right to the roots of your issues and helps you solve them.” He must have known what he was talking about- a year after visiting Dr Eleanor, Jon had recently married a wonderful woman. He was also running marathons and succeeding professionally. There were worse people to listen to, Richard thought.”

HypnoBS- 3 (although this kind of gaslighting is real and can be effective)

Day 28: Abduction F/f M/f background m/m 📰 😴😍🌈

Choice quote: “’And so she….’ Lilliana stopped. She stared for a moment in surprise at the space between Cirie’s fingers. Cirie looked like she was holding a small, invisible ball. Liliana tried to recall her train of thought (something about work?) but found herself strangely blank.

She looked at Cirie in astonishment. 

‘You took it!’ she accused.”

HypnoBS- 5

Day 29: Doctor Doctor/Master (from Dr Who) 📰 😴🌈💻

Choice quote: “The doors in the Master’s mind all appeared to be open. The Doctor quickly scanned for malicious intent but-

Oh.

Oh my.

So that’s why.”

HypnoBS- I...uh...1?

Day 30: Kink The author/her self-indulgent whims 📰 🌈

Choice quote: “Ultimately, she really just  liked her friends- and she especially loved hearing all of their stories.”

HypnoBS- Cake. Imma eat a cake.

Thank you all for reading these! I know this is a long post, but I’d really appreciate reblogs of it. If you’ve liked my stories, please consider leaving me a tip on Ko-fi! Also I’d be happy to give extra information on any of the characters or a bit of what happens next if you want to send me an ask about any of these stories. I’m finding myself with a strange craving to write. Funny how that works. :P

[racebox-of-higgars]

Christmas Kisses - sprace oneshot

It may not be Christmas anymore but I’m still gonna write it 

Crossposted on Ao3 at Racebox_of_Higgars 

Enjoy! 

“I think I’m having a feeling,” Spot groaned, flopping down onto Jack’s couch. “Make it stop.” Jack looked up from his painting, frowning at Spot.  

“How did you get in my house?”  

“I picked the lock,” Spot said simply, as if it happened every day.  

“As you do.”  

“Yes.” Jack narrowed his eyes slightly, then shook his head. Today was not the day for questioning things.  

“What feeling?”  

“Fuck if I know.” Spot gestured at the air in front of him. “ Racetrack! ” That only made Jack even more confused.  

Spot, he didn’t really do feelings. He would always bottle them up and ignore them until they became anger, which was far easier to deal with than whatever it was before. That earned him his reputation as the kid with the anger issues, which suited him just fine. It meant no one messed with him, or people around him, and as long as they were okay, he was happy.  

“You got a problem with Race?” Jack asked, turning completely away from his painting. He was invested now.  

“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Jack grinned, finally catching on to what Spot was getting at.  

“You like him, don’t you?” Spot screamed into the pillow and Jack snickered.  

Jack loved Race. Not in a romantic way, but Race was pretty much his little brother, and he would do anything to make Race happy. He had seen Race fall in love too fast then each time they would leave and he’d watch Race fall apart, each time losing another part of himself. Slowly, it had worn Race down, and though he didn’t let it show, he was always hurting. Every time he got into a new relationship, he would keep his distance, trying not to get too close Every time he would get his heart broken. Jack never liked any of Race’s boyfriends, but he liked Spot.

“So what do I do about it?” Spot asked. “Do I ask him out, or do I like stab him?”  

“You ask him out, dipshit!” Spot screamed again.  

“What do I do?” Spot sat up slightly, looking a Jack, and he actually looked worried. God, he was whipped.  

“Ask him on a date.”  

“What kind of date does one ask Racetrack fucking Higgins on?” That was a good question. Thankfully, Jack had known the fucker since they were basically fetuses, and therefore knew exactly what he would want.  

“Take him to the ice-skating rink, then get hot chocolate together and watch a Christmas movie.” Race was a sucker for Christmas, and it being just weeks away now, it was perfect timing. “If you’re feeling bold put up some mistletoe. He loves that shit.”  

“Race loves Christmas, right?”  

“Yup. If your house isn’t decorated he’ll fly through there like a glittery rainbow tornado.” Spot smiled at that. He could practically picture it, and he felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Dude, you’re fucking whipped.”  

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll still kill you in your sleep.” Jack just smiled and turned back to his painting.  

“Enjoy your date.”  

Spot knew what he wanted to say, but actually asking Race out was a whole other story. They were in the library together, a usual hangout spot (hehe get it), when it was cold, and Race was rambling on about some new thing he had grown obsessed with and Spot had listened diligently, completely enraptured by Race’s excitement. His sparkling eyes lit up with a childlike glee and a grin spread across his face as he looked out the window.  

“Spotty, look!” He cried. “They’re turning on the Christmas lights!” Race was entranced by the lights, almost like a child, but Spot wasn’t watching them. Spot was gazing at Race. He watched as the colours flickered over Race’s pale skin and the rainbow of lights reflected off his eyes. God, he was so in love with this boy it hurt, and if he didn’t get at least a date with him soon he was pretty sure he’d combust.  

Plans went out the window.  

“Go on a date with me?” He blurted, screaming internally the second it left his mouth. Race turned to him, shock written all over his face.  

“What?”  

“I-uh-I wanted to know if you, maybe, wanted to go on a date with me?” Spot stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Race smiled, somehow wider than he had when he was watching the lights.  

“Really?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Yes!” Race rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he always did when he was excited and Spot couldn’t help his smile.  

