#i was like. honestly i only had like three drinks i'm fine but they insisted

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

*girl who just missed the last train home voice* why doesn't public transport run 24/7

[thrillered]

imagine reader and coworker/friend/crush Spencer and you guys are having lunch out of the office and run into your ex who is like a tall shayne basically and spencer gets a bit jealous/insecure and starts avoiding you a bit and you think you did something wrong

idk man I'm not a writer but you know what I mean?

The Ex | Spencer Agnew x Reader

I hope you like it!

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“I don’t know what to get.” You sighed, analyzing the menu. 

“Honestly I haven't had something I didn’t like.” Courtney, who was sitting across from you, said. 

“Well that's reassuring.” You replied, “What are you getting Spence?” You asked, turning your head to look at your friend beside you. 

Some of your friends and coworkers decided to go out for lunch today, taking advantage of the cool weather since it’s been so humid and hot the past week. The group had taken Courtneys suggestion and now you were sitting outside on a beautiful patio, surrounded by your friends. 

Spencer sat to your left, like always. Amanda and Angela were sitting on the other side of Spencer, Shayne and Courtney mirrored you and Spencer with Chanse next to them. 

“I’m not totally sure. Do we wanna both order something and split both?” Spencer asked. 

“That’s perfect.” You replied, “Everything sounds good. I don't think I’d be able to choose just one anyway.” 

Your waiter had brought out your drinks and a few appetizers that Courtney and Shayne insisted on everyone trying. You and Spencer were currently splitting the last piece of bread from the basket, arguing over which half was bigger. 

“Oh my god Y/N?” You heard a familiar voice ask. You turned, realizing you recognized the voice because stood a few yards away was your ex. You froze for a moment. You hadn’t seen him in at least three years. The last time being at a mutual friends going away party when they moved to Europe. 

“Shaun.. Hey..” You replied, still confused, standing to face him. 

“God it’s been a minute, huh?” Shaun asked, giving you a friendly hug that you reciprocated. 

“What, like two? Three? years?” You asked. 

“I think so! You look good, new hair? I like it.” He smiled.

“Well thank you. You look good too.” You responded, noticing how much muscle he had gained. He had always been kinda a gym rat but wasn’t into massive muscle growth when you were together. 

Your food came while you were talking, giving Shaun the notice to leave. “I don’t want to keep you from your lunch. Is that plate yours?” He asked, pointing to your order. You nodded. “Taste hasn’t changed then.” He remarked before giving you a half hug and walking away. 

You sat back down, joining your friends, only to be met with amused stares. “What?” You asked, placing your napkin back in your lap. 

“Who was that hunk?” Chanse asked. 

“That’s just Shaun.” You replied casually, beginning to half your meal for Spencer. 

“Well clearly there was something there.” Spencer huffed under his breath. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, it’s just clearly you had history with this Shaun.” He replied, not looking at you as he portioned part of his food to you. 

“We used to date.” You admitted, earning a chorus of teases from the table, minus Spencer. “It was like three years ago!” 

“Why’d you break up? He’s… whoo!” Amanda asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“We just didn’t work out, the feeling just stopped being there. We only dated for like 10 months.” 

Most of the lunch ended up with the group interrogating you about your relationship with Shaun. Your relationship was fine and ended amicably so there wasn’t much to say. 

You noticed that Spencer didn’t contribute much to any conversation. You tried to pass it off as him just being tired since he has been working extra hard lately. 

You and Spencer had carpooled to lunch, like you do most days. Usually your drives are filled with laughter, discussion, or singing but this time it was almost silent, save for the music playing softly.

Spencer was one of your favorite people. You and him had instantly clicked and had become good friends ever since. So his silence was unnerving. You tried to talk to him about it but he shut the conversation down and beelined it to his desk when you made it back to the office, promptly putting on his headphones. 

—

God what a fucking idiot. Spencer thought, feeling insecure about himself. He was literally jacked. Why would she be interested in me?

Spencer has liked you for a long time. He was immediately attracted to you upon meeting, he thought you were stunning and had great style. The more he got to know you the more he fell for you. He thought you had such a beautiful mind. You were so kind and generous. Not to mention you were hilarious and had a very similar humor to him. He genuinely thought you were the perfect woman. 

Your friendship had developed even further a few months ago when you spent the night at his place after a long night. While Spencer was aware of his feelings for you it was solidified that night as you were peacefully sleeping in his bed. 

He thought that your friendship was moving into more romantic territory recently but seeing your ex made him feel like he was wrong. Shaun was 6 foot 2 and had muscles larger than Shaynes. He could never compare to him. 

Deciding he would never have a chance with you he wasn’t sure how to be around you right now. Every time you laughed Spencer swore it was the most beautiful thing ever, how was he supposed to just casually be around you?

He didn’t want to ignore you but he needed to come to terms with only ever being your friend. 

—

The work day was wrapping up, almost everyone was packing their things and saying their goodbyes. Spencer still hadn’t said a word to you. He managed to evade you every time you tried to talk to him. You had filmed a video for the pit channel but you could tell your energy was low and off. Spencer had never acted like this with you and it hurt. You didn’t think you said or did anything to offend him. You were running through the day, retracing your steps to figure out what happened. 

You had breakfast with Spencer at work, had two meetings, filmed a games video– and everything was normal. Then everyone broke for lunch and you went out with the group, then you saw Shaun, then you– Then you saw Shaun. 

Shit. 

You knew Spencer was still in the office, he always stays an extra 30-45 minutes everyday. You waited a little longer, allowing most of the office to leave before you made your way to Spencer.

“Hey,” You began, easing into things. 

“Uh, hey.” He replied, quickening his packing to leave before any real conversation could begin.

“You’re so much better.” You added, not wanting him to be able to walk away. 

“I’m sorry?” He replied, confused. 

“You’re so much better than him, than Shaun.” You breathed, ready to bear your heart. 

“I- I don’t understand?” 

“You make me laugh so much and you’re so caring and- and you’re my best friend. I haven’t even thought about Shaun in years until I saw him today. You know who I do think about? You. You Spencer. I think about you everyday.” You finished, breathless. Spencer didn’t say anything, he just stared at you. “Please say something.” 

“I’m such an idiot aren’t I?” He asked finally. You didn’t say you wanted him explicitly but Spencer could hear it, he knew you so well. 

“The biggest I know.” You laughed, “But I love you for it.” 

He pulled you into a hug. This was what you loved, Spencer hugged you like you were the most valuable thing on Earth, he held you like you would disappear, he always did and said everything right. 

“Please don’t avoid me like that again.” You mumbled into his shoulder. 

“Never again.” He promised, squeezing you a little tighter before pulling away, leaving his hands resting on your hips. “Come over tonight?” 

“I would love that.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek.

[saikoucorps]

You write for yan sim?

What's your favourite character??

Could you write something sfw about a gn!reader x Umeji Kizuguchi? I simped so hard for him back in my yansim days

Tysm even if you don't want to write it!

-🍋

Tysm for the request! Honestly my favorite is Ayato Aishi.. but "canon" character wise it'd have to be Megami Saikou. I'm also a huge fan of Info Chan, Nemesis, and Fun girl.

:ఌ¨ Sneaking out

꒰੭ pairings – umeji kizuguchi x gn!reader

꒰੭ genre – fluff, small drabble

꒰੭ tags – soft umeji (sorta), mutual pining, flustered umeji, reader is somewhat implied a delinquent

→ Reader gets the idea to sneak out, and asks their trusted friend Umeji to go with them.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

You had just explained to your friend that you had an amazing idea, a brilliant plan. You wanted to sneak out. With him. It was currently midnight, and you two were speaking over the phone.

"Duh, why else would I ask if I wasn't sure? You scared?"

You could hear him sigh on the other end, clearly annoyed.

"No—Just– Fine. I'll meet you outside your house in twenty."

You were already prepared, you didn't grab much but your phone and wallet. You were ready before you even called him. So, it only took you one minute to walk outside and wait. And surely enough, he was there in twenty.

"You better not make me regret this."

He was wearing something very simple. Like he threw whatever he could find on. He seemed really against this whole thing.

"Don't get your legs in a twist, why so mad? This will be fun!"

"It's not fun because I just woke up from my sleep."

Oh. That's why he's grumpy. He woke up to answer your call?

You decided you didn't feel like bickering today, and neither did he. You both began walking, and you didn't have an exact idea on where to go.. Umeji could tell.

"Where the hell are we going?"

"Uhm.." You dramatically thought to yourself on the possibilities, then finally decided. "The park! That's always fun, huh?"

He groaned before agreeing, and you two headed to the nearest park. It felt nice. The silence between you two, it may have been unexpected, but it felt natural. Umeji was willing to wake up and then sneak out for you.

You two finally found the park, Umeji headed straight for the swings and sat there. He was pretending to be mad, you could tell. So, you decided to sit next to him on the swing nearby.

"It's nice having you here, you know." You began, sitting down.

"What—?" He seemed taken aback, you could see a faint blush on his face. You pushed it aside, it was too dark to tell.

"I'm serious! No one else would have came out here with me, it was very nice you woke up for me.."

You and Umeji sat in silence, he couldn't even speak. He was clearly shocked by your words, and unable to voice his thoughts correctly, he grumbles out.

"Shut up.."

The two of you started up a conversation, it felt like minutes when in reality hours went by. He suggested you guys go to a gas station, and you did. You had gotten drinks and some snacks. It was nice, hanging out with him like this.

You and him walked for what felt like an eternity. It's rare seeing him like this, so quiet.. and not having that "tough" guy act. Umeji stopped and realized how long you guys have been walking.

"It's getting late." He showed you his phone, it was three in the morning. How long were you guys out?

"Shit. My house is too far." You started slightly panicking.. this technically was supposed to be very short.

"Crash at mine. It's only a few blocks away. Plus, it's too dark for you to walk by yourself. Cmon"

He started walking, you haven't even processed what he just said.

"You wanna bring me home? Really? How sweet."

"Don't push it."

You chuckled and followed after him quickly, it only took a few minutes to get there. He said you had to be extremely quiet, his siblings would wake up otherwise.

After a long night, you finally got to sit down. He offered his bed as he slept on the floor. It wasn't really an offer, no, he insisted you slept on the bed and he slept on the floor.

Moments like this with him were rare, but you always treasured them. You believed he did as well.

taglist ┆ @hannibalhhusband @zackfairscumslut

©@ saikoucorps 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way.. i will ram your booty if you do. all work belongs to me, the one and only, zero !!

[creedslove]

DESERVE IT - PART THREE

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: things go from bad to worse as you can't control yourself after a night of drinking

Warnings: angst and just angst, Javier being a dick, an asshole, a jerk, un hijo de puta, malparido, huevón y cabrón

A/N: Thanks to my anon Mai who gave me this wonderful idea! If it weren't for you this chapter would probably not even exist, so thanks for being so sweet and having the best ideas ❤️ and I hope you guys enjoy this malparido being a dick (yes, I'm very angry with Javier)

• PART ONE

• PART TWO

1.3k words

The walk back to your desk felt worse than any walk of shame after sleeping with some guy. 

You didn't know if anyone had heard your argument with Javier, but you felt humiliated enough to be under the impression everybody knew what had happened and now had their eyes on you. 

You avoided looking towards him, but noticed his desk was empty, he'd left and you would do the same. There was no way you could work after the emotional whiplash you suffered.

You grabbed your purse and walked pass Colleen, rolling your eyes at her nails, thinking about how Javier had complimented them. 

Yours looked much better and probably made that filthy mind think about your hand wrapped around his cock. 

Your options were limited at that moment, if you stayed, you'd have to put up with people at work, Steve's curious glances and there was a real chance Carlos would show up to continue his daily teasing. 

You decided to head into the first bar you found. It looked sketchy and kind of dangerous and you didn't care one bit, you just wanted to pour liquid down your throat. 

And you did it, repeatedly, probably way too many more times you should have. 

But you needed anything you could get a grip on in order to soothe the pain you felt. 

You were so disappointed in Javier you couldn't even explain.

He had broken your heart, he led you into believing you were actually important and meaningful to him, he let you think you two could still be close, without wanting to get into your pants. 

You couldn't believe how naive you were to think a man like Javier would actually be honestly and truly nice to you, of course not. He wanted to fuck you, like your ex did it, like Carlos does and like Steve would probably have done if you'd given him any chance the day you went to check on him to see if he was doing fine after not showing up at work and he insisted you shared a bottle of aguardente. That was when you'd ended up telling him about how you were left at the altar. 

And then he went and blabbered everything to Javier in the first opportunity he got. 

You had no idea Steve was one for gossip, but you also had no idea Javier was only a pig and nothing more. 

You never wanted to look at him again, you didn't even want to give him the time of the day, but at the same time you wanted to go and tell him to his face everything that was stuck inside. You battled yourself about whether you should do it, you knew it was probably a stupid idea but you couldn't let him get away with him and live his life as if nothing had actually happened while you were so hurt.

On your way home, you were so intoxicated you didn't even give the fact you were walking alone late at night in the streets of Colombia a second thought. 

You just wanted to get everything out of your system, if Javier Peña thought he could just throw all that shit at you, he was about to be in for a treat. 

You didn't even know how you got home, you were so into your own thoughts you didn't even pay attention to where you went to and the next thing you knew you were banging on Javier's door. 

You didn't give one single fuck if it was loud or if it would bother any of the neighbors. 

You were so impatient you wanted to kick that door open, and you only stopped when Javier stood right there, looking at you not believing his eyes. 

"What the fuck Y/N?" He asked angrily, shocked at the sight of you, drunk, making a scandal at his door. 

"What's wrong Javi, you're not happy to see me?" You tilted your head to the side and scoffed softly "or do you think you're the only one who can say anything you like?" You went deadly serious and stared at him.

"Can I come in?" 

Javier crossed his arms in front of his chest and cleared his throat

"No, you can't," he said leaning against the door showing your entrance wasn't allowed without having to use words. 

"You don't have the right of doing this to me, you were my friend! Friends are supposed to care for each other! And not ghost each other like you've been doing to me. I am not worthless, I thought you liked me Javier! What has got to you? Have you ever been this asshole or did I stir anything when I kissed you?" You asked angrily and he groaned even more annoyed at your bratty attitude. 

"Y/N, I already told you, the problem is you. You don't know the difference between friendship and relationship, you want to act as my girlfriend all the time. We can be friends on my terms, but I don't owe you anything, I don't owe you Sunday dinners, I don't owe you explanations on where I'm going, I don't owe you anything, Y/N, do you understand that?" 

Your eyes welled up with tears.

"Yeah? I never asked you anything of this sort, you did it because you wanted to!!! You left me little chocolates, gave me flowers, lent me your sunglasses when it was sunny outside! You did all of it! And you know what? Because you liked being treated like a boyfriend!!! You liked when I cooked for you, when I wiped all your blood off you and took care of your bruises, you liked walking on the street with me and having other guys watching us in envy. Everytime Carlos gritted his teeth because he assumed you were fucking me after hours? The muñequita thing, you think I don't know? You just told him I was your muñequita and that's why he kept calling me that crap. How did I go from your muñequita to what we are now?" You blinked some of your tears and stared into his eyes, but you were not satisfied yet. 

"You fucking loved having me liking you, being attached to you, it must've been so good for your ego, all because you are a selfish bastard who can't keep a girl by your side, because all you do is take and feed your hunger and spit it out like it never happened" 

You only realized you were yelling, when you heard footsteps coming from his living room, and an arm snaked around his waist as a woman looked at you with widened eyes and rested her head on his chest. 

"¿Quién es esa, Javi?" She asked in a low voice and your jaw dropped at the realization the prostitute he hired looked a lot like you. 

You both had the same size, similar body type, hair and eye color. 

You shook your head in denial at that disturbing image, it was pretty clear to you it was all about sex, all Javier wanted was to fuck you and you refused the only thing he put all that effort into treating you nicely to get. You swallowed a lump on your throat but then you laughed dryly "I'm the original version, the one he couldn't get his hands on, so he went and hired a cheaper version: you, sweetie" 

You gave him one last glance "you disgust me, Javier. So much" you said and header towards your apartment, but his strong hands grabbed your wrist and tried pulling you to his body. 

"Fuck, wait a little, Y/N" he asked but you got rid of his touch 

"Get off me, Peña" you yelled one more time "don't you ever touch me again, I don't want to even remember you exist outside work, and if I may tell you one last thing, I want you to know Lorraine is so lucky you left her at the altar, because she dodged a huge fucking bullet by not marrying you" 

You faced away from him and locked yourself in your apartment. 

_____

A/N: 😳🪭 ¿Malparido, no?

[boltupbitches]

Three of Us

Part 6 of the Layla Herbert series

Part 1 - One Day at a Time

Part 2 - Today's the Day

Part 3 - Cheer's To Us

Part 4 - My Daughter Thinks I'm Ugly

Part 5 - Birthday Boy

At 10 months old, Layla Herbert was a delightful baby. With her cute gummy smile, and the dimples showing each time she grinned, and the green eyes from her dad, she was the center of her parents’ lives. 

If there was one person who Layla had wrapped around her little finger, it was her dad. Justin was smitten with his daughter. The last 10 months, while difficult and tiring at times, were amazing. Honestly, he couldn’t picture his life without Layla or Alex. He definitely couldn’t picture living like he had before being a father.

However, what scared him a lot was having Layla out in public around football fans. He didn’t want fans approaching Alex and Layla. He certainly didn’t want internet trolls targeting his family or disgruntled opposing fans hurling abuse at them. Yet, with insistence from Alex, he caved and agreed for Layla to be brought one time to pre-season training. If anything to meet some of his teammates and coaching staff.

Jim, he learned, was a devoted family man and was particularly excited to meet the famous Layla. 

“This her?” Jim asked as he approached Justin, who was holding his daughter. “Wow, look at that hair!” He grinned. “Hi there kiddo!” 

Layla cooed at him and reached up to tap Justin on the face with her wet teething toy. She continued babbling for a few moments before showing a gummy smile to Jim.

“How does it feel to be a dad?” Jim asked with understanding in his eyes. “I’ve been around the block a few times with all of this.”

Justin chuckled at that. “It’s been nerve-wracking at times, but I love it. My fiance makes it so much easier because she just knows what needs to be done. I do my best to follow and make sure I’m doing my part as well. But, yeah…” He glanced at his daughter who was now transfixed with his shirt color. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Jim nodded. “It’s an amazing experience for sure. Challenging, but rewarding.”

They continued talking for a while until Layla suddenly squealed loudly and waved her arms excitedly at the sight of her mom approaching them.

“You are so loud.” Alex sighed dramatically before scooping her baby girl up into her arms. “You’ve been good for dada?” She wiped the drool from Layla’s cheek.

“Dadada,” Layla babbled, pointing at her dad who just stared back in amusement. She blew a raspberry loudly and then flopped against her mom’s shoulder as she continued to gnaw on her teething toy.

“Wow, that was quite a lot to say,” Alex said with amusement before turning to her fiance and his coach. “Nice to see you again, Jim. Hope you’re well.”

“Doing well, Mrs. Herbert.” Jim smiled. “Glad to see Herb Jr. here. I swear, you must have copied and pasted her from Justin.”

“Right?” Alex laughed and Justin’s face turned red. “She only has my hair color! She has her dad’s eye color, his smile, his eye shape, and his wavy hair.” 

“She has your nose!” Justin pointed out. And he was right. When Layla smiled, her nose did the same scrunched-up motion as her mom. It was adorable to him.

“Well, regardless, she’s a mini-Justin for sure.” Alex teased and reached for Layla to give Justin a minute to talk to his coach.

“We’re fine,” Justin insisted. “Go get something to drink and when it’s time for me to head out on the field, I’ll bring her to you.”

Alex nodded and stepped forward to press a kiss to Layla’s cheek and then Justin’s. “Are you sure,” she asked, “I have no problem taking her with me.”

“It’s fine, honest.” Justin insisted, “I’m going to bring her around to meet some teammates.”

Alex nodded and headed out of the room to find Alohi’s girlfriend. Since becoming a mother, Alex had quietly met and bonded with some of the wives on the team who were mothers. Alohi’s girlfriend was a new mother and much like Alex, preferred to be low-key and private. They spent some time texting and talking about Aisina’s pregnancy. Now, so close to her delivery date, Aisina was having a tough go in her third trimester.

Justin loved the support his fiance showed to others. She was so caring to not only him and Layla, but both of their families, their friends, and even new acquaintances. Alex had a heart of gold and it carried through in the little things she did for others. From remembering how someone liked their coffee order to sending birthday cards to people, Justin loved that about her.

After Justin spoke a few more minutes with Jim, he parted ways to go see some of his teammates in the strength training room. 

“Man, look at baby, Herbo!” “Damn, Justin, she looks just like you!” “Hi, baby Layla!”

Justin couldn’t contain his grin over the chorus of remarks from some of his teammates. 

“She’s my baby.” He cooed at his daughter. And she was. Layla was the light of his life and he’d do anything to make her happy.

—-------

Adjusting her Chargers bucket hat, Justin made sure Layla’s shirt covered her shoulders and finished lathering her arms with sunscreen. If there was one thing Alex stressed, it was protecting baby Layla’s skin.

He lifted her high and pressed a big kiss to her cheek, chuckling at her delighted squeal. “Let’s go outside, Laylay.”

Justin cradled her against his chest, making sure her hat covered her head and obscured her face a bit. This was for two big reasons - the first was the SoCal sun bearing down on them and the second was overzealous fans and the media trying to snap a pic of his daughter.

Layla was kept largely private as per the wishes of Justin and Alex. No pictures of her were online and Justin and Alex made family and friends aware immediately that any pictures that got leaked to the media would be legal consequences. Of course, fans and the media knew Layla was born. The Chargers announced it last year, with a simple caption stating, ‘We’re excited to congratulate Justin Herbert on the healthy delivery of his daughter. The organization, on behalf of the Herbert family, asks for privacy at this time.’

It had caused a media frenzy as so few people even knew Justin had a girlfriend, let alone a pregnant one! 

Keeping Layla tucked to him, he walked across the field towards some of his other teammates, glad Layla was happy with relaxing against her dad’s chest. 

“You’re being such a good girl, Laylay.” He cooed softly to his daughter. “We’re going to have to get a treat after this for you. Maybe some yogurt…” he mumbled to himself. 

