#I've thought about this after not thinking for long time

[fatuismooches]

Dottore and his segments get a taste of their own medicine after giving you a job of your own. (In other words, you ignore their need for attention in favor of your work, they get pouty, just like you did.)

As of late, a peculiar sight had made its way into the lab. Actually, peculiar wasn't even strong enough of a word for the agents to use. They had nearly tripped over their feet once they saw the new area of their working quarters in the lab.

In addition to their Lord Harbinger's desk (that was shared amongst the segments depending on the day), there was now another desk on the opposite side of the room, and the cute decorations on it were quite noticeable. Photo frames and stationery. A comfortable and plush chair with a blanket that dropped over it.

... A plushie version of the Harbinger that laid on Dottore's desk, commissioned by you to motivate him.

(A side thought - the number of desks the Doctor had was something to wonder about. One in the lab, one in the office, one in the bedroom - no wonder things were always scattered around the place. But that was something for another day...)

And most importantly, you, Dottore's spouse, standing next to their Lord, rocking back on your heels nervously as he introduced you as their new co-worker.

—

It all began when you approached your husband with a very simple request.

"Dottie, I want a job!" You said with enthusiasm, smile as wide and proud as ever. The scientist paused his work and turned to look at you with a blank expression.

"... A job, you say?" You only puffed your chest out more at his confirmation.

"Yes, a job. I mean, being your lover is already a lot of work for my poor back, but I want to actually work with you! With your research and stuff, like the old days!" Your excitement was completely serious and were it not for your health, it would have been infectious for the scholar. Rarely did he ever meet anyone who was truly interested in his work. But of course, certain restrictions have held you back for a long time now.

"We've already been over this. My work is too dangerous for you," the Doctor sighed as he turned back around to continue whatever he was doing.

"I know, I know, but I meant other kinds of stuff. I've been thinking like... a desk job! It doesn't have to be anything dangerous! I could... sort papers for you? Oh, and you have one of those fancy stamps, right? I could stamp them too! I could rewrite your notes... ah, and the best part - I could help you write reports too! You always liked my essays, didn't you?" You were doing your best to provide Dottore with a convincing case, snuggling up against his firm back. Only another sigh escaped your husband, not really that convinced.

"Come on..." you inhaled his familiar scent, tinged with that laboratory smell that never seemed to go away, but somehow brought comfort to you. "I've been so bored lately... and lonely," you muttered the last part pointedly. "I just want some work to take my mind off things!"

Indeed, there was always limited entertainment and pastimes to occupy yourself with. It was especially boring on days you couldn't get out of bed, or when no segment could afford you attention...

"And you know what, I could give those agents of yours some writing tips, too!"

Yes, there had been many times his employees were not up to his standards, despite how many of them fawned over him (for some odd reason)...

"And I'll be helping you too! It's good for everyone."

Of course, you always felt rather good about yourself if you managed to help him, being the Second Harbinger and all...

"I suppose I shall give it some thought-" Before the man could finish his sentence you started squeezing him tightly while hopping in delight.

"Oh, thank you! So, when do I start? Do I get one of your huge desks too?"

"I didn't say yes yet, darling."

"Shh... we both know what you mean!"

—

And that was how you now clocked in at "work" every day with the agents (later than normal, but you had special privileges.) It was daunting at first for the poor souls, even the ones who secretly admired you from afar (being in the fan club and all.) Even though initially you were merely sorting papers, you were the most important person in that room.

However, soon enough, going to work in this dreary lab became a lot more cheery thanks to your sweet demeanor. Somehow, the atmosphere had become a lot less tense since the last time the segments visited.

The agents had little to no problem speaking to you like a normal person, after you had graciously given them tips on impressing the Harbinger.

"Psst..." you were hovering behind an unsuspecting agent, reading the report she had for Dottore, who jumped at your whisper. "You know, he might click his tongue if you give him that." Although her mask covered her face, you could see that half surprised at how you popped out of nowhere, and half agreeing with your words. Perhaps she felt comfortable enough to spill the situation to you.

"I-I am well aware of that," she deeply sighed, "but no matter what I write, my Lord always seems to be unsatisfied..." You patted her shoulder in sympathy. Having worked with Dottore since the Akademiya days, you knew very well of his distaste for certain things.

"Well, that's why I was hired, friend! To make his and your life easier! See, look here, that's a no-no, he wouldn't appreciate those details, mhm, but this needs to be elaborated on more, uh huh..." Of course, being the good spouse and employee you were, the report was converted into the best one that had ever landed on the Doctor's desk.

On your lunch break, they provided you with some juicy gossip about anything they could get their hands on (the fan club had long reaches, apparently.) Frequently you had to debunk things about Dottore... (the handbook was swiftly revised.)

Needless to say, things seemed to be going well. You looked happier. Motivated. Having new "friends" as your company (that still watched their mouth around you after a single glance from the segments.)

However... an issue arose after a while. One that seemed entirely stupid and impossible.

Now that you were so caught up in your work, when the segments finally had some spare time to come to you, they were... rejected. Yes, they had come to you, fully expecting your devoted attention and kisses that you always gave them without hesitation, but now turned away. (Even more embarrassing, sometimes in front of the agents who kept their eyes glued to their strange chemicals.)

—

It was Omega, of all segments, who was turned away first. The most confident and charming of the bunch left uncharacteristically silent. He had come up behind you and traced his hands against your neck, always being the one who had no shame in touching you. You only softly giggled at the sensation and caught his hand in yours.

"It seems you've been busy for a while, dear." In truth, it was mostly you seeking him out and not vice versa, but the segment hadn't seen you invading his office in a while. The space had gotten too quiet without you.

"Mhm! But I can't imagine how much work you do. My desk is nowhere as cluttered as yours," you smiled as you felt the segment kiss your lashes.

"What do you say to a break with me?" Omega offered, already knowing what your eager response would be.

"Nah, I can't right now."

...

Your words took a few seconds to process through his head.

"Pardon?"

"I have all this work, 'Mega, and other people need my help," you shrugged your shoulders as you swung your legs. "But don't worry. I'm sure we can spend some time later!" You kissed him on the cheek and pulled your chair in before continuing your work.

Omega, the greatest segment, was reduced to a blankly staring man who had been deprived of his lover's attention for the first time.

He was irritable for the rest of the day.

—

Beta was next, the poor thing.

You were always the one he blew off steam to, always willing to listen about his gripes and complaints, offering him consolation in the form of kisses and soft words.

However, you hadn't come to visit in so long, the segment was all pent up and now the agents were beginning to fall victim to him.

Fine then - he'd seek you out. Not because he needed you or missed you or anything of the sort. You were just... halting his progress with the lack of your presence. Yes, that was it.

And so the scientist, donning his grand pink bow tie, swung by your desk.

"So this is where you've been? How boring." Beta was not a segment that you'd want to do paperwork. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Ah, Beta!" You brightened in delight at seeing one of your lovers. "I missed you!" At least you were always honest about your feelings.

... But to cut a long story short, Beta faced the same conundrum that Omega did.

Someone got turned into a floating Ruin Machine that day.

—

By now all the segments had experienced being turned away from work. Alpha's signature scowl had become permanent. Zandy was pouting the whole day as he missed his parent. Foxttore kept to himself with a pathetic sopping wet eye. His segments were fighting with each other inside his mind, a great nuisance.

All because you were too absorbed with your work to pay them any attention.

... The Doctor was now realizing that it sounded like a very familiar tune sung by you. So this was what you felt for days on end? Now, it was easier for him to understand why you were always upset if you were ignored too much.

Still, it was mortifyingly embarrassing that his segments were reduced to this pitiful state just because you rejected cuddles a few times. Regardless, it was up to him to solve the issue. After all... he missed you too. He wanted you to be around him more often again.

And so the Doctor made his way to his beloved.

There you were, all cozy on your seat as you sorted through some papers. Really, he had no clue you'd be this productive, to be honest. At least it was proof that your health hadn't gotten worse, considering how well you were handling this.

"Aren't you the one who kept saying to take breaks?" His voice made you jump a bit, having not heard him walk up.

"It's you, Dottie! I was wondering when you'd come around. And of course, I take breaks, Dottore. I have lunch with the other agents!" Ah, another party that's been hogging your attention.

"You know, this job has been pretty fun, Dottore! Everyone's real nice, we make jokes, I get to write about interesting things..." You continued to go on about the research and while usually he'd be intrigued by your findings, this time he had enough.

Dottore picked you up like a long cat as you squealed from the sudden grasping.

"What are you doing?!"

"You're coming with me," was his cut and dry response as he lifted you into his arms.

"B-But I have to work on the big report for Pantalone!" Dottore's eye twitched at the mention of the banker.

"Someone else can."

"But I-"

"I'm not listening to anything you say further," he plainly said as he walked with you cuddled into his chest as you gawked at him.

Could he be... jealous? A wee bit lonely? You kept your guesses to yourself as he eventually bought you back to his room and laid you on his bed, not even saying anything to you before sitting at his desk.

Did he simply miss your presence that much? You felt a bit bad neglecting your lovers that much. But to be fair, they kinda did the same... sometimes. You got up to console your silly husband, who was just a man in your hands.

"Hey... I missed you too, dear husband... but I had to make sure no one stole the title of best assistant from me!" Dottore only sighed at your foolishness.

Of course no one could ever replace you.

"I know you'd rather die than admit it... but don't worry. You're lucky I'm sensitive to your feelings," you teased as you kissed the top of his mask. "I'll pay more attention to you and the segments, before they cause another headache for you, love. You'll give me some vacation time off, right?"

You laughed at your own joke before Dottore pulled you into his lap, biting down hard on your neck.

—

"Beloved, would you care to join me in discussing your work?"

"You fool, they're obviously coming to my lab to activate a new Ruin Machine."

"But [Name] is supposed to play with me today!!"

"As if, they're far too busy to join you all with your silly games."

"You all will stress them out with this arguing. Now, why don't you join me instead for a cup of coffee instead?"

"Grr, gr gr, grr!"

It was good to be loved so deeply.

[mrfancyfoot]

Today I logged into facebook for the first time in nearly 4 years and went through every profile in my friends list (like ~300) and purged out all the assholes (anyone who openly voted for Trump, other conservatives, and those who I strongly believe did). I've done this before so there weren't many but there are a number that have been wishy-washy with being outward in their bigotry and it helps me keep a mental list of people that deserve only the most very basic level of respect that I can muster because they certainly do not respect me nor people I care about nor many of their fellow human beings. Most disheartening is seeing friends and family who continue to put effort into engaging with people who argue in bad faith and weaponized ignorance.