“Alright, uh, I’ll pick you up at 7, is that okay?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Oh, and wrap up warm,” Spot added, thinking about how cold it was likely to be on the ice later. Race nodded.  

“Okay, I’ll – uh – I’ll see you later?”  

“Yeah, see you.” Fuck yes!  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS!!!!

Mom:  Do you really need that many exclaimation marks?  

SantaGay: GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS????

Mom: Don’t encourage him  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAAAAAAAAAAAYS!  

Mom:  What do you want?  

Racebox of Higgars:  SPOT ASKED ME ON A FUCKIN DATE!!!!

SantaGay:  HELL YEAH!  

Mom:  Finally

Mom:  It’s only taken him nine years.  

SantaGay:  what are you doing?  

Racebox of Higgars:  i don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me

SantaGay:  oooh, a man of mystery  

Mom:  Be safe.  

Racebox of Higgars:  i always am

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK WHAT AM I GONNA WEAR

Mom:  Did he give you a dress code?  

Racebox of Higgars:  no, he just said dress warm

SantaGay:  black skinny jeans, that cream turtleneck you literally never wear, your fancy black coat, doc martens, a lil bit of eyeliner  

Mom:  Jack, you have fashion sense?  

Mom:  Why do you never dress up nice for our dates?  

Racebox of Higgars:  o shit

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

For the fifth time, Race examined himself in the mirror, scrunching up his face. Something was missing from his outfit. He had to admit, Jack’s taste was good (the eyeliner was amazing), but something was still missing. He rifled through his drawers, eventually pulling out the silver chain Spot had bought him when they were 14. It was simple, plain, but spoke volumes.  

Race had only just come out as trans. He was slowly swapping out his wardrobe for more masculine clothes, and they were going through his old jewellery.  

He held up  a necklace with a small owl charm at the end, grimacing. He hated that necklace. It wasn’t anything against it particularly, but more to do with how feminine it made him feel. He hated it.  

“Y’know,” he began absent-mindedly, “I used to love this necklace, but now I can’t stand it. It makes me really dysphoric for some reason, which sucks since I love wearing jewellery and stuff, but I can’t wear most of this.”  

“You can get more masculine necklaces,” Spot answered from where he was sitting at the foot of Race’s bed.  

“Well, yeah, but I can’t really afford it.” Spot frowned. “I don’t get any money at the moment, and I can’t work.”  An idea slowly formulated in Spot’s mind.  

“Race, I got you something,” Spot said sheepishly. Race turned, brow furrowing.  

“It’s not my birthday, or Christmas. Why?”  

“It ain’t much, but you were saying about it the other day and then I saw it and thought of you.” He held the box out to Race, who took it tentatively.  

“This isn’t gonna explode or anything, right?” Spot laughed, but shook his head. It reminded him of their prank war a month or so before, which only ended when Spot had broken his nose.  

“It shouldn’t do.”  

“Alright, good.” Race tore into the packaging with a newfound fervour,  dropping it to the floor because he was a firm believer that gift-giving should always be carnage, no matter what the occasion, then opened the lid of the box. Spot watched nervously, suddenly thinking that this was probably a bad idea, but Race’s face cracked into a grin.  

“You bought me a necklace?” He said incredulously as he carefully lifted it out of the box.  

“Well, yeah. I was out with Hotshot yesterday and I saw it in a window and it reminded me of the other day. If you don’t like it I can take it back I jus-“ Spot was cut off by a weight crashing into him, and arms wrapping tightly around him.  

“I love it, thank you.”  

Since then Race had kept it in pristine condition, carefully making sure it didn’t rust or otherwise get dirty or break. He carefully lifted the chain out of the box, much like he did all those years ago, and fastened it around his neck. Looking in the mirror, he smiled. It offset the outfit perfectly, matching with the silver buttons on his coat and just providing that extra little touch to the outfit. He took a quick photo and sent it to the group chat.  

In Which Race is a Third Wheel

Racebox of Higgars sent a photo  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYS DO I LOOK OKAY  

SantaGay:  damn bitch  

SantaGay: if i wasn’t dating davey and you weren’t like a brother to me id tap that  

Mom:  He means you look good.  

Mom: He’s right, you do.  

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK HES HERE  

Spot shuffled slightly outside Race’s door, flowers in hand. Were flowers too much? Fuck it, it was too late now. Race opened the door and Spot’s breath caught in his throat. Oh god, Race was gorgeous. Spot’s eyes slowly glanced over Race, taking all of him in, from stylishly messy curls, to his bright eyes rimmed by just a little bit of eyeliner to make them stand out, to his breathless smile, to the necklace at his throat, to those criminally tightly jeans, and Spot needed to stop staring.  

“Christ, you look gorgeous,” Spot breathed, still hardly able to take it all in. A blush crept up Race’s cheeks as his eyes skirted over Spot.  

“You can’t talk, you’re-“ he gestured wildly at Spot, “beautiful.” Spot had been called a lot of things, hot, sexy, handsome, but never beautiful. It surprised him, he loved the sound of it on Race’s lips.  

“I bought flowers,” Spot said, holding them out. “I hope it’s not too much.” Race smiled taking them from him.  

“Cyclamen,” Race pointed out with a smile, taking them from him. “You remembered?”  