The off-season was an exciting time for Justin - not just because of golf and hobbies he enjoyed, but introducing Layla to solid foods and figuring out what she liked was something he didn’t think he’d enjoy as much as he did.

He could remember when Alex had asked him, “Babe, did you order a Nutribullet baby blender?”

He had. And some baby food cookbooks. And quite a few other things as well that he justified in needing.

“Justin, we can cook the baby food ourselves with a steamer we already have. We don’t need all these extra gadgets except jars and lids.” Alex tried to reason. “Most of this is cash grab shit.”

Justin had his way in the end, and although a pretty logical man by many people’s standards, he was illogical when it came to providing for Layla. Patrick once joked, “Are you sure you’re not the mom of Layla?” 

Justin gave him a stern look while others laughed at the table - including Layla who had no idea what the hell was even going on, only that everyone was happy.

Back to the present, Justin had made it over to Derwin who happily greeted him, his son next to him. “Herbo, you bring little Lay today?”

“Alex did. I knew she was coming though.” He shifted his daughter slightly, his eyes still scanning around him. Fans were far enough away, as were non-Chargers staff media, but still, he was paranoid. 

Derwin glanced around as well, “I think you should be good, dude. I know why you’re protecting her though. Some people are too crazy out here and people online can be cruel.”

“Yeah,” Justin sighed, “I love football and I’m thankful for what I get to do, but that doesn’t mean I want my daughter plastered everywhere, or my fiance.” 

“Nah I got you.” Derwin nodded. "The media is too much at times. Gotta protect the kids from it."

Layla shifted with a slight fuss before adjusting. Lifting her head slightly, she stared in curiosity at Derwin, who smiled back at her. 

“Damn, did Alex’s genes even try? Cause that’s your twin.” Derwin joked before ducking slightly to smile at Layla, “Hi, Ms. Laylay. I’m your dada’s friend.” 

She stared at him for a moment and then smiled slightly, burying her head in her dad’s shirt. “She’s shy sometimes,” Justin chuckled at his bashful daughter. “One minute she’s making a ton of noise and babbling, the next she’s as quiet as a church mouse.” 

“Well, she’s adorable. When are you having Herbo #2?” Derwin joked.

“Oh God,” Justin winced, “I won’t even mention that to Alex. She’d kill me!” He laughed at the image in his head, imagining her reaction to him asking that. “Maybe in 3-4 years, when Layla starts kindergarten or something.”

Justin knew Alex wanted more kids someday down the road. He was the same. Yet, at this current moment in time, Layla was their one and only, and Justin was happy with just the three of them.

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

66 with shaymien please

number 66 on the spreadsheet is from this list of prompts the prompt you generated in specific is: drawing circles and patterns on their chest

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 6.3k, rated E

summary:

[ Tweet from Damien Haas @DamienHaas on Dec 7, 2023 at 6:27pm reading: "Hey y'all, I know it's a streaming night, but I've been a very lucky fellow with some really cool stuff going on this week and am therefore extremely tired. Think it's best I listen to my (actually kinda dizzy at this point) body and sit this one out. 😬👍" ] || or, shayne comes to check on damien.

Check your front door. It's a text from Shayne, so honestly, it's not as weird as it could be. He's just standing in his kitchen and trying to make himself focus for long enough to make himself something actually good to eat and not just order takeout for the third time this week, so it's not like the front door checking is interrupting anything important. Still, he takes his time making it through the apartment, not rushing in the hopes of not aggravating his already irritated joints. This always happens when he doesn't sleep enough. He overdoes it and then his body tells him all about it like he wasn't there the whole time. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

It's never easy to remind himself that he's just an animal. That he's doing his best. He pulls open the door to something he does not expect for some reason, like Shayne's mother-henning ass hasn't always been like this. Virgo man motherfucker. Psychology degree asshole. Damien hates how warm and cared for the hovering always makes him feel, how it makes him feel so close to something that he still doesn't know how to ask Shayne for, even as long as they've been friends.

He leans against the door frame, tired but as happy to see Shayne as he always is. "What are you doing here, Shayne?" he asks, not really harsh but not as nice a tone he would typically take with Shayne either. Guilt immediately stirs in Damien's stomach, but Shayne just pushes past him, not lingering on it in the slightest. He has two grocery bags hanging off his arm like a middle aged mother of three, his hip cocked out when he turns around to look at Damien completing the image. There's a moment of silent communication, Shayne looking at him with that irritating (incredible, incandescent, inspiring) optimism and Damien looking back with fatigue dripping from every piece and part of him.

"Dude, I'm sorry, but if you say on fucking Twitter that you're so tired you're dizzy, me not coming over is not how this is going to go down," Shayne says, shrugging his shoulders. He claps his hands together once and moves through Damien's apartment like he owns the place, no regard for whether Damien actually intended for him to stay or not. Something warm sits in Damien's chest at his insistence, but really, he can handle himself. It's been a good little while since he and Shayne lived together, and he's been totally fine. Mostly fine. Adequately fine.

He's gotten medicated and he thinks that's a good start.

"Shayne, you know I'm a grown up, right?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as he follows his best friend into the kitchen, watching as he pulls groceries out of the two bags he brought in. This bastard. Shayne stacks comfort food after comfort food of Damien Haas onto the counter, almost exactly what Damien would have bought if he had energy to go to the store earlier. There are even some things he would have forgotten or just missed, little candies and a drink and a bag of chips that he loves but never would have occurred to him, but Shayne picked them out for him anyway. Embarrassingly enough, tears prick at the corners of Damien's eyes. Maybe he isn't as grown up as he thought; adults cry, adults cry, adults cry. When he sniffs, unable to help it, Shayne looks over from his bounty with concern.

"Hey, hey, bud, come here," he says gently, pulling Damien into his arms and rubbing his back soothingly. Damien can't fucking help it. He clings to Shayne and just starts sobbing, not really upset but just so fucking tired. He feels like a toddler, crying just because he's overwhelmed, but Shayne is just pulling him closer, making soothing sounds as he guides Damien over to his own couch. He's suddenly but viscerally glad that he has the apartment alone for the night. Shayne seeing him in this condition is bad enough, but anyone on this goddamn planet who isn't Shayne Robert Topp? So much fucking worse. Shayne has seen him through a twelve hour flight to Tokyo, through every bad phase he's had in his adult life, through struggle and thriving and everything between. Now, he cards his fingers through Damien's hair, sitting back against one of the arms of the couch with Damien so close he's almost in his lap.

"'m sorry," he says, muffled against Shayne's t-shirt. Shayne wraps his arms around him a little tighter, pulls him a little closer, and it's so fucking nice. Like how dogs with anxiety are given thunder vests. The thought startles a raspy giggle out of him, a sound like laughter went through the dishwasher.

"No need to be sorry," Shayne says, hands firm on Damien's back. "You should tell me what's funny, though. Letting me in on the joke always makes you feel a little better," he jokes, but honestly? It's true. A joke can be great, but it will always be better followed by Shayne's laughter. Even in public, he can't help the way he looks to make sure that Shayne laughs at things he says, can't help but tune his humor exactly to his best friend's tastes. They typically have a fairly similar sense of humor anyway, but there are some jokes he would never make without Shayne in the room, just because he knows that he could save it and make his best friend laugh so hard he cries. And that's awesome. Unlike the way that Damien is crying into his shoulder right now. Totally not awesome. He does this a lot, extracting himself from the situation mentally so that he can view it through a detached, analytical lens. His therapist says it's fairly typical for autistic adults. Still, Damien's body does not agree with the lack of attention that he'd like to give it. He makes himself fully tune back into Shayne.

"You're my thunder vest," he says nonsensically; it startles some giggles from Shayne anyway, a cute little snort too. Shayne is already being so nice to him, he shouldn't fuck it up by thinking of him like that. That's something that he's pushed down his entire adult life, he can push it down again now. Repress, reframe, repeat.

"Are you a Pomeranian having an anxiety attack?" Shayne asks, voice shot through with that tender humor, that tone he takes when he's trying to make Damien laugh for his own sake rather than for humor itself. He huffs a laugh against the side of Shayne's neck, hiding his face. He can feel himself returning to equilibrium, thankfully not lingering in that teary, fragile place that he can get stuck in sometimes. Mostly when he's overwhelmed. Shayne helps with that, though. Thunder vest.

"Nah, just a really tired dude. Pressure's still nice, though," Damien says, snuggling deeper against his best friend. Shayne rests a warm, steady hand on the back of his neck.

"You wanna get in bed with your weighted blanket and I'll come sit with you after I make you a little snack?" he suggests, making it abundantly clear that Damien's choice on the matter will be whatever they're doing tonight. They hadn't even planned to hang out tonight. Shayne is so ready to throw away his entire evening for this. For him. Damien makes a protesting noise.

"You're comfy," he says, his words so close to a whine that he's a little embarrassed. Shayne chuckles, the hand on the back of Damien's neck squeezing for just a second.

"What, you want me to come lay down with you?" Shayne asks, and it's obvious that he's joking, that this is a bit, but does Damien want that? Absolutely. He wants to be in bed with Shayne, he wants the comfort of Shayne holding him, he wants to fall asleep with Shayne's arms around him. He must tense, or flinch, or something, too tired to keep himself in check and masked, because Shayne pulls him up by the back of his neck, hauling him up just enough to look him in the eye. Still, Damien avoids eye contact. Shayne dips his head, just looking at Damien for a moment. "We can do that, you know. Nothing's stopping us," he says, still so fucking gentle, so quiet it's practically a whisper. Damien still can't make eye contact with him, gaze resting on the calming blue of Shayne's shirt. Everything about Shayne is calming to him. He just wishes he didn't need him so much.

"You don't have to," he says, fist balled in the bottom of Shayne's shirt. Shayne hums, smoothing a hand over his back.

"Well, I don't really have to do much of anything, but you've never been something I had to do, Damien," he says, brushing his lips over Damien's temple before he starts pushing him up, manipulating him physically to move if he can't do so verbally. A wet laugh cracks out of Damien as he gives into the direction, standing and offering a hand to Shayne to help him do the same. Shayne takes the help, keeping their hands linked as he leads Damien to his own bedroom, as if this isn't an apartment Damien could traverse with his fucking eyes closed. He follows anyway, because he would follow Shayne anywhere, and isn't that the truest thing about him, that dedication he's had to his best friend for his entire adult life. He and Shayne have been defined in relation to one another so many times over their years together, and while with most people, Damien minds, in this, he's settled. He's so fucking tired. He really does close his eyes for a long second before they reach his doorway.

"You don't have to," he repeats softly. Shayne turns to look at him, not releasing his hand but just looking at Damien, reading his face and his body language, reading all of these signs he knows better than anyone Damien's ever known. He lifts his free hand to Damien's face, palm warm against his cheek. Damien can't help leaning into it.

"I want to," Shayne says softly, sounding more like a reminder than anything, and really, it is. He knows that Shayne loves him. He knows that Shayne cares. He knows that Shayne wouldn't be here if Shayne didn't want to be, that it's always one hundred percent easier to do nothing than it is to do something, but still. Shayne's hand moves to the back of his neck. "How do you wanna do this, Dames? Your circus, your monkeys," he says; Damien snorts, unlacing their fingers to push at Shayne's chest. He stumbles back a little, the dramatic shithead, grinning at Damien as he sits on the edge of the bed. God, he cannot fucking look up at him like that. Sleepy eyed and ridiculously fond, Damien scratches his nails through the hair at the nape of Shayne's neck.

He clears his throat. It's never been easy to ask for what he wants. Shayne's hands are steady on his hips, too comforting for words. "Can I, um," he starts, stopping himself to clear his throat again. Shayne pulls on him a little, not enough to knock him at all, but enough to keep him in the moment. Damien's not sure he knows how to be anywhere else. "I wanna lay on your chest, dude. Is that, like. Is that cool?" he asks, his speech stunted and apparently his emotions too, fuck. Shayne's smile gets wider before it gets softer- he knows the look of Shayne Topp choosing kindness, and this is one of those times. Shayne lets go of him and lays back, kicking off his jeans before he's scooting up to the head of the bed and looking at Damien for his next cue. He looks pretty against Damien's pillows. Impatient with his hesitation, Shayne reaches for him.

"Come on, man, lay on me, let's do this," he says. Damien can't help laughing, tension breaking as he rids himself of his pants and kneels on the edge of the bed, lowering himself down over Shayne carefully. Shayne pulls at him, quick and confident where Damien's slow and hesitant, always compensating for one another whether they mean to or not. Damien curls his fingers in Shayne's shirt, the fabric soft between his fingers. Pulling Damien's weighted blanket over them, Shayne shuffles a bit til Damien is pulled close against his side, finally settling when their legs are slotted together, Damien's knee between his own. Between the warmth of Shayne beneath him and the weight of his blanket across his shoulders, Damien is probably the most comfortable he's been in weeks if not months if not years. He presses his face into Shayne's shoulder.

"Thank you," he says quietly, unable to make himself louder but needing to say it anyway. Shayne's arm tightens around his lower back briefly. Damien occupies himself drawing shapes on Shayne's chest, circles and patterns and just feeling the warmth there, feeling Shayne's heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

"Any time, Deem," Shayne whispers back, rubbing his hand across the small of Damien's back, rucking up his shirt a bit. Damien doesn't even mind the slight discomfort of the bunched fabric for the way Shayne's hand on his skin makes him feel. He doesn't know how to describe it, the absolute safety he feels with Shayne holding him like this and the undercurrent of electricity that flows through it, how the safety and the fog of attraction do not argue with one another in the slightest, but rather make Damien drowsy and comfortable, secure where he lay. He doesn't fall asleep immediately, rather floating in this comfortable place where the sound of Shayne's breathing is the only noise he needs. The fingers of his free hand have trailed just a bit under Shayne's shirt at the jut of his hip. His face hidden, his senses tuned almost completely out. He doesn't even recognize the comfortable arousal for what it is, pooling at the base of his spine.

He doesn't realize he's essentially dry humping his best friend until he's already doing it, and he couldn't say for sure how long he's been doing it, really. Fuck. Shayne catches him by the hip when Damien freezes, holding him in place. Damien's heart nearly stops in his chest. Leaning back a bit to face the music of this actually able to see one another's face, he starts to try to pull back even more, equal parts not wanting to make Shayne uncomfortable and sure he already has. He's held in place with a firmer grip.

"No, can I-" Shayne starts, big blue eyes looking up at Damien with so many emotions it's like a kaleidoscope of sky and sea. "I wanna take care of you," he murmurs, sliding his hand back up the back of Damien's shirt. It's only with the touch of skin on skin that Damien even understands what he's saying, blinking rapidly. Oh. Oh? Oh. Damien clears his throat, gaze locked somewhere to the left of Shayne's face.

"You really do not have to do that," Damien says, too afraid that this is just another thing that Shayne would be willing to do for him but not strong enough to tell him no outright. Shayne's hand is on his jaw again. Fuck.

"I really want to," he breathes, kissing Damien softly on the mouth. If they were younger, maybe this would have been a surprise. Maybe he would have freaked out and shot out of bed and not spoken to Shayne for a couple of days, maybe if they were younger, he would press Shayne into the mattress and take care of this himself, but. They're older now, and even if neither of them really feel fully grown, the growing they have done has been with each other in mind, and Damien relaxes into Shayne so reflexively, so naturally. There's something about your best friend that will always make you feel safe with your heart in their hands. Their kiss is gentle and slow, Shayne's hand holding him steady and Damien's eyes close, safe. It's so fucking safe. The hand on his back pulls Damien forward a bit, just enough to rock his pelvis against his best friend's hip and holy fuck.

"Shayne," he says raggedly, breaking the kiss to hide his face in Shayne's shoulder. Shayne guides him forward again, Damien going willingly this time. He can't help the soft whine that tears itself out of his throat at the new contact, desperate to rut against Shayne's hip til he cums, but too embarrassed to just... reach out and take what Shayne is offering. When Shayne next speaks, his mouth close to Damien's ear, the deep rumble of his voice makes him shudder.

"Go ahead, Dames. Come on," he urges him, pulling Damien to roll his hips forward again; Damien sinks his teeth into Shayne's shoulder through his shirt, not really a choice but an instinct, a desire he simply cannot push down. Shayne gives him a pleased little noise, not quite a moan and not a hum either, really. He encourages Damien forward again, pulling him in like getting Damien off is just as good for him as it is for Damien himself. Damien resettles the weight of his hips, making himself more able to grind his thigh against Shayne's crotch. The other man keens, high and clear, and there's no way Damien can keep going under these conditions.

"Dude, you're gonna make me cum both touching me and sounding like that," he teases, lazy grin pressed against Shayne's skin.

"Are you sure? I could finger you open, fuck you to sleep," Shayne offers, his surely lascivious smile painting the words even dirtier than they are. Damien groans, even his arousal tinted with laughter when it's with Shayne. Holy shit.

"Jesus fucking Christ, yeah, we're definitely doing that at some point in the future, but I don't know if-" he cuts himself off, not really sure why he doesn't want to, but just that he doesn't. He's looking up at him when Shayne's expression softens and he busses a kiss across Damien's temple, pulling him forward gently again. He kisses Damien's head again, hands so careful on his skin, like Damien is delicate, like Damien is precious. He rolls his hips slow, almost tentative, like Damien wasn't the one who started this. Damien's fingers curl in Shayne's shirt; Shayne pushes him up a bit for a second, whipping off his shirt before pulling Damien back down. Immediately overwhelmed by all of the freshly available skin, Damien does the first thing that comes to mind: again, he bites. The muscle of Shayne's peck is fucking satisfying between his teeth, the noise Shayne makes even more so. Even as tired as he is, desperation pulls at Damien, not just to feel good himself but to make Shayne feel good, to be the reason his boy makes those noises.

"Oh fuck, good. Good, Dames. Take what you need," Shayne coaxes him. Heat shoots through Damien at the praise, the encouragement, all of it. He wasn't even really aware that was something he liked partners to give him, really. Praise has never been high on the priority list. From Shayne, it makes pre-cum spill into his boxers. He ruts against Shayne til his breath comes short, Shayne's hand firm on the back of his neck. So turned on, and sleepy, and comfortable, and safe, Damien trails his fingers beneath the waistband of Shayne's, pausing for long enough to look him in the eye.

"Can I?" he asks. His voice breaks a little, lust shot through it. Shayne hums, pulling off his own boxers and then raising an eyebrow at Damien, fingers hooked in to take Damien's off as well. Damien nods, and Shayne follows through immediately, such is his nature. He guides Damien out of his shirt as well, quick and efficient. He's never known Shayne to disappoint him, to take any more time than was needed. With that said, he doesn't expect a calloused hand to wrap around his cock immediately, thumbing over the head with practiced ease.

"Jesus, baby boy," Damien says, halfway between a gasp and a whimper, embarrassing if Damien gave a single fuck right now at this moment with his cock leaking in Shayne's hand, feeling so good and calm and taken care of that there are tears pricking at his eyes again. Shayne cups the back of his head, fingernails scratching through Damien's hair a little harder than before, enough to make Damien press into it.

"You sound so pretty, Deem. Come on, baby. Take what you need. You're doing so good," Shayne praises, coaxing and encouraging and so, so sweet. Affection drips from him like making Damien cum is just another way to take care of him, and maybe it is. Maybe all they've been doing for years is taking care of one another, maybe Damien loves Shayne more than he's ever loved anybody in his life, maybe Shayne is so deeply beneath his skin that Damien doesn't know where he ends and Shayne begins. Damien drops his head to lean against Shayne's collarbone, hot breath fanning across Shayne's chest is as he thrusts into Shayne's hand, shivers rolling down his spine in droves.

"Shayne," he says brokenly, his voice coming more ragged by the second. Shayne lets go of his dick and Damien can't help the whine that follows, though it turns quickly into a moan as Shayne pulls at him, encouraging him to continue rubbing off against his best friend. The syrupy pleasure of it makes Damien's head feel more thick with sleep rather than lessening its hold on him. Still, he grinds down against Shayne as well, never a selfish lover, but Shayne redirects his motion.

"I'll take care of me later, okay? Let me take care of you right now," he whispers, fingers carding through Damien's hair. Damien blinks down at him, head tilted toward the side and motion stopping all together. "You're tired, Deem. You'll get a chance to touch me, but this is about you. Let me make this about you, okay?" he requests, and how can Damien deny him anything? He tucks his face against Shayne's throat and rolls his hips, obediently losing any and all focus to the sensation of thrusting against Shayne's skin. Shayne's nails dig into his scalp a little harder, reflexive, and Damien bites down on Shayne's shoulder, reactionary. A soft, pleased noise falls from Shayne's mouth and then there's a kiss pressed to Damien's hair, that one spot of innocent affection in the middle of all of this sex and friction sending Damien right off that deep end.

He knows that Shayne is praising him and rubbing his back, hands careful on his skin, but Damien feels a million miles away. Love, love, love beats a tattoo in his chest, overwhelming and cosmic, so overwhelming in fact that it rolls back around to feel like the most natural thing in the world. He pulls Shayne in for a desperate kiss, starting to get a little bit overstimulated but not enough to stop, not enough to know better. Even coming down from the high of cumming on his best friend, Damien knows that this was not the solution to making him more able to actually get to sleep. The need to touch Shayne is buzzing beneath his skin, thick and heavy, obvious and reckless, and Damien presses down onto Shayne with a gentle kiss to his mouth, enthusiastic but careful. Shayne sighs against his mouth, lacing his fingers in Damien's hair. Damien gives him another kiss, but ultimately pulls back to look at Shayne's face.

Shayne tries to push himself back to get up, but Damien grabs onto him, not entirely on purpose but not really an accident either. Shayne raises an eyebrow at him. "I want-" he stumbles over his words, unable to make himself just be honest, even when Shayne so obviously just wants to make him happy. He pushes his face into Shayne's shoulder, sure that the other man is getting impatient with him, but Shayne just cups his face, pulling him in to give him such a fucking gentle look.

"What do you want, Dames? Anything you want," Shayne promises softly, not breaking eye contact with Damien. He can feel his face going red, and he knows that he's flustered and embarrassed, but it's what he wants. He wants to be able to tell Shayne what he wants. He clears his throat.