I dated a man for nearly a year who went to women's and pro-choice rallies and liberal groups with me and said many times that he "was on my side" but turned out to be lying the whole time because he knew I definitely wouldn't date him otherwise. I'd known him for years before since we ran in the same friend circle. I wasn't the only one he had fooled. He slowly lifted the mask until we were constantly arguing because of his bigoted and racist remarks. His favorite thing to do was act oppressed and show me the most obvious Russian propaganda that he would get upset at me for fact-checking and asking for real sources. He wanted to argue, so what he hated most was when I refused to argue with him. Nothing I said was going to change his mind, so I wasn't going to humor or tolerate it (we didn't last long after that point, but by that time, I was afraid of leaving without an excuse that would be "good enough" for him). He legitimately wants civil war so that he can play survival hero and feel validated in his hatred. It didn't come on quickly and a lot of the comments started as "odd" off the cuff things through the time that we dated. He was very much pretending to be a kind person and once really called out, that pretense dropped. He thought I was more like him and that a lot of my regard and kindness for others is "fake." Because that's what a lot of people like that do - they fake being kind for optics, they are not actually kind people, and therefore presume that everyone else is doing the same thing. It's given me major trust issues.

Can't say this enough: these people feel validation in their bigotry when you continue to associate with them. They need to be dropped. They need to learn that their shitty beliefs mean that they get shunned. Make them feel uncomfortable. Quit tiptoeing around and coddling their delicate little feelings because they might get upset. It's okay for them to get upset because someone was mean and told them they don't like them because they think gay and trans people shouldn't exist. I once made a post about how a raped 11 year old child should never be expected to give birth, was told that it was "god's will" and like 5 people piled on the guy so badly he told us to stop being "mean" to him and was terrified to talk to me at work ever again (I have since cut all ties and no longer work with him). I'm personally extremely tired of playing nice for the sake of possibly "converting" someone - especially because you can be polite in telling someone to fuck off with their beliefs. Their beliefs are dangerous, are going to result in people losing their lives, and a frightening number of them are completely okay with that. We need to stop being tolerant of intolerance. It is okay to cut people (including family) from your life when all their presence does is bring you stress and harm.

In a similar vain, don't let the people who chose not to vote (or "protest voted") stick their heads in the sand to escape blame. They are just as culpable as anyone else who directly voted for Trump and other conservatives. They need to grow the fuck up.

For a lot of liberals, it's really uncomfortable to be confrontational and feel like you're being intolerant of someone, but it's way past time to play hardball and call them out instead of coddling them, especially as we're going into the holiday season where many of us will be seeing family with shitty views and targeted family that may need someone to stand up for them. Let them know they're shitty and inappropriate and a disappointment and unworthy of your regard because they certainly lack it for others. Obviously still be safe, but many of us very likely aren't losing anything of value in that scenario. Not having bigoted family members in my life in any way has made me so much happier.

A helpful tip to those who may find themselves in a confrontation: do not stay engaged. Let your views be known and then disengage. Because many of them love to argue and feel like they're defending themselves (many are addicted to those feelings of hatred and overcoming "oppression"), what they don't like is being ignored and feeling like you're rinsing your hands of them. They don't deserve your stress and constant efforts. There are ways to open a dialogue when they are willing to discuss civilly with an open mind, but if they bring intolerance, just shut it down.

(via jhig8bd0cczd1.png (PNG Image, 744 × 810 pixels))

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Blurred Lines

jenna ortega x female reader

summary: You and Jenna, best friends and actresses, are cast as lovers for the first time, tasked with bringing a romantic chemistry to the screen. But as scenes unfold, the lines between acting and reality begin to blur.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: This was actually the first Jenna story I wrote!

————

What are you thinking so hard about? Jenna asks plopping down in the director's chair next to you.

After being best friends for years, you and Jenna have finally gotten the opportunity to work alongside each other on your latest film Lovestruck, a romance film where you two are playing the lead couple.

You. You wanted to say, but you were 8 years too deep in the friendzone to truly say what was on your mind. "Just the next scene," you smile at her tiredly.

Her eyes light up, "I've been looking forward to this scene for so long!  God just look at that view Y/n!  I'm so jealous of Lalya," she sighs, referencing the character she's playing in the film. "Just who wouldn't love to be confessed to here," your co-star finishes looking over at you with sparkles in her eyes.

When your manager gave you the script for this project, you could only laugh at how much the story paralleled your situation with Jenna.  You were playing Quinn, a girl who has been in love with her friend for years, but couldn't do anything about it.  Eventually the mixed signals and watching the one she loves be with others got too much, and Quinn angrily confesses by the lakefront during a sunset; the view Jenna was fawning over just a minute ago.

You could only wish that the aftermath of any potential confession of yours could resemble the one in this film. Layla ends up reciprocating Quinn's feelings and it's a happy ending.

Unfortunately the universe isn't as perfect as an angsty teen romance, and is rather a sick minded individual who gets a kick out of meddling with people's lives. For years you and Jenna have auditioned for the same projects to play friends, enemies, even sister's but why is it that the one project both of you manage to land is this one?

"Y/n/n!"

Startled, you look over at the girl who's been trying to get your attention for all this time while you zoned out. "Y-yeah sorry. You're right. It would be a dream to be confessed to here."

She hums and stands up before placing a hand on your shoulder looking intently into your eyes, "I'll see you on set after the break, hope you bring your A game Y/l/n," she winks with a smile before walking off.

Jenna walks over to Andrew another actor working the film and immediately starts laughing and touching his arm in conversation.  You couldn't help but roll your eyes, but you also couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene that always happened to unfold in front of you.

It hurts you beyond belief watching your best friend interact flirtatiously with other people. Having to hear about rumoured boyfriends and especially having her not deny them. The mixed signals you got from the girl wasn't any help either, like what was that hand on the shoulder just now? The wink?!

You walk away trying your very best to calm yourself down before your big scene. Jenna frowned as she watched you walk away and towards your personal trailer.

————

The director calls everyone to set and has prepared to shoot the big confession scene. The crew helps you and Jenna find your places and fixes up any imperfections in your clothing. As you stand before your co-star you're hit with a strong wave of emotions. The 20 minutes you spent in the trailer wasn't much help, and now as you watch Jenna who is looking at you curiously, you make a realization.

You may never confess to Jenna. How could you? This friendship was the greatest you've ever had and you were aware of the fact that friendships like this one, don't come easy. It would be insanely stupid of you to confess your love and single-handedly lose a gem like Jenna completely. The more you thought about it, the interactions between Andrew, the rumours with Percy, and countless other boys, the more helpless you felt. There was no way she could feel the same.

"You okay?" the gentle voice you've come to love speaks.

You're silent.  She looks at you with her big doe eyes that you've come to love, but at this very moment you hate so much.  The concern in her eyes is pushing you off the edge.  You hated it.  You hated how her caring nature has only gotten you falling tenfolds harder. Why does she have to be good to me, why does she torture me like this you ask yourself.

"Y/n/n."

You look away, refusing to look into her eyes, scared of the emotions you'll find in them, scared of finding out how much more you could fall in love with her in this moment, so you settle on the view of the sunset.

The director begins a 10 second countdown to cue in the start of the scene and you're still looking at the sunset pondering. This may be the only time that you'll ever speak the words of a confession to Jenna. Yes, to her it'll be you performing the script, Quinn speaking these words, but she doesn't have to know that you will mean all the words you speak with every fibre of your being.

A light smile plays on your lips as you think about the performance you're about to give and how it should get you nominated for all the acting awards in existence. The lines of Quinn and Y/n have blurred, and you are playing no character other then yourself.

You won't be acting.

"Action!"

The scene begins and you start marching away from Jenna like the script told you to.

"Wait- Stop!" Jenna says frantically grabbing on to your arm.You roll your eyes, shrugging her off and continue walking.

"Why do you insist on hurting me?" She shouts, following the script.  You stop walking and pause.One beat. Two beat. Just like the script instructed. You turn around, glaring at her with more intensity than the script demands, "Me? Hurt you? That's rich coming from you."

Jenna hesitates, caught off guard by the seriousness in your voice, but quickly recovers, staying in character.

"Yes you asshole! I invite you to the lake house, and all you do is ignore me!"  Groaning into your hands, you speak your next line.  "Layla. You're joking right?"

"No Q, I'm not.  Do you even care about me?  It's my fucking birthday, and you're acting like I'm not even here, sulking in one of your moods and embarrassing me in front of my friends!"

"Then what am I?"

"What?"

You laugh, running your hands through your hair, struggling to keep your emotions in check.

"If those are your little fucking friends, then what am I to you?"

Jenna acted taken aback like she was supposed to, "My friend? My best friend? I don't know that's not the point! Wh-"

You cut her off, "But it is the point!"

You break the script.

You blink hard, letting the tears that were building up before the scene fall down your face.

Jenna had a look in her eyes that you've never seen before it was confusion and something else you couldn't pinpoint. Being the amazing actress that she is, she improvs her next line, so the scene can get back on track.

"Here you go again not wanting to address the real issue," she rolls her eyes.

You decide to stick to the script with tears streaming down your face. "I can't keep doing this anymore Layla," the words carrying the weight of years of hidden feelings. "Watching you with them, pretending I'm fine when I'm not. I can't just be your friend anymore."

Jenna's eyes widen, her character momentarily forgotten as she registers the raw emotion in your voice. "Quinn... what are you saying?"

You take a deep breath, letting it all out, the pain, the frustration, the love. You're about to do it and you hope that just for a second your performance will blur the lines for Jenna. "I'm saying that I'm in love with you, and I have been for a long time. And it kills me every time I see you with someone else, knowing I can't be the one to make you smile like that."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for her response, both in character and out of it. The director's voice seems far away as he doesn't call cut, letting the scene play out naturally. For a moment you start to think that Jenna has forgotten her line, she's supposed to say, "For how long?"

But she goes off script.

She takes a step forward so she's only a foot away from you and takes your trembling hands (that you didn't even realize were shaking) in her own, an attempt to calm you down.

Jenna, as Layla, steps closer, her own tears glistening in the fading light. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Quinn? Why did you let me go on thinking we were just friends?"

Your voice cracks as you respond, "Because I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of ruining what we have. But I can't keep pretending anymore."

Jenna reaches up, gently cupping your face with her hands, her touch warm and soft. "You idiot," she whispers, her voice trembling. "How could you not know? How could you think for even a second that I didn't feel the same way?"