“I’ve been doing some research into flower symbolism,” Race said, half hanging off the end of his bed. Spot looked up from his homework.  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah. It’s actually pretty interesting. It’s weird to think that plants have so much  meaning . Like, take hyacinth flowers. Apparently they were created when two Greek God’s were fighting over one guys love  and one of them got hella jealous so fuckin killed the guy cus if he couldn’t have him no one could. The other one created the flower from his blood.”  

“That’s fucked up.”  

“I know. It symbolises rebirth now.”  

“Huh, but the guy wasn’t reborn?” Race shook his head. “Fair enough. Do you have a favourite flower?” Spot asked, partly out of genuine curiosity, partly out of hope that someday he’d be the one buying Race flowers.  

“Cyclamen,” Race answered easily. “They symbolise love and tenderness.” Spot smiled. Of course Race would like something like that. He was a hopeless romantic at heart. “Do you have one?”  

“Not at the moment. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you.”  

Spot liked lavender roses – blossoming romance.  

“Of course I remembered. I, uh, I had some lavender roses put in too.”  

“Your favourite,” Race recalled. “Blossoming romance, right?” Spot nodded, embarrassed. Race smiled. “I’m gonna go put these in some water real quick, wanna come in?”  

Race couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he carefully organised the flowers in the vase. Spot had remembered the offhand conversation three years ago. Not only had he remembered, but he had gone out of his way to get the specific flowers Race loved. The blush on Race’s cheeks darkened slightly, doing a little dance as he placed the vase on the coffee table.  

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Spot pointed out. Race rubbed the back of his neck.  

“Yeah.”  

“You still have it?” Spot was genuinely surprised. That had been eight years ago now, and yet the necklace still looked like it did the day he bought it.  

“Of course I do. I’ve kept everything you’ve bought me over the years.” Spot laughed.  

“Even the stuffed dinosaur?”  

“Especially the stuffed dinosaur.”  

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid!” Spot cried, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Race laughed, holding Spot back with one hand as he clutched the wrapped gift in the other.  

“Nope!” He answered, popping the p. “I’ve never found anything you’ve bought me stupid, why would I start now?” Spot groaned and backed off slightly, rubbing a hand over his face. Race eagerly tore into the paper , throwing it onto the pile left by Spot. He grinned, laughing. “I love him!” He said, pulling the blue stuffed dinosaur against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around it. “I shall name him Steeb.” Spot shook his head, laughing. He had genuinely thought Race would hate it or think it was stupid. Race had been going through an obsession with dinosaurs, and of course he was always a sucker for stuffed animals, and thus Steeb had been bought.  

“Steeb?”  

“Yup!”  

Race pulled him into a tight hug, still laughing. “Thank you.”  

“Where are we actually going?” Race asked as they walked outside onto the freezing street. Frost coated the grass, and their breath hung before them, pockets of heat suspended in the cold air.

“It’s a surprise,” Spot said simply. Race forced his hands into the pocket of his coat to shelter them from the cold.  

“You know I don’t like surprises,” he mumbled.  

“Yes you do, you just say you don’t to try to get me to tell you shit.” Damn Spot and damn the fact that he knew Race better than anyone.  

“You brought me ice skating?” Race asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  

“Yeah, Jack said you used to go a lot as kids.” Race grinned, kicking off his shoes and replacing them with skates, lacing them up tightly. Spot copied him, putting their shoes and bags into lockers.  

Race quickly made his way onto the ice, gliding like a pro and kicking off with a small spin, just to test it out. Spot got onto the ice and promptly fell on his face. Race, however, was lost in the moment, gliding and spinning and twisting, then leaping into the air. Spot watched in wonder as Race closed his eyes, lost in his movements.  

Race closed his eyes when he danced. Losing himself in the music, he would just close his eyes and let it take over. It would decide his movements for him, and he would follow along. Spot stood in the corner, mesmerised by the boy in front of him. A small smile crept onto his face as he watched Race. It was rare for Race to let Spot see him dance, so he took any moment he could. Watching Race, it was like he was made for this, with the way his body moved so gracefully, so purposefully. Spot loved every moment. No matter how hard he tried (not that he was trying), he couldn’t tear his eyes away.  

“Spot!” Race said excitedly, opening his eyes and pausing the music. “You came?” Spot smiled.  

“Of course I came, dumbass. I wasn’t gonna miss this.” Race bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly.  

“I’m on in half an hour. Just going through some basic stuff now to get ready.” Spot scoffed.  

“You call that basic?” Race ran a hand through his curls, damp with sweat.  

“I mean yeah, compared to what I’m doing in the show.”  

“What are you doing in the show?”  

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Race said with a wink.  

“Ever the cryptid.” They stood in silence for a moment, then Spot had to break it. “You’re not binding, right?” Race’s face fell and he subconsciously crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you know it’s not good for you. Can we take it off before you go on?”  Race shook his head.  

“I don’t have anything else to put on.”  

“I brought a sports bra, could you change into that?” Race hesitated for a moment, before nodding. Race always struggled being safe when binding, so when he had events like this, Spot would always bring a spare sports bra and one of his hoodies for Race to change into. Just in case.  

He handed Race the sports bra.  

“I have a hoodie for you to wear after,” he said, handing him the hoodie too. Race smiled as he went into the bathroom to change.  

“Thank you.”  

“Spot!” Race cried, skating over to his side and offering out a hand. “Are you alright?” Spot shook himself out of the memory and took the hand, shakily getting to his feet. He immediately slipped again, but Race caught him, laughing. “You can’t skate, can you?” Spot shook his head. “Why did you bring me ice skating if you can’t skate?”  