"Can we, um. I've thought about something, like. A lot. Like at least once every time we've ever sat on a bed together maybe, a lot," he says, finally able to externalize some of it but still unable to look Shayne in the eye for more than a split second at a time. "I'm exhausted. But keyed up. So I'm probably not going to be able to sleep yet so," he pauses again, distracted as Shayne's fingers card through his hair. Though, that's probably just an excuse. "When you're sitting back against the headboard of a bed, reading or what the fuck ever it is that you do," he says as if he's not the most informed person on what the fuck Shayne does at all times, "I want to put my head in your lap. And. Your dick in my mouth. And. Suck your dick but like slow? I'm explaining this really badly, dude."

"Baby, that's called cockwarming, and we can definitely do that," Shayne says with a grin, his eyes practically sparkling as he looks up at Damien.

"Oh, he knows the word for it," Damien teases, happy to be back in the sphere where he and Shayne tease each other. He wants the sex, and he even wants the romance if Shayne wants it too, but he doesn't want either if their friendship would be the collateral. Shayne smiles back, kissing Damien's cheek as he pulls himself to sit back against the headboard as referenced. He leans over to grab the book he had left on Damien's bedside table last time he was in here. That probably should have been something of an indicator shouldn't it be? When was the last time a friend who isn't Shayne was in his room, let alone leaving their belongings in it? He knows that if he looked around, he'd only be able to find more of Shayne's belongings, certain things he owns that neither he nor Shayne are sure of the origin of anymore, and all of that is far too overwhelming to think too much about right at this moment, sleepy and finally getting something he's wanted a long, long time.

"Ian was into researching BDSM for a while, I got caught in the infodump," Shayne clarifies a few beats late, casual. Damien squints up at him.

"Never say Ian's name when I'm about to suck your dick ever again," he says, wrinkling his nose for dramatic effect. It doesn't occur to him that he's just assumed this is going to become part of their relationship, not a one time affair, until after it's already come out of his mouth. He doesn't even have time to start spilling apologies in a deluge, conscious of being presumptuous, because Shayne just raises an eyebrow at him, hands holding and stroking Damien's face between them. The affectionate attention makes it easier to relax, Damien's blinks coming slower, his somewhat elevated heartbeat coming back down from the high. Shayne gives a breathless little chuckle, adorable, and Damien can't help the open adoration he looks up at him with.

"You just said his name when you're about to suck my dick, so really, equal offense," he says, rubbing his thumb over Damien's bottom lip. It presses just a bit and Damien drops his mouth open, allowing the digit to rest on his tongue. It's not what Damien wants, but it still feels far too soon when Shayne pulls it out.

"Shayne." It comes out as a whine, Damien's patience running thin when all he wants it right in front of him and he just... needs Shayne to tell him to actually do it. For some reason. Consent maybe? He's already expressed being okay with this, but it still feels like Damien should wait. Shayne smiles down at him, his expression soft as he runs his fingers through Damien's hair. He guides Damien forward and down, gentle as he controls the pace at which Damien takes him down his throat. That is what he wanted. Everything's already gaining a fuzzy softness, all of his senses tuning down to this one sensation, this one thing. One of Shayne's hands stays resting heavy at the nape of his neck, the other moved to genuinely read his fucking book. He doesn't think this is weird. He doesn't think Damien is weird for wanting this. He's just reading his book. He lets go of a tension he didn't realize he was keeping, his shoulders dropping and a slow breath blown out through his nose. Shayne's nails are dull scratching through the hair beneath them.

"Good, Dames. You're so pretty like this. All sweet and relaxed. So good for me," Shayne murmurs. Damien closes his eyes, swallowing around Shayne's cock reflexively. Shayne's fingers flex in his hair. There's a sweet little gray space that Damien wasn't aware existed in his mind; it envelopes him now, warm and calm, the world only lit by the lamp at his bedside and the world itself small, centered in his best friend's lap. Everything is smaller like this. Calmer. His eyes slide shut. Damien couldn't even hazard a guess as to how long they stay like that, how long he lays between Shayne's knees rapturous, at peace. Shayne's always been his safe place to land. This feels so much like an extension of that idea that he isn't sure what they had been doing in the first place.

Shayne starts reading to him somewhere in the middle of the book, at no specific marker in the story or in the passage of time that Damien can puzzle out. He doesn't want to attribute it to the fact that Damien had been getting somewhat restless, hands bracing Shayne's lower back and nails digging into his skin every once in a while. The sounds of his voice is soothing; it's some old Russian classic, maybe, Tolstoy or Dostoevsky or maybe Chekhov. He's seen the book probably a hundred times, but past registering that it was Shayne's, he hasn't really looked at it much. For this, he's glad that he never picked the book up. The characters' stories mean absolutely nothing to him because he doesn't know who Kostya and Kitty even are, let alone what they're doing, so his thoughts aren't getting snagged on trying to follow the story.

It's just Shayne. He's getting sleepy again, but he doesn't want to go to sleep without making Shayne cum. It's not even the theoretical idea of reciprocation. He knows without discussion that Shayne wouldn't hold it against Damien if he wanted to go to sleep right now. He just wants Shayne's cum in his mouth, really. He swallows around the cock in his mouth, bobbing his head just once before waiting for Shayne's response. Shayne hums, fingers flexing in his hair again before he removes his hand entirely. When Damien opens his eyes to look up at him, Shayne is putting a bookmark in his book, setting it back on the bedside table before returning his gaze to Damien, his hand following quickly to cup Damien's jaw. Damien leans into it but doesn't pull off. Shayne hums again.

"Getting sleepy again?" he asks softly, thumb stroking over Damien's cheekbone. It's barely even a question, really, so Damien just swallows around his dick as a response, figuring it will communicate enough of a message to get his point across. To Shayne, at least. Anybody else and Damien would never have gotten here in the first place, but especially he wouldn't have gotten here in so few words. "You wanna get me off before going to sleep, huh?" his companion asks, this one even less of a question than the one before, but Damien hums in agreement anyway. Shayne chuckles, not something that Damien can actually physically feel, but still enough to make his heart flutter in his chest. The weight of approval is heavy on his shoulders, comforting. Weighted blanket. Shayne strokes his fingers through Damien's hair. "Go ahead, baby."

It's the third time that Shayne has called him that. He's surprised by how much he likes it.

He clears his mind by coming most of the way off of Shayne's dick, playing with the head with his tongue in slow, broad strokes. Shayne groans, his head listing back against the wall above the headboard. Damien digs his tongue into his slit and drops down, taking Shayne all the way down to the root in one fluid movement. Shayne's fingers are laced in his hair again, loose fist just barely pulling. Damien hums, reaching a hand up to press on the one on his head. Shayne grips his hair tighter, pulling tentatively and then much more confidently as it brings embarrassing noises from Damien's throat. The weight of Shayne in his mouth is only made better when Shayne's hips twitch up, just a little bit of pressure on Damien's head keeping him in place as Shayne hits the back of his throat. The sensation makes him choke a little, but it's fucking hot too, Shayne losing that little bit of control to the heat of Damien's mouth enough to have him whining and moaning, desperate to please. Fuck.

"You're so fucking good for me. Gonna make me cum, Dames," Shayne breathes out, a warning that only makes Damien redouble his efforts. Shayne grabs the back of his head, holding Damien in place as he thrusts up into Damien's mouth once, twice, three times before he's shooting hot down Damien's throat. Damien groans and holds Shayne and his cum in his mouth for a second, not wanting to give up the feeling yet. Shayne's fingers stroke through his hair, gentle again, and he did not need to know that this is a way Shayne can be in bed. Certainly not on their first time. This hot and cold of gentle and rough is making him actually dizzy now, not even hyperbolically dizzy but dizzy, in the best way possible.  Once he's sufficiently calmed, he swallows down the cum, pulling off of Shayne's dick. Shayne pulls him up and kisses him on the mouth before the taste is off Damien's tongue, pulling him in to taste it for himself.

"Thank you," Damien says as he pulls away from the kiss, not exactly sure what he's thanking him for but grateful all the same. His nose is pressed against Shayne's collarbone, knees on either side of the other man's hips. Shayne pulls him even closer, dropping kisses across Damien's shoulder chastely.

"You did so good, Dames. Love you. Love you so much," Shayne repeats before gentle kisses, his words so comfortable that it doesn't even reek of confidence, but rather a sense of being at ease. He wouldn't be able to count how many times he's heard those words come out of Shayne's mouth, and this time is no different than all the rest, really. Maybe they're doing different things now, loving each other another way, but the love he feels for Shayne? That's been star bright and distracting in the corner of his version for nearly his entire adult life. That's his best friend. Everything else is window dressing.

"Love you," he whispers, lips brushing against the skin of Shayne's throat. Shayne presses another kiss to his skin before leaning over to grab a wet wipe from Damien's bedside table; of course he knows where Damien keeps his fucking wet wipes. Have a chronic nosebleed thing and suddenly a guy knows where you keep the stuff you use to clean up blood. Now, there's an air of reverence to Shayne as he wipes away the cum on Damien's stomach, on his own hip, and when he catches Damien looking at him during his perfunctory sweep over Damien's cock, he grins, closing his hand around Damien loosely. He chuckles when Damien lists against his collarbone, a whimper small but detectable coming from the back of his throat. He finishes wiping both of them off and throws the wet wipe into the trash. Damien catches his mouth in a quick kiss. Well, it was intended to be quick, but Shayne is as thorough in this as he is in everything else. Damien can't help grinning as he peppers kissing on Shayne's face, giggles pouring out of both of them. Shayne slips a hand in his hair and holds Damien still, just looking at him.

"I love you," he says again, kissing Damien just once before pulling back again. "Food or sleep, baby? If you just wanna take a nap, I can set an alarm," Shayne offers, shrugging his shoulders. Damien hums, leaning forward to kiss him, kiss him, kiss him again and again. The taste of Shayne's smile beneath his tongue is the sweetest thing to ever cross Damien's lips. Besotted doesn't even begin to cover it. He feels like he's floating. He feels the most settled he's ever been.

"Snacks and blankets in the living room? A movie, maybe?" Damien suggests, resting his temple against Shayne's as they breathe one another's air. Shayne hums in the affirmative, another kiss gentle on Damien's mouth.

"Anything you want, Dames. Anything you want."

[scoops-aboy86]

♠️♥️Steve's parents leaving for the month on a business trip and Steve taking advantage of the situation to try something new. He doesn't know where his size kink started, maybe sometime when he had Nancy in bed, his hands holding her dainty ones. Or maybe when he had shotgunned a couple beers and the pressure of his stomach made his cheeks flush, but it was something he wanted to explore to the fullest. It's new, and a little exhilarating, and it also makes him a tad embarrassed but he sets out on testing himself.

The first night he locks all the doors, shuts all the windows and locks himself in his room, unconsciously afraid of getting caught despite no one being home, and he sets the scene; Steve cleans the room, sets up his mirror in front of his desk to see himself, and he even brings in an extra table to put the food out. He got a couple burgers, a case of beer, some twizzlers, some cokes, and an ice cream pint. Realistically he knows he won't finish it all but he just wants to see what he can.

He dresses himself in an old polo, straight fit, and a pair of jeans. It's quiet as he works his way through the meal, stomach bubbling as he chugs down drink after drink and by midnight he's painfully full, undeniably hard, and hungry for more.

Motivated by his own arousal, the damage to his waistline is fast and the looks, little comments he gets from his old friends, Nancy, even Robin sends him over the moon.

I have toiled over a response to this for like. Three weeks or so? It's 6.5k words and I think I'm finally happy with it.

Pre s4. Steve's parents aren't awful in this, they're just kind of... okay but out of touch. Also, in Robin's defense, her comments and concern are not so much because of Steve's weight as they are about the fact that he hasn't flirted with anyone (that she's noticed) in a while.

🔞 Contains: kink exploration, weight gain kink, stuffing, a dash of humiliation kink, getting together, and even some praise kink slipped in at the end. 🔞

Steve has always thought about it somewhere in the back of his head, is the thing. He wasn’t quite one of those kids who stuffed pillows down his shirt while playing when he was younger, but he’d thought about it. Contrary to what many of his friends might say, he’s actually a very thoughtful guy—you just have to not rush him. 

It takes eighteen whole years and a well-timed business trip that has his parents jetting off to… wherever, he honestly wasn’t listening, for Steve to actually act on those thoughts. 

And look, he likes his parents. They’re always around for his birthday and on Christmas. His dad is a stickler about eating at home and his mom always insists on balanced meals, so there’s always a steady rotation of predictably portioned protein, vegetables, and starch on the table every night. It’s just…

They don’t understand him, alright? They’re analytical and Steve’s a people person. They’re into math and spreadsheets and statistics, and he’s more kinesthetic, shit at algebra and trigonometry but took to geometry like a duck to water. They read a lot, whereas Steve prefers to be out and doing things with his friends, or at the very least getting behind the wheel and going for a drive. 

It’s fine though, because they try. There’s a pool and a basketball hoop in the backyard, monuments in their attempts to, if not relate, then at least cater to their only child’s interests. 

But this interest is so in the other direction that it’d be off their map entirely. Off most people’s maps, by enough that Steve makes sure all the doors are locked and all the windows pinned tight before locking himself in his room. The food is spread out, his desk already cleared for the purpose and an extra side table dragged to put the full of Cokes, beers, and ice cream on. 

He sits in his desk chair, spins back and forth a few times to make sure he can see everything in his carefully positioned mirror… and then he just eats. 

Not fast, not to start with. Sure, he skipped lunch to try and heighten the experience, but you don’t start a distance race at a full-out sprint. He takes the burgers at a steady pace because he’s genuinely hungry, gulping his way through a couple Cokes before switching to beer. That way the effects of the alcohol are slow to kick in, gradual compared to the pressure building within him. 

It catches up to him slowly enough that he only notices while trying to use one of the Twizzlers as a straw and snickering to himself in his quiet room when all he manages to do is suck suds. Tipsy and full, the polo that fit him comfortably back in freshman year is already tight and has him fighting the urge to pull it up, release the tension. Instead, he smooths his hands down the fabric, tugging it down, but then unbuttons his jeans and watches that lack of constriction send it riding right back up. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Steve moans. He scrambles to grab a spoon and the ice cream carton, testing that it’s soft enough to scoop easily if he just leaves it on the desk before jamming his free hand into his boxers where he’s hard and throbbing, half stroking and half just grinding sloppily into his palm while he jams more ice cream into his greedy mouth. 

At first he thinks he’ll have just the top layer or so, about a spoon’s worth deep and then he’ll stop. But he can’t get it to look flat, he wants it to look all even so when he puts it back in the fridge his parents might not notice! Meanwhile, he’s cramming in bite after bite and moaning in between, maybe missing a few opportunities to declare the container flat and his gorging over. The tightness of his shirt and of his hand sliding frantically over his shaft is just so distracting, a dual assault, and when he looks down his panting turns into a down-to-his-toes groan because he looks like he’s swallowed a goddamn beach ball. 

It’s the combo of beer and dairy, making him bloat up even more. That’s crept up on him too, and fuck, he’s so goddamn full but he’s also so close, can’t stop now—Without stopping to think, Steve drops his spoon and groans his way through a lunge for the last can. He falls heavily back into place with it in hand, cracks it open, moaning, and starts desperately to chug. More and more of it escapes out the lax corners of his mouth, dripping down the front of his polo and it’s almost, almost, almost—

It feels so good when he comes, and that’s how he knows this isn’t a one-off. Setting the empty can down next to the ice cream with a jarring hiccup, Steve reaches down, wipes his hand on his jeans and reaches up to cradle his belly gingerly. Feels it churning and bubbling under his palms, and imagines how it might feel to be this full and tight, but also soft. 

He lets his head loll back where he’s slouched in the desk chair, and just drifts on the feeling while the room wobbles slowly on its axis around him, lost in rosy daydreams. 

It’s a while before he comes back to himself well enough to stand, struggling sluggishly out of his messy clothes. There are red impressions where his jeans were pinching him and he gets distracted for a moment in just feeling them with his fingertips, reading the lines like braille. His skin feels hot to the touch, sweat beaded on his upper lip and dampening his hairline, and every movement makes him feel like he’s about to burst. Still, he’s not… that big. Like, relatively, compared to how he normally looks, but not overall. 

Not yet.

Without a doubt, he will absolutely do this again. He could come again, just from this feeling alone, but his eyelids feel even heavier than the rest of him. 

After steeping in that knowledge for a minute, he crawls into bed. Every jostle to his packed belly makes him grunt and burp, an exquisite burst of relief; he ends up sprawled on his side and practically melts into the mattress, falling once more into that all-encompassing sense of fullness until the food coma stupor lulls him to a deep and restful sleep. 

The next time—because of course there’s a next time, he’s been dreaming about it and waking up sticky and hungry—Steve does the same. Soda and beer and way too much junk food, in his room because his parents aren’t home to lecture him about eating in bed and the possibility of ants. All the doors are locked again and he starts out eagerly, already palming himself through his sweatpants. 

From a stack of microwaved corn dogs and a few bags of chips to a little round grocery store cake meant to feed eight people, he doesn’t want to stop. Can’t stop, because he wants to be able to grab himself and get entire handfuls. Even just little ones, as… as an experiment. 

That’s a lie. He knows, as he catches his breath after coming so hard his toes curled and comes back down to earth with a fierce stomach ache that he’s gradually figuring out how to soothe with well-placed massaging over his belly, that a little might not be enough. 

He wants more, and there’s no one around to stop him. 

It takes a while for his friends to notice, but the evidence creeps up on him. Steve loves it, can feel himself getting a little bit softer and his clothes a little bit tighter every day. Whenever he doesn’t take a special night to stuff his face, he still eats a bit extra at dinner and feels all over himself, reveling in the slow transformation, part of him wishing he dared to go faster. 

Nancy is the first to comment. He doesn’t run into her often, but one day Steve is picking Dustin and Will up from the Wheeler’s and she opens the front door instead of her mom. 

“Oh, Steve, hi,” she says awkwardly, looking him quickly up and down while clearly trying not to be obvious about it. “I, um. How are you doing?”

“Pretty good,” Steve replies honestly. “Family Video pays a little better than Scoops, so, you know. That much closer to getting my own place soon. Me and Rob are keeping our eyes peeled for a rental in town, since she’s planning on taking a gap year once she graduates.”

“Oh.” Nancy sounds falsely gentle, like she doesn’t think he quite understands something. “You know… Robin talks all the time about how one thousand percent platonic you two are.”

Steve frowns slightly, puzzled. He says that just as much, he’s pretty sure. What’s Nancy’s point?

“I’m just saying,” she continues, “I’m not sure she’s… in the same place as you are. Metaphorically.”

“Or literally,” he tries to joke, grinning in an attempt to blow past this weird little moment. Puts his hands on his hips, pleasantly aware in the back of his mind  that there’s already more give there than there used to be. “I mean, look around. Not a single Robin as far as the eye can see right now.”

But Nancy is dogged in her pursuit of the truth, be it a supernatural mystery or trying to subtly guide Steve to a realization he doesn’t actually need to have. “Look, I can tell you’ve been in a little bit of a slump lately. It’s… perfectly understandable, after everything that happened. I’m sure you get nightmares still, god knows that I do—all I’m saying is, you're a good guy, Steve. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it, especially after the way we… the way I let things end between us. You deserve so much better than someone who’d just be settling for you. There will be other girls who see how special you are, no matter what you, um, look like.”

The words spark off a little coal deep and low in Steve’s core, a lick of embarrassment giving way quickly to a strange giddiness that she’s talking about his weight. She’s talking around it like it’s a bad thing, reminding him how taboo his not-so-little guilty pleasure is, and god it’s getting him going. 

That night, he sets up his spread of way too much food and drink on the dining room table for the first time, and only bothers to crawl as far as the living room couch afterwards. He falls asleep pawing at himself and wakes up the same way, his ex-girlfriend’s words still echoing in his head like a treat worth savoring. 

Funnily enough, he sleeps so well these days that nightmares are hardly ever a problem.

The next comment he gets is from a different Wheeler, a fact which is just… It’s something. He’s open to the possibility that the entire family might secretly have it out for him; less likely things have happened in Hawkins, after all.

“Hey Steve,” Mike says, grinning like he’s trying not to because he hasn’t even voiced whatever joke he’s been sitting on for the entire ride home from a Hellfire night at school. He’s hovering by Steve’s window, which is rolled down because it’s still warm enough even this late in the year. “Have you ever considered becoming a cop?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, amused by the teenager’s gleeful anticipation but meeting it with a bitchy look on principle because he knows the punchline is going to be at his expense. “No, Mike, I haven’t. Why?”

“Because it looks like you’ve got the donut habit for it,” Mike crows, and promptly bolts, running off down the long drive towards his house with a cackle, leaving Steve to just… sit there, poker faced.

Beside him, Dustin squawks and just about shoves his entire upper half out the passenger side window to yell after his friend. “Mike, don’t be a jackass! We need Steve to keep giving us rides!”

In the rear-view mirror, Lucas’ eyebrows have shot up, his mouth twisted like he too doesn’t approve of the joke, but doesn’t want to add to the spectacle by commenting on it now that the perpetrator is out of range. Dustin drops back into his seat and turns to Steve with a pleading look.

“Don’t listen to him, man, you look fine. You look great, event! Please keep picking us up after Hellfire, please please please, my mom would never let me stay out so late if I had to bike all the way home unsupervised, even though I’ve done way worse—”

“Dude,” Steve interrupts, “chill.” 

He’s partly saying it to himself, too. Luckily his shirt is untucked and effectively hides the effect that being told he looks like a guy with a donut habit now is having on him—although in truth, he doesn’t get donuts all that often. Once or twice a week at most and usually at Robin’s suggestion, because it’s far more efficient to make a bunch of pancakes without ever having to leave the house or, like. Put on clothes that actually fit. 

“It’s fine,” he continues, trying to will down the heat he can feel in his cheeks. “Mike’s a little shit, I’m not going to take that out on you guys. Judge you for your choice in friends, sure, but you know… whatever.”

Steve is quick about dropping Lucas off down the street and Dustin a couple minutes later, and then speeds to the nearest place that’s still open and sells donuts. 

Under the pretense that some will be left over for Robin in the morning he gets an entire dozen, six classic chocolate glazed and six jelly-filled. He already has one in hand as he drives away, the sugar lighting up his taste buds like a non-traumatizing fireworks display. When he gets home he pulls straight into the garage and doesn’t get out until the box is empty and he’s licked all the chocolate frosting and powdered sugar from his fingers and lips. 