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, and for a moment you forget that you're on set, that this is all supposed to be a performance. It feels too real, too raw.

"T-then what about everything I see? All those guys?" You say staying true to the script, but you couldn't hold your tongue and add, "The rumours? The interactions I always see?"

Jenna clearly seems taken aback by your addition to the script, and opens her mouth and closes it, at a loss for words.

You can't help yourself and continue, "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch you with other guys? To see you flirt with everyone else and feel like I'm just...invisible?"

Jenna's heart races as she realizes the depth of your feelings, the lines between the script and reality blurring completely.

Jenna continues, the rest of the scene now being pure improv. With tears in her eyes, "I wasn't trying to hurt you...Q. I wanted you to notice me. To see me the way I see you.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Jenna's voice is trembling, her gaze locked on yours, and for the first time you realize she's not just playing a role. She's confessing, right here, in front of everyone.

"I've been in love with you for so long," you get out through tears, "But all I've ever seen is you with them... like I don't even exist."

The shorter girl steps closer, dropping the last remnants of her character. Her hands reach up to cup your face, her touch gentle and filled with unspoken emotion.

"I didn't know how to tell you, Quinn. I was scared, so I tried to make you jealous, provoke you into action, hoping you'd finally do something. I-I was hoping you'd see how much I care. How much I...love you.

Your breath catches, your heart pounds in your ears, and you break character completely not caring anymore, in a trembling voice you ask, "You really feel the same way?"

Jenna nods, tears spilling over as she smiles, a mixture of relief and vulnerability in her expression.

"Yes, Q. I've always felt this way. I was just too scared to admit it... but not anymore."

You blink, struggling to process what's happening. This wasn't in the script—none of this was. But it's real, and it's happening now.

You smile through the tears, "Then let's stop pretending, Jenna. No more games... I'm yours if you'll have me.

Jenna lets out a small, tearful laugh, pulling you into a tight embrace. The cameras are still rolling despite your name drop, but none of that matters anymore. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes shining with a love that's no longer hidden.

"I've always been yours. Always."

In that moment, you lean in, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss that's filled with all the years of longing and love you've both kept hidden. When you finally pull away, you're both breathless, tears of happiness mingling with the raw emotion of the scene.

The director calls "Cut," but neither of you moves, still lost in each other's eyes. For a moment, the set is silent, the crew unsure if they've just witnessed the best acting of your careers or something far more real. But you both know the truth—and it's better than any script that could have been written.

[leclarifies]

i love you. it's ruining my life. (MV33)

✰ max verstappen x popstar!ex!reader ✰

summary: you and max have been broken up for four years now, going no contact for the entirety of those years. never bothering to contact eachother but he invites you to one of his races one day after the last show of your tour, who were you to say no?

genre: angst (im sorry)

wc: 3k

a/n: AHHH, THIS WAS WAS A DOOZY!!!!! i loved writing this (i mostly just like hurting myself more than anything). kind of dark themes tho, ooc max bc he vvv loving and would never cheat on his lover. thank you so much for 100 followers btw!!!!!! i wrote this as a 100 follower special :3 thank you so much for my supporting my short journey as a tumblr writer, you guys inspire me to write even more for you guys. can you imagine that's it's been a week of writing and i've already gained 100 followers?? i love you guys so much.

warnings: mentions of existing relationship with kelly, cheating

"thought of calling ya, but you won't pick up. another fortnight lost in america." - taylor swift, 'fortnight'

isn't it ironic that careers can really separate you from what truly made you, you? being a popstar, touring for months on end, surrounding yourself with new people, new opportunities, made it hard for you to reconnect with the people that helped you from day one.

it wasn't like you cut them off, or stopped talking to them. you tried. you really tried, but sometimes life goes on and people forgive and forget. your old life before you started your career was slowly being etched away and replaced with new pieces.

and maybe that was a bad thing.

"on stage in 2 minutes," a voice snapped you out of your trance, you looked up. you looked amazing in your sparkly dress, it was the last leg of your tour and you were touring in europe.

you had been offered to attend a formula one race this weekend after all of your shows had been concluded, you've been thinking about it, but you're not sure you want to go. one of the people from said past was in attendance and you're not sure if you wanted to immerse yourself in that again.

you didn't think about it for long though, you were due for a show and a show was what you're going to give.

it wasn't long until the weekend, friday to be exact and you had accepted the offer of being on the formula one paddock, you knew that a certain ex-boyfriend was going to be there, racing on the track and you were invited personally by him, which was why you were so skeptical to go.

POPSTAR Y/N BREAKS UP WITH F1 DRIVER MAX VERSTAPPEN.

you remembered the headlines, you remembered what you let go of but seeing someone you still loved after your break up almost four years ago stung a little bit.

you couldn't blame him though, you were the one to break things off all those years ago. it wasn't because you had a terrible relationship with him, but it was more because you both didn't have time for eachother and you could see it in his face everytime you came home to monaco after a long show.

"i miss you, when can you finally stay and actually stay awhile?" max's face looked pitiful and you could only look down at your feet, you felt guilty. you wanted this career, he pushed you for this career but sometimes you wished that you could split yourself in two to cater to both his needs and yours.

you look back up at him, locking eyes with his stormy blue eyes, "i don't know maxie, maybe next month? i don't really have a schedule for next month, i can stay in monaco with you for awhile—"

"you said that last month, when are you actually going to be free schatje?"

"max, i can't give you a definite timeline—"

"what's the point of me being in a relationship with you when i can barely see you?"

it hurt to hear those words come out of his mouth.

maybe that's when you finally realized that he deserved someone normal, someone who wasn't a famous singer and could actually spend time and be there for him.

but here you were, amidst the paddock with a singular security guard because you didn't think you needed more than one, considering security around the paddock was tight in of itself.

the red bull's garage had been nice to you, offering you anything you possibly could need while being on a grand prix, you had politely declined any type of special treatment though, wanting to feel like a person for once in your life.

you wouldn't say your job is the hardest in the world, never. doing what you loved while meeting all of your fans was going to be the highlight of your day, but sometimes the job came with crazy fans that would invade your privacy for selfish reasons, and it made you a tiny bit stressed.

you remember starting out from the netherlands, starring in small gigs before getting signed to a mega corporation in america, which was when you moved. you slowly lost contact with your friends, but you were sure they were proud of you although you weren't proud that you lost contact with them.

you knew that if you contacted them that it would be awkward, there was just no way they would even remember you, right?

you were walking about aimlessly around the paddock, it was free practice day which meant that after the allotted time of the free practice, drivers were free to roam around the paddock however they wanted. you were scared on what you had to face today.

you told yourself to just keep calm, take whatever you got this weekend and just react like a sane person.

saturday came and went, you attended the paddock to watch the qualifying session, of course, max came out on top. was it even a surprise to you? you knew he was the best of the best, you never expected less of him, even after all these years.

sunday was here and maybe it was the anxiety, but you felt like throwing up when you saw max approach you.

"y/n, it's good to see you."

god, those eye-smiles. you could never get tired of them.

"hi max, congrats on starting out pole for this weekend," you told him as you shook hands with him, he was all smiles.

it felt good to see him happy.

"how has the paddock been treating you?" max asked, gesturing all around him, "have you tried the food? it's really good."

you nod as you let go of his hand, clasping it with your other hand, a nervous habit, "yeah, the food's good. how have you been? i haven't talked to you in awhile," a nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat, you were nervous to see him, maybe it was those damn butterflies in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of when he looked at you with those blue eyes of his.

"i know, you've been quite busy right?" max laughed at you, he felt silly conversing with his ex-girlfriend like this, like they didn't have a past.

you could only nod and smile back at him, shoulders tense, "yeah, touring's been eventful. it's the last leg of the tour so i decided to come, thank you for the invite by the way, i really appreciate—"

"max, who's this?" a voice came from behind you, quite condescending if you did say so yourself, cutting you off, you turned your head around to see his girlfriend and his girlfriend's child coming into view, walking towards max and wrapping max with her arm as a possessive embrace.

max kissed her cheek, and that hurt. you didn't want to know why, but you knew. he spoke up afterwards, "this is y/n, she's a singer. i wanted her to come because she had a show here, thought the timing was quite convenient for her. y/n, this is my girlfriend, kelly piquet. she's a model."

you extended your hand as a form of hello before introducing yourself, "hello, i'm y/n—"

"yeah, i know who you are," kelly cut you off again, you were quite taken aback by the hostility, your hand left hanging but then again, max was talking to one of his ex-girlfriends. you thought you would react the same way, so you didn't take it too much to heart. her face was something you'd describe as an angry, possessive tiger, brows furrowed, frown on full display.

"i didn't mean to take time away from your boyfriend. i was just having a little chat pre-race," you tried to give her a smile while returning your hand back to your side, but kelly was adamant about standing her ground.

little penelope was looking at you like she had stars in her eyes, you smiled at her. as if it was a sign of whether she should speak up, she starting speaking to you directly, "hi, i really love your songs. do you think you can stay in the red bull garage and we can take pictures together?"

you giggle and bend down to her level and pat her head, "hi little p, of course we can take pictures together— that's if your mother lets me," you acknowledged that this little girl was no ordinary little girl and was your ex-boyfriend's girlfriend's child.

"can we all talk in private please?" kelly excused the three of them away before you could even give her a response but you understood her. standing back up before walking off deeper into the paddock.

MAX'S POV

"i don't understand why you would invite her!" kelly was pacing around the motorhome, here we were fifteen minutes before race start and here my girlfriend was still yelling over something that happened two hours ago.

"kelly, i just thought it was a good idea. i wanted to invite her because i know p was such a big fan of hers—"

"she's your ex for god's sake, max!" kelly yelled out yet again, "why would i ever approve of her coming to one of your races? let alone be near to p??" her pacing was more feverish now, like she was scared.

i could only sigh, honestly i wasn't too worried about this problem at the moment. the only thing on my mind was the race and only the race.

"look, can we talk about this when i've finished with my race? i really need to focus and you keeping me locked up in here isn't going to help with it," i stood up from my seat, i didn't want to hear anything else come out of her mouth other than a 'okay' and letting me walk out of here.

"don't you think our relationship is at stake here—?"

"if you don't let me go out into the garage, then we're nothing kelly," i say with finality, i wasn't going to let her ruin a race, "i told you, we will solve and talk about this issue later, but you chose to lock me up in here. there will be nothing to salvage if you don't let me do my job."

kelly wordlessly stepped out of the way of the door and let me go, thankfully just with enough time where i could run down and get into the garage, getting me in racing gear.

thankfully the red bull mechanics and officials were understanding enough to let me rush and get inside of my car, getting into the chasis just at the right moment where we would need to drive out.

it was going to be a fine race for me. i knew it. i had enough confidence in myself to know whether i could win a race, and this was one of them.

