Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
18: Operation Trick or Treat Hearts
Coming of Age Sex Story: 18: Operation Trick or Treat Hearts - Bharath always thought going to America would mean fast love, wild parties, and maybe a stewardess or two. What he got instead? A busted duffel bag, a crying baby on the plane, and dormmates he never thought could exist in real life. Thrown into the chaos of Georgia Tech’s freshman year, Bharath begins an unforgettable journey of awkward first crushes and culture shocks. A slow-burn, emotionally rich harem romance set in the nostalgic 90s—full of laughter, lust, and longing.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Fiction Humor School Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Female Hispanic Female Indian Female
The high of the Georgia Tech victory had finally started to mellow as evening crept in. The golden hue of the sunset spilled across Sarah’s living room, where scattered cushions and half-empty soda cans marked the territory of a day well spent.
Inside, everyone was doing their own thing now - the chaos giving way to little domestic rituals. Camila was painting her toenails on the floor, her Discman headphones plugged in and her head nodding to some deep house mix. Marisol was cleaning up in the kitchen with Sarah trailing behind her, the two of them occasionally giggling like co-conspirators. Jorge had taken over the stereo, gently flipping through tapes looking for something not overly romantic but still vibe-worthy. The room pulsed with soft bass and safe familiarity.
“I’m starving,” Tyrel groaned from the couch, arms splayed out like he’d just finished running drills. “Didn’t realize football could make a man hungry from watching.”
“We should grab dinner,” Ravi said, standing up and stretching with a loud pop. “And I’m not talking about Sarah’s leftover hummus.”
Jorge grabbed his jacket. “Rocky Mountain Pizza?”
“Obviously,” Tyrel said. “It’s practically illegal to live near Tech and not go at least once a week.”
Bharath stood slowly, already reaching for his shoes. “I’ll come. Let me just grab my wallet.”
“Leave it,” Ravi grinned. “You’re a war hero and a romantic legend now. This one’s on us.”
Tyrel clapped a hand on Bharath’s shoulder with exaggerated solemnity. “This is how it begins. First he gets the girl. Then he gets free pizza. Next thing you know, he’s George P. Burdell, and then the president of the university.”
“I still don’t understand how it happened,” Ravi muttered as they stepped outside. “You just ... snatched Sarah from the jaws of destiny.”
“The jaws of destiny?” Bharath laughed.
“I was working on a long-term strategy, man!” Ravi said. “I had jokes. I had playlists. I was gonna let her win at Scrabble next week.”
“You’ve never let anyone win at Scrabble,” Jorge said, impressed.
“Exactly! That’s how serious I was!”
The air outside was cool and crisp, that perfect early-fall Atlanta evening. The city buzzed faintly in the distance, but their corner of it felt like a secret. They walked in a loose line down the sidewalk, their shadows long under the amber glow of the streetlights.
“Ravi’s not wrong,” Tyrel added, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I mean, I had a playlist too. It had Aaliyah, Tracy Chapman, and one Babyface song. That’s how you know it was real.”
“You know she doesn’t like any of those artists right?” opined Bharath knowledgeably.
“Oh my God,” Jorge groaned. “You two actually thought you had a shot?”
“O bhai, she let me carry her chem lab kit once,” Ravi said, dead serious. “That’s girlfriend behavior.”
“She laughed at my Tupac impersonation,” Tyrel countered. “That’s soul mate territory.”
Bharath snorted. “Guys...”
“No, no,” Ravi interrupted dramatically. “Let us grieve. A goddess walked among us, and one man-one humble man-got chosen instead.”
Jorge rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like Sarah’s dating Shiva.”
“He might as well be!” Tyrel threw his hands up. “The man’s got abs now. He’s got curls. He saved her from muggers. Has a scar. And he cooks. You want me to compete with that?”
Bharath rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “I figured this was coming.”
“You think?” Jorge said. “You dropped a bomb on us and then handed us pancakes like that made it normal.”
They all laughed, but it wasn’t bitter. The mock drama faded into something softer-an undercurrent of affection, curiosity, and the kind of honesty boys only allow under stars and streetlights.
“Alright,” Tyrel said, nudging him. “Real talk. What did happen?”