He goes inside to find a message on his parents’ fancy answering machine letting him know that their month-long trip has been extended by a few weeks, couldn’t be helped, and Steve celebrates the news by ordering two pizzas and a side of cheesy bread. 

“Are you okay, Steve?” Robin asks the next day at Family Video, a thin veneer of faux casual over her concern. “I haven’t seen you flirt with any of the customers lately, and there have been some real babes among the selection.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that the pretty girls he would usually go for have started giving him pitying, sometimes even disgusted looks the more he softens up. It gives him a thrill every time. Robin’s mistaken it as a defeated retreat, but sometimes he mumbles an excuse to take his break and spends it in the employees only bathroom, braced against the wall where he can best watch himself rubbing and squeezing his belly and thighs, jerking himself off while cramming his mouth full of emergency granola bars from his pockets. Staying quiet is a struggle, but if he keeps his mouth full—

It’s on the tip of his tongue to just tell her, because it’s Robin. His best friend and pseudo-sister, a platonic soulmate forged in the fires of Russian torture and monsters from an alternate dimension. They’d once spent an afternoon going over how to go down on a girl, complete with diagrams and real anecdotes and Steve demonstrating techniques on his hands while Robin took notes. They talk about everything.

But then the bell over the door rings, breaking the doldrums of no customers for the past hour as a scruffy guy from the ‘bad’ side of town (literally a couple streets over from the ‘good’ side of town; there’s not a lot to Hawkins, at the end of the day) slinks inside. Steve vaguely recognizes him from school

Isn’t he that guy that used to yell shit from on top of cafeteria tables sometimes? Munson?

The guy notices him looking and gives him a quick once over, eyebrows ticking expressively upwards as he takes Steve in—and yeah, that’s Eddie Munson, isn’t it? President of the kids’ precious Hellfire Club and the cool new friend who Dustin won’t shut up about, but who pretty much everyone outside of that nerdy little circle calls the Freak. 

Feeling those eyes on him starts something simmering beneath Steve’s skin and he makes a point to turn and put his profile on display, his growing belly beginning to precede the sides of his vest just a bit as a testament to not only the large meals that he’s now indulging in nightly, but the constant snacking as well. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Munson eyes him for another few seconds, then slips off into the horror section of the store. 

This is actually the closest Steve has gotten to flirting with customers in a while, and it doesn’t even ping on Robin’s radar the way his usual peacocking always seemed to. The idea of being in stealth mode, flirting in code, is surprisingly appealing. Steve doesn’t even care that it was with another guy, which… Maybe he should examine that, at some point. 

He ends up not examining shit, nor telling Robin anything. She sends him on his lunch break before Munson finishes browsing, and since his stomach is already grumbling to be filled, he goes without complaint. 

It’s not enough for Steve to just feel himself slowly swelling more and more with each passing week; stuffings become a nightly occurrence, and he takes his breakfast cereal with heavy cream in the mornings.

Predictably, his pants start getting tight. His shirts stretch out around his middle, but gradually the sleeves start to feel tight on his arms, too. Every morning when he wakes up, he feels himself over and could swear he’s bigger than he remembers from the night before. Stretch marks begin to appear all over his body, but his favorites are the ones that bracket his navel as the brunt of the weight gathers in front of him at the waist. 

He sizes up his clothes but doesn’t even make it out of the mall (not in Hawkins, the next town over) before he gives in and stops at the food court. Line after line, he collects his meal and wolfs it down before hefting himself to his feet and getting another. Hits every fast food restaurant and snack stall there, saving the Baskin-Robbins for last and working his way through the largest sundae on their menu. Absolutely stuffs himself, not content until he’s jam-packed and his breathing is labored, the waistband of his new jeans getting its first workout. 

Afterwards, he drives home in a cozy daze of food overload and amazement at how thoroughly his instinct for secrecy has gone out the window. Being in a different town helped, but he’d just put his gluttony wholly on display and there could have been people who knew him in the crowd. 

He goes to pull into his driveway… and his parents’ car is there. 

And look, he loves his parents. They’re good people, they’ve been supportive even though his life trajectory had started off promising but trending downwards ever since ‘83. But he panics, okay? He is practically bursting out of the bigger clothes that he just bought. The fucking tags are still on because he’d been in too much of a rush to get to get what was actually his second lunch of the day! 

Accelerating hard back onto the street, the Beemer’s tires screech and burn rubber as Steve takes off.

It’s not a conscious choice, the road that dead ends overlooking Sattler’s Quarry, but that’s where Steve ends up. He turns the engine off and just sits there, staring out into nothing in the gathering dusk, nursing a dread that sits heavy in his gut and sours the pleasant ache of being full. 

Why’d they have to extend their trip? Just one month might have been fine, the change a little less jarring, easing them into his new appearance and bigger appetite. Now it’s been closer to two and a half. And it’s only in the past couple weeks that he’s really been going all out every single day, but that’s made a noticeable difference. 

When anyone else looks at him, that change makes him feel powerful. Like he’s finally taken control of something instead of just being along for the ride the way he’s felt his entire life, always a step or two behind everyone else. And considering he’s nearly died several times over the past couple of years, mostly from putting himself in the way of others getting hurt, he figures he’s earned this. The satisfaction of taking every opportunity to treat himself, of growing softer and the way it feels when he touches himself now, of getting so full he can barely move, all of it. There’s a bounce in his step that he never had as the slim and sleek King of Hawkins High, and every jiggle that causes is a little thrill. 

But it’s different when it’s his parents. 

They try, but they’ve never really understood him, even less so since his involvement with the Upside Down. They would definitely never understand this. There’s bound to be a breaking point somewhere, and Steve can’t stand the thought of it being over something that makes him feel so happy. 

He’s already the screw-up that won’t follow in their footsteps, who couldn’t even get into his safety school… Dread seeps, cold, into his bloodstream at the possibility of seeing that same quickly-stifled disappointment flicker in their eyes when they realize the last bit of the son they used to know, the former athlete, is gone now too. 

It would be like Nancy calling him bullshit all over again. He can’t risk it. 

While he worries, he absentmindedly makes himself more comfortable. Unzips his new jeans to let his belly breathe, peeking out from under his shirt as he runs his hands over new rolls and reddened marks. It helps; feels grounding as he attempts to soothe the anxiety churning away inside. 

He kneads at himself like dough until the feeling of his increasingly squishy belly stuffed so full of food starts to feel good again and he begins to relax. 

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s dozed off until a tap on the windshield startles him into opening his eyes to a view of the star-speckled night sky… and the silhouette of Eddie Munson, casually holding up a lit Zippo while sitting cross legged on the hood of Steve’s car. 

“What the hell?!” Steve yelps, even as he recognizes him, and Munson’s mouth twitches into a grin that’s just visible in the bare flicker of flame. He gives a little wave that’s more of a salute and slides off the hood to lean by the driver's side window. 

“Sorry, Harrington. Didn’t mean to startle you there.” Munson’s voice is deep, a low rumble through the glass. “Long day? Or do you just have an exhibitionist streak in spite of your golden boy pedigree?”

To his intense embarrassment (and a tickle of thrill, even now), Steve realizes he’d fallen asleep with his belly out, pulled completely free from the front of his pants and resting proudly in his palms over widened thighs. His budding love handles spill over the sides, too, the bottom of his polo pushed all the way to the dip in his belly button. Several inches of red-streaked skin is showing, burning as though the other boy’s gaze is a physical brand, hot to the touch. Immediately, Steve tugs his shirt down. 

“I don’t, uh—That’s none of your business,” he replies weakly, face warm too. But, god, being caught on display like this is definitely doing something for him. 

Would Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson judge him for having a boner right now? It’s not as obvious with his belly clearly dominating center stage, but… 

“Hmm. Right you are,” Munson says with a smirk. He dips, picking up something from the ground. Steve has to squint to make it out in the moonlight, but it’s… it’s a paper bag. With grease stains. And a diner logo, the good one, the one that had been second best in town until Benny’s had shut its doors. 

Munson waggles the bag by the window, and Steve can’t smell it yet but he can imagine, mouth filling with saliva and stomach giving a rumble of interest despite the tension. He looks at the bag, then at the person holding it, then points to himself in an unspoken, for me?

“If you want it.” Munson’s tone is casual on the surface. There’s an undercurrent, but Steve can’t tell if it’s the kind that will get him teased or fed, or… or both. 

He does want it, even though he’s still kind of full. (It’s not like he’s been in the habit of denying the whims of his appetite lately.) And he does want both. Wants Munson to give him the food then let a hand drop to his stomach and feel the result of all his efforts, sink fingertips into his softness, get a good hold, make him wobble. There’s something in the guy’s eyes that makes it easy for Steve to imagine. 

So he gestures towards the passenger side and says, “Come around and get in, then.”

Munson dawdles a bit, as though he didn’t actually expect Steve to accept… but he does circle the car. With a flailing but effective slide over the hood that somehow doesn’t spill the food and makes Steve want to laugh, even though he doesn’t let it go farther than a twitch at the corners of his mouth. Then he climbs in and shuts the door; the cab quickly fills with the scent of fried food. 

“Triple order of onion rings,” Munson is saying, setting the bag in between the seats so Steve can easily grab them—he’s already reaching, mouth watering. The first bite is crunchy with that savory-sweet soft center of cooked onion, so perfect he almost moans. It comes out like more of a grunt as he snags another. 

They’re still warm.

“I came by earlier and saw you in here,” Munson continues. He seems relaxed enough, knees spread and body turned at an angle so he's leaning in the crook of the seat and the door, facing Steve. Watching him. One long arm propped along the bottom of the passenger window, black lacquered nails tapping idly against the front console ahead. “Left, drove by that place on Washington by pure coincidence… I figured that if you were still here by the time I got back, I’d offer them up in tribute, and if not, that’s my dinner figured out.”

Steve chuckles around a third onion ring. “You’d have three orders of onion rings for dinner, Munson?” And he’s not being a hypocrite, honestly—he’s eating these as a snack, for fuck’s sake, god he’s gotten so greedy—but he’s talking to a walking bean pole here, decently muscled but in a slim, wiry way that would get him pulverized in most competitive sports.

“Please,” the other boy retorts dryly, “Munson is my father. Call me Eddie.”

“Oh. In that case, call me Steve.” He holds out his hand the way his dad taught him to when introducing himself—realizes it’s got grease and crumbs, wipes it on his shirt, and holds it out again. 

Eddie just grins lazily at him, unmoving. “I know your name, man. Kind of flattered that you know mine, and flattery goes a long way with me.” He leans forward, teasing at the boundary of Steve’s space. “You can have the whole thing if you want. Eat up, big boy.”

The last two words are practically purred. Steve’s eyes fly to meet Eddie’s, his breath stuttering at the subtle edge to them, the static charge they leave in the air. And Steve has never stuffed himself with anyone watching before today, preferring to snack heavily before hanging out with his friends and again after to fill whatever gaps digestion had managed to leave him in that time… It’s a day of firsts. 

Like being told to eat, when just about everyone else keeps implying he should do the opposite. 

Under Eddie’s steady gaze, Steve eats with an onion ring in each hand so his mouth never goes empty while reaching for another. They talk, a little awkwardly at first because they have practically no common interests, but when Eddie brings up DnD and Steve says something about the kids, that’s where things take off. Eddie is observant and does a good Dustin impression, enough to make Steve laugh repeatedly with his mouth full. 

“I’ve heard lots of stories about you,” Eddie says at one point. “That kid worships you, dude—they all do, but Dustin in particular won’t shut up about how great his ‘older male friend’ is.”

Steve wrinkles his nose and takes another bite. “He called me that? Ugh, what a little weirdo.” But his tone is affectionate, and Eddie smirks back until— “He calls you the same thing, you know. I’ve told him to cut it out, it’s like he’s trying to make me jealous enough to play that Dragons game with you guys or something.”

Eddie throws his head back in a laugh, and Steve likes that it’s a full body event. Kind of wants to lean against Eddie’s thin chest while he does it just to feel the vibrations through his rib cage, the texture of black leather jacket under his cheek, which… is a new thought to have about another guy, for Steve. The food is making him complacent, movements slow and syrupy as bite by bite he creeps back towards that state of delicious fullness. He just needs—

“Would you mind grabbing me something to drink from the back seat?” Steve asks, taking a rare moment of one hand being empty to shift himself a little, subtly prod at the underside of his filling belly to try and gauge how much room he has left. Eddie’s gaze feels like a brand on him, burning straight to the pleasure center of Steve’s brain, and he wishes again that Eddie would make some sort of comment about how much he can eat when it’s obvious he’s already had a lot. “There’s, like…” He doesn’t remember what’s actually back there, just that he’s heard things bumping and clunking into each other in the foot-well for a bit. “There should be something. Maybe open it outside though, I think stuff’s been rolling around back there for a while.”

With an expressive arch of his eyebrows, Eddie contorts around until he’s on his knees and peering into the back seat. 

Meanwhile, Steve has a clear view of the most flat-as-a-pancake ass he’s ever seen in his life. When he mentally compares it to his own—because he’d been surrounded by changing room mirrors not long ago, he is well aware that his booty has some bounce to it—he has to pause his eating to adjust himself again. And if this time, rosy cheeked and starting to breathe heavier, he leaves one hand tucked under his belly to provide a different kind of friction… he is prepared to lie about why, if asked.

Christ, first the food court and now this. He can’t believe himself today. It’s dangerous, reckless, out of control, and not going to help him with the impending Situation waiting for him at home.

It’s intoxicating, though. He loves it. 

“Here,” Eddie offers, twisting back to uncap a water bottle with his teeth and hand it to Steve ready to go. 

Hot, Steve thinks, and squeezes his dick through his jeans under the cover of his bloated belly with a shudder. (He is going to get caught if he keeps doing that, a knowledge that makes him gulp the water down even more eagerly than he might have otherwise.) 

Eddie doesn’t sit back down right away, though, leaning back in there and coming up with another water and two cans of Coke. While Steve finishes his water and breaks off from it with a wet gasp, the other teen opens his door, drumming his fingers on one of the pop cans to disarm at least some of the shaken up carbonation for a few seconds, then pulls the tab. It hisses and froths, and Eddie yelps a little as he hastily brings it to his own lips and tries to suck up the fizz before it hits the ground. 

“Sorry,” Steve says with a breathless chuckle. The can is still three fourths full when Eddie hands it to him. He downs it in one go, easy—a blessing, since lukewarm Coke isn’t his favorite flavor ever, but he feels a little kick as soon as it hits his already full stomach and shifts in vague discomfort. 

For all that they don’t really know each other, Eddie notices immediately and pauses his tapping on the next can. “You good, dude?”

“Just—” Steve resettles, crams the onion ring queued up in his hand into his mouth, and digs the heel of his now free hand into the top of his belly, pressing until he feels the belch coming. It bubbles out around the food in his mouth, loud and satisfying; he lets his eyes fall half closed at the release of pressure, palm gliding smoothly over his rounded gut without a care for his audience. “‘M fine,” he sighs happily, and then reaches to pull the last of his snack from the greasy bag. 

“Damn.” Eddie sounds almost impressed. “You really know how to pack it away, don’t you Steve?”

Part of Steve preens at the words, mouth full and aching in his jeans. His shirt is riding up again, just a little, and he’s tempted to ask Eddie for a belly rub. Not enough to actually get the words out, he’s not that far gone, but god, he thinks about it. 

He pops the final onion ring in his mouth and sucks the last traces from his fingers—is still thinking enough to try and not get these pants greasy so he can go back tomorrow, exchange them for the next size or two up. Something with room to grow, because he’s definitely full, panting, and even sweating a bit, but he’s not done. Doesn’t want to stop until he’s fucking huge, about to burst.

Another burp sneaks up on Steve, reminding him of something. “Is that other Coke up for grabs? You can have it if you want, I just—”

“It’s for you,” Eddie cuts in easily, voice so low and smooth that Steve actually shivers. Then he leans in, close enough for Steve to feel body heat radiating near his arm. “I know what you are, Steve Harrington,” he murmurs. His eyes are hypnotizing so close, all dark brown veined with deep gold, and they dip down to watch Steve’s mouth. 

Where Steve is paused in the act of still licking at his own fingers, struck dumb by the heady proximity. He’s seen the hunger in Eddie’s eyes before: in the mirror, while examining himself for new stretch marks. On Eddie it’s still wary, ready to pull back at any moment if things go sideways, but it’s there. Like maybe Eddie wants to kiss him, safe enough from prying eyes out here, at the edge of the quarry at night. 

“Saw you flaunting it in Family Video,” Eddie continues, eyes slipping further down to Steve’s bulging, bubbling middle as he leans infinitesimally closer. (Steve is helpless but to do the same, a squirming and impatient part of him eager to snatch at and swallow the offered bait whole.) “And I thought to myself… ‘My my, isn’t King Steve getting fat.’”

Fat. 

It’s the first time someone’s said it out loud. Steve’s cock gives a kick where it’s straining under his other hand, the one still tucked under his belly and pressing between his spread legs, and he bites his lip to hold in a moan. He knows that it’s written clear as day across his face, though, and that’s dangerous—he doesn’t know Eddie, isn’t sure why he would trust the guy with this when he couldn’t even bring himself to tell Robin, his best friend. 

Except. 

Eddie’s eyes grow darker still, his own breath speeding up a tick where it brushes against Steve’s cheek. And Steve has this thing in him that it feels like no one would understand, but maybe Eddie has that same thing too… or maybe not exactly the same but complimentary, and pulsing like an itch that needs to be scratched, just like Steve’s. Maybe they want the same things and this is the only chance they’ll ever get to know, fully and truly know, what that’s like. 

Maybe, Steve thinks with a distant pang, if he can armor himself with these moments where someone finally sees and understands this part of him, he’ll be able to face his parents with some amount of confidence. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. It feels like he’s been thinking forever, but also like the word spilled out before Eddie even finished calling him what he is now, what he’s craved and what he’s become. Has no idea where he’s actually fallen between those two extremes and doesn’t care, just, humiliatingly, whimpers when Eddie pulls back. 

“Don’t worry, big boy,” Eddie tells him with a condescending pat on the apex of Steve’s belly—a touch that makes him gasp followed by a helpless burp, makes him jiggle where his love handles are exposed, zings straight to his leaking dick. “Just getting you your drink like you wanted.”

Steve giddily watches Eddie repeat the process of opening the shaken can, sucking up what he can that tries to escape. He doesn’t hand it to Steve this time, though. Instead, Eddie holds the warm aluminum to his lips, a kiss once removed as Steve chugs it obediently down. 

His eyes roll back, falling closed. He doesn’t know what will happen next; all he knows is that he wants, needs a satisfaction he has yet to quite fully achieve by himself, constrained by his own limits

“That’s it,” Eddie whispers, a sound that wraps around Steve and holds him tight, enthralled. He wants to roll in it, dip his fingers in Eddie’s velvety smooth voice and lick them clean while Eddie watches, while Eddie touches him. 

Just as he thinks it, Eddie’s hand settles on the crest of his belly, pressing gently but inexorably in slow circles, lighting up his entire body and massaging out little, hiccupy burps. Their gazes meet, Steve’s eyes heavy-lidded and blown while Eddie’s are dark and endlessly deep, and Steve’s lips part in a breathy whine as he unconsciously spreads his legs a little wider. And then Eddie’s next words sweep him away, send his eyes rolling back in his head as pleasure rolls through him like thunder—

“Good boy.”

Permanent tag list (ask to be added): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @tangerinesteve

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Battle Of The Knights Alt Ending 3: And The Winner Is Marc

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: technically none still but Jake is a bit volatile here

Genre: fluff, what else would it be

Summary: "So let me get this straight, you all like me, so you each want to take me on a date and let me decide what to do after?" You can't believe the words you're hearing even as you repeat them back.

What happens when the relationships you've built with Marc and his two alters are turned on their heads by a proposition that is anything but simple? How can they expect you to risk blowing up the carefully crafted dynamic you've worked so hard to create? And why do you agree to such an insane suggestion?

***

You didn't really need to ask for three weeks to consider things. You knew the moment Marc left your apartment who you were going to choose. Hell, you might've known before this whole thing started honestly. It's why you had them go in the order you did. You've always cared for Marc in a way you didn't want to admit even to yourself, but everyone deserved a fair shot. You didn't want your less than simple feelings for Marc to win out by default. You love Jake and Steven and genuinely believed one of them could sweep you off your feet unexpectedly, but not if Marc went first. Even with your efforts, even though you enjoyed your dates with all of them, Marc wormed his way into your heart long before Steven and Jake could, there was no question about that. Still, you waited over a week to message them. Even if your decision was made before you'd even fallen asleep that day, you didn't want them to think you were rushing the choice. You weren't, you'd been thinking about it since this all started, pros and cons lists for each date are scattered about your desk to prove just that.

Hey guys, I've made a decision.

You send the text before you can talk yourself out of it.

Great! I'm at work right now, but if you'd like to swing by this evening we can discuss it! I get off at 5 :) -Steven

Going to their place means you're not in neutral territory which on one hand puts you at a slight disadvantage despite being pretty familiar with their place but on the other hand, they'll be more comfortable which is good since they're at your mercy in this conversation.

Sounds good! I can come over around 6?

You shouldn't prolong this. You've already sat on your choice for like 8 days.

That works! See you then! -Steven

You glance at the clock on your wall, it's only after 3 now. You've got a couple of hours before you have to head over there during which you actually manage to get some things done before you head over there just before 6. When you knock on their apartment door it's about ten past and the door swings open after a couple of moments.

"Y/n! Hi! You're here!" Steven breathes out.

"Hi Steven, good to see you." You smile.

"Good to see you too! Glad you came by." Steven gestures for you to enter the apartment.

"Of course, how was work by the way?" You ask following him in.

"Oh it was fine. My boss is awful but, that's certainly not new." He shrugs.

"You know Steven I really think someone should say something to that woman she's horrendous to you and I don't like-"

"No! No. I know she's like the worst but I just want to keep my head down and do my job. No antagonizing her, low profile, you know the deal." Steven cuts off the vaguely threatening thing he knows you're about to say.

"Fine. If you insist. Still- she should get a taste of her own medicine." You roll your eyes.

"Maybe one day." He chuckles.

"If there's any justice in this world." You smirk taking a seat on the couch.