"and that's p1 max, great race," gp was in my ear, i was proud of myself for winning, but kelly was gnawing the back of my mind. although, the first face i saw when i got out of the car was y/n's.

it felt like my heart stopped beating, i thought i got rid of those stupid butterflies ages ago, but nothing ever beat seeing her smile after i finished a race. she looked so beautiful, so ethereal but i washed those thoughts out of my head.

i had a girlfriend.

i can't run up and hug her because she's my ex. i have a loving relationship in front of me. what was i thinking?

kelly was nowhere to be found in the celebratory pit, i thought that maybe she was still too angry to face me at the moment. it stung a little bit, but she'll get over it. i'm sure.

the night moves on fast, and somehow i found myself still in the garage fixing a few things with the sim, most of the mechanics and staff were long gone. with kelly nowhere to be found. sometimes i felt bad, for still harboring feelings for an ex that left me four years ago.

my relationship with her felt so different with kelly's...

she was like fresh air you would breathe after exiting a club in the middle of the night, the smoke that clouded the air dissipating almost instantly after that fresh air hit your lungs. somehow, even four years later i still find her in little things i do everyday.

against my better judgement, i picked up my phone and i gave her a call.

"hello?"

i breathed out a sigh of relief when i realized she hadn't changed her phone number yet.

"it's me," were the words that left my lips, "you wanna come celebrate with me tonight?" i was picking on my jeans, i didn't want her to say no. i just wanted to spend a little time with her.

"what about your girlfriend? isn't she going to be even more upset with you—"

"can we not talk about her right now?" i closed my eyes and leaned back against the chair i was sitting on, hearing her voice again after a long time just... it felt right.

"max..."

"don't... just don't. i know what you're gonna say and i know it's wrong but i just... i can't do this today. i just won today and the first face i saw was yours, she didn't bother to show up. you can't tell me how to feel, y/n," i rubbed my temples, "meet me in the lobby of my hotel tonight. i just wanna see you."

"if i say okay, will this be a one-time thing?" y/n asked, i could hear the soft rustles of her moving things around, she was probably already in her hotel, resting from her tour when i had called.

"better yet, just drop the address of where you're staying. i'll come to you."

the first thing max did when he saw you was crash his lips into yours, you wanted to push him away, be the better person and tell him that he has a girlfriend but your arms couldn't do it.

your lips disconnected after awhile, he was breathing heavy, face flushed, hands all over you, "i've missed you."

you hum a response, you could barely get out a response when you feel his lips on yours again, this was wrong. all the alarms in your body were telling you to push him off, to yell at him, to reprimand him for basically cheating on his girlfriend.

but you didn't.

and maybe that made you a bad person, but at the moment you didn't care. you just wanted to feel him once more.

you woke up the next morning, cuddled up against max, both of you bare and indecent. he hadn't left yet, maybe he didn't want to leave.

the reality of last night crashed down onto you as you realized what you've done.

"max?"

"yes, schatje?"

the little nickname he gave you never went away. he used to call you that all the time but the feelings that came with it was no longer endearment but horror.

"you need to get back to your girlfriend, i don't think i can do this," you unwrap yourself from his grasps and sit up, back facing him, tears filling your eyes.

"woah, woah. schatje—"

"please, max. i feel like shit. you have a girlfriend and i just slept with you. last night was a mistake," you breathed out and hugged your knees close to your chest. you felt his hand on your back.

"y/n, what are you saying—" you cut him off before he could say anything else.

"i can't give you what you want max. we can't be together anymore. our story ended four years ago, please don't make this mistake. you're going to regret it," you quickly got up and away from his close proximity and got dressed.

you didn't know how to face him anymore.

"can we please talk about it at least? you can't lie and say that you don't feel the same way i do," max's voice came from behind you, you were pacing around the room, you were stressed. he was sitting there, shirtless with his pants on now.

"i do max! and that's the worst part because i knew you're in a relationship but i still let this happen. i am a horrible person. i love you and it's slowly ruining my life. i should've known better!" you turn around to face him, your face red, tears streaming down your face.

max could only sigh and raked a hand through his hair, "schatje..."

"we can't be together max, you know it. i can never give you what she gives you. she can be with you almost all the time max, you threw that all away for me? for someone who can't give you time of day?!" you sob into your hands.

you felt arms wrapping around you as you sob into his embrace.

MAX VERSTAPPEN BREAKS UP WITH GIRLFRIEND KELLY PIQUET ONLY AFTER A FEW MONTHS OF BEING TOGETHER.

you scroll past that headline as you got ready for your appearance to promote your new album, it came out two days ago and you were to debut the new songs on jimmy kimmel.

the tortured poets department.

you hadn't talked to max ever since that night, ever since he tenderly kissed your forehead and told you it was going to be okay and that he would figure it out. he had been blowing up your phone, asking to meet but you didn't have it in your heart to meet him after destroying his relationship like that.

that was two months ago.

you were due on stage in around an hour and that's where you would sing your heart out, leaving whatever pieces of your old self behind when you slept with max for the final time.

"i love you, it's ruining my life. i touched you for only a fortnight."

hello! thank u for reading this fic hehe, hope u guys enjoyed it. thank you again for 100 followers!!!!

[yuikira]

𓈒࣪ The "you" shaped spot ₊✧

warnings: pure fluff, one implication of having sex, bits of crying, hurt/comfort, ooc kinich, very self indulgent, i apologize for mistakes.

GOD THE ANGUISH I FEEL SINCE THERE HAVE BEEN NO GOOD KINICH FICS RECENTLY

m so sorry mualani i love you but i hate you coz you're so shipped w kinich it makes me cry in anguish burn in despair and writhe in pain..coz hes mine. not yours. never yours (guys am i mentally ill)

"y/n?"

well, this was strange. if he still remembers how to read the time correctly, it's 3:30 pm and you should be at home today. yet he couldn't hear a single sound from the shared household, implying you were, infact, not at home. huh? that was wholly strange. you both had no urgent tasks for today, so where were you gone? your date was in 1½ hrs time, so he didn't have a tinge of worry about it. he knew you'd return by that time, even if you were gone somewhere. but where did you go anyway? to the balcony? xilonen's workshop? ororon's fields? mavuika's chambers? ifa's vet?

it was almost 5:30 by the time his patience finally ran out. you were nowhere to be seen, noone knew your whereabouts, your departure time was unconfirmed, and you didn't even tell him about it. he tried to distract away the thoughts that eerily haunted his mind, 'what if she's in danger? kidnapped? or perhaps, dead?'

he'd get nothing out of overthinking. finally, it all clicked to him where you could perhaps be found.

shit, and was his intuition right. he could hear the sounds of violent sobs drifting off in the sea breeze, some sniffles and pieces of incoherent speech here and there. they were yours.

"y/n? y/n!"

he gently held your shoulders and tried to pry off your palms from your face. is it too late? at last as he finally managed to do so, he saw your tinged red eyes, indicating you've been crying for a lot of time.

"what happened to you? babe? are you okay? please tell me- what happened to you? please, please please-"

"im fine, ichi, its alright"

"you dont look alright at all. what happened to you? who did this to you? this sadness?"

"oh it's just..um..this is embarassing.."

"no tell me, please baby, tell me. if you don't tell me and start crying again, i might just start crying too. please tell me"

"um.. it's...basically, these past few days I've felt like... you're.. avoiding me. like...everytime i try to approach you, you just- you just..shut me down. push me away. it maybe because I'm not living upto your expectations, but these past few days I've been feeling like you spend time with mualani more than me. it hurts so bad when my inner thoughts whisper to me, haunting me by saying stuff like you're giving the same lovesick smile to her as you do to me, and falling for her and- mfhm?!"

oh by gods, the way kinich just tenderly held you yet kissed constrastingly different, almost making you feel dizzy and lightheaded. you knew you weren't in the right state of mind after crying and struggling with your thoughts for so long, and his intoxicating kiss didn't help the matter at all.

at last when he finally pulls his lips away from yours, a tinge of bemused smile rests on his slightly chapped lips. him? in love with mualani? he'd rather give away his body to ajaw and keep himself locked in a small piece of memory inside your heart, so that as long as your heart beats, you both never get seperated. that was the best deal for him.

"look, im sorry I didn't tell you earlier and I'm sorry if I don't live upto your expectations and or are falling for mualani, its completely alright and-"

"Are you insane?"

"huh?"

"You are the words etched into my heart. You are the blood in my veins. You are the god I was born to worship. Who am I to commit such blasphemy?"

"i-ichi-?"

"You are the knowledge I seek. The love I pray for. The reason of my existence. And you still think I'd leave you?"

"wait no ichi i-"

"The symphony of my beating heart belongs to you. Only you. For long as I'm alive, its bound to beat for you. I love you, y/n. I love you so much."

Teardrops began to fall from your eyes again as he finished speaking. He'd never, ever been good with words, reflecting his love and care with his actions instead. Although he's trying to be more and more vocal for you, you'd never expected this from him.

That was the moment you realized, his heart was 'you' shaped, with every single bit of his sanity dedicated to you.

"And no, I.. I'm so sorry if i made you feel as if I'm avoiding you. I'm infact not. It's just the fact that.. I'd been trying to plan a surprise for you for our 4th anniversary, but..looks like I wasn't so slick with it. I'm sorry"

"No, no, it's fine, it's fine. I misunderstood, no need to apologise" you shook your head while holding one of his hands, the other wiping your tears off as he gently places a soft kiss on your forehead.

"It's partially my fault, for making you feel this way. Let's go home, yeah? I'll try to make it up to you. Brownies and making love later?"

You smiled. "I love you so much, it's hard to put into words like you did"

"I love you more. You're forever my girl"

[flowergoddessblooms]

I will never forget that day. In the middle of the night, as the storm raged, wind bellowing, we were safe in our house. It wasn't huge, but we were quite well to do compared to others in our community. The wood burned and the fire crackled, providing warmth much craved. There was enough food to last a month. We all sat in the light of the burning embers. I remember thinking how unfortunate that the others weren't so lucky.

Oh how I hate myself for even having had that thought. For moments after, we heard the sound of glass breaking. Our eyes darted across the room, now staring at a man brushing glass pieces off his black cloak. You would recognise the emblem on his cloak anywhere.

The Black Raven guild.

Mercenaries.