Bharath exhaled. “Okay. So ... that night at the MARTA station-the mugging? You know most of it. But what you don’t know is that Sarah wasn’t just being mugged. She was running from something. Or rather, someone.”
They stopped talking.
“She’d just escaped a ... really bad situation,” Bharath continued. “Abusive ex. Manipulative. Controlling. She had no one left. No ride, no wallet, no friends. She was ready to give up-and I mean really give up. If we hadn’t shown up ... I don’t know what would’ve happened.”
Tyrel let out a long, low whistle.
Ravi’s jaw tightened. “Damn.”
“We stayed with her that night,” Bharath went on. “We didn’t know her. But something just ... clicked. Marisol could see it. She knew Sarah didn’t need someone to swoop in and fix her. She needed someone to just... see her. Not take. Not pity. Just see.”
“And you were that someone?” Jorge asked.
“I guess we both were,” Bharath said. “Marisol saw her pain. I felt it too. We weren’t trying to start something. We took it slow. She needed time. Space. A real foundation.”
Tyrel nodded slowly. “And now it’s the three of you.”
“It just happened,” Bharath said. “We stayed over more in the last couple of months. We talked. We healed. And somewhere in that mess ... we realized we weren’t just helping her. We were falling for her. And she was falling right back.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Ravi muttered with comic despair, “I curse the day I didn’t drop Marisol at the MARTA station.”
Jorge burst out laughing.
Tyrel smacked Ravi lightly on the back of the head in acknowledgement. “Same. That could’ve been us, bro. We were right there.”
“You two would’ve scared her off,” Jorge said, shaking his head. “Ravi would’ve opened with a chess joke. Tyrel would’ve played his gangster rap mixtape on a boombox. And would either of you have have tried to stop the mugging unarmed?”
“Yea ... probably not,” mumbled Tyrel as Ravi shook his head regretfully.
“Well there you go. You dropping Marisol would have only left us with no Sarah. At least this way Sarah lives thanks to Atlanta Batman,” claimed Jorge confidently.
They were all laughing now, walking again, the easy rhythm of camaraderie taking over. There was no resentment. Only awe. And the slight sting of watching someone else get there first.
“But for real,” Ravi said, softer now. “You guys look good together. All three of you. It’s weird. But it works.”
Bharath smiled, grateful. “Thanks. It’s weird for us too sometimes. But yeah ... it works.”
They reached the warm neon glow of Rocky Mountain Pizza, the familiar scent of oregano, garlic, and melted cheese already curling out to meet them.
Inside, they ordered two giant pies-one loaded with pepperoni, mushrooms, and sausage, the other piled high with olives, bell peppers, onions, and spinach. Tyrel asked for extra ranch. Jorge got nostalgic about garlic knots. Ravi demanded a liter of Coke and a side of peace for his broken heart.
By the time they left, the warmth of the pizza boxes seeped through their jackets, and the weight in the air had lifted.
They walked back in full camaraderie-four boys bound not just by shared classes or dorm walls anymore, but by something deeper.
By the strange, stupid, beautiful luck of being young and alive and exactly where they needed to be.
The door shut behind the boys with a faint click, and for a moment, the house seemed to exhale - the kind of soft sigh a home gives when its volume drops from chaos to comfort.
Sarah wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and leaned against the counter, watching Marisol pour the last of the coffee into three mismatched mugs. The soft hum of a cassette tape played from the living room - Jorge’s choice, a jazzier one tonight, mellow and winding. Outside, faint laughter drifted back in from the sidewalk, Tyrel already cracking jokes.
Camila wandered into the kitchen barefoot, her curls still damp from a shower, wearing an oversized GT hoodie that may or may not have once belonged to Jorge.
She took the offered mug and perched on a stool.
“So,” she said after a long sip. “You guys gonna explain what the hell is going on, or do I have to wait for the Lifetime movie adaptation?”
Marisol smirked. “You mean with us and Bharath?”
Camila raised both eyebrows. “Oh, is that all? The two of you madly in love with the same dude, and him being completely into it - that’s all?”
Sarah chuckled softly but didn’t meet Camila’s eyes. She was staring into her cup like it held more than coffee.