"If so. Can I get you anything by the way? Something to drink or perhaps a snack? I can make something quickly if you're hungry." Steven walks over to his kitchen as he makes the offer.

"I'm alright Steven thank you, darling- but is um- Marc around? Or I guess rather, is he like prepared to have this conversation?" You ask.

"You want to talk to Marc?" Steven whirls around to look at you.

"I think it would be easiest to start by speaking to him yes, if he's in the place to have this discussion." You nod.

"Of course! Just hang on a second." Steven says. You watch from the couch as you notice the switch between Steven and Marc. It's subtle but after seeing it so many times and being so familiar with them as individuals it's easy to know that it's Marc when their eyes pop open again.

"You called?" A small grin appears as Marc greets you.

"I did. Hi Marc." You say as he plops down onto the couch beside you.

"So you've made a decision. Rip off the band-aid." Marc says.

"Don't make it sound so dreadful Marc." You laugh.

"The dreadful part was the waiting." He snorts.

"Well now I wanna make this more dramatic since you're gonna be like that." You poke him.

"I feel like you're stalling now and like if you're not ready to-"

"I'm picking you." You cut him off. You would lose your nerve if you let him go on whatever rant about you stalling he was thinking of.

"What?" He frowns.

"You wanted the band-aid ripped off. I'm picking you." You say.

"Oh-" Marc blinks at you. "I'll admit I'm kind of surprised."

"Why?" Now it's your turn to frown.

"Oh come on, you've always had a soft spot for Steven and I mean Jake is- Jake." Marc scoffs.

"Well- yeah I guess. I mean don't get me wrong I do care for them, a lot. Of course, I do, but- it's different with you. The way I feel for them it- it isn't the same." You say.

"We never stood a chance did we?" You didn't exactly notice the switch but the difference in their voices is obvious.

"Jake?" You're surprised he's here so suddenly.

"You were always going to choose Marc. Makes sense I mean you have known him the longest but-"

"You have to go." Marc's voice cuts off whatever Jake was going to say.

"Wait- what?" You shake your head.

"It's not that I want you to go. They're upset and clearly, we need to have a little system chat."

"Don't be too hard on them, okay? Rejection isn't easy for anyone hm? As long as they aren't hurting anyone allow them to process their feelings in whatever ways work best for them." You warn Marc.

"Sure sure, I'll call you, okay babe?"

"Babe?" You quirk an eyebrow up at him.

"Oh, I guess I didn't ask- does this make us an item? Am I your boyfriend?"

"Would you like to be?" You ask.

"Of course." He nods.

"Then yes. You are."

"Cool. So- I'll call you later babe."

"Sounds good." You nod. You pause for a moment, should you kiss him? You want to but it's probably not a good idea with Jake as upset as he seems. You turn to leave but Marc grabs your wrist before you can get far.

"What was that look?" He asks as he pulls you back towards him.

"Nothing I just- I was debating on if I was going to kiss you, but given the... internal conflict now doesn't seem like a good time for that." You say.

"You're probably right." Marc huffs out his annoyance.

"I'll make it up to you. Good luck and try to enjoy your evening."

"You too." Marc says. With that, you leave Marc to whatever discussion he's going to have with Jake and Steven- here's hoping your choice doesn't backfire.

***

Taglist: @queerponcho @avengersinitiative2012 @stressed-cherry

[jammatown919]

Plus One

This has been sitting in my drafts 99% done for like, four months now, so I figured I'd finish it up and send it out since I haven't posted any writing in a hot minute.

-----

"Cupcake, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"I'm sorry, Vi, but it's been three months. I can't hold her off any longer."

So this was Vi's punishment for falling in love. After seven years wasted in prison and everything that had gone wrong with her sister, she'd finally found a reason to smile again; the woman of her dreams, standing directly behind her as she looked at herself, hardly recognizable, in the mirror. This woman right here was the light of Vi's life, and things were damn near perfect.

If only a formal introduction to Piltovan high society wasn't part of the package deal.

"Do I seriously have to wear this?" Vi adjusted the collar of her impossibly expensive suit, still grimacing at her neat, slicked-back hair which she feared might never be completely gel-free again.

"I offered you a dress," Caitlyn replied, dressed just as formally as Vi but pulling off her sleek navy gown and high heels significantly better. Her hair, pulled into a neat twisted bun, was immaculate without any product, which was just not fair, honestly.

"Then you would've made me wear heels," Vi grumbled. She swore the collar was making a conscious effort to choke her. "Cait, I don't wanna go to this thing."

"I know, love." To her credit, Caitlyn was incredibly sympathetic, and she had valiantly held off her vulture of a mother from trying to present Vi at one of these events for an impressively long time. Unfortunately, though, sympathy didn't get Vi out of this suit or her "responsibility as Caitlyn's partner", as Cassandra had put it.

What a piece of work. 

If not for her insistence, Caitlyn and Tobias would have been fine with Vi continuing to sit out of all the events the Kirammans hosted and attended, but alas, neither of them seemed to know how to tell their matriarch no.

She tried to remind herself this wasn't for Cassandra. It was for Caitlyn, so her mother would get off her back about it and stop starting arguments. It was so the two of them wouldn't have to endure any more awkward dinners or pointed questions about why Vi was "hiding" from all those stuck-up elites. As if she needed a reason. 

"Can we say I'm sick?" Vi asked, reminding herself of a much younger Powder trying to weasel her way out of chores. God, she missed that kid. 

"She'll just make you go to the next one," Caitlyn replied, refocusing Vi before she could think too hard about the sister she'd lost. "It's best to just get it out of the way now. The first one's always the hardest."

First. Implying there would be more to follow. Great. 

"Do we have to stay the whole time? What if I get in there, say hi to everyone I'm supposed to be nice to, and we just go?" 

"The whole thing won't even be two hours," Caitlyn said, and when Vi turned to face her, she was completely serious. "It's just a cocktail party."

"We're getting this dressed up for less than two hours?" Thought it sounded a bit silly to put this much effort into their appearances for just a short event, Vi was infinitely relieved that she'd be out of this damn suit sooner than she'd thought. 

"These things are intentionally short," Caitlyn said, reaching out to fix Vi's tie. "Long enough to catch up with people, but short enough to avoid anyone getting too tired or bored. It won't be that bad, really. It's just drinks, appetizers, and small talk."

"Drinks and appetizers don't sound that bad," Vi replied. "It's the small talk I'm worried about. The hell am I supposed to talk about with these people?" 

"You won't have to say much," Caitlyn promised, gently caressing the side of Vi's the way they both loved. "Just stay with me and follow my lead. It'll be over soon enough."

Vi took a deep breath and nodded, looking herself over in the mirror one last time. She didn't particularly care whether her tie was just so or her hair was perfectly neat, but Cassandra would have a fit if she looked anything less than the very high Kiramman standard of presentable. 

"Ready, love?" Caitlyn reached for Vi's hand, looking at her expectantly. Vi sighed and resigned herself to her fate. 

"As I'll ever be."

---------

As it turned out, Vi shouldn't have been as worried as she'd been back home. No, she should have been far, far more worried. 

Despite the Kirammans' insistence that this was a relatively small affair, there were at least fifty people present when they entered the ballroom where some friend of the family Vi had never met liked to host their guests, and they were all staring at her. 

Some were better at than others, stealing glances when they thought she was looking far enough in another direction that she wouldn't notice, but some were absolutely shameless in their stares. But worst of all were the whispers. Caitlyn had warned her to expect some type of reaction to their relationship, but it seemed her place of origin was the hot topic of the evening. 

She didn't know why she was mad. She' been expecting this. She knew how these people were, and her hot pink hair and face tattoo clearly marked her as other in this room of neat Topsiders, but she'd thought she wouldn't care. That she was above their bullshit opinions and nothing they said would matter to her because she'd heard it all before. 

But this wasn't like the other times. Before, she'd had some sense of pride in herself, knowing she was a daughter of the fissures and the Pilties were on her turf. Now she was on their turf, dressed up as one of them, making an effort to appear as something she wasn't because she loved Caitlyn so goddamn much, and they looked at her much differently than she was used to. Enforcers had looked down on her before, but as the dirty street kid who was probably going to punch them in the face, and that was something she could live with. These people looked at her like some exotic pet the Kirammans had brought to the party. And, in a way, she was. 

They all knew it. Their whispers told her. All they saw her as was the Kiramman girl's dressed up stray. A street thug that may or may not be domesticated, depending on who you asked.  An adventurous fling that never should have been made public. A phase that Caitlyn would hopefully grow out of. 

That last one was what really got to her. The idea that Caitlyn didn't really love her, that this was nothing more than a rich girl looking for a thrill, that their relationship wasn't real. Maybe she could have gritted her teeth through the rest of it, but she wasn't going to stand here and listen to these people who didn't know anything make assumptions and throw around theories about the last good thing in her life. She had to leave, or jaws were going to break. 

All in all, she lasted twenty minutes. 

After that, she was pushing her way out past stupid Pilties who were extremely offended that she'd nudged them aside or forgotten to say "excuse me" or whatever the hell mattered to these people. Caitlyn was quick to follow, softly calling her name and apologizing absently to all of the people she'd shouldered out of her way. 

Things were better out on the patio. Quieter. Two people minding their own business on the opposite side, paying absolutely no attention to Vi finding a spot to lean against a railing or Caitlyn chasing her outside. 

"Vi-" Caitlyn began, but Vi didn't let her get far. 

"I'm not going back in there," she snapped, cringing internally at the vaguely hurt expression on Caitlyn's face. She shouldn't snap at her. It wasn't her fault. "Look, Cupcake, I'm sorry, but this whole thing was a mistake. I know this is important to you, but I don't want to be stared at and talked about like some exotic thing."

"I know," Caitlyn replied softly. She slowly walked toward Vi until they were side by side, in similar positions with their folded arms bracing them against the railing. "I'm sorry I made you come here. I should have known this would happen." 

"You didn't make me," Vi reminded her. "Your mom did."

"I'm a grown woman. I should be able to tell my mother no."

"Guess that makes two of us."

"No, this one isn't on you," Caitlyn said. "You were trying to accommodate us. You had no idea what to expect, but I've been plenty of these things. It was my responsibility to recognize how this would be for you and not put you in this situation."

"Cait-"

"Don't tell me it's not my fault. You said no and I didn't listen." Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. "We don't have to go back in. And I won't make you go to any more events. If my mother has any complaints, she can kindly shove them... well, you get the idea."

Vi snorted in a way the Pilties back inside would probably describe as undignified. 

"You know..." she said, a hint of mischief in her tone. "I think hearing you tell your mom to shove her complaints up her ass would be the perfect way to make this up to me."

"Oh, quiet, you." Caitlyn gave her a light, playful shove. "I have a better way to make it up to you, anyway." She made a show of her eyes traveling up and down Vi's body, completely shamelessly. "If you're open to it, that is?"

"When am I not?" Vi looped an arm around Caitlyn's waist and pulled her in a little closer. "Maybe we should get out of here before I tear that dress off you."

"Lower your voice!" Caitlyn hissed, but she was laughing all the same. 

"Yes, ma'am," Vi replied flirtatiously.

"Save that for later," Caitlyn said in a warning voice. "Come on. Before my mother tries to drag us back inside." 

"Like she could," Vi scoffed, but she took Caitlyn's outstretched hand regardless and followed her to and down the little set of stairs connecting the patio to an unnecessarily large garden. 

It didn't look like guests were supposed to be out here, but Caitlyn walked confidently enough that neither the guests on the patio nor the random gardener working on a flowerbed batted an eye at them as they circled around the impressive property to the giant front entrance where they'd been greeted. 

There were a few people lingering here, but Caitlyn paid them no mind, so neither did Vi. It felt a little weird, like someone was going to call out and stop them any moment. The feeling reminded Vi of sneaking around Vander as a kid, either to go out way too late at night or sneak a sip of something from The Last Drop. What she wouldn't give to hear that old voice scolding her. 

Now, if anyone thought to stop her, it would be nothing but high-pitched Piltie voices, but fortunately, no one cared enough. Vi and Caitlyn were free to walk home in peace. 

"Think anyone'll notice we left?" Vi asked once they were more or less clear of the property. 

"Oh, my mother will have a fit," Caitlyn replied with a tiny, adorable roll of her eyes. "We might not be hearing the end of this for a while." 

"What else is new?" Vi said lightly. "How long do you think we have?"

"By the time we get home, I'd say we'll have a good hour and half of peace."

"Who said anything about peace?" Vi's hand slipped out of Caitlyn's and gently trailed down her thigh. "I thought you were making this up to me."

Caitlyn swatted her hand away, but she couldn't hide her little smile or the pink tint in her cheeks. 

"Of course. How could I forget?" she replied. 

"Y'know..." Vi continued mischievously, "I don't think an hour and a half sounds quite long enough. Why don't we pick up the pace? I'll race you."

"Vi, I'm in heels!" Caitlyn exclaimed as Vi grabbed her arm again and tugged her along. 

"You can run in heels."

"Not these ones!" 

"Guess we know who's winning, then." Vi made a big show of speeding up, but she didn't really take off the way she'd grown up doing. If she'd really wanted to, she could've left Caitlyn in the dust, even in this restrictive outfit, but this was all for fun. 

Besides, she would never dream of missing out on the way Caitlyn tried to hurry along in those horrendous stilts she called shoes. Absolutely adorable. 

"C'mon," she called, with absolutely no regard for the fact that they were jogging down a public street. "First one to bed gets to top."

And suddenly Caitlyn could run on stilts. 

It seemed Vi's night was about to get a whole lot better. 

----

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[enixamyram]

Lip has me honestly furious this episode. Like, I legit cannot stand him right now and would happily watch him getting punched in the face on repeat for ten hours straight.

Season 9 Episode 11 Rant.

First he gets pissed at Fiona for the DCFS's visit. Ignoring the part where he hadn't told her about any of it (Xan or the visit) beforehand so she was completely unprepared, he gets mad at her for things she didn't even do. I mean, if anyone, he should be pissed at Debbie! She left the hole in the floor. She left the three kids inside while she was outside pissing about with her brothers girlfriend. I know Fiona was drunk but that issue has nothing to do with the visit getting messed up yet Lip only blames Fiona for all of it. Fiona actually does her damn best to try and salvage the mess that's happening but it's treated like she half-assed it, if not deliberately sabotaged it.

And then with Jason. Fiona literally had no clue about him. How would she? The guy gave no indication as to who he was (like, there has to be some personal responsibility in this - if he had told Fiona he was recovering or in AA, I'm sure Fiona would have immediately pulled back from him). Yet Lip still screams at her for it like she purposely screwed him over for shits and giggles. Again, Fiona's definitely on a downward spiral and needs help to get out of it but that's for her own addiction, not someone else's. She doesn't need to be screamed at for things completely out of her control just because Lip's in a shitty mood.

But this is Lip all over. He's forever putting his own shit and frustration on other people and you know what, he sucks for it. He really fucking sucks and he has no right shouting at Fiona like this when he has been just as much a fuck up before when she was supporting him.

I'm usually open for discussions but I will not take any criticism on this. If Fiona has no clue about Xan, about DCFS, about Jason, you cannot blame her when shit goes sideways because you left her unprepared. It's pathetic the way it's all put on her.

If the writers wanted to make Fiona at fault, they should have actually made her at fault. Have her promise to babysit then ditch for a nap. Have her destroy the house in a drunk rage and forget to clean up. Have her insist Jason would be fine with just one drink because she was having one and didn't want to drink alone. Have her actually be at fault. Don't have her only crime be ignorance and then throw it all on her like she's purposely fucked everything up for everyone else.

[katiesharms]

Hangster 😊 and #28

los angeles - haim these days, these days i can't win/these days i can't see no visions i'm breaking, losing faith these days

note: this deals with discussions of ptsd/depression!

jake is worried about rooster.

honestly, he never thought he would see the day. but day after day of watching his fellow pilot sit solemnly at the bar, nursing a drink and ignoring the jovial mood of his friends, has jake concerned.

bradley is usually the life of the party, the center of attention wherever he goes. jake used to joke that the man's callsign should be 'peacock' instead of rooster with how much he seems to crave all eyes on the room. maybe that's part of why they used to chafe up against each other. there's only so much air in the room, after all.

it's better now. it's hard to hate someone when you saved their life, apparently, and jake finds himself endeared towards bradley more often than not. and now, there's nothing to deflect the clear attraction jake has towards the other man. before, he could keep it buried, under well-timed hits and aggravation. now, there's nothing to stop him from watching bradley lean against the bar and trace his eyes down his form.

well, the thing stopping him now is how down bradley seems. he hasn't even looked at the piano in the week they've been back, and he's rarely involved in the group conversations. the other night, phoenix had to say his name three times before he looked up and registered it.

tonight, bradley sits separate from where the rest of them have congregated around the pool table, sitting on a stool and slouching over the bar while he drinks a steady supply of whiskey.

about an hour after they arrive, jake makes his way over to bradley and settles on the bar stool next to him. to get his attention, and just to be a bit of a dick, jake bumps the hand holding bradley's drink up to his mouth, forcing him to take a bigger sip.

bradley winces as it goes down and pulls the glass away. "i'm not in the mood, bagman."

"ouch, bagman?" he asks, holding a hand up to his heart. "and you're always in the mood."

"not anymore," bradley mumbles, flagging penny down for another one. when she comes over, she shoots jake a concerned look that jake returns.

"rooster, bradley, man," jake says, getting his attention. "are you okay?" the question is genuine, and bradley wriggles under it.

"i'm fine," he protests weakly, and jake raises an eyebrow. "i've been a little...down since the mission," he concedes.

"down how?" jake asks because he's never been one to let something slide.

"just," bradley sighs, taking a sip. "out of it, i don't know. like i can't win. maybe i'm losing faith."

“have you talked to someone about this?” jake asks, suddenly very concerned.

bradley rounds on him, hitting him with an unreadable expression. “i’m talking to you, aren’t i?”

the response hits jake straight in the gut. while he’s glad that rooster sees him as close enough to confide in, he’s genuinely worried.

"well, what about mav? or that counselor they got us in contact with?" really, anyone who wasn't ready to shoot him out of the sky two months ago probably would've been a better bet than jake, but it seems like jake will have to do.

bradley shrugs. "it's no big deal, and mav will just worry, anyway. don't wanna give him any more reason to fret."

jake raises an eyebrow. he's pretty sure the old man will be fretting no matter what, and rooster's insistence to keep everything to himself is only going to make it worse in the long run.

"so i take it you don't want to talk about it?" jake presses, leaning on the bar towards rooster.

"i'm not a big talker," bradley says, waving his hand in mocking emphasis.

"what do you usually do when you get like this?" jake asks, watching the way bradley runs his finger along the rim of his whiskey glass.

"usually," bradley starts, tilting the glass and watching the liquid slosh with the movement, "i take a drive. look at my hometown, all the bends and turns i've known my whole life. think that's out of the question now." he lifts the glass and winks at jake above the rim before downing it.

"gimme your keys," jake says, holding his hand out.

bradley furrows his brow. "i'm not gonna drive, don't worry. you don't have to take my keys."

jake rolls his eyes. "that's not what i'm doing, dumbass. i'll drive for you. just tell me where to go."

bradley starts, moving forward on the stool just a bit. he gives jake a once over, scrutinizing, and when he realizes that jake is serious, bradley fishes his keys out of his pocket and drops them in jake's outstretched hand. bradley lingers, brushing his hand along jake's; the action makes jake shiver.

"don't make me regret this," bradley says, and then sways off the seat.

jake wraps an arm around bradley to steady him and leads him out of the bar.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

it will come back (richkid!haz + tom x reader)

"I know who I am when I'm alone; I'm something else when I see you. You don't understand, you should never know how easy you are to need." - Hozier, It Will Come Back

AU Masterlist | Main Masterlist

summary: Harrison insists Y/N is a great shag and nothing more. Tom joins in on the fun and proves him right and wrong at the same time.

pairing: richkid!haz x actor!tom x reader

word count: 4,902

notes: this is.... just a pure mess of filth. this is set before angel of small death, but can be read as a standalone. big thanks to @tommysparker and @shipping-not-sailing for enduring all the pestering and giving me mad ideas and have you seen @uglypastels' AMAZING FANART (open it for a surprise)??? y'all are amazing ilysm <3

warnings: enemies to lovers, past & present fwb dynamics, language, drinking, jealousy, so much yearning holy shit, SMUT (threesome (mmf), oral (m&f receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, anal fingering, rimming, anal sex, protected sex, dirty talk, choking, kiiind of hate sex? it's filthy pls read at your own discretion)

***

Paris, February 2019.

If there's one thing Harrison loves more than Fashion Week, it's the Fashion Week after-parties. After hordes and hordes of luxury pieces to wear, there’s plenty of lavish extravaganza to be had. Right now, he’s treading among marble sculptures in some chateau just outside of Paris, clad in a masterfully crafted suit, mingling with models, fashionistas, and fellow jetsetters of the world.

Except for one.

"Ugh, there she is." he scoffs into his champagne flute.

Next to him, Tom scans around the room. “Who?”

He follows Harrison’s gaze to the woman next to the statue of Persephone eating her pomegranate. She wouldn’t look so out of place next to these sculptures if it weren’t for the colors she’s rocking. Her lips glow red like she’s the one who took a bite of the fruit. The bubbles in her champagne are like specks of gold, and the sequins are specks of stars in her indigo blue dress.

“Ah. The love of your life.” Tom side-eyes him cheekily.

“Fuck off. No, she’s not!” Harrison retorts way too quick and aggressive. Then, he continues, without taking his eyes off of her, “I can’t even stand her. That girl’s a bitch and a half.”

Tom only laughs. "You say that now…”

Harrison lightly shoves him in the arm. "The hell does that mean?”

“Oh, please. I know you guys are fucking around.”

“What?” Harrison tries to play it cool, but he knows there’s no coming back from that. He’s been made.

Tom leans against the bar, now rocking a smug ‘I-told-you-so’ smirk. “You sneak away and she sneaks away and then you guys always come back a little flushed… it’s not that hard to figure out, bro.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I like her. I mean, look at her!” Harrison insists. “With her snooty voice and that fake laugh and her stupid dress…”

Tom shakes his head. "If you hate her so much, why do you keep coming back to her?"

"Honestly?" He takes a deep breath, and for the first time throughout this conversation, something remotely truthful comes out. "She's one hell of a shag."