Before my brain could process what had just occurred, the man rushed through the room, armed with a dagger. It was over in a split second.

I stood agape, watching the crimson flow.

My parents were dead.

Blood seeped through the carpet, under the floorboards. Time was at a standstill.

The man looked over at me.

"A scrawny brat, eh? Well you weren't in the request and I couldn't care less about a little shit like you."

And he was gone.

My tears wouldn't stop. For days and nights I sat there clutching the bodies of my parents, as the rain and thunder never stopped. The stench of decaying corpses is something you can never imagine. One whose face is filled with absolute fear and desperation. It was etched into my heart.

And so, after a long time spent crying, trying to fix the wounds, venturing out into the storm to ask for help only to return dejected, I swore. I swore to myself that I would make that man regret being born for taking away my happiness.

It's been 21 years. 21 years of hunting for this man whose face I didn't know. 21 years of traveling around the country, spending days at inns, flocking bars, approaching information guilds, anything and everything. And I finally found him.

I found out everything about him.

57 years old. Muscular. Tanned. Shaved head. A thick beard. Lived in a little village on the outskirts of the country. He would protect the villagers from bandits. He was quite loved by the community.

But I know who he truly is. Beneath all that facade of a good man and the protector of women and children, he is someone who would kill people for money.

It didn't take me long to find him. And boy oh boy, it was infuriating.

He was a changed man. He didn't talk like the way he did that night, in a rugged tone, without an ounce of humanity. He had a slow speech and spoke as though he was an enlightened monk.

How. Funny.

He didn't recognise me at first. It was only when i mentioned who my parents were, that he looked at me with a forlorn gaze and sighed.

Was this asshole pitying me? This person, who wasn't worth being called human, was showing sympathy?

I remember what he said, word for word.

" All those years ago, I was someone who only lived for money because I had to take care of myself and my family. My sisters were about to be sold off if I hadn't paid off my father's gambling debts. I didn't have much choice. I don't do that anymore. I've found my place with these people here. I take care of bandits for them, they feed me and my family in return. It's quite a peaceful transaction." He said gazing wistfully towards the village.

Not a single apology.

And was that story supposed to make me feel empathetic for him? Where was his empathy when he mercilessly murdered my parents in front of a 9 year old?

Did he expect me to droop my shoulders, cry and hug him?

He deserved to die and I would give him that.

I raided his home late that night. It was dark and stormy, quite fitting really. I broke the window and jumped in. He wasn't ready and it wasn't much of a fight for me, he was old and slow, barely able to dodge my attacks. It was soon over. I stood over him, as blood splurted out of his neck, staining the wooden floorboards with a rich crimson hue. I sat there, laughing, relishing my victory, when I heard little whimpers from close by.

It didn't matter anyway. I had fulfilled what I had sworn all those years ago. I was finally at peace.

No matter how much of my humanity it took from me.

I was finally at peace.

When you were a child, a mercenary made you watch as he killed your entire family in front of you. You swore revenge. Decades later, you've finally tracked them down- …only to find they're now a pacifistic geriatric who's beloved by his community.

[crimsoncandy04]

Wrote this while on drugs again. I wasn't going to share it and actually just found it in my practice folder this morning but I decided that it kinda ate a little.

So here's breakfast my gorgeous readers!

(Scaramouche x Reader doing a little boob stuff)

You've been experiencing some unwelcomed side effects of a medicine you were given and were just checking how your boobs felt as you turned in the mirror and tried to think about if they were indeed as swollen as you thought they were. You held them up and peered at your bare assets with a look of concern in your eyes. Maybe not leaking anymore, but definitely swollen and a little bigger than you were used to.

You definitely needed to tell your doctor.

Just then you feel cold and soft hands suddenly reach under your arms. You don't have time to react as you see your boss cup both of your tits and begin to play with them a little. Gently bouncing them a little as he whispers in your ear.

"You know I've always wondered how these things felt. They're so much bigger than I expected." Scaramouche pinched your sensitive nipples then. Pulling on the delicate buds just enough to get you to gasp and blush a little as you had no choice but to let him fondle you.

You were his subordinate still after all...

"My Lord... this hurts. I'm sensitive right now..!" You plead pitifully. Your soft voice barely above a whisper as you fear his wrath.

He doesn't stop. Instead you feel the tip of his fingers begin to play with the little slit in the centers as he rubs them tenderly and earns a little moan from your lips.

He chuckles at this and leans his head against your shoulder as he presses his body against yours from the back.

"If that's so, then it'll just make this feel even better. Now shut up and relax already. " He snapped as he leaned forward a little bit and pulled on one of your breasts to bring it closer as his mouth. His lips found the small peak and immediately he began to suckle your hardened nipple softly. Humming softly as his tongue teased the opening again and you began to whimper at the sensation.

His long slender fingers continued to pull and pinch the other as you suddenly felt him accidentally stimulate your milk ducts.

You felt like you were going to die from embarrassment on the spot.

Why oh why did those stupid pills make you lactate like this?

Why now of all days did Scaramouche decide it was okay to touch you like this?

While you still had your... issue?

"I'm sorry sir!" Your voice quivered.

"It's my medicine! I'm not pregnant but this is happening because of a hormone imbalance. I'm so sorry!"

You felt him deliver a painful suck to your left nipple at your words before he briefly pulled away to tell you to shut up again. Then right back he went.

Scaramouche had moved you both to a new position after that.

Now you lay on your back across a small sofa as he laid on top of you. His face almost peaceful looking for once as he squeezed one of your breasts and kept the other in his mouth.

He was drinking from you.

Actually drinking your milk!

You couldn't believe it.

Every now and then he'd give your sore nipple a break and alternate between them as he grinded his hips in between yours. You wondered if he planned to do this for the rest of the night. He seemed to be enjoying it at least.

You were right.

Scaramouche had nearly sucked you dry before he gave you permission to leave sometime after dawn arrived.

But that wasn't the end.

Every few days he'd summon for you again and the process was repeated.

You'd undress and expose your painfully swollen tits to the harbinger and he'd play with them a bit before using you to breastfeed himself for so long...

You remember him telling you that you would be doing this from now on too.

Your pussy had gotten so wet as you recalled it.

"I've informed your doctor that your medication is to be increased. I've found a new use for those massive things on your chest and you will meet me in my office every two days from now on. Understood?"

"I understand My Lord."

"Good. You know, for a mortal woman, you do have a fairly decent body."

He leaned closer to you as he grasped one of your tits..

"These breasts especially. So...soft...so...warm."

And then he ripped open your shirt right then and there to feast a little more.

You don't know why he enjoyed this so much but it wasn't your place to ask or even refuse. It was either exist as his personal milk dispenser or be killed.

And you wanted to live frankly.

So you played into it more and tried to enjoy yourself at the very least.

You had gotten brave one day and asked him for what you desperately wanted.

"My Lord I know it sounds greedy... but today while we do our usual activities... could you maybe... give me a little attention... elsewhere?" You knew you were blushing deeply as you had asked him. He said nothing as he strode over to you. Moving quickly as he slammed you against the wall behind you both. His hand reaching out to rub against your clothed slit.

"I was wondering when you'd ask. You think I'm seriously that stupid to have not noticed how disgustingly wet you get when I touch these sensitive tits of yours? It's almost unsightly. But don't worry, I'll help you out a little. Who knows, maybe this will improve your production. I've heard that certain kinds of external stimulation can cause women to lactate more."

Scaramouche leaned down and bit your nipple through your shirt as he suddenly slid two fingers deep into your soaking cunny and began to fuck you. His thumb circling your clit as he licked at your clothed mounds. His other hand instantly going to grope your other boob as his fingers curled inside you and made your knees tremble.

"Please this is too much! I'm going to... I'm going to cum! Please I'm going to cum!" You cry as you moan and feel your knees try to squeeze together instinctively.

Scaramouche bit a little too hard then. A silent command to keep your legs open as he continued to bring you to climax.

You felt milk seep from your nipples as you came harder than you had in a long time. Scaramouche eagerly drinks the excess liquid as he continues to finger fuck you through your orgasm.

A small smirk on his face as he suddenly moves to give you a shockingly passionate kiss. His tongue in your mouth. You taste your milk and silently marvel at just how pleasant it tastes.

"I've decided. I like you. I think I'll keep you around and use you more from now on." Scaramouche muttered under his breath as he pulled his hand out of you and instead began to pull down your panties.

"Y/N, how do you feel about me breeding you? I think your milk will taste so much better if you have a brat inside you. What do you think?"

You felt your pussy aching in response.

[dr-flipflops]

Noa steps in Wills office after their shift with a bottle of water and a cereal bar, giving him an exhausted smile.

"so... how're you doing? want one too?"

-@from-the-owls-nest (for when you have time and it's not middle of the night anymore *stares at u*)

OOC: Acceptable?

*Will looks up, equally tired, he takes the food and water with a smile*

Thanks, this is about the first bits of food I've seen in 9 hours that hasn't been in vomit.

*Will tries for a chuckle, but it comes out defeated, he sighs and runs a hand through his unkempt curls. Will looks like he's seen better days, deep dark bags line his eyes and his normally golden skin was looking ashen and pale. Will looked dead on his feet, the infirmary and Nico, and just general issues (cough cough, memory cough)*

Gods- thanks for this, and checking up on me, I didn't realize how dependant I had become on Nico. Always expecting him there, around the corner with a teasing smirk, kind eyes and stern health reprimanding...

*The words are soft and mumbled as if he is simply thinking aloud, he shakes his head and snaps out of his consuming thoughts of Nico. Will smiles brightly at Noa, and gestures him to sit down*

Sorry about that, you look tired, are you alright? Nevermind Noa, you looking absolutely exhausted, after this I order you to go take a nice long nap.

[lilstarkeydream]

Hidden Flames- Chapter 3

Summary: Y/N, a Kook who prefers the company of her Pogue friends, falls for Rafe Cameron. Despite their growing feelings, they maintain a facade due to their conflicting social circles and personal insecurities. Y/N is best friends with Sarah, Rafe's sister, which fuels Rafe's hidden affection. He despises how Y/N hangs out with the Pogues, believing she has more potential, while Y/N can't stand Rafe's for fights and stuck up nature. After a dramatic confrontation, they confess their feelings but must keep their relationship secret, with only Sarah in the know.

Warnings: 18+ only! Fluff, Angst, Smut (p in v), Adult language,

Authors note: Hey guys! Ugh I'm so sorry I made this like crazy long again and that it has been SO long betwen chapters. I've already sort of started working on Chapter 4 so hopefully I'll have it done soon. Anyways enjoy and feel free to message me if you have any requests xoxo.