“I thought it was a fantasy,” she said quietly.
Camila’s teasing smile faded a little.
Sarah continued. “When I stayed here after the ... mugging. I didn’t think I’d stay. I thought I’d sleep a few nights, disappear, maybe try to figure out my life again.”
Marisol came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her chin on Sarah’s shoulder. “But you didn’t disappear.”
“No,” Sarah whispered. “Because they saw me. Really saw me. Not the broken girl. Not the girl with a past. Just ... me.”
Camila set her mug down, gently. “You told me a little. That night we stayed up. But I didn’t know it was that bad.”
Sarah nodded. “It was. I actually haven’t been able to tell the worst of what happened yet. Not even to Bharath and Marisol. Maybe someday I will be in a good enough headspace to come clean. There were nights I didn’t think I’d make it to the next morning.”
The silence in the room thickened like honey. Not uncomfortable - just heavy with truth.
“But then this man,” Sarah said with a small smile, “this boy, really - he looked at me like I was something worth saving. Worth holding. And not because he wanted anything back.”
Marisol’s voice was soft but certain. “He didn’t even know what to want. Not in that way. He just ... gives. All heart. No question.”
Camila leaned forward. “But how did you - I mean ... Marisol. You’re with him. You were with him?”
Marisol met her eyes. “I still am. That doesn’t change. What changed was ... seeing Sarah. Seeing how she looked at him. And how he looked back.”
Sarah spoke again, tears glinting in her eyes now. “I didn’t expect it. I didn’t want it. I fought it, even. But the way he touched me - not just my body, but my spirit. I started feeling like I wasn’t just surviving. I was living again.”
Camila bit her lip, nodding slowly. “You two make it sound so ... sacred.”
“It is,” Marisol said without hesitation. “It’s messy, yeah. And complicated. But it’s real.”
Camila studied them both - Sarah, trembling but glowing. Marisol, fierce and protective even in her stillness.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” she said finally. “Either of you. It’s like you’re ... softer. But stronger.”
Sarah smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Because we have each other. And him. And even you. All of you - this whole strange, stupid, beautiful group. I didn’t have anyone before. Now I wake up in his arms, and I fall asleep knowing she’s watching over both of us.”
Marisol kissed Sarah’s cheek gently. “We’re still figuring it out. Every day. But that night - after the mugging - something changed in all of us. We didn’t fall into this. We chose it. And we keep choosing it.”
Camila blinked a few times, then stood up and walked around the counter.
Without a word, she wrapped both women in a tight hug - warm, fierce, unfiltered.
“I don’t get it,” she murmured. “Not completely. But I see it. And if it makes you both glow like this ... then I’m with you.”
They stood like that for a long moment, holding each other in the soft hum of the house, in the breath between chaos and sleep.
Finally, Sarah whispered into Camila’s hoodie, “We’re going to need your help.”
“With what?” Camila asked.
Marisol smirked. “We need two hot, emotionally mature, Halloween-party-ready women. Like ... yesterday.”
Camila groaned. “Oh God. Is this about Ravi and Tyrel?”
“They’re panicking,” Sarah said with a sly grin.
“And making terrible costume decisions,” Marisol added.
But Sarah didn’t laugh right away. Her smile softened, the lines around her mouth settling into something more reflective. She looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of the dish towel between her fingers.
“They’re good guys,” she said quietly. “Both of them.”
Camila blinked. “Obviously. Just ... incredibly dumb sometimes.”
“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head a little. “I mean it. They never had a real shot with me, not really. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t try with heart. They showed up. Made me laugh when I didn’t think I could. Looked out for me in their own silly, awkward ways.”
Marisol stepped in beside her, sensing the shift. “You don’t owe them anything, Sarah.”
“I know,” Sarah said. “And I don’t feel guilty for choosing what’s right for me. For us. But I still care. I want them to find someone who sees them the way I get to see you two. Who sees past the jokes and the bravado and gets how much heart they’re hiding.”
Camila tilted her head, touched. “You mean matchmaking out of love, not pity.”
Sarah nodded. “Exactly. They deserve more than just being the punchline to their own flirting disasters. They deserve something real.”