"Huh..."

Tom goes quiet. Unlike his best friend, he can objectively say that there’s nothing wrong with her voice. She laughs, her whole face lit up, like she’s genuinely having fun, and her dress looks fine on her.

Scratch that.

Her dress looks amazing on her. The tulle is sheer and light around her thighs, making it look like it magically floats around her. But the corset bodice accentuates her curves so well that Tom finds himself somewhat envious of the sequins swirling patterns all over her body.

Harrison turns to see him still staring at her, deep in thought, and he grows suspicious. "What." It sounds more like a demand for explanation than a question.

“That’s it? Great shag, nothing more?” Tom asks, as if for confirmation.

Harrison shrugs.

“So you don’t mind if I chat her up?”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately, far too cool, too fast for him to catch himself. In the span of three seconds, Harrison manages to go experience the shock, the panic, the confusion.

The regret.

But he’s three seconds too late, and she's already walking over to the bar where they are now, and he can hear Tom stepping up and greeting her in his effortless charm.

"Y/N! Fancy seeing you here!" Tom opens up his arms and she gladly accepts the hug, kissing him on both cheeks.

"I could say the same about you, Spider-Man." she pats him on the chest, finger lingering just a moment too long on his chest. “I almost didn't recognize you for a sec. You look great!"

He chuckles bashfully. He seems to trade in his usual preppy golf chic style with a more ‘bad boy’ look, with his buzzcut and leather jacket over a white t-shirt. "Oh, thanks. It's for Cherry. I just came back from Morocco and then this div right here…" he elbows Harrison, "...told me he's walking the runway! So of course I gotta go."

"I saw. Good job on not tripping," she notes, finally flashing her signature fake smile at Harrison.

He's not sure whether he's more annoyed at her backhanded compliment or the fact that it took her this long to even acknowledge him. He knows she was there at the show. She sat right on the front row, eyeing him up and down with every outfit he came out in.

"Thanks. I'm sure you were really looking forward to that, weren't you, darling?" he smiles back pointedly at her.

"Only thing I came here for," Y/N retorts, quick as lightning. "Actually, I'm hosting this after-party hoping to celebrate that too, but alas…"

"You did this?" Tom pipes up, motioning at the hall around them.

"Mm-hm. I mean, regular clubs are so passé, don’t you think?"

"That's so true. And may I say, this is quite impressive. It’s very… you." Tom's eyebrows rise, playing up his puppy dog eyes as he marvels at the place.

Harrison sees right through his bullshit moves and her bullshit taste, so he simply dismisses, "Eh, it's alright," staring down his empty glass, signaling the bartender for another drink.

"Do you wanna dance?" Tom shifts the conversation with such ease, as if there isn’t a massive elephant in the room-- if said elephant were his best friend cockblocking them.

And to make things worse (or better, depends on who sees it), she matches his frequency, too. "I'd love to. Any reason to get away from Debby Downer here."

Harrison manages a half-hearted, condescending sneer as they make their way to the dance floor, but he knows he's losing. He lets his best friend flirt with his archenemy, and of course she wouldn't miss the opportunity to land a low blow. Her dark eyes flash viciously in the dim light as she shoots him a death glare from across the room.

And he tries to prove her wrong. He tries to mingle with his other friends and acquaintances, but somehow, among a sea of guests, he can always spot Tom and Y/N on the dance floor. Right now, the shorn-haired boy has one hand on hers and the other on her hip. He spins her and dips her, probably saying something swoon-worthy as she hikes up her leg on his waist.

Giggling and getting way too close for Harrison's liking.

And no. He doesn’t have an actual preference for how close Y/N can get with Tom or how much she giggles over his jokes.

Or so he tries to convince himself.

"Mate," Tom lightly slaps his arm, snapping him out of his reverie, "Y/N's showing me around the house. Is that alright?"

"Um, yeah. Why are you asking for my permission?" he laughs it off like it's the most ridiculous question ever-- and in hindsight, it is. He has absolutely no say in who his friend or his enemy fucks.

Tom shrugs. "I don’t know. I mean, you're the one who has history with her--"

"It's really no big deal, Tom. I don't care," he cuts off, more exasperated than anything else.

"...Right. I'll text you later, then?" he pats Harrison's arm once again, this time as a goodbye.

Y/N waits for him by the entrance, and that little shit still has the gall to blow him a kiss before she takes Tom's arm and disappears into the hallway.

Some of his model friends call him out to join them, and as he downs the rest of his whiskey, Harrison comes down to the dance floor to drown in the blaring music and dancing bodies. The question pounds his head: why did he let Tom go for it? Why is he disappointed that Y/N actually plays along? Why is he so bummed about this all?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he’s almost relieved from its distraction.

Well. Until he reads the message.

'Master suite. 2nd floor, East Wing. Last door on the left. Stop sulking and get your shit together asap, or Tom and I will start without you ;)'

It's much easier to simply pull one of these girls who are already grinding all over him and vying for his attention. He could make eyes at any of them and they’d be happy to get cozy with him for the rest of the night. No questions asked. But he hates the idea of leaving these assholes alone more than he craves being alone. He’d lost out twice already tonight-- first to Tom, and then to Y/N for having the last word. The winning strike. He’s not gonna let her win again.

So he sets off. Across the marble floor tiles and past the Greco-Roman statues, up the winding stairs towards the east wing. It's not until he walks in that he considers the possibility of this invitation being nothing but a prank. A sick joke to shit on his miserable evening even more.

"Ugh, I hate you guys so fucking much," Harrison grumbles, fully prepared to walk back out on Tom and Y/N, making out on the gaudy king-sized bed.

But with that, she pulls away from Tom. She walks over to Harrison, hips swaying under her dress. "Took you long enough."

"Thought you weren't gonna start without me, darling." He cups her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"Thought you were gonna lose the attitude, Harrison," she chucks his little quip back at him. But then, as quick as pushes his hand away, she pulls him in, "C'mere."

It sounds like a dirty trick, but in it, Harrison finds relief. His lips find their way to hers. Hot and warm and biting and familiar. As it should be.

Finally.

"Fuck…" Tom quietly cusses from the bed, slipping out of it to not miss the action.

Harrison even forgot that he was there for a moment-- and for a moment, he wanted to forget. He's not ready to share her just yet-- especially when said friend so graciously helps himself to unzipping Y/N's dress and peeling it off of her body. So he shoves Tom away from her-- playfully, although with a sliver of truth behind the possessive gesture.

But Tom simply catches it as friendly banter, and he comes up behind the boy and kisses his neck instead. "Just like the good old days, eh, mate?" His hands roam all over his chest, his fingers warm against his sheer lace shirt.

"Wait, you guys have done this before?" Y/N asks, curious at the two boys before her.

"We went to an all-boys boarding school…" Tom shrugs and rests his chin on Harrison's shoulder.

"We've experimented," Harrison finishes.

"Ooh, naughty," she coos, closing the gap to Tom's mouth, this time into a searing kiss. But her hand strokes the back of Harrison's head gently, almost like willing him to stay.

And wrapped up in lust and loathing sounds like enough incentive to do that.

Y/N finally breaks the kiss with Tom to resume her kiss with Harrison. He wonders if she's comparing them in her mind; see who she likes better.

And he hates how much he wants it to be him.

"Well…" she smiles slyly like she could read his mind. "Why don't you boys show me how you do it, hmm?"

It flips a switch in Harrison’s head and activates his competitive side. He pushes Tom into bed, straddles his lap and slips off his suit jacket. He drops it on the floor, revealing the black lace shirt underneath, hugging his biceps and clinging onto his chiseled body like second skin.

Tom whistles low. "You sure know how to dress up, don't ya?"

Meanwhile, Harrison peels off the leather jacket and white t-shirt off of him. "You know how to dress down."

"That's very true," he chuckles, unbuckling his friend's belt and pauses when he pushes down his pants.

The lace shirt, sheer and swirling patterns on his chest, connects to the signature Versace black-and-gold waistband, and an equally sheer and fitting pair of tights, with lace edges like garters.

It's not just a shirt. It's a fucking lingerie.

Y/N couldn't contain her gasp. Nor could she resist joining them and feeling the fabric on his thigh-- a texture she's never felt on him before, and she wishes she had sooner. "Is this for me?"

Harrison scoffs. "You wish, darling."

She looks over his shoulder-- he couldn't see it, but he can feel her knowing smile to Tom. "That means yes," she explains matter-of-factly.

"There's no shame in that, mate. Besides, for what it's worth…" Tom runs his hand all over his lace-clad chest, down the silk button line, "You look damn good in it."

The buttons come undone one by one. The lace scratches against his skin, soothed by kisses from two mouths; one along his neck, the other down his spine. The hand over his hard-on is.. firmer, stranger, but he feels her curves pressed against his back. Soft. Familiar. Inviting.

Soon enough, he lies naked on his back with both Tom and Y/N between his legs. Their tongues dance along his veiny shaft, retracing the lace patterns on his discarded lingerie until they meet right at the tip. They make out right over his cock, clashing and colliding with the pink, leaking head. It floods his senses like no other.

"Um… hello?" Harrison breaks the silence in the room-- and the kiss.

"Jesus Christ, you just can't stand not being the center of attention, can you? Gosh…" she scoffs, slapping his inner thigh lightly.

"Are you always this hard on him?" Tom turns toward her, bemused.

She only stares at him as if saying, duh.

And he stares back at her. "That's hot."

Harrison partly considers smacking his head, but Tom follows it up with taking his entire length in his mouth. Dirty smirk slobbering and swallowing him whole. And just like that, all is forgiven. He doesn't remember Tom being this bold about sucking dick in boarding school, but to be fair, it has been forever since then.

His mind is hazy, and all he could think of is the tension in his core. At this point, he couldn't care less who makes him cum, so long as he does. And just as he gets on edge, in every sense of the word, her hand grips the base of his cock and follows the rhythm of Tom's mouth. Erratic. He only vaguely registers the moans muffled into a kiss as he explodes all over his abs.

"School must've been fun for you guys, huh?" Y/N smirks as she laps up his white hot release all the way to his chiseled chest, making her way next to him.

He really should've been very pissed at her. For raining on his parade. For mocking him and putting him in place in front of Tom. For being more of a bitch than usual, if that's even possible.

But she lays her head next to him and he can see the shimmery makeup on her face and the barely visible trace of lipgloss, and he just… kisses her. Brings his hand between her legs, slipping underneath her panties.

Soaked.

Harrison hums knowingly, "You're having fun, too, it seems," circling his middle finger around her clit.

"Oh, definitely." Her eyes close and breath hitches when his finger enters her-- nearly too calm, too gentle, given everything that's happened.

Well. Up until he hears the clink of a belt buckle dropping to the floor and the shift of weight in the bed as Tom jumps back in sans clothing.

He settles between Y/N's legs and nuzzles Harrison's hand, sucking his slick, salty fingers clean off of her arousal. "Fuck, you taste so good, too."

“I know,” she chuckles, low and lazy and cocky as fuck, not even hiding how attracted she is to this fucking guy.

“May I?” he gazes up at her, fingers hooked into the waistband of her lace panties.

“Fuck yeah.”

Harrison has never wanted to kiss the smug look on her face so bad. He tries to contain her moans as Tom licks up her folds and makes his way to her clit. Distracting her by undoing her bra and putting her pebbled nipple in his mouth, one after the other, never leaving one unattended with his finger pulling and pinching. But the more he tries, the more he finds himself… disappearing from the picture. Her nails scratch into his shorn hair as she gets further and further lost in her bliss.

“Tommy…” she sighs, her back arches as her orgasm draws near.

“Mm?” he barely responds. His eyes are still shut and his mouth buried in her pussy.

She cradles the back of his head, fingernails digging into her scalp. “Make me cum.”

That makes him look up, his nose glistening from her wetness. He flashes his signature boyish smile and dives right back to it.

There’s something about Tom that Y/N is wildly drawn into. He's cheeky and playful and affable in a way that Harrison… isn't. And as much as it pisses him off to see how much she's enjoying this, he understands perfectly why she does.

She grabs his hair, though, as if beckoning him over.

And like a fucking loser, he unlatches himself from her breast and meets her gaze. "Yes, darling?"

She kisses him through her high, messy and broken with moans, and for a second, he thinks maybe whatever they have between them means something. Somehow.

“Harrison…” she calls out his name, sweet and delirious like she's about to say something nice for once. “... I don’t think you’re my favorite anymore.”

She giggles mischievously, playfully, but Harrison just sees red. Even as she bites his lower lip to reel him back in, all he can focus is her hand on Tom’s face. How she hisses when he nips at her hip. How hard she came apart under him. And all his walls build back up.

“Yeah, well. You were never my favorite, so...” he untangles himself from her and sits up, “All’s fair in love and war, right?”

“Harrison--” she reaches out for him when she notices the air thickens between them, but he’s already left the bed.

Tom props himself up on his elbows and watches Harrison disappear into the bathroom. "Mate?"

Five seconds has never felt so long as Y/N faces the possibility that she might have pushed him too far. And when he does return, she fully expects him to curse her (and maybe Tom, but definitely her) out and storm off.

But he kneels behind Tom, seizing him from behind. His kisses are sharp and biting down his back. It's the kind that stings the swell of his ass when he gets there.

He grins back at Harrison. “You guys are so chaotic. Is this what you get up to when-- shit!”

Y/N watches his entire face drop in a blind surge of ecstasy. His jaw goes lax and lets out a lazy moan as Harrison works his tongue around his taut ring of muscles. Teasing. Taming. Taking his time to work the so-called golden boy open.

“I honestly came here to fuck Y/N, but…” Tom admits.

She responds with a light swat to his shoulder. “How presumptuous of you.”

“Did I presume correctly, though?”

“Well…” she rolls her eyes and bites back a smile, which is already an answer in and of itself.

“So go on then. Fuck her,” Harrison comes back up and goads him, and she’s not sure whether he means it as an encouragement for him or an insult against her. Or both.

“You sure you’re okay with that, mate?” Tom turns his head towards him, his tone light but his eyes narrow in concern.

He sticks the tip of his finger into Tom’s ass, just enough to make his arms give, so he can get a better look at the girl laying before them. “I told you, who she fucks is none of my business. Right, darling?”

“I know, but-- fuck me…” he groans, gripping her waist tighter for support.

“While you fuck her? You sure you can handle it?” Harrison simpers devilishly.

Tom tuts. “Don’t underestimate me, bro.”

Harrison finds Y/N’s gaze boring a hole into him, firm and unwavering, like she’s trying to read him. Or make a decision. Whatever he’s doing, he’s not doing it to win her anymore and she’s not sure what to make of it.

“Top drawer, right bedstand,” she tells Harrison, both as an instruction and a sign of consent.

He promptly sets off to the bedstand, convincing himself that he’s not doing this for her with every step. He tosses a condom Tom’s way, keeping one for himself, and the latter wastes no time unwrapping it and rolling it onto his curving cock.

“Hurry up, or Tom and I’ll get started without you…” Y/N teases in a sing-songy tune, but her eyes watch him like a hawk as she gauges his reaction.

He’s calm this time. “By all means, start without me,” he replies nonchalantly as he rummages through the drawer, still looking for that lube.

“Alright then. Let’s see if that cock’s as good as your mouth,” she pulls him in with her legs around his waist.

He leans in to kiss her as he lines himself up against her opening. “Looking forward to proving it to you, darling.”

Harrison finds the lube and turns to them just in time to see them moan in pleasure, and he tries not to break the bottle in his hand. He really shouldn’t be so wound up by Tom calling her darling. It’s an awfully common term of endearment, and he's not the only one who can use it on her. Tom probably didn't mean anything by it.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fuck me eventually?” Tom smoothly calls him out.

For the first time since the three of them stumbled into bed, Harrison is glad that Tom is there and seems to genuinely want him. Y/N’s game has gotten so tangled up that he’s not even sure if she still wants him there. Not really. So he’s gonna make the most of it where he's wanted.

“I thought you would’ve learned a little patience since we last… experimented,” Harrison whispers in his ear, biting at his earlobe.

“Guess I haven’t.” Tom grinds his ass back into Harrison’s cock, finding a new rhythm that makes Y/N moan.

She lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re cute.”

“Why, thank you. I--” his words are cut off with the feel of cold gel on his sensitive spot. “I try to be--”

Harrison interrupts him with his cock this time, entering him in one swift thrust. He welcomes the haze that clouds his mind as Tom locks in on him, so tight and delicious around him. It allows him to forget this whole mess he's lying in.

Meanwhile, Y/N revels in how real everything feels. Tom's dick flexes inside her, pulsing and still all at once. He's thicker than Harrison-- his whole body is. His waist is slightly wider, and his hard chest presses a more solid weight on top of her. Even more so that there's Harrison and the whole weight of his ego piling up atop him…

"You alright?" Harrison checks in with Tom as the latter still lies flopped on Y/N's chest.

"Mm, very," he murmurs into her skin, kissing her lazily across her chest..

She must've seen how cock-drunk he is because the next thing she does is to cup his face and take a good look at him. "Hey… look at me. Are you good to keep going?"

"I am, I am. It's just been a while since I've last done this, Y/N. Chill out," he rambles on, kissing her for reassurance.

"I want you to not cum before I do," she instructs-- slowly, soothingly, as she scratches the back of his head. "Can you do that for me?"

Tom simply hums, so she clenches around his cock to snap him out of it. "Okay! Okay. I won't, baby, I promise."

She grins and finally kisses him back, then. "Good boy."

"You never asked me so nicely," Harrison notes as he starts to move at an unhurried pace. There's no jealousy or resentment in his words… that he intends to.

"You never play nice with me, so…" Y/N shrugs, thrusting up to meet Tom's frantic hips.

"Yeah, I'll show you nice." Harrison laughs, almost coldly so, and starts fucking Tom deeper. Harder.

It makes her head spin. Tom's completely enshrouding her with his biceps and sloppy kisses all over her neck. But she can't help but feel like Harrison's the one fucking her. His mouth is on Tom's shoulder, sucking a hickey like there's no tomorrow, but he keeps his eyes on her. Keeping his pace deliberate, so she feels every impact of his thrust.

His hand finds Tom's neck, and he feels him picking up the pace from underneath him. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good…"

"Harder," Tom manages through a strained voice.

"Where?"

He squeezes Harrison's fingers on the sides of his neck, and he's fully aware how acutely she feels it. The sheer sight of Tom blissed out and desperate before her is getting her so close, and he knows it.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmurs it into Tom's ear, but he's really saying it to her.

The two of them barely hears Tom's needy pleas of 'fuck I'm so close, fucking hell' when they come. Everything's so tight, so intimate, but at the same time, never really close enough. She's feeling his thrusts without even having him inside her. He brings her closer, but it's Tom's hand rubbing down her clit. And God, she falls apart harder than she ever had, but she also comes wishing he was closer.

They sort of stumble back into bed absent-minded, each in their own post-orgasm haze. Each of them wondering what the next move should be, now that this is over.

Tom's phone rings in his trousers pocket-- startling and saving them from another second of this awkward silence. He climbs out of bed, and fishes it out, ass hanging in the air.

"Hello?" He pauses, pulling his pants back on. "Yeah? Alright, cool. I'll be right down. No, I'm just… looking around. Think I got a bit lost," he winks back at them.

Y/N sees Harrison smile, shaking his head at his best friend, and it makes the air a bit lighter in the room.

"Harry and Jacob just arrived, so. I'm gonna head back downstairs and… give you guys a little privacy-- I think you really needed it. But, uh," Tom grins, all bright and cheery, "That was a lot of fun, guys. See ya!"

The door closes and the lighthearted air disappears with him. Right now there's just Y/N and Harrison sitting on opposite ends of the bed, still trying to process what just happened.

Harrison finally opens up, "I--"

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," she says at the exact same time, wasting no time to rush off to the ensuite.

When she comes back, Harrison's already buttoning up his bodysuit back on, and she's almost disappointed that she can't admire this look on him a little longer.

"You're leaving," she says, more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, um." He looks like he's about to say something, but just… studies her face from across the room.

"What?"

"Did you mean that?" He plays it off by glancing down on his shirt buttons. "When you said I wasn't your favorite anymore?"

And there it is. So he was pressed about that, she notes in her mind. In all honesty, she meant it as a joke. But they also don't open up and be vulnerable with each other. So she settles for the next best thing.

"I don't pick favorites," she ultimately answers. "But if I did…"

Harrison looks up, reluctantly resigned with how much he still wants it to be him.

But her words just hang in the air, and eventually she shakes her head. This is simply not the relationship they have. "Nah. Nevermind."

But he gets it. He smiles, for the first time in a while, a genuine smile at her. "Right." It's not quite the answer he's hoping for, and not quite the reaction he wants to give, but it's something.

"Besides," she pipes up, the cheekiness coming back to her pretty features, "I think if I were to decide, I would need to fuck you first."

"Didn't we just--"

"No…" she steps closer, and Harrison has never felt more naked in his life, even though she's the one wearing nothing. "Tom fucked me and you fucked Tom. I think it's hardly fair, isn't it?"

She wraps her arms around his waist and he welcomes it with open arms. "Good point. We'd better go ahead and make it fair, then, darling."

She kisses his jawline, already unbuttoning his shirt again. "Gladly."

***

Tagging my beloved moots who might be interested? @angel-holland @spidey-sophie @worldoftom @cocoamoonmalfoy @thegirlintheswivelchair @lovelytholland @violetlilysunshine @spideyssunshine @spideyspeaches @annathesillyfriend @hotforharrison @kiwi-bitchez @selfcarecap @awkward-darkness @bi-writes @hollandsrecs @hollandsmushroom @kelieah <3

anyway i hope you enjoyed it and i'd love to hear what you think in the comments, reblogs, or asks! thank you so much for reading!

[catreginae]

Thou Shalt Not Fall: Royal Blood

Warriors needs blood to survive, but not all blood is particularly… useful to him. I commissioned a couple of pieces of Vampire Warriors from @nitroish! Check them out here! Also, trigger warning for this chapter: there is some light vomiting in this chapter. If you want to skip, it starts at the point where Four calls for Hyrule and Time, and it's gone by the time Warriors says he feels like shit. Update! More art from @alliankitty! You can find here!

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“Okay, you know what? You can drink some of it. You've been giving me weird looks all day and the only reason I can think of is that you saw my blood and now you have cravings.”