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The warm sand felt soft against your feet, the gentle waves lapping at the shore. The sun was settling, casting a golden glow over everything. You were laughing, you don’t know what from, but Rafe was beside you, smiling, his eyes filled with softness. Rafe's arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close as he spun you in slow circles, laughter mingling with the sound of the ocean. He pulled you closed, gently kissing your lips and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You were dressed in white, almost like ghosts in a beautiful, ethereal world.

Rafe leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, “I want you forever Y/N. Even when I’m gone I’ll still be with you.”

Before you could respond, a loud powerful jarring sound shattered the peaceful scene. The scene faded away and turned black and you groaned and opened your eyes. You padded your bed around you searching for your phone trying to turn off your god-awful 7:30 am alarm. Early mornings are going to be the death of me, you thought.

You instinctively pulled your cover back over your head, dreading the day ahead. Dress shopping for midsummer’s… perfect. With only a week and a half to go, you already dreaded the thought of the superficial conversations that were bound to happen.

You try to hold onto the sweet memories of your dream but it is suddenly ruined when your mom yells down the hall.

“Y/N time to get up! We are already behind schedule, we are leaving in an hour for the boutique” 

You groaned, slamming your face into the pillow and then pulling yourself up to start preparing for the day. You can already imagine your mom with her cup of coffee in her hand criticizing every dress you pull off the rack. Your parents were very particular when it came to a lot of things but the main thing was presentation; they hated it when you dressed in “pogue” attire. Hence why dress shopping is so important to your mom, it validates to her that there is still hope for you. You rolled your eyes at the thought of her voice in your head but smiled, knowing it was easier to just go along with her sometimes.

-

The boutique was glowing with varying colors, patterns, and dress types; it was overwhelming. From rack to rack, your mother picked out various dresses and styles for you, ushering you to the changing room to try on every single one. 

You spent what felt like hours trying on dresses, in and out of the changing rooms, accumulating a small pile of maybes. Finally, as you were about to call it a day, your mom came over with a navy satin, backless dress with a bow detail. 

“Now I'm not a fan of the backless back but I do think the bow in the back ties it all together,” she said as you slipped it on. But when you turned to the mirror, the fit was perfect. It was the one. Scenarios played in your head on how Rafe would react seeing you in this dress, so tight fitting and revealing, you know it would make him ogle. 

“I agree Mom, this has to be it,”  you said smiling running your hands down the dress.

Your mom was about to respond when you felt goosebumps begin to rise on the back of your neck like someone was watching you.

You quickly glanced around in the mirror at the surrounding store as your eyes locked with Chris’s.

Oh god, you got to be kidding me, you thought. Out of all places, this is where you see him? He must be with his mom and sister or something. 

A twinge of nostalgia immediately began to coarse through you. You quickly looked away, pretending not to notice him, but of course, he noticed you—and began walking over, giving you his typical polite smile.

“Oh my gosh is that Christopher Phillips?!” Your mom whipped around, beaming with recognition. She practically jogged over to greet him, her eyes lighting up with that motherly approval. She quickly pulled him into a hug. “Christopher! How are you? Look at you, still as handsome as always!” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your mom failed to acknowledge boundaries sometimes. 

“Hello Mrs. Chastain, it is great to see you, you look fantastic!” he said as he pulled away, quickly glancing over at you as well.

“Oh please Christopher, call me Linda. You're still such a charmer. Anyway, Y/N is just trying on some dresses for Midsummer but I’ll let you old love birds catch up, I’ll just be right over there” She pointed to a random corner, and knowing her we would still be eye-shot. As I’ve said before… she is a huge fan of Chris.

As she eagerly waltzed away, Chris visibly got a bit nervous shoving his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat.

“Hey Y/N, uh, I wasn’t expecting to run into you, you look great,” he said gesturing to your dress, his voice carrying a hint of the awkwardness that hung over you guys even after the breakup.

“Yeah, Chris, good to see you too,” you said, keeping a neutral smile. The idea of catching up as old friends was tempting, but you could tell by his eyes that lingering feelings were still there, and you didn’t want to stir them up.

“So, are you going to Midsummer?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, I am. You?”

“Same,” he replied, nodding with a tight smile.

Silence settled between you. You were about to excuse yourself when he cleared his throat. “Are you… seeing anyone new?” he asked, his voice a bit too casual.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you forced a neutral expression. “Nope. You?” As you spoke, a flicker of guilt stirred. Rafe was still in the back of your mind, his presence lingering, tugging at the corners of your thoughts. The memory of his touch was enough to make you blush, but you couldn’t say any of that—not to Chris, and not to anyone else.

He hesitated, noticing your sudden change in demeanor, then shook his head. “Nope.” He looked away noticing your mom eagerly waiting with prying eyes,  “Anyway, it was good to see you, take care. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah. See you around,” you said, relieved as he walked away. 

God that was so awkward

-

You stepped out of the boutique with your mom, your newly purchased dress slung over one arm. The bright afternoon sun made you squint, and you took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air after what felt like hours spent in stuffy fitting rooms.

"Well," your mom said, eyeing you with satisfaction, "now that we’ve got that settled, we can get on to the important things, like accessorizing.” She gave a little smile, seeming more pleased with you than usual.

You smiled, barely listening as your mind drifted back to your encounter with Chris. Why here, of all places? 

Just then, a familiar voice called out across the street. "Y/N! Hey, Y/N!"

You turned to see JJ striding over, his hands shoved casually in his pockets, but his expression lighting up when he saw you. As he reached you, his gaze darted between you and your mom, a flicker of mischief in his eyes as he took in your shopping bags.

“Oh,” your mom said, straightening, “this must be one of your…friends.” Her voice held that edge she always had when she saw you talking to Pogues. She gave him a quick, tight smile. "Well, Y/N, I'll just grab a coffee down the street. You two…catch up. I'll be waiting in the car." Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked away, looking back just once before disappearing into the café.

Once she was gone, JJ grinned. “Nice to see I’m still charming the Kooks, as always.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “You have that effect.”

“So, what’s all this?” He pointed to the bags with a teasing smirk. “Getting ready for Midsummer? Gotta say, I never pictured you as the ‘princess of Kooklandia’ type.”

“Oh, very funny,” you said, nudging him. “Yes, it’s for Midsummers. My mom practically forced me to come out today.”

“Lucky me, running into you, then,” he said, shoving his hands back in his pockets and giving you an easy smile. “So, how’s it going? You look…like you’ve been through it.”

You shrugged, laughing a little, but your voice softened. “I actually just ran into Chris.”

JJ’s face fell, the teasing look replaced by concern. “Wait, Chris? Like…Chris Chris?”

“Yeah,” you replied, the awkwardness of it making you cringe all over again. “It was…strange. He was trying to be nice, but I don’t know. It just reminded me of how I’ve changed, you know?” 

JJ nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. “Y/N, listen. Be careful with those Kook guys—no offense, but they can be a lot. And Chris…he’s bound to have feelings still, so just, you know…keep an eye out.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the intensity of his reaction. “JJ, he’s harmless. We were just talking.”

“Yeah, maybe,” JJ muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I don’t know. You’ve seemed kinda distant lately. Like…you’re around, but not. Got me worried, is all.”

Just as you were about to respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced down, your pulse picking up slightly as Rafe’s name flashed across the screen.

Been thinking about you. What are you up to? The message was simple but meant everything, and you couldn’t stop the faint smile that crept onto your face as you typed back a quick reply, your heart beating just a little faster. 

JJ’s voice snapped you out of the moment. “Uh-oh,” he said, smirking as he watched your expression shift. “That look’s usually reserved for the extra-rich Kooks.”

You quickly pocketed your phone, fighting to keep your expression neutral. “What look?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. I may not be a Kook, but I know you well enough to see when something’s got you all…happy like that.”

You let out a laugh, shrugging it off. “It’s nothing. Just someone I know.”

JJ gave you a curious look, his playful smirk softening as he studied you. “Well, whoever it is, I hope they’re good enough for you. Just don’t go getting lost in Kooklandia too long. Us Pogues kinda need you”

The genuine concern in his eyes made your heart twist slightly, and you nodded, touched by his words. “I won’t, JJ. Promise.”

A flash of relief crossed his face, and he returned your smile with a lopsided grin, nudging you playfully. “Alright, princess, get out of here before your mom thinks I’m corrupting you or something.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you said goodbye, his words lingering in your mind as you headed to the car.  

-

During dress shopping earlier, your phone had buzzed with a text from Sarah, asking if you wanted to hang out. She went on about an argument she’d had with Topper, making it sound both dramatic and all too familiar. You’d texted back, agreeing to come over once shopping was done, already bracing yourself for whatever rant awaited you.

Your mom is currently driving to the Cameron's residence as she droned on about Midsummer's etiquette and the importance of making a good impression.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll pick you up in a few hours. We can get lunch and talk more about Midsummers,” she said as she unlocked the car. But her phone buzzed just as she opened the door. She glanced at it, frowning.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” She sighed, her voice turning business-like. “They need me at the hospital honey. I’m so sorry, would you be able to grab a ride home.”

“Yeah, of course. Don’t worry, Mom, I understand. I’ll ask Sarah if she can drive me,” you replied, secretly grateful for the change of plans. You’d had enough of Midsummer's talk to last a lifetime.

She gave you a sympathetic smile, and as you shut the passenger door, you watched her drive away, feeling relieved. But that feeling quickly gave way to nerves as you noticed Rafe’s truck parked in front of the house. Of course, he’d be here,you thought, trying to keep your pulse steady.

Once your mom was out of sight, you made your way up the Cameron's all-too-familiar staircase. You hadn’t been here since that night—when you’d drunkenly found yourself in Rafe’s room. The memories flickered back, and you thought you caught a faint hint of his cologne lingering in the air. You passed by his door, stealing a glance, but it was empty, the bed neatly made. Maybe he’s out with Topper or Kelce by the pool, you mused, trying to shake the thrill of knowing he was nearby.

Reaching Sarah’s room, you barely had time to knock before she flung open the door, grabbing your arm and pulling you onto the bed beside her. “Finally!” she exclaimed, tossing her phone onto the bed as she settled in next to you. “You have no idea how badly I needed to see you today.”

“Really?” you laughed, stretching out beside her. “What’s going on?”

“Ugh, where do I even start?” She let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back against her pillows. “The guys are outside right now, so I can’t be too loud, but Topper and I had the stupidest argument last night. He gets jealous of everything—it’s unreal. Sometimes I think he’s the insecure one, not me! He saw me talking with John B near the docks and now he’s convinced I’m sneaking around behind his back!”