“Because I knew you’d like it.” Race took both of Spots hands in his, so they were facing each other, then he slowly began skating backwards, locking eyes with Spot.  

“Thank you.” Spot tried his best to mimic Race, and soon they had a steady speed and rhythm going. “By the end of tonight I’ll have you skating on your own.”  

“I doubt that.”  

“Bet.”  

Race won the bet.  

“Wanna go get hot chocolate?” Spot asked. “Not the shitty watery stuff they serve here, we’ll go and get the good hot chocolate from the library.” Race rubbed his hands together to try to regain some feeling in them and he nodded.  

“Hell yeah.”  

The library’s café was a big reason why they always hung out there. They’d found it while studying one night, and it had slowly become ‘Their Spot’ over the years. All the staff knew them and their orders, and always greeted them with a smile. They knew all the staff by name too.  

“Thanks for this, Race.” Spot said, setting his books down on the table. Race smiled, setting his bag down on an empty seat.  

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He glanced around. It was a cozy, quaint place. Squashy armchairs surrounded tables and the whole place was filled to bursting with old wooden bookshelves. Towards the back was the café, a large chalkboard with all the prices hanging above it. “Wanna grab food and stuff before we start working?” He asked, gesturing towards the café. Spot looked up, and nodded.  

“Yeah sure.”  

“I’ll pay,” Race said as Spot reached for his wallet.  

“But-“  

“No buts, I’ve got it.” Race tapped his card on the reader and took his mug of hot chocolate, laden with sprinkles, whipped cream and marshmallows back to the table. Spot sat down shortly after him, lifting the mug to his lips. Race took that moment to admire Spot, backed by the sunlight streaming through the large windows. His brow was furrowed slightly as he concentrated on his mountain of a drink, and the contended smile on his face brought out his laugh lines.  

There was whipped cream on his nose.  

Race burst into laughter at the sight of Tough Guy Spot Conlon with whipped cream on his nose. Said Tough Guy Spot Conlon looked up, brow furrowing more in confusion.  

“Is something on my face?” He asked.  

“There’s – there’s whipped cream on your nose,” Race said through laughter. Just to make Race laugh more,  Spot attempted to lick it off. He loved watching Race laugh. It was the most magical sound in the world to him.  

“Boys, can you quiet down a bit,” a waitress asked, “this is a library.” Race pressed his mouth shut to muffle his laughter and Spot wiped the cream off with his finger. That was the beginning of their library ‘study sessions’.    

They settled into what had become their corner of the library, curling up in two opposite armchairs, setting their drinks on the table. They had chosen a spot right next to a large window so they could watch people go about their days on the streets beneath them. Sometimes they would make up ridiculous stories about the people walking by, just to make the other laugh. Often, it would turn into a competition about who could come up with the funniest story. It would reach the point where they were howling with laughter, tears streaming down their faces, and the library staff would shake their heads fondly as they told them to quiet down.  

“Thanks for tonight, Spot,” Race said, a small smile on his face.  

“It’s not over yet.”  Race tilted his head. It had already been one of the best nights of his life, how on Earth was this not the end? “We’re gonna go back to my place one we’ve finished these, get takeout, watch a movie.” Race grinned.  

“A Christmas movie?” He asked excitedly.  

“Even better – a crap Christmas movie.” Race’s eyes lit up and he wiggled a little in his chair with excitement.  

“Oh my god, you are the best.” Race was obsessed with Christmas movies, but the shitty, cheesy ones that you laugh at because of how unbelievably  bad  they are, and Spot was his long-suffering companion who had put up with this bullshit for nine Christmases in a row now.  

“Can we watch a Christmas movie?” Race asked, draped over Spot’s lap. This was their first Christmas as friends, and Race was going to make it a good one.  

“Which one?” Spot smiled down at Race, automatically starting to run his fingers through his hair.  

“I dunno, something super cheesy. The kind so bad you have to laugh at it.” That was Race’s favourite kind of me. Probably why he enjoyed the Twilight Saga. Not because he actually liked the films (Edward was an abusive douche, he had physically fought someone on that before, and he would do it again), but because it was so easy to laugh at how unbelievably shitty they were.  

Spot nodded, opening Netflix and putting on some shitty movie.  

Neither of them actually watched the movie though. Spot was distracted by Race’s soft smile and how peaceful he looked. Race was distracted by the feeling of Spot’s hand in his hair and Spot’s arms around him.  

It had been a while since Race had been in Spot’s apartment, (they usually preferred to hang out at Race’s, he had a bigger TV for movie and game nights) and he looked around slowly. It wasn’t a big place, but it was still nice. He had a large, squashy sofa, plus an armchair, a coffee table that clearly had been cleaned recently. In fact, the whole apartment had that smell like it had been cleaned just a few hours before. Had Spot cleaned for him?  

“Do you want tea or coffee or anything?” Spot asked from the kitchen.  

“Coffee would be good,” Race answered, getting comfy on Spot’s couch. Spot set to work making it as Race glanced over the takeout menu. Then, he had an idea. “We should build a pillow fort!” Spot turned to face him, one eyebrow raised, a bemused smile playing on his lips.  

“A pillow fort?”  

“Yeah!” Race’s smile dropped slightly. “Unless you don’t want to. We don’t have to-”  

“Of course I want to.” Spot set the coffee mugs down on the table, plopping down next to Race. Race’s eyes lit up when he saw the mugs.  