Marisol reached over and squeezed her hand. “Then we find someone who sees that. Who sees them.”
Camila sighed and picked up her coffee again, her lips curving into something thoughtful. “Well damn. Now I actually want this plan to work.”
Sarah smiled, the melancholy lifting a little. “They’re good men. It’d be nice if someone else saw it too.”
“Alright,” Camila said, mock-resigned. “Operation Trick or Treat Hearts has officially gained moral weight.”
Marisol groaned. “That name is terrible.”
Camila smirked. “And yet now we’re stuck with it.”
The boys came back with food with no apparent distress between them. Bharath and Sarah shared a look that made her feel glad. Tyrel and Ravi were ok.
Later, as the girls excused themselves to the living room, the faint sound of the boys shouting about Tekken echoed through the house.
Sarah leaned against the counter, warmth in her eyes. “They have no idea what we’re planning. Now that Camila is involved we should hopefully be successful.”
Camila sighed deeply and pulled away just enough to grab her coffee.
“Fine. But if either of them shows up dressed like Austin Powers, I’m out.”
The house had emptied out in a slow, laughter-filled exodus. Leftover soda cans, mismatched socks, and empty pizza boxes were all that remained of the chaos. Camila had kissed them all on the cheek before vanishing with Jorge. Tyrel had belted out an off-key verse of No Scrubs as he and Ravi disappeared down the street, still arguing about the best pickup line for a psychology major.
And now, finally, it was quiet.
The kind of quiet that felt serene.
Marisol curled up on the couch with her legs tucked under her, a blanket over her lap. Sarah sat beside her, leaning into her warmth. Bharath stood by the window, arms crossed as he watched the street fade into night, the last of the tail lights disappearing down the road.
He turned back to them. “You ever think about what happens when the music stops?”
Marisol raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“This,” he said, motioning vaguely around them. “Us. The group. The laughter. What happens when real life kicks in?”
Sarah sighed. “You mean her mom.”
Marisol groaned and buried her face in the throw pillow. “God. Don’t say her name like she’s Beetlejuice.”
“I’m serious,” Bharath said, sitting down. “She’s your mom. I’m not ... Latino. I’m not Catholic. And I’m definitely not someone she imagined you bringing home - let alone with another woman.”
Marisol pulled the blanket tighter. “Yeah. She’s gonna lose it.”
“Does she even know about me?” Sarah asked quietly.
“No,” Marisol said. “She’s still trying to wrap her head around me dating an Indian boy. Who doesn’t speak Spanish. And who doesn’t eat meat. I love her, but she clings to culture and religion like it’s a life raft.”
Bharath rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to make things harder.”
“I know,” Marisol said gently, reaching for his hand. “You just ... exist. And that alone is complicated in this world.”
Sarah watched them, her fingers absently toying with the hem of the blanket. “What about Mia?” she asked softly.
Marisol let out a long breath. “Mia’s case ... is harder.”
Bharath blinked. “Harder than your mom?”
“She’s not judgmental,” Marisol said, “just... attentive. Too attentive. And, lately, weirdly curious.”
Sarah smirked. “You mean she has a thing for him.”
Marisol looked at her. “She definitely has a thing for him.”
Bharath let out a groan, leaning his head back against the couch. “Please no. Don’t tell me your bombshell little sister has a crush on me.”
Marisol elbowed him. “Don’t call her a bombshell.”
“She is,” Sarah said, raising a hand. “Confirmed. I’ve seen the photos on your fridge.”
“Et tu, Brutus?” Marisol muttered.
Bharath laughed, dragging a hand down his face. “What am I supposed to do? Pretend she’s invisible?”
“Yes,” both girls said in unison.
He groaned again.
Sarah slid closer, her fingers slipping under his shirt, dragging along his side. “Maybe we should remind you why you don’t need to look at anyone else.”
Marisol’s eyes gleamed, her voice low and teasing. “You think about anyone else when we’re here?”
Bharath blinked. “It was just-she’s your sister! I wasn’t-”
Marisol straddled his lap in one slow, fluid motion, silencing him with her weight and her lips brushing his jaw. “Too late. You said it.”
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