Your eyebrows shot up. “John B?” That was news to you. John B and Sarah had never shown much interest in each other before—or at least, not that you’d noticed.

Sarah nodded, biting her lip with a mischievous smile. “Yeah, he and I talked a bit last week, and honestly, I kind of liked it. He’s so…different from Topper, you know? But I swear, I wasn’t doing anything sketchy. Topper just freaked out and, ugh, it’s such a mess.”

You couldn’t help but imagine how the Pogues would react if they knew about Sarah’s budding friendship with John B. It was complicated enough with your friendship with them, let alone…well, your situation with Rafe. The Pogues wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to know you were sneaking around with the one person they despised most.

“Wow,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I just can’t picture John B with a Kook like…well, like us, honestly.”

Sarah laughed, rolling her eyes. “I know, right? It’s complicated.”

“Speaking of complicated…” you began, realizing you hadn’t yet told her about the day’s chaos. “I ran into Chris today.”

Her eyes widened, surprise flashing across her face. “Chris? No way. How did that go?”

You gave her a tight smile. “Awkward, mostly. He was��polite, I guess, but I could tell there was something else. I don’t think he’s over it. He even asked if I was seeing anyone new.”

Sarah groaned, shaking her head. “Classic Chris. He’s just trying to find an excuse to come back into your life.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, “but I had to lie and say no. And that made it even worse because…”

You paused, hesitating. Sarah propped herself up on her elbow, eyes narrowing. “Because what?”

You took a deep breath, feeling your pulse quicken. “Because I snuck out with Rafe last night.”

Sarah’s eyes went wide, and a slow smile spread across her face. “Oh my god, what? Go on!”

“He came to my house, tapping on my window like a total maniac.” You laughed at the memory, but your voice softened as you remembered what had happened next. “We ended up going for ice cream and walking on the pier. He…he told me he wanted to try with me, you know? Like, actually give it a shot. And I said yes, Sarah. I told him I liked him.”

Sarah’s expression shifted, a mix of excitement and caution. “Wow…okay, so this is getting serious, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, feeling a flutter of nervousness at her words. “It feels…different.”

Sarah sighed, looking at you with a gentle but wary smile. “I get it. Rafe can surprise you sometimes. But be careful, Y/N. He’s my brother, and I love him, but…he can be unpredictable.”

“I know,” you replied, grateful for her understanding. “But right now, I just…I don’t know. I feel happy.”

Just then, a familiar voice drifted through the open window from the backyard, and your stomach did a flip. Rafe’s unmistakable laugh mixed with Topper and Kelce’s voices, the sound sending a thrill through you.

Sarah noticed, smirking. “He’s right out there, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Ugh, I know. But we’re trying to keep things secret, remember?”

“Sure, sure,” she teased, winking.

You both laughed, and the conversation drifted to other things. But as you glanced out the window, you saw Rafe and the guys heading inside, his attention focused on his phone. Sarah’s voice faded into the background as you heard him walk through the house and up the stairs, heart thudding as you wondered if he might notice you.

Excusing yourself with a quick “I got to go to the bathroom,” you slipped out of Sarah’s room, making your way quietly down the hall. Just as you rounded the corner, you nearly collided with Rafe, who looked up in surprise, his lips curving into that familiar smirk.

“Whoa, well this is a surprise, what are you doing around here, pretty girl?” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Sneaking into my house just to see me?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile. “I’m best friends with your sister, dumbass. You’re the one who’s supposed to be downstairs with your friends.”

Rafe leaned casually against the wall, his hair still damp and tousled from the pool, water droplets catching on his tan skin, his arms toned and relaxed. He flashed you that familiar, mischievous grin. “Kelce and Topper just headed out, so I guess that leaves us. Think you can handle it?”

Your heart skipped a beat as he closed the space between you, the playful glint in his eyes making it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

You opened your mouth to answer, but his hand was already reaching for yours, pulling you into his room. The familiar thrill of being this close, in a place where you could be caught any second by Ward or Rose, made your pulse race.

“You know,” he murmured sitting on his bed pulling you between his legs, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” You tried to keep your voice steady running your hand down his chest, even as your heart raced. “What about me?”

He chuckled softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “Everything. The way you laugh, the way you look at me…” He paused, leaning in just enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. “The way you make it really hard to keep my hands off you.”

You swallowed, feeling the warmth spread through you. “Who said you have to?”

A slow grin spread across his face leaning in to capture a kiss, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the house, Sarah, the risks of being caught. It was just the two of you.

But then, footsteps echoed from the stairwell, and you both sprang apart, glancing nervously down the hall. Rafe gave you a quick wink, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Rose’s voice called down the hall, clear and firm. “Sarah! Rafe! Y/N! Dinner’s ready!”

Rafe pulled back, his lips just inches from yours, his playful expression turning to one of frustration. “Of course,” he muttered, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Before you could respond, Sarah’s footsteps sounded from the other side of the hall, followed by a quick knock on the bathroom door down the hall. “Hey Y/N dinner’s ready! Rafe, dinners ready. Come on, let’s go!”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, smirking as he glanced at you. Then, with his best impression of an annoyed brother, he called out, “I’ll be down in a few, Sarah!”

Satisfied, Sarah’s footsteps faded down the stairs, and in an instant, Rafe’s arms pulled you back toward him. His lips found yours again, the urgency even stronger now.  The thrill of secrecy rushed through you as his fingers tangled in your hair, his touch somehow gentle and desperate at the same time.

“Alright, you really need to go now,” he whispered between kisses, his voice thick with reluctance.

“You don’t make it easy,” you murmured, smiling against his lips. Finally, you pulled back, running a hand through your hair as you gathered yourself, fixing your clothes.

Taking a deep breath, you slipped out of his room, glancing over your shoulder one last time to see him watching you with that signature smirk. 

-

When you entered the dining room, the Cameron family was gathered around the table, and Rose flashed you a warm smile. Sarah was already seated, chatting with Wheezie, who was recounting some story with animated hand gestures. You slipped into the seat between Sarah and Rose, offering a polite smile to Ward as he nodded in greeting.

“Glad you could join us, Y/N,” Ward said, his tone warm. “We don’t get to see you around here often enough.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Cameron,” you replied, feeling a bit more at ease as Rafe entered the room and took the seat across from you. His expression was casual, but the glint of mischief in his eyes was unmistakable. As he sat down, his foot tapped against your thigh under the table, and your cheeks flushed.

Dinner began with light conversation, Rose asking about school, and Ward making polite inquiries about your family. The food was excellent, and for a while, you settled into the cozy atmosphere, almost able to ignore Rafe’s occasional gaze across the table and the flutter it stirred in you.

“So, Y/N,” Rose began, setting down her fork and smiling at you with that piercing, Kook-perfect smile. “I’m assuming you’ll be going to Midsummers? Did you end up finding a dress?”

“Oh, uh, yes! Just today, actually,” you replied, hoping to sound casual despite your racing heart.

She nodded approvingly. “Wonderful! Midsummers is such an important event, especially for making connections. Do you have a date lined up yet?”

The question caught you off guard, and you took a quick sip of water, trying to keep calm. “Not yet,” you replied, glancing down at your plate to avoid looking at Rafe.

“Oh, what about that young man you were seeing before?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “What was his name? Chris, right?

The mention of his name made both you and Sarah choke on your drinks at the same time. Sarah quickly recovered, covering her laughter with a cough, but your cheeks burned as you struggled to respond.

“Oh, uh, we’re…we’re not together anymore,” you managed, giving Rose a small, tight smile. You could feel Rafe’s eyes on you, though you didn’t dare look up. 

Rose’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. “Oh, I see. Well, no matter. I’m sure you’ll find a date—someone with a good head on his shoulders,” she added, her gaze lingering a bit too long on Rafe as if expecting him to say something.

Rafe cleared his throat, his expression unreadable as he casually picked at his food. “I’m sure Y/N will be the best-dressed one there,” he said smoothly, his tone calm but laced with a subtle edge. The mention of Chris hadn’t gone unnoticed, and a hint of jealousy flickered in his eyes.

The comment hung in the air for a moment before Ward chuckled, drawing the attention back to himself. “Well, I thinkit’s great that you’ll be attending, Y/N. Midsummers is a special event. It really brings out the best in everyone.”

“Yes, sir. My family is excited about it—it’s all my mom has been talking about,” you replied, chuckling as you offered Ward a polite smile, eager to steer the conversation away from your love life, especially with one of the culprits sitting directly across from you. 

-

As the meal continued, Rose turned her attention to Sarah, her smile a little too fixed as she asked, “So, Sarah, I heard you were spotted down at the docks last week with…what’s his name? John B?”

The question dropped into the conversation like a stone, and Sarah froze, her fork hovering mid-air. You felt your pulse quicken as you glanced over at her, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

“Oh, that?” Sarah laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. “We just ran into each other. It was nothing.” She was doing her best to act casual, but you could tell Rose wasn’t convinced.

“Well, it just seems like…an unusual friendship, doesn’t it?” Rose remarked, her voice light, though her eyes were sharp and watchful. 

“Considering his father’s…reputation.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened as she replied evenly, “John B’s not like that. He just…runs with a different group of people, that’s all.”

Ward set his glass down, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s true. John B’s worked well with us, especially on the boats. He’s shown some responsibility.” He paused, looking between you and Sarah. “But I’d hate for either of you to get caught up in their habits—like sneaking around and stretching the truth. It’s just not the kind of influence we want for you two.”

You exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with Sarah, sensing that Ward’s words held more weight than they seemed to on the surface. The underlying warning was clear.

Rose’s attention shifted to you, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. “And you, Y/N, seem to spend quite a bit of time with the Pogues, don’t you?” she asked, gesturing lightly. “How would you describe their…character?”

The question hung in the air, and you could feel the unspoken judgment. You hesitated, thinking about how to explain it without stirring more suspicion. “They’re…genuine,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully. “They’re rough around the edges, maybe, but they’re loyal, and they don’t pretend to be something they’re not.” You looked down, aware of Ward and Rose’s scrutiny. “They’re just good people, in their own way.”

Rafe cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Come on, Rose, it’s just a friendship,” he said, his tone casual yet carrying a hint of protectiveness as he glanced at you. “It’s not like either of them are running off with the Pogues and getting into trouble.”

Ward’s silence lingered, his frown subtle but clear. “It’s not the friendships themselves that concern me,” he said at last, eyes settling on Sarah and then you, “but the sneaking around and secrets. That’s what’s…disappointing.”