“You still have those?” He asked excitedly.  

“Of course I do.”  

“Spot look!” Race exclaimed, pointing at a shelf. Spot put down the mannequin hand he was turning into a middle finger and turned to look at Race, who was holding up a matching mug set. They were plain white, except for black lettering. One said ‘his bitch’ on it, while the other said ‘his slut’. “They’re for gays!” Spot laughed, looking at the price tag.  

“And they’re only like, $3.” Race’s eyes lit up with mischief, the way they always did when he had a stupid idea.  

“We’re absolutely gonna buy them, aren’t we?” Race said.  

“Obviously.” Spot took them from Race and paid for them.  

Later, Spot handed Race the mug reading ‘his slut.’  

“Why am I the slut?” Race said indignantly.  

“Come on, we all know you’ve slept with like, half the guys in the school.” Race’s face fell a little.  

“You don’t mind, do you?”  

“You sleeping around?”  

“Yeah.” In truth, Spot did mind, but he wouldn’t say that. The only reason Spot had an issue with it was because of his  huge  crush on Race. But he supposed he had no reason to be jealous, it wasn’t like Race was his.  

“No, I don’t mind. It’s your body, you do what you want with it.”  

“Sometimes I worry if I’m doing something wrong. If, I dunno, whoever I end up dating doesn’t like it.”  

“Have you ever dated anyone long-term?” Spot asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Race shook his head.  

“Nah. There’s people I’ve seen for a couple months or so, but never longer than that. They realise I’m fucked up and leave.” Race laughed bitterly, trying to add humour to the situation.  

“You’re not fucked up.”  

“Mhm, that’s not what they think.” Spot took Race’s hand in his.  

“Look at me.” Race hesitantly met Spot’s eyes. “You  aren’t  too fucked up. There’s no such thing as too fucked up to be loved.” Race blinked back tears.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright, now shut up and take your slut mug.” Race laughed.  

“You do realise it’s gonna have to stay at your place, right? No home will let me keep this.”  

“We can keep it for special occasions.”  

They curled up together on the couch. Spot reached for the remote and started flicking through Netflix, putting on a shitty movie. Both pretended to watch the film, but they were both too focused on the close proximity. Both wanted to make a move, but neither knew the right moment. The distance between them was painful.  

Slowly, achingly slowly, Spot reached an arm around Race’s shoulders. Race wiggled slightly, getting comfy, before relaxing into Spot’s side, resting his head on Spot’s shoulder. Warmth spread from every point of contact, and he couldn’t believe he’d spent nine years missing this. He had spent so long pining for Spot, but never worked up the courage to make a move, instead throwing himself at any other guy who would take him to try to distract himself from his helpless crush, but nobody gave him the same feelings as Spot did. Spot was it for him, he had known for the last nine years, and he knew it now.  

Spot was screaming inside. Race was right here, in his arms, and he wasn’t pulling away. They were on a date, and it wasn’t painfully awkward. Since meeting Race, Spot had hardly dated anyone. He had a couple flings here and there, but none lasted long. None could hold a candle to the brightness of Race. Nothing could compare to the warmth in Spot’s chest he felt around Race, or the safety and comfort he hadn’t felt before, but with Race it seemed so easy. Everything was easy with Race.  

Race took the moment to look around the room. In the corner, there was a photo frame, with 9 photos in it. He looked closer at it, and realised it was one of the two of them together, each one taken a year after the one before. The first one was taken when they first met, before Race had come out, before he had cut his hair. The second one was just after he had cut his hair. He still remembered each one being taken.  

“Spot, can we take a photo together?” Race asked, fiddling with the ends of his hair.  

“Why?”  

“I like having photos with all my friends, I like keeping the memories.”  

“Sure. You want a selfie or are we gonna make someone take it for us?”  

“Should we get someone else to take it?” Spot nodded. “Can you ask them?”  

“Alright.” Spot took Race’s phone and walked up to a middle aged woman walking by. They spoke briefly, then Spot came running back, throwing an arm around Race’s shoulder. Race grinned, looking at the camera, wrapping his arm around Spot’s waist. A few seconds later, the woman gave them a thumbs up, and Spot ran back to take the phone back. Spot handed the phone back, leaning over Race’s shoulder to look at them.  

“Are they good?” Race nodded, smiling.  

“Yeah, really good.” Spot backed off slightly, wrinkling his nose.  

“Your hair got in my nose.” Race frowned.  

“Sorry. I’m gonna cut it shorter at some point.” Spot tilted his head.  

“Really? How short?” Now Race was gonna do a special trick called lying to avoid outing himself.  

“A bob, so around my chin length.” Spot smiled, picturing it.  

“Yeah, that’s gonna look good.”  

“You think?”  

“Yeah, it’s gonna be good.”  

Race pounded on Spot’s door, wiping the tears from his eyes.  

“Wha- oh.” Spot opened the door, face scrunched up in annoyance, but softening when he saw Race. “Oh, Racer, come in.” Race came in, sinking down onto the couch, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie.  

“Can I crash here for the night?” He asked, voice breaking. Spot’s brow furrowed with concern as he crouched down in front of Race.  

“Yeah. What happened?” Race hesitated, before pulling his hood down, revealing his messily chopped hair.  

“I cut my hair. I just- I couldn’t look at myself with long hair anymore. I got kicked out.” Spot frowned.  