Hyrule looked from Legend to Warriors. There was an early morning battle, where Legend suffered a wound on his leg that was since completely healed. There were no changes to Legend's stamina or gait, and his attitude was normal, so Hyrule wasn't worried about him and even agreed that he was good to travel. Since everybody was fine, he put the battle to the back of his mind and let himself get roped into a one-side conversation with Twilight, who was busy gushing about Epona and Ordon.

He didn't notice anything else, truly, but apparently Legend did. He waited until they took a break for lunch before approaching Warriors and it was really starting to make Hyrule question his observation skills. He didn't even see Warriors when he was helping Legend. Maybe he could smell the blood? That would make sense.

“I don't need to drink blood every time I see it. I had some three days ago, I'm fine!”

“Yeah, sure you are. That's why you can't look me in the eyes right now.”

A blush graced Warriors' cheeks and he looked away. “Okay, fine, it's kind of tempting right now, but I don't need your blood. Sometimes I crave blood like Sky craves pumpkin soup, but it's not a big deal if I don't get it.”

Hyrule looked between the two of them again. Legend was all smiles now, having won the game with Warriors.

“You sure? I wasn't hurt that badly and there isn't anything wrong with having a snack to satisfy you until dinner.”

The captain scrunched his face, and shot a glare at Legend, his eyes shifting from blue to yellow with the ever present red ring on the outside in a blink of his eyes. Those eyes put every nerve in Hyrule's body into overdrive, even if he knew those eyes belonged to a friend. There's was just something about them that screamed danger and it took everything Hyrule had to stuff all that into a box and push it away.

“Why are you so insistent?”

“Honestly? I think it's my turn to find out what it's like to have something drink your blood. I've been curious ever since you drank Twilight's blood. You know, I've been to several different countries and not one of them had vampires... at least any that I'm aware of. I can learn something from you and you can stop being weird about a wound I had hours ago. If anything goes wrong, Hyrule is right here.”

Warriors contemplated the offer for a moment. At first, Hyrule thought he would say no again but he did have that calculated look in his eyes, the one he usually had when he was planning battles and debating on who should go where. He was actually really thinking about it. “Fine, roll up your sleeve. I'm going to warn you though, this isn't going to be painless.”

“I'm aware. I was there when you said that to Twilight.”

“... right.”

Legend rolled up his right one, presenting the captain with his bare wrist, his palm facing up. Hyrule's heart thumped louder as Warriors bent down slightly, pulling the bare wrist closer to his mouth as he did so. Hyrule saw a flash of white for a moment before the captain bit down, puncturing Legend's skin. Legend grimaced a bit but showed no other sign of being in pain.

Hyrule couldn't look away. There wasn't much to see, just Warriors with his mouth clamped over Legend's wrist, but it was still rare to see the captain actually drink blood. He was slowly starting to open up about his vampire side but he still seemed rather... guarded, like he wasn't sure if he should be answering all the questions they threw at him. It was what made Hyrule feel so bad about the reaction to his eyes. Warriors couldn't help it and Hyrule was sure that if Warriors had the chance to get rid of the curse, he would in a heartbeat.

The designated healer in him winced at the blood that ran down Legend's wrist. He had to remind himself not to step in until Legend asked. He didn't know what Legend expected to learn, but he wasn't going to get in the way of it.

It took less than a minute for Warriors to pull away, seemingly content, his teeth, lips, and chin covered in Legend's blood. He licked up the blood on his lips easily, though settled for using the back of his glove to wipe the blood from his chin. His fangs disappeared and his eyes were blue again. If one looked at the captain alone, nothing looked amiss.

“Hey Warriors! Over here!” Wild called out. Warriors nodded at the two of them and then left, jogging over to Wild. That left Hyrule alone with Legend and the two circular wounds in his wrist.

There was something about the two little holes that just didn't sit right with Hyrule though. They bled more than he expected for their size and it was more than Legend must have expected judging by the look on his face. He put two fingers on Legend's wrist, counting the beats of his heart as he used his other hand to heal the two holes. They would probably heal on their own but seeing as Legend was injured earlier in the day, Hyrule wasn't going to take the chance.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Hyrule asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, I think so. His bites do more than just draw blood out. It wasn't clotting like it should...” he mumbled, flexing his fingers. “I'm not surprised though. It's in his best interest to get as much blood as he can, even if he doesn't intend to do anything malicious.”

“Hyrule! Legend! You guys coming?” Sky called out.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go.”

Legend was good to go.

It was Warriors who was not good to go.

Hyrule was in the front half of the group, where Wind and Wild were bonding over koroks, Legend had his thinking face on, and Time had his eyes on the path in front of them. Hyrule was doing much of the same. You could never be too careful with an enemy like theirs.

“Time! Hyrule!” Everybody turned their heads to see Four running up to them, pointing behind him.

Warriors was on his hands and knees, with one of Twilight's arms hooked around his chest. A pool of blood was under his head and with a horrifying retching noise, more blood fell out of his mouth, but Hyrule knew it wasn't as bad as it looked. For a regular person to vomit that much blood, it usually meant massive internal bleeding but Warriors was likely just throwing up his lunch. Concerning in its own way, certainly, but he was throwing up Legend's blood, not his own.

But why couldn't he keep it down? He had no problems with Twilight's blood, even though it actually made him drunk that one time. If it was Legend's blood that made him sick, what was the difference? Did Warriors even know? How was Warriors supposed to drink blood, something he needed to live, if he couldn't tell the difference between blood that was safe and blood that would make him sick?

Hyrule made his way over and got down on his knees so he was level with Warriors.

“Feel like shit,” Warriors mumbled. “Ugh. I thought I didn't get sick anymore.”

“You think you're done losing your lunch now? You might be more comfortable on the ground,” Twilight mumbled. Warriors used his hand to respond, so Twilight helped him to the ground.

“Wild, Wind, go find a place to make camp for the night,” Time said over his shoulder before turning his attention back to Warriors. “What happened?”

So Time didn't know what was going on. Great. The difficult thing about Warriors being a vampire, or at least half-vampire, was that Hyrule just didn't know enough about vampires to know when he, as a healer, should step in. Even if he did know that yes, Warriors needed help, he didn't always understand what the root cause behind his problems were to know how to help him. He depended a lot on Time and Warriors, except in this case, neither one of them seemed to know happened.

Warriors needed help and Hyrule didn't know what to do for him.

“It's my blood, isn't it?” Legend asked as he stepped over.

“Can't be anything else... but I have no idea why I'm reacting so badly to it... tasted normal,” Warriors mumbled, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Let Warriors rest it off first, then we can figure out what might have happened.”

Legend scowled, crossing his arms. “Fine.”

Hyrule expected Warriors to sleep all night, but once Wind and Wild found a campsite and Warriors was settled in, he only slept for a couple of hours. By the time Hyrule returned to the campsite after helping Four collect enough firewood for the night, he found Warriors licking Twilight's arm.

Sure, it was kind of strange even with the context of Warriors being an obligate blood drinker, but Hyrule was sure glad he had that context regardless. He wanted to remind Twilight that he shouldn't let Warriors drink too much of his blood, but when he got a closer look, the cut on his arm didn't seem that deep or large. Warriors wasn't even biting him. It looked like the captain just kind of kind of scraped a fang or claw across Twilight's arm to make a small cut. The most Warriors seemed to be doing was squeezing his arm to get a little more blood out.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he put the firewood close but not too close to the fire. Warriors certainly looked better than he did a couple of hours ago.

“Better.”

“Good,” Legend muttered sitting on the other side of the fire from Hyrule, Twilight, and Warriors. “Let's figure out what about my blood made you practically pass out.”

Hyrule swallowed hard. Legend had a scowl on his face, though anyone who knew Legend knew that he was mad at himself and not Warriors. Warriors, for his part, looked away, letting Twilight's arm fall so he could shrink back on his log.

“I have no idea. I wouldn't drink your blood if I knew it was bad for me.”

“Well, is there anyone you can't drink from?” Four asked.

“Just Athena's,” he mumbled. “I had a couple of drops once because you know, once you find out some you know is a vampire, suddenly the way your blood tastes is the most important question ever. Those couple of drops alone was enough to burn my tongue. I can't imagine what it would have done to me if I actually bit her.”

Legend paled but nobody commented on that. Instead, Four continued, “Would that happen with any of the princesses?”

“I've assumed so. I presume it's because of the light magic in their blood as part of their birthright. Light magic is... well...” Warriors paused, biting his lips with his fangs as he tried to collect himself. “Enough of it will kill me. I found out, not too long before we met, that Hylia and her blessing is enough reason for most vampires to even avoid Hyrule. The vampires in my era clamour to stay on Athena's good side because she could kill them all, very easily, I might add.”

“Light magic, huh?”

“Only weakness that I have that could be found in blood, unless there another surprise weakness that I don't know about.”

Hyrule could piece together what must have happened with Legend then, but he still felt like he was missing several pieces of the puzzle. If light magic was the only thing Warriors could think of that would hurt him and could be in blood, then Legend's blood probably had some light magic it in and neither one of them was aware of that fact.

It sounded like Warriors would have known and stopped if it hurt him as much as it did when he tried Athena's blood though. He said before they made camp that it tasted normal. Maybe Legend just had a very small amount and it only hurt Warriors when he started to digest it. Dilution was the difference between life and death.

So... how did Legend end up with light magic in his blood?

“This is all my fault...”

“Don't beat yourself up. You didn't know.”

“I have a... thing, that in hindsight was probably something you should know if you can't drink a princess' blood.”

Warriors raised an eyebrow at Legend's confession. Or, start of a confession anyway.

“Fable is my... my half-sister. As far as we know, we aren't full siblings,” he mumbled, swiping the hat off his head so he could wring it between his fingers. “I didn't think it mattered though. I'm not the princess, and I don't have any of her powers, so I had no idea that my blood could do anything to harm you. I should have told you that I'm related to the royal family.”

That was going to be a lot to unpack later.

“Look, it's not like I made it obvious that light magic hurts me and even if I did, you didn't know you had any of it in your blood. You didn't know it could hurt me, so don't blame yourself for something you couldn't help. Besides, as far as I could tell, it didn't taste any different from Twilight's blood. It didn't burn me right away like Athena's did. At least we know what happened now and I know not to drink your blood. It's all good. Better to learn now when I'm not hungry or dying.”

Legend didn't look completely convinced, though the scowl he had earlier was gone. It was probably thanks to Warriors dismissing the whole thing with an easy smile and a wave of his hand.

“Now, if anyone else has any reason to suspect that their blood might do something weird to me, you better speak up now. You don't have to say why but I think I have a right to know what I'm eating.”

“Maybe don't put it that way,” Sky muttered.

“Whatever, but seriously, I need to know if Twilight's the only person I can drink blood from.”

Hyrule bit his lips. “You might want to avoid my blood.”

“Oh, secret royal family member too?” Wind piped up but Hyrule just shook his head and put a finger to his lips, trying to make Wind drop the subject. He wished it was something like that and not because he didn't want to know what blood that could bring back Ganon could do to Warriors. At best, he might just lose control again, but at worse...

Nope, he wasn't going to even entertain that thought.

“Okay, Legend and Hyrule. Anyone else?”

Nobody said anything to the contrary.

I don't use the Fable and Legend being siblings headcanon anywhere else, but if I can make Warriors' life inconvenient or use a popular headcanon to elaborate on Warriors' vampirism in any way, I will use it. Warriors is like a leech in that his bites inject the local region with anticoagulants so he can keep drinking blood until he decides he's done. He isn't aware that his bites do anything more than making wounds.

[rogue-durin-16]

OUT OF TROUBLE

Summary: After a Quidditch match, both George and Y/n sneaked out to grab a drink at the Three Broomsticks with their respective teammates. The tension between the two groups might end up causing more trouble than imagined.

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: kinda angsty kinda fluffy

Tags:

George Weasley: @meph1stophelian

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @skarlettmikaelson

Warnings: blood, injuries, violence, concussion, language (?)

A/N: idk what to say apart from the idea of George losing his shit big time won't leave me alone and idek why (blaming it on that scene in the Order of the Phoenix in which George and Harry beat Malfoy the fuck up) so enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"Well," McGonagall's severe eyes scrutinized all six of us from the other side of her desk. "who is going to give us" she briefly motioned at Snape, who stood by her side with an unimpressed yet disappointed look on his face. "a proper explanation of why Madam Rosmerta so kindly let us know that not only seven of our seventh year students were on Hogsmeade without permission,"

"But also making a scene and coming to blows." Snape finished, quirking a brow. "Do you know how lucky you are that Madam Rosmerta picked on the fact that you were students?" The potions teacher's eyes fixed on the three Gryffindors before inquiring, "Who started it?"

Silence.

"Merlin's— There is a student in the hospital wing!" McGonagall exclaimed outraged. "You all ought to come clean about this one."

More silence.

"Mister Weasley, you seem to be unusually quiet." The Head of Slytherin pointed out.

"Well, you see, professor," George's head, which had until that moment been resting on his arms over the school desk, was tilted up slightly. "I've got a bit of a headache going on." He motioned at the back of his head, in which a patch of dried blood had glued his hair.

"Weasley, I must insist on you to go see Madam Pomfrey." McGonagall's tone, although remaining severe, softened a bit.

"Nah, 's not that bad." George gave Warrington a side look and forced himself to sit upright.

"I'm going to ask again." Snape spoke. "Who started it?" He weighed the possibilities before inquiring, "Mister Weasley?"

"Why me?!" George flinched at his own shouting.

"Do you want me to believe the state Mister Montague was left in was Miss Spinnet's doing? Miss Bell's, perhaps?" The Gryffindor girls grumbled under their breaths, catching the professor's attention. "What was that?"

"I said why us?" Katie questioned with a tinge of indignation. "Is it because we're Gryffindors?"

"Obviously." Snape spat, earning a roll from Mcgonagall, though she didn't oppose her colleague.

Alicia only laughed humorlessly and folded her arms over her chest.

"We can stay here all night, if you'd like it that way." McGonagall stated after around five minutes of just silence.

"Ugh, fine." George let his head fall in the comfort of his forearms again and groaned, "it was me— I started it. Can we go now?"

"What the hell?!"

"Miss Spinnet!" McGonagall scolded her, stomping her desk.

"Can we go now or not?" George's eyes met my shocked gaze briefly.

"Everyone but you, Mister Weasley." McGonagall stated.

"Wait, no." I tapped my foot nervously against the tiles and took at deep breath. "It wasn't him, it was me."

"Miss Y/l/n!" I refused to meet McGonagall's and Snape's face, so I left my eyes casted down, but I still heard the professors' quiet whispers. "What on Godric's name happened?"

Two Hours Earlier

After a Quidditch victory in Slytherin's favor, some of us had resolved to sneak out of the castle and go celebrate with a drink in Hogsmeade.

Turns out some Gryffindors had had the same idea, though the drink they were having was definitely not a celebration.

"Look who's here," Montague nodded in the Gryffindors direction, purposefully walking in their direction. "You're missing half of the team!" He chuckled, not stopping more than a couple of seconds. "Are they crying on their dorms?"

"Get lost, Montague." Katie Bell spat, earning faces from both Graham and Cassius. Alicia Spinnet flipped us off, and George limited himself to give me a small wave, which I returned with a little smile.

"How's the place this crowed?" Kevin questioned with a frown as we tried and failed to find an empty booth.

"No idea." I replied, taking a look around. "I'll go grab the drinks, you look for a place, yeah?" Cassius nodded and I made my way to the counter; I could feel Bell's and Spinnet's dirty looks on me while I ordered the butter beers.

"Celebrating, are we?" My head turned to meet George's form, leaning on the counter besides me.

"Yup." I shortly answered with a proud grin.

"You're missing your seeker." I rolled my eyes at his comment. "I wonder where he's at."

"You know where he's at." I quirked my brow when he played dumb, a smug smile dancing on his lips. "I'm very aware it was you who sent him to the hospital wing."

"It was actually a bludger." He pointed out, giving Madam Rosmerta the coins for a butter beer.

"Oi, what are you doing?" I attempted to shove his hand away, but there was no use.

"Smoothly buying you a drink?" He winked and I felt blood going up to my cheeks. "Just her drink, though." He added, looking at Rosmerta.

"No you're not— he's not." The owner of the Three Broomsticks gave us a look but ended up accepting my money instead.

"Aw c'mon, Y/n" George pouted while Rosmerta passed me the drinks. "I've just lost an important match, let me have a win?"

"You can buy me the next drink," I resolved, chuckling at the way his expression lighted up. "but only if you don't cause trouble."

"Pfft I'm too depressed to cause trouble." I could tell he wasn't joking, though he still made it sound humorous. "Need help with that?" He motioned at the four drinks I was attempting to grab.

"No she doesn't."

George visibly grimaced at the sight of Cassius but, instead of snapping at him, he only leaned on me and pecked my cheek after saying, "No trouble, see?"

"Piss off, Weasley."

"No need to be that rude." I spat, taking two glasses in my hand.

"No need to consort with the enemy." He responded, picking up the remaining jars.

We approached the spot our Quidditch team had taken and had a surprisingly uneventful good time, until Montague started to run his mouth.

"Look at them, they're so pathetic." He obnoxiously laughed.

"Look at whom?" I questioned, a bit lost in my thoughts to know what he was even talking about.

"Don't play dumb." He hissed. "As if you haven't been staring at that Weasel since we entered."

"Ugh, honestly Graham." I lazily played with my jar. "Can't we just enjoy the drink without focusing on the only three Gryffindors in the room?"

"You're one to talk." Cassius mumbled.

"Meaning?"

"Graham's right, you've been staring at him." I pinched the bridge of my nose. They've done this little number so many times that I was no longer embarrassed. "What was that kiss about?"

"Cassius!"

"What kiss?" Graham inquired.

"He kissed her."

"Oh my gosh—" I threw my head down to my forearms in desperation.

"Ew!" Kevin gagged dramatically. "Did you let a blood traitor kiss you with that filthy mouth?"

"You did not just say that." My tone held a serious warning as I looked up at our keeper.

"Great, he's staring." Cassius grumbled.

"Frankly, he could use a lesson." My eyes widened at Graham's words; at first I thought he was joking, but then he grabbed his wand with a wicked smirk.

"Don't make a bloody number." I whispered. "We'll get in trouble."

"Y/l/n, I'm starting to think you're not on our side."

"Montague, if you earn us detention—" my words were cut off by another statement of his.

"No one's gonna know if we're sneaky enough." I looked at Bletchley and Warrington for some back up but they both seemed to be on board with Montague's plan. "What about a little... cruci—" before he could finish the word, I kicked his chair, making him fall to the floor.

"What's wrong with you?!" I shouted, kicking his wand away after standing up myself.

"Y/n, calm down." Cassius said.

"He was gonna use the Cruciatus, so maybe no?!"

"Careful, Y/n." By then, Montague had already gotten up; Bletchley had to tug him back for him not to go against me. "If you get along with scum, you're scum."

I didn't fully realise that I had slapped him until I heard a few people gasping; all from sudden, I was very aware that I had attracted unwanted attention.

There was a moment of tense silence between Montague and me, quickly followed by him grabbing my hair and hitting my face against the table, too fast for me to do anything about it.

"OI!" Cassius pulled me away from Montague, my hands covering my most likely broken nose, debating on whether to hold it to stop the nosebleed or not touching it to avoid more pain.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

"They're talking shit." Katie whispered, squinting her eyes at the Slytherins.

"Of course they're talking shit." I responded.

"I'd love to go there and shove those—" Alicia grumbled, tightening the grip on her glass.

"Don't." They both looked at me expectant and I only shrugged. "Y/n asked me not to cause trouble."

Alicia snorted when my eyes travelled to Y/n and Katie mocked me with a silly grin. "Awww, Alicia, he's in love."

"George Weasley is in love" Alicia faked a gag. "With a Slytherin."

"Oh my— you're two shut up." I felt blush creeping up my neck, though I couldn't help the smile twitching up the corners of my lips.

"I mean," Katie shrugged, sharing a look with our friend. "Could be worse."

"Could be Warrington." Before I could respond to Alicia, a loud noise was heard behind me. "Ooooh your princess just kicked Montague." Our chaser commented; we all turned around to look at the Slytherins. "This is gonna be fun."

"Why do I feel like they're talking about us?" I said with a laugh.

"Did... Did she just say 'cruciatus'?" Katie questioned, a tinge of worry in her voice.

"Damn! Okay, time to go." Alicia whispered, getting up right after Y/n had slapped Montague. Katie and I were already following her to the exit when a thud made us stop in our tracks.

"He did not—" Katie started.

"He did." Alicia replied; she was quick to double check on me, but I was quicker to stalk towards Montague. "George no!"

READER'S P. O. V.

I came to the conclusion that we were already in trouble, so I might as well go for it and get Montague back.

Cassius saw that coming and held me back by my forearms, but Graham was being pushed against the table behind him in the blink of an eye.

It took us all aback the way George had stormed in scene; we stood there frozen for a hot second, until Bletchley realised Montague was trying to shake George off in vain while the Gryffindor threw blows at him whilst tackling him to the table.

"George! Stop!" Alicia yelled, coming to stand by my side, unsure of what to do.

"Get off him!" The keeper was the first one to try and remove George from Graham, whose face was starting to look as bloodied as mine. He did succeed for a split second, giving the Slytherin chaser enough room to get back at George.

I shook Cassius off the moment Montague jumped on George to aid the ginger, but before I could do anything, he was punching Graham again, though now he sported a swollen lip himself, along with a cut on his cheek, probably caused by Graham's rings.

This time, when Bletchley tried to shove him off Montague, he ended up with George's elbow digging into his stomach.

"He's gonna kill him!" Bell exclaimed, genuinely worried about the outcome.

"George!" I called his name, hoping it would have an effect, but the beater was too lost on the fight. "Wait— No!!" I tried to grab Cassius' hand when I saw him reaching for one of the heavy jars, but he was quicker to crash it on George's crown.

He hissed, losing balance instantly; his hands went to the back of his head, releasing Montague from his hold. My teammate took the opportunity to kick him off, but before he could try to punch George again, I reached to them, pulling the ginger away and not so accidentally stomping on my Montague in the process.

Just when everything seemed to have calmed down, I noticed Spinnet had thrown herself to Cassius.