“What do you mean you couldn’t look at yourself with long hair?” Race’s breath hitched and his heart hammered in his chest.  

“I-uh-I'm trans. I couldn’t deal with the dysphoria anymore. It hurts too much.” Spot’s eyes softened and he wrapped Race up in a tight hug.  

“It’s alright. I don’t care. Do you have a new name and pronouns you want me to use?” Race rested his forehead on Spot’s shoulder, trying to keep from crying.  

“Could you call me Antonio? I mean, I’ll still go by Racetrack and everything, but Antonio for my real name. And he/him pronouns.”  

“Sure, Antonio,” Spot said, trying the name out on his lips. Race’s face split into a grin at the use of the name.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright.” Spot reached up to touch the choppy hair. “Now how about I sort your hair out?”  

“Please.”  

Race ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, examining it from all angles in the mirror, and he smiled brightly.  

“Thank you,” he said, turning and wrapping Spot in a hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”  

“Why don’t we update that photo we took last year?” Spot suggested, and Race’s eyes lit up.  

“Could we?”  

“I don’t see why not.”  

Spot threw his arm around Race’s shoulders, just as he had a year ago, and Race wrapped his arm around Spot’s waist, and they both wore matching grins as they looked into the camera. The woman taking the photo gave a thumbs up and Spot ran to take the phone. They looked at the photo, then back at the one from the previous year.  

“You look happier,” Spot commented. Race smiled.  

“I am happier.”  

“You kept those photos?” Race asked, nodding slightly to the frame. Spot tore his glance away from Race momentarily to look.  

“Of course I did. They’re my favourite pictures.” Race smiled, settling back on Spot’s shoulder. A blush rose in his cheeks as he felt Spot press a kiss to his hair, then his hand replaced his lips, fingers slowly carding through his curls. Race hummed contentedly, wrapping an arm across Spot’s stomach and leaning into his every touch. Now this, this was something he could get used to.  

The credits rolled, and by that point it was well past midnight. Race slowly sat up, regretting the loss of contact with Spot.  

“I-uh-I should go,” he said, moving to stand.  

“I’ll walk you home?” Spot offered.  

“Are you sure? It’s cold out.”  

“I’m sure, c’mon.”  

Somehow, the street was even colder than when they had gone out before, but neither of them seemed to mind. A snowbank piled up on one side, and Race struggled to contain his grin as the idea formulated in his mind.  

He knocked once, twice against Spot, playing it off as an accident, before shoving Spot into the bank. He erupted into laughter, but maybe it was too soon, as Spot grabbed his coat on the way down. Both of them shrieked as they landed in the snow, Race landing on top of Spot. They breathed heavily, making eye contact for a moment, faces flushed, but whether that was the cold or something else was anyone’s guess. Just as they had been staring long enough for it to become awkward, Spot finally made his move. He leaned in, like he had been longing to for years, holding the back of race’s neck and gently pressing their lips together. Electricity sparked through his body and he couldn’t quite believe he had spent years missing out on this. One of his hands subconsciously moved to tangle in Race’s hair, who tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The world around them seemed to melt away, and all that mattered was them, and this.  

“Fucking fags!” A voice yelled next to them. Spot was about to shake his head at Race, tell him to leave it, but Race was already on his feet.  

“Hey! What fucking century are you living in? So what I happen to be dating a man, please inform me of how I’m hurting you by loving him.  

“It’s against God’s will. You’re digusting,” the man said, rounding on Race.  

“No, I’ll tell you what’s disgusting – discriminating against people who have done  nothing  to hurt you, just because of a fucking book that was mistranslated. Wake the fuck up. People fall in love, they don’t hurt you by doing that, they just do it.”  

“Fuck you!” The man spat, turning to walk away.  

“I bet it’s fucking tiny!” Race yelled after him, turning back to Spot, who looked at him in amazement. “Sorry about that.” Spot shook his head, taking the hand Race offered to him and pulled himself to his feet.  

“That was amazing,” he said honestly, smiling.  

“I just- I couldn’t let him just  say  that y’know? I mean, I’ve heard shit like that for years, but I wasn’t gonna let him say it to you.”  

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”  

“That’s not the point.” Spot leaned up to kiss him quickly.  

“Either way, that was wonderful.” Spot had never seen Race angry like that before. Not when the Delanceys had constantly torn him down, not when he moved from foster home to foster home, not when he had gotten detention just for trying to use the right bathroom. But one homophobic comment and he had gotten furious like Spot had never seen before, and god Spot didn’t think he could possibly love Race more.  

Race smiled, hesitantly lacing his fingers with Spot’s as they walked the last few blocks to Race’s apartment.  

“Your house wasn’t decorated,” Race commented.  

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”  

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you decorate.” Spot didn’t get a say in it. Race was gonna deck that apartment out in so much glitter and coloured lights it would be like a very gay tornado had gone through and left parts of itself all over. Not that Spot minded. He would take any opportunity possible to spend time with Race. “I expect you up early.” Spot’s face dropped. “I’ll bring coffee,” Race added, solely because he knew coffee was the only way to bribe Spot into getting out of bed before 10am.  

“Alright, I’ll be expecting greatness. It better live up to the expectations Jack’s given me.”  

“It’ll be worse, I promise,” Race said with a grin.  

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”  

They slowed when they reached the door to Race’s apartment, lingering a moment before Race unlocked the door.  

“Uh, thanks for tonight, Spotty. I had fun,” Race said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t really want the night to end, but at least he would see Spot tomorrow.  

“Yeah, so did I.” They shuffled slightly, neither wanting to end the night. “Are we- are we gonna do this again sometime?” Spot finally asked.  

“Are you kidding me? If we’re not doing this like, weekly, we’re doing something wrong.” Spot chuckled a little, before looking up. He laughed, seeing mistletoe hung in the doorframe. Race’s eyes widened, before he looked at Spot, blush rising in his cheeks.  

“Do you wanna-” Race’s question turned into a squeak as Spot crashed their lips together, pulling Race close. He was gonna take every damn opportunity to kiss Race that he could. He had already missed out on nine years, he wasn’t gonna lose any more.  

Slowly, they broke away, neither wanting to, but both knowing they had to. Their faces were flushed, eyes wide.  

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, or would it be today now?” Race asked.  

“Technically today.”  

“I’ll see you later today then,” Race said with a smile.  

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.”  

They kissed quickly once more, then Spot disappeared down the street.  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

SantaGay :  did you guys enjoy my surprise???  

Mom:  I told you not to.  

Racebox of  Higgars :  YES!

[studentville-struggles]

For the Love of Cars // Lando Norris

So I’ve been struggling with A Double Life // part 3 because of #writersblock so in the last 2 hours threw this trash together so I could just write something. Anyone else?

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Words: 2093

Proofread? It’s barely written let alone proofread. It might not even be coherent.

Masterlist

Summary:  A girls holiday Grand Prix trip leads to a series of incredible friendships, but could there be more?

Girls trips are the stuff of movies. Dutch braids, glitter, bottles of Prosecco and wine made days of sightseeing and sunbathing hilarious story-filled memories. These three girls had been your confidants and party partners since you arrived at university two years ago. This mini-break was your final getaway before you all headed back for your final year, a last hurrah of the summer.  

You’d gone shopping, sunbathing, done a wine tour and even hired a little sailboat for a day, something for each of you as well as the things for all of you. Today was your day, the day you got to pick something to do. You were all nerds in your own way and they’d just have to get on your level now.  

It wasn’t all bad the girls decided, there was an element of getting ready, finding that perfect outfit. The girls could cope with outfit critiquing and celeb spotting as you wandered around fangirling at everything little thing you could. You loved cars, always had. You had a little banger you worked on when you were 16, not that you’d have been able to drive it even if you could fix it. The only thing was, you’d never managed to get tickets for a Grand Prix before, so when the opportunity arose for this holiday, you had to.

You were just wandering around various exhibits and chatting about the cars and what you were looking forward to – the girls didn’t really watch formula 1 or care about the cars but were gracious enough to listen along to your ramblings – when another girl, she looked to be in similar age to you, started joining in with some of your chat when you were looking at an exhibit.  

“This is really random” she began, following on from your chit chat about engine providers, “but you wouldn’t happen to be at a lot of these would you?”  

“Grand Prix? No this is my first, never managed to get tickets before.”  

“No fair, it’s always fun to mix cars and girl talk. I don’t usually get that.”  

“Oh no, how come?”

“I come with my boyfriends family, it’s alright when his mum or sister is here but sometimes it’s a little male if you get what I mean?”

“Oh no I’m with you 100%, I’m usually the same.”  

Dilara and yourself exchanged numbers, with you suddenly realising why she travelled to a lot of Grand Prix with her boyfriends family. Given she was the girlfriend of one of the best drivers on the grid. You had promised to keep in touch and message if you were early to the track tomorrow.  

Your friends always joked that you could make friends anywhere given half a chance but it appeared to be true this time. Dilara became a good friend very quickly, having found you had a very similar sense of humour and managed to keep in touch with her after the Grand Prix. Some of your messages to each other were hilarious, and it turned out that she loved a fair few of the go memes that had properly tickled you as well.  

Noticing the random laughs at texts, Max had apparently gotten a little jealous and had asked who she’s been laughing at. After explaining your bizarre meeting and how you had been keeping in touch, Dilara started telling Max about you, the jokes and memes she’d passed on. Then an idea formed.  

“Do you know who she reminds me of?”  

“Yes and I’m already trying to plan so don’t do anything stupid.”

——

Only a few weeks later and you had some VIP paddock passes arriving in the post. You were informed, not asked or invited, that you were going to the next Grand Prix with Dilara and Max, ‘Lara apparently deciding she needed more female company and you needed more time with the cars.  

“Oh wow look at this we’re bumping into drivers so randomly, hi Lando how are you?” You raised your eyebrows at her but introduced yourself to the McLaren driver.

Lando became someone very important very quickly. You were both total fangirls over motorsport, and total nerds in your ‘thing’. The fact you could sit and chat and never feel bad for getting too excited about a project, or his races, new setups they were trying, was refreshing. You loved the girls, you loved your time with Dilara, but the friendship with Lando was, in a way, different.  

Whenever you quizzed Dilara on her weird introduction of Lando, she would merely shrug say that she was weird and that she knew how well you’d get on.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself spending more and more time at his house. You’d sit in the next room as he played on twitch, finalising papers and essays and cover letters for Masters programmes. Once you were ready you’d have him proofread them. It didn’t matter that he barely understood the topic of your essay, in fact, it made him better at proofreading, always highlighting the bits he thought didn’t make sense. You would usually wait until he finished on twitch, not that you had to wait long given the time you would spend working.  