Bell was struggling to tug her friend away, Cassius was being pulled back by a mildly hurt Bletchley, Montague was curled up in a ball on the floor and George and I stayed knelt not far from him while I checked his head.

It was only when Madam Rosmerta appeared with a towering, strong employee who managed to separate Spinnet and Warrington that it came to an end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Graham tried to use the Cruciatus curse on George, professor." I explained without meeting McGonagall's eyes. "And I stopped him."

"He— he what?!" The Head of Gryffindor yelled horrified.

"Miss Y/l/n, did you send Mister Montague to the hospital wing?" Snape questioned wearily.

"That was me." George replied before I could make anything up. "And Warrington broke a glass on my head."

"Spinnet tried to kill me!" Warrington shouted.

"If I had wanted to kill you, you'd be dead!" Alicia yelled back.

"Don't lie to yourself darling!" Bletchley hissed.

"Don't 'darling' her dickhead, I'll jump on you right here!" Bell spat, leaning over her table.

"Shut up, Bell!"

"ENOUGH!" McGonagall shouted. "Fifty points will be substracted from each of you. Your families will be informed of this, and needless to say you won't make any more trips to Hogsmeade."

"Minerva, I think Weasley has earned himself detention for the rest of the year." Snape commented.

"And so did Mister Montague and Miss Y/l/n." She responded. "Now off to sleep, all of you— except from Weasley and Y/l/n, you two go see Madam Pomfrey— no but's, Weasley."

"Yes professor." George sighed, getting up and following me out of the class and into the corridor. "You okay?" His voice was so soft as he fell into step with me that I had to refrain myself from kissing him.

"Nose's probably broken." I shrugged, stealing a look at his crown. "How's your head?"

"Hurts a bit." He was obviously playing it off, but I didn't say a thing about it. "I'm sorry for that little number."

"Nonsense! As if it was your fault Montague's a douche." I reassured him.

"So... you're not mad at me?"

"I'm only mad at the fact that I didn't get to punch him." I replied with a chuckle triggering a smile on his. "Plus," I chewed on my lower lip, hesitating for a moment before adding, "it was kinda hot."

George let out a shocked snort, his whole face redder than mine while words stumbled incoherently out of his mouth, preventing him from forming a coherent sentence.

"Don't do it again, though."

"Uh- yeah— NO- I mean, no- I-I won't— I don't do this often—" I giggled at his stammering and brushed his pinky with my own. He cleared his throat and took the hint, intertwining his fingers with mines. "You know, technically it was you who caused trouble so..."

"So?"

"Can I still buy you a drink?" He sheepishly requested, his thumb drawing circles on the back of my hand while we reached the hospital wing.

"We're banned from Hogsmeade, though." I reminded him.

"Well, I might know a way of getting there without being noticed."

"I'm in then." I stated. "Only if you promise we'll stay out of trouble."

"Can't promise that." He squeezed my hand and let it go when Madam Pomfrey spotted us. "But I'll do my best."

"I'm sure you will." I tugged on his sleeve and placed a kiss on his cheek before following the healer's directions.

[miss-dr-reid]

This is calm, and it's, Doctor #10

Warning: mention of penis, but no touchy touchy of anything like that

My house keys were on the same keychain as my car keys. I told Spencer which one was for the front door, and he opened it, letting me in first. I walked in and started my 'getting home routine'.

"Hey google, I'm home." I said, smirking at Spencer.

All of the lights in my lounge room and kitchen came on and music started playing in the background. My house wasn't anything fancy, so I enjoyed little upgrades where I could get them. Spencer looked up from what he was doing, to see everything in action, his mouth slightly agape. He finished closing the door, ensuring that it was locked before finally coming inside to look around. I showed him around the basic parts of my house.

Firstly the kitchen, which was to the left of my front door,

"Feel free to get yourself a drink or anything you like while you're here." I told him, gesturing toward the fridge and cupboards, continuing my tour of the house. next was the living room, and then into the hallway where the bedrooms and bathroom reside. Once we had reached the bathroom, I realised that I was desperate for a shower.

"I'm gonna have a shower, and then we can put some aloe gel on our burns." I told him, walking into the bathroom with a towel in my hand. Spencer followed me in,

"You know, you really don't have to-"

"I told you, I would look after you That's also been the job assigned to me, so it's what I'm going to do." he interrupted.

"What are you gonna do, shower with me?!" I laughed.

"If I have to!" the comeback was unexpected, and suddenly, there were butterflies in my stomach at the thought of he and I being naked together - showering together.

I told him to sit on the toilet if he insisted on not leaving my side and he did. I hopped into the shower - still fully dressed- and closed over the curtain. I undressed, throwing y clothes over the top of the glass walls, hearing the soft 'flop' as they hit the ground. Turning on the shower, I realised that Spencer probably needed a shower, too.

"You haven't showered yet, either..." I called over to him, peaking through a gap I made in the curtain, and his head tilted up to look at me, "You're welcome to join me. At least you'll be right here if anything happens." my tone was more suggestive than I had intended, but I ran with it. Spencer stood up almost immediately,

"Would that be alright with you?" his question came out fast, and I nodded.

"Yes, Doctor, that's fine with me." I said, looking at him. His nose and cheeks were red, his hair frizzy from the excitement of the day, and his skin dry from the salt water.

I popped my head back into the shower, closing the curtain over once again, and he got undressed. once he was done, the shower curtain opened and he stepped in. I took the brief moment that he was looking at the ground, to look him up and down, my eyes growing wide when they landed on the place below his belly button. He had finally made it all the way in, and I stepped back, snapping my eyes away from his body and up to his face. He laid his head back into the stream of the shower, rinsing his head, droplets rolling down his face as he did so. His long fingers ran through his hair, ensuring all of it was wet, the veins in his forearms, protruding through his skin - from being dehydrated, I assumed.

He turned to face the stream one his hair was wet, and started rubbing his face and chest. I looked over his body once again, admiring the length of him. His back was long and toned. as my eyes traveled down his body, I noticed a scar just above his knee. Before I could return my eyes back up to his head to ask about the scar he turned around, and everything was on display. I suddenly stopped, my eyes growing wide again and my mind filling with thoughts that no one should have about a co-worker. I snapped my eyes back up to his head, my finger pointed out toward his leg.

"I got shot." he said, looking down at the scar continuing to explain about how he got shot, he suddenly stopped when he noticed all I was doing was nodding. "Are you okay?"

Honestly, I was just trying hard to get the thought out of my head, thoughts of him naked. even though, I didn't have to think about it, he was right there,

"Yeah, I..." I hesitated which only made him more concerned, "Look, you've got a really nice body." I said to him, trying to redirect my attention anywhere but there.

"That's not what's bothering you, please tell me what's wrong." he pressed, and I couldn't take it anymore.

"Spencer, your penis is quite big." I said as quick as I could while focusing my eyes on the shower wall.

"Oh... Well the average size of a penis in the US is approximately three point six one inches while flaccid, with an erection they are approximately five point one six inches. Mine is slightly bigger than aver-"

"Spencer, you don't have to say anything. I shouldn't have been looking in the first place." I interjected. Even though I loved to listen to him list of facts, this was one I didn't need to know. I got out of the shower not long after that, I had made things awkward by saying what I did. I got out and grabbed my towel off the rack. barely wrapping it around myself before heading to my bedroom.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my towel coming slightly unwrapped on my back. My head fell into my hands and I sighed.

"Why do I have to be so awkward?" I whispered to my self, "Idiot!"

"Y/N.." Spencer's voice called from the door and my head snapped up to see him standing there, towel around his waist, "you're not an idiot. If you don't want to do anything like that again, we don't have to. I accepted your offer, not only because I really needed a shower, but because I wanted to be close to you, too." his voice was soft and sincere.

I looked over his body, his hair had been pushed back out of the way, a few stray droplets falling down his face. As well as the few stray droplets falling down his body and being soaked up by the towel. My eyes made their way back up to his beautiful chocolate browns, they were staring at me, looking for some type of answer.

"Spencer... I want to be close to you, too. I don't want anything bad to happen, because I like you Spencer. I really like you." My voice cracked slightly at the thought of losing Spencer. It was silly to be feeling this way, we haven't even known each other that long.

He walked over to me and cupped my face in his hands - forcing me to look into his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here whenever you need me." his words were soft, but firm. Tears brimmed my eyes and soon started rolling down my cheeks. I was pulled into a hug, and Spencer stood up, taking me with him, my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. I buried my face in his neck as I started sobbing.

He held me there until my body had calmed, his arms were holding me so close against him. I pulled back, looking him in the eyes, keeping my hands on his shoulders. His eyes were tinged red, and tears were welling on his lower lash line.

"Don't cry for me Spencer, please..." I pleased softly, the sight breaking my heart. He tried to blink it away, but it fell down his cheek instead. I wiped it with my thumb, "Thank you for being here."

He didn't say anything else, only pulled me back into him. we were tangled together once again and I wanted to stay there forever.

Alas, it was not to be, He soon enough puled back once again, bringing once hand to the back of my head and guiding my head toward his own, only to kiss me on the forehead before putting me back onto my bed. My legs had managed to undo his towel, as it fell once I was detached from his body, my own towel following suit.

I grabbed my own towel, averting my gaze from his while he scrambled to catch his before it hit the ground. I let out a small laugh, which caused Spencer to laugh, too. It was good to see a smile on his face.

Spencer left to go get a new change of clothes and I pulled out a nightie from one of my drawers. This nightie is one of my favourites, the soft flowing material, lined with lace. It hugged in all the right places and flowed everywhere else. I slipped it on, throwing my towel on top of my drawers and headed for the kitchen.

I made my way to the fridge, bopping along with the music that was still playing in the background, and opened it. My eyes landed on the bright orange bottle of Sunkist, Ironic, I thought to myself as I grabbed it. I shut the fridge as Spencer was making his way into the kitchen, and I offered him a drink. I grabbed out two glasses, set them on the bench and poured, finally sliding his glass over the bench to him.

"So, what brings you here?" I asked him, trying to make any sort of conversation happen.

"I am here, looking after you - like I was told." he said, seeming genuinely confused on why I would ask that question.

"Spence, I - I was just trying to make small talk." I told him, and he admitted he was not very good at small talk. He didn't really understand the point, when there are so many other things to talk about. Fun new things to learn, he didn't understand why small talk was even a thing people did.

I was interested to learn new things, always up for a challenge to test my brain. Spencer was extremely happy to tell me fun facts, while he did repeat a few things I had heard before, I never stopped him, instead asking more in-depth questions about certain things that really intrigued me. He was so happy to be talking, after being cut off so often by everyone else, I would never have the heart to tell him to stop. But all good things must come to and end.

Soon, my back started hurting and the yawns escaping me, came at closer and closer intervals. I looked at the time displayed on my microwave 0124 it read.

"We should probably go to bed, Spence." while he was sighing contently a himself after finishing another fun fact. We had ended up on the lounge, opposite ends from each other, our legs tangled together. "Are you coming?" I said getting up from the lounge, looking down at him.

"I didn't think you'd want me to be in bed with you." he was taken aback at my proposal and there was no way he could hide the sight excitement in his eyes.

"Don't be silly, come on." I said, tapping his shoulder as I walked past him and down the hallway, gesturing for him to follow when he hesitated.

I made it to my room and climbed into bed, getting under the covers. I called out for google that it was bedtime, and the lights turned off and the music was replaced with Rain sounds. Spencer was climbing into bed as I was pulling up the covers. I laid my head on my pillow, laying on my side, facing him. He mirrored me, his head on the other pillow. I didn't want to close my eyes, I just wanted to stare at him, his features lit by the gentle moonlight seeping through the window.

He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, it was a sight to see. I had got so lost in thought, admiring him, I didn't realise I had scooted closer to him until he wrapped his arms around me. I smiled at myself, and fell asleep there. Safe in the arms of Spencer Reid.

[contemplativepancakes]

may your days be meowy and bright

a @geraskierholidayexchange fic for @cosmokitt !! I hope you like it :D

Geralt glares at Jaskier from across the counter. He’s sitting at one of the tables, his head leaned in towards Eskel as they look at something on his phone. Geralt’s sure it can’t be anything good.

He clears his throat obnoxiously, and Jaskier jerks back and smiles at Geralt. Geralt’s not certain of the intent, but it comes off as guilty more than anything else.

Geralt finishes plating the jelly donuts to put in his pastry display, setting them down beside the Christmas cookies, before he wipes his hands off on his apron and ambles over to them. Jaskier slams his phone face down on the table and looks up, folding his hands.

Eskel shoots him a bright grin.

Geralt scowls. “What trouble are you two causing now?”

“Trouble? Us? I can’t even begin to tell you how offended I am,” Jaskier says, a hand dramatically clapped to his chest.

Eskel suppresses a snort. “Did you bring us donuts?”

“You’re going to eat me right out of business,” he says, but he plunks a plate down, anyway.

-

“Right, right. And you’re okay with that? Amazing, I’ll keep you updated. Thank you!” Jaskier trills into his phone as Geralt closes the door to their apartment behind him, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“Who was that?”

Jaskier stirs a pot on the stove and beams at Geralt. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“You know I hate it when you say that.”

Jaskier ignores the comment. “Tell me what this needs,” he says instead, holding out a spoon.

Geralt comes closer, inhaling the scent of garlic bread from the stove. He takes the spoon and tastes the sauce, humming thoughtfully. “I think it’s fine.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why I even bother. You’d eat anything I slopped onto your plate.”

“Yes, and you’re welcome.”

Jaskier winds his arms around Geralt and catches his lips in a kiss. Geralt’s still not sure how he managed to get this lucky, but he’s not complaining. They’ve been living together for about a year now, ever since Jaskier had essentially announced he was moving in. 

Well, he didn’t put it like that, exactly. He’d said, “My lease is up in a month, and I really don’t want to look for another place. If only there was a solution,” before draping himself over Geralt’s lap on the couch dramatically.

Who was Geralt to tell him no? He’s had a poor track record, historically.

Maybe that’s why, later, with his head on Jaskier’s chest as he absentmindedly curls his fingers around Jaskier’s chest hair, he only looks a little disgruntled when Jaskier asks him if they can get a cat.

“Come on, darling, it’s the holiday season.” Jaskier bats his eyes at Geralt.

Geralt grunts and shuts his eyes, wrapping an arm around Jaskier and pulling him closer.

Well, Jaskier thinks, it’s as good as a yes.

Jaskier gets off the elevator and looks around furtively before he waves Eskel off. There’s an indignant mewl as the carrier pitches to one side, and Jaskier hisses at Eskel to be more careful. Jaskier hefts his tote bag up higher on his shoulder and looks at his watch.

“Geralt is going to be home in an hour, so we don’t have much time,” he says, swinging open the door.

He was honestly only a little taken aback to see Geralt sitting in their recliner, because nothing can ever go right.

“What are you doing home?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier gives a nervous laugh.

“This is Duchess,” he says with a flourish. “Just look at her, and I promise you won’t be able to stay mad.”

Geralt turns a betrayed look to Eskel. “You knew?”

“Geralt, it was on the shelter’s Facebook page that she needed a quiet and calm home. You’re the quietest and calmest person I know!”

“Serendipity? It sure seems like it,” Jaskier chimes in.

Geralt rolls his eyes and slowly stands up, walking towards them and peering into the cat carrier. “She seems a little standoffish, so I think you’ll really just be two peas in a pod,” Eskel says, and Geralt glares at him.

Eskel goes to open the carrier, but Jaskier stops him. “Wait! I read that we should introduce her to new spaces slowly so she doesn’t get overwhelmed!”

Geralt and Eskel stare at him for a beat. “God, you’re such a nerd,” Eskel says.

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, but he did devote about four hours to research last night, so he’s not sure he has much of a leg to stand on.

“You’re going to love her,” he says to Geralt, instead.

Geralt huffs. Jaskier’s sure he’ll come around.

-

In the end, it turns out that it takes longer for Duchess to warm up to Geralt than the other way around, not that Geralt would ever admit it. When Jaskier comes home three days later, it’s to see Geralt’s legs sticking out from under their bed, trying to coax Duchess into coming out.

“Geralt?”

Geralt jerks up, hitting his head and cursing, sending Duchess in a black streak across the floor. Jaskier holds back a snicker. “Did you have a good day?”

“It was fine.”

“Uh huh. Not spoiled by a certain kitten who won’t let you pet her?”

Geralt slowly slides out from under the bed before sitting up and crossing his arms. Jaskier tries to contain his smirk at Geralt’s pout. 

“No.”

“Right. How was work?”

Geralt brightens at the prospect of talking about the cafe. “I made a new blend today."

"Oh?"

"Even Lambert admitted it was good."

"You know it was amazing then," Jaskier says in a sing song voice. "Did you bring me any?"

Geralt quirks a smile at him. "You want old coffee?"

Jaskier shrugs.

Geralt sighs. "It's in the fridge, you animal."

"Thank you, love." Jaskier grins and bounces off to retrieve it. He finds it in the door of their refrigerator, with a heart on it. Jaskier’s sure Eskel teased Geralt about it relentlessly. 

He dumps it into a pot on the stovetop to heat it up, because Geralt will have a coronary if he just nukes it. When it's just the right side of warm, he dumps it back into the cup.

He makes sure to drink it with the heart facing out and pretends he doesn't notice Geralt's tiny smile.

"How did the donut making go today?"

"Good. Sure as fuck beats making cut outs."

Jaskier tosses him a hopeful glance.

"They're in the microwave."

Jaskier dashes back out to the kitchen, Duchess darting out from under the bed to trail him. Geralt frowns at them both.

-

By the end of week two, it's as if Duchess has always been with them. Geralt went through the first week terrified he was somehow going to fuck her up, but it has mostly worn off. He's resigned to the fact that she's never going to leave him alone now, as evidenced by the insistent kneading on Geralt’s chest that wakes him up. He groans and turns over, dislodging Duchess from his torso. She gives him an indignant mrp, and he pulls a pillow over his head. “Jaskier, go feed your damn cat.”

Duchess moves on from Geralt to walk over Jaskier’s face, and Jaskier makes a disgruntled noise before he clambors out of bed.

Geralt tries to go back to sleep to no avail. He grumbles to himself. He wakes up early enough as it is to get food in the ovens and the coffee brewing before his shop opens; he certainly doesn’t need to be getting up any earlier than that.

There’s the clinking of cat food pouring into a bowl and then Jaskier is stumbling back into bed. He tugs Geralt close, leaning in to give him a kiss, but Geralt puts a hand on his chest. “You just had cat feet all over your face. I know exactly where those paws have been.”

As if on cue, Duchess scratches around in her litter box, and Jaskier sighs.

Jaskier burrows back into the blankets, putting his cold feet on Geralt. Geralt’s alarm goes off a few minutes later, and Geralt heaves himself about of bed, much to Jaskier’s mumbled protest. Geralt is sure he’s just upset because his feet are still cold. Geralt tugs the pillow out from under Jaskier on his way out, giving him a soft whack. “Love you,” Geralt grunts.

Jaskier takes the pillow and hugs it to his chest, giving Geralt a sour look. “I love you, too, you menace.”

Geralt gives Jaskier a private grin and goes about his morning routine, practically feeling Jaskier’s eyes burning into his back.

“See something you like?”

“You know I do.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on, Geralt. You don't even work today."

And that... is compelling. Geralt had completely forgotten Eskel was going to run things today, giving him the day off for once for the last day of Hannakuh. Jaskier tugs him back onto the bed and pulls him into a sound kiss.

They're interrupted by an indignant yowling, and Geralt pulls away to stare at Duchess with dismay. "Is she going to do this every time?"

Jaskier shudders. "God, I hope not. This is why we don't have kids, Geralt! I'm not prepared to give up my sex life!"

Geralt blinks; it's way too early for Jaskier to be discussing having children with him.

"Hmm. Is that the only reason?"

Jaskier pauses, his hands tangling in the tassels on their blanket. "I don't know, is it?"

Geralt shrugs. "I'm—amiable."

"Amiable? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Do you want kids?"

Geralt feels like he's stripping himself bare, but it's not as uncomfortable as he would have imagined when Jaskier is the one he's doing it for.

"I can...imagine it."

"Yeah?" Jaskier asks softly, tilting his head up to look at Geralt.

"Yeah."

Duchess chooses that moment to jump up on the bed between them, making Jaskier laugh and stroke his hand through her fur, a fond look on his face that makes Geralt melt just a little.

Duchess moves on from Jaskier to climb into Geralt's lap, and after she gives him a little headbutt and hops off of his lap as well, Jaskier pulls him up.

"Come on, let's play dreidel. I'm going to beat you this time."

Geralt rolls his eyes. "Not a chance."

Geralt lets Jaskier pull him into their living room, and Geralt drapes a blanket around his shoulders as Jaskier putters around making them coffee. Geralt is sure it will be way too weak; but he'll drink it anyway. He's content to just have someone besides him make it for once.

Jaskier comes back with two mugs and hands one to Geralt.

"Thank you," Geralt says, taking a sip.

"Okay?" Jaskier asks, like he does every time.

"Perfect," Geralt replies, like he does every time.

Jaskier beams and retrieves the top from their side table. "I'm serious, I'm going to win."

Geralt hums, unimpressed. He gets up to go find their chocolate coins they use for the betting pool. Geralt finds them in the cupboard, rolling his eyes fondly as he notices there are definitely less of them remaining than there were the last time they played.

Geralt returns, and they start playing, the game going on for a while before Jaskier gets frustrated.

The dreidel finally stops spinning, falling on its side with a gentle clunk, and Geralt slowly looks up from it to grin at Jaskier.

Jaskier crosses his arms across his chest and pouts. “This is entirely unfair that you’re so good at this. This is a game of luck!”

Geralt hums as he finishes pulling in all of the gelt on the table closer to him. “It’s not. Heart of the dreidel.”

“I never should have made you watch Yugi-Oh with me,” Jaskier huffs. “Well, in that case, it’s even worse. You’re going to share with me, right?” He scoots his chair closer to Geralt until he’s practically in his lap.

Geralt picks up one of the chocolates and tilts it in his fingers, admiring the way the wrapper catches the light. “Hmm. I’m not sure about that.”

He peels the gold foil off, popping the gelt into his mouth. Jaskier makes an injured sound, and Geralt tugs him completely into his lap. “I might be persuaded,” he murmurs and presses his lips to Jaskier’s.