Tonight, however, Lando knew you didn’t have much to do, merely formatting. So  20 minutes into his twitch stream, he shouted for you, earning a ‘Jesus Christ’ from Max who had to deal with that through a microphone.. Sticking your head around the corner, Lando was asking if you were done and if he could read your paper yet.  

“Yeah, I was just waiting till you finished streaming.”  

“Nah I’m only racing Max, you take over and I can read.”

“Hey!” Max chimed in, indignantly.  

You handed a print out of your paper to Lando and pulled on the headset. Comments came in on Lando's stream almost immediately asking who you were and if you were Lando's girlfriend. Unfortunately, your familiarity with Max only added to the dating comments and they couldn’t quite work out how else you could know both of them.  

That twitch experience was the first of many. It became a fairly frequent occurrence, you taking over and driving for Lando as he read your work, you chatting to Max and generally bantering about. Once or twice Dilara was with Max and managed to steal the headset allowing the two of you to chat holidays and mini-break ideas, something that was never shown on media other than that. The fans were obsessed with your friendship, and also obsessed with the idea of you and Lando together.  

You never brought up their speculation, you couldn’t without admitting how much you had come to care for Lando and how much his approval on the little things meant to you. Every time he let you on his twitch streams, your heart would flutter. Every time he would take you along to a Grand Prix, you had a little celebration, feeling like he might just care like you did. 

But he never said anything, he never did anything other than what friends could do. You tried dropping hints, you made him dinner more often than not at one point, always brought him a cuppa when you had him proofread your work. Nothing. You were starting to think your friends were right when they said that boys were oblivious to everything. That or he was ignoring your little hints in the hope you’d give up. He was a formula one driver after all; he could have any girl he wanted, why would he settle for little old you, student, nerd,  nothing special. You weren’t a model or a driver or anyone really.  

You very rarely spoke about boys with Dilara beyond the old “oh he’s cute” when you went shopping and the two of you “window shopped” boys. You’d try and pick out each other’s type. Though you always joked there was no one for you to pick for her, claiming “sorry no Dutch f1 drivers here” much to her dismay. She’s once asked about you and Lando, at which point you’d already given up on him and didn’t want her to feel bad for you, leaving you responding about how close your friendship was.  

What you didn’t know, however, was that you weren’t the only one waiting for the two of you to make a move on the other.  

“They aren’t making any moves, why aren’t they doing something??”  

“Friends is great, but not what we were aiming for.”

That conversation was put on hold as Lando's call ID appeared on Max’s phone.  

“I screwed up and I need a friend to tell me to get over myself.”

“What? What’s happened.”

“I may or may not have realised I fancy the actual pants off of Y/N”

“She’s great, I can see why you like her.” Dilara was leaning in to try and hear what was being said. “I’m not seeing why that means you screwed up?”

“She’s going on a date.”

“She’s what?”

“Going on a date, someone set her up on a blind date and she’s going. I didn’t realise how I felt about her till a date was mentioned and then I felt hard done on by the fact she’s going on it. Like why would she just be sitting around for me?”  

Dilara was scribbling little notes out,  

“Mate I’m so sorry. You can’t blame yourself though and it’s only one date, it’s not the end of the world.”  

“I just never realised how much I took her being around for granted. I just got used to her being here, having dinner with her, her stealing my McLaren jumpers when we’re at a race because they’re the softest there and her cheering for me. Like, fuck me when did I get so stuck up and dumb.”

“Can’t comment on the dumb but girls will do that to you man.” Dilara elbowed him for that comment.  

In an attempt to distract Lando from his little feelings meltdown on the phone, Max had suggested an impromptu twitch stream, knowing Lando would shut off a bit if he was driving and that he’d put on a bit of a show for people. However not even 20 minutes later Oliver had popped his head into the room to get his attention.  

“What Oliver?”

“Door went”

“Did you get it?”

You knew something was wrong by the tone of his voice, Lando was upset and a little angry at being disturbed. Or so you thought. You didn’t want to be more of a pain, you had just turned up without an invitation.  

“Maybe I should come back another time..” you squeaked out. Tears still drying on your face, voice cracking from the crying you’d done in the taxi on the way over.  

You might have been quiet but Lando heard you. He practically launched himself out of his sim, repeatedly muttering “no”, his heartbreaking at the weakness in your voice.  

Not much could be seen from the setup Lando had from his twitch stream but they could see him rush towards you, dressed in a red cowl necked dress. You looked stunning, more beautiful than Lando could process given the hurt he saw.

“I'm here, it’s okay, you’re okay” Lando was comforting you, the words barely audible through his mic, having shoved it off his head and round his neck.  He had no idea what had happened but given you were here and not on your date, tear marks clear on your face, he could tell it wasn’t good.  

“Cmon let’s get you in some comfy stuff, can’t have you looking like a Ferrari fan now can we?” The small joke hit the mark, bringing a smile to your face.  

“You’re right, got any Red Bull merch?”

“Wow, right in the heart.”

The twitch stream was long forgotten, Oliver apparently ruining Lando's score and pushing all of Max’s buttons. Lando had you in some sweatpants and somehow magicked up an extra-large McLaren jumper, knowing you love the extra snuggle of a huge jumper. His team might’ve looked at him weirdly when he asked for one but seeing you wrapped up in his team apparel made him realise he’d do anything to make you happy and comfortable. He couldn’t fathom how it had taken him this long to realise how he felt. No wonder people teased him for getting extra team kit so she could steal it.  

Now he only had to figure out a way to tell you all this.