-

Just as the conversation drifted back to more mundane topics, Ward turned his attention to you. “Actually, Y/N, there’s something I wanted to ask you about. Your father’s company—he does business in real estate, right?”

Caught off guard, you nodded. “Uh, yes. He’s got some investments around the area.”

Ward nodded thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. “Interesting. I heard he’s been expanding into some new developments recently, some pretty big projects.”

You sensed there was more to his curiosity than casual interest, and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe’s gaze sharpened. What was Ward getting at?

“Yeah, I think he’s been working on a few,” you replied, keeping your tone light, though you felt a prickle of unease. Your dad had mentioned some big investments lately, but he was always cagey about the details.

Ward gave a satisfied nod, swirling his glass thoughtfully. “It’s good to hear. The market around here’s always shifting, and it’s smart to have eyes on it.”

“Exactly,” Rose chimed in, shooting Ward a supportive glance. “Families that know how to work with each other tend to do better in the long run, don’t they, Ward?”

You nodded politely, feeling Ward’s intent but still uncertain about the details. What exactly was he interested in?

“Tell him he should swing by sometime,” Ward added casually as if it were an afterthought. “We could go over some ideas, and talk business. Who knows, might be a win-win for both of us.”

“Oh, sure,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “I’ll let him know.”

Ward nodded with a pleased smile, raising his glass in a small toast. “To partnerships,” he said, giving you a look that seemed almost fatherly.

You nodded politely, feeling Ward’s intent but still uncertain about the details. What exactly was he interested in?

-

Dinner was winding down as everyone began clearing dishes from the table and bringing them to the kitchen. Rose stood at the window, watching the heavy raindrops pelting down outside, her brows knitting together in mild concern.

“Oh, it’s really coming down out there,” she said, glancing back toward you. “Y/N, you have a way to get home, right?I’d hate for you to get caught in this.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond as Sarah chimed in. “I was going to take her, but I, uh…let Topper use my car earlier.” Her eyes flicked toward you and Rafe, her mouth twisting into a half-smile as if she could sense the tension brewing.

“Oh, that’s no problem,” Ward said, looking over at Rafe, who was lounging casually on the couch in the other room, scrolling through his phone. “Rafe, why don’t you take Y/N home? I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

The suggestion hung in the air for a moment. You and Rafe exchanged brief glances, each of you caught off guard, but Rafe recovered quickly, nodding with a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, I can take her,” he replied, his tone nonchalant, though his gaze lingered on you a second longer than necessary.

Rose beamed slightly taken aback by his sudden willingness. “Wonderful! Thank you, Rafe.”

Excitement and nervousness coursed through you knowing you would get alone time with Rafe without anyone suspecting anything.

-

Your heart thumped as you ran upstairs to grab your bag and then you said goodbyes to the Camerons. Ward remindingyou again to talk to your father about the business deal and Rose just telling you to tell your mom hi. 

Rafe grabbed his keys, and after a quick farewell to Rose and Ward, he led you outside, holding the door for you as you climbed into his truck, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. The rain continued to pour down, droplets hitting the windshield in a steady rhythm that enveloped you both.

As Rafe pulled out of the driveway, silence filled the space between you, his fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and his jaw was clenched just enough to hint that something was bothering him.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft but edged with something deeper. “So…looks like you got stuck with me .”

You chuckled, glancing over at him. “Guess I am.”

He shot you a sidelong look, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Doesn’t seem like you mind too much.”

“Maybe I don’t,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “maybe we can finish what we started earlier” your hand resting on the seat between you.

His gaze flicked down to your hand, and then back to the road, dodging your flirty comment. “Seems like Chris came up a lot tonight,” he muttered, his tone casual but carrying a distinct note of tension. 

Oh gosh is this what was making him so bothered, you thought

You glanced at him, feeling your heart pick up pace. “Well, it was Rose who brought him up,” you said softly, sensing that this was more than a casual comment.

Rafe nodded, a small frown crossing his face as he kept his gaze on the road. After a moment, you hesitated but felt it better to be honest. “Actually…I ran into him earlier today. At the boutique.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his expression hardening. “You ran into him?”

You sighed and nodded, feeling the familiar tug of conflict. “It was nothing, Rafe. Just…awkward. He tried to make conversation, and he asked if I was seeing anyone. I told him I wasn’t because…well because we’re supposed to keep this between us.”

Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his jaw flexing. “So…he thinks you’re single, then?”

You glanced at him, taken aback by the edge in his tone. “Rafe, it’s not like that.”

“But it sounds like it,” he shot back, his voice soft but insistent. “I don’t like the idea of him thinking he’s got a chance when he doesn’t.”

You looked away, raising your own voice caught off guard by his intensity. “Well, what do you want me to do? Tell him I’m secretly seeing someone who…hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you instantly regretted it, resituating yourself in your seat glancing out the window, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

Rafe’s eyes flickered with surprise, then softened as he pulled the truck over to the side of the road a block from your house, rain pattering loudly on the roof. He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Do you…want that?”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze. The vulnerability in his eyes almost broke you, “Maybe I do,” you said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “But I’m not ready to put a label on it just yet, I like this sneaking around”

A smirk played on his lips as he leaned in, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Fine by me. But you’re still mine, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “And if I see Chris—or anyone—try to touch you, it won't go unnoticed” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. 

A shiver ran down your spine at the intensity in his voice, but a warmth spread through you at the same time. “Rafe, you know I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“Good,” he whispered, his hand moving to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek and your lip. “Because I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“You’ve wanted this for a long time Cameron?” a smile tugging on your lips, “I always knew you had a thing for me.”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he muttered, his lips curving into a smile as he leaned in.

You felt everything fade away as he pressed his lips to yours, the rain still hammering down. You melted into him, your hands threading into his hair as he deepened the kiss, his grip on you tightening as if he couldn’t get enough. The intensity between you grew, each kiss more urgent than the last, and before you knew it, he was pulling you over onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close.

You could feel the heat radiating between you, your breaths mingling as he kissed you with a hunger that made your head spin. His hands traced along your back, drawing you closer, as he whispered, “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, his words making your heart pound as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your back and he began to kiss down your neck hitting your soft spot. “Rafe…” you moaned out.

“And if I see any guy even thinking about getting too close…” He trailed off, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, a possessive glint in his eye. “I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you captured his lips in another kiss, feeling the heat between you building. 

“Rafe,” you breathed between kisses, “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Good,” he whispered, his voice rough as his hands explored you, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could stop, even if I tried.”

He held you close, his lips moving from your mouth to your jaw, then along your neck, each touch igniting sparks across your skin. You felt as though you were lost in him, the way he looked at you as though you were the only person in the world.

“I can’t wait to see you in that Midsummers dress,” he murmured, his voice rough with anticipation, his hands lingering at your waist. “I can only imagine how good you’ll look.”  he continues to whisper, “and how good it'll be when I take it off and fuck you.”

His words made you blush, a smile playing on your lips as you gazed at him. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

He grinned, capturing your mouth again in a kiss that was anything but patient, his hands roaming up your back, pulling you closer. Without thinking, your fingers drifted to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling slightly as you began to undo them, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your hands. He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening as you pushed the shirt off his shoulders, running your hands over the hard lines of his chest. 

You pull away quickly, and Rafe can sense your reason for hesitation.

“Don’t worry, baby. It’s raining so hard, and my windows are too tinted,” he says confidently, immediately going back to attacking your neck.

Rafe’s hand slipped under your shirt, tugging it off with a swift motion, his fingers exploring the newly exposed skin with an intensity that left you breathless. His hands cupped your breasts, and you shivered at the sensation.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your collarbone as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth left a trail of fire along your skin, kisses becoming more insistent as he marked you with small bites—a silent declaration that you were his.

Your hands drifted down, fingers skimming over his toned chest before finding the waistband of his shorts. You felt his body tense under your touch, his breath hitching, eyes darkening with a fierce, barely restrained desire as he looked down at you.

“Careful,” he whispered, his voice low, almost a warning. But the challenge in his gaze made it impossible for you to hold back. You pressed 

closer, letting him know you were just as ready for this as he was. 

You locked eyes with him, a smirk playing on your lips as you took your time grinding your hips down, feeling his hardness beneath you. Rafe let out a low groan, his hands instinctively gripping your waist, urging you to move. His grip tightened, one hand sliding over your thigh and pulling you closer, making you roughen the kiss as his touch neared the edge of your skirt.

A shiver ran through you as Rafe’s hand inched along your inner thigh, each slow movement sparking anticipation. When his fingers brushed over your panties, you caught your breath, your heart pounding as he pulled the fabric to the side. His fingers found your warm, wet center, and he sighed against your mouth, his arousal pressing insistently against you.

A low moan escaped your lips as his fingers entered you, the roughness of his touch making you grip his seat for support. You’d craved this feeling, the way only Rafe could make you lose yourself, and every lingering memory of your first night together flooded back, more intense than ever.

You let your lips drift down to his neck, biting and sucking as you went, intent on leaving a visible reminder. Your body was moving on instinct, grinding against his hand as he picked up the pace, each thrust of his fingers igniting you further. When he angled his fingers just right, your body tensed, and a choked gasp escaped you, urging him on as he went deeper.

You rocked your hips against his hand, feeling the pressure building, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. The pleasure built steadily until you felt it crest, your entire body shuddering as you surrendered to the intensity of it. The truck windows fogged up, trapping the warmth between you as the rain pattered on the roof outside.

Rafe’s fingers slowed, coaxing the last waves of pleasure from you, and you moaned softly, holding tightly to his arm. Just when you were catching your breath, he slipped his fingers out, leaving you with an ache at the sudden emptiness.

With a sly smirk, Rafe reached down, pulling his boxers lower to reveal himself to you. The sight made you bite your lip, but he didn’t leave you much time to dwell on it; his hands tugged at your hips, guiding you over to your knees. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a condom and tore it open, sliding it on in one smooth motion.

Breathless with anticipation, you steadied yourself above him, slowly lowering your hips as Rafe guided you down. A gasp escaped both of you as he filled you completely, the world around you fading away as you moved together, lost entirely in each other.

As he entered you, a shared moan echoed between you, raw and unfiltered. “Holy shit, you’re so perfect,” Rafe breathed, his head falling back, his voice laced with awe.

He leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his, his breath mingling with yours as he deepened the kiss, sending a rush of pleasure straight through you.

You began to move, adjusting to his size. Each new rise and fall brought a wave of intensity that heightened your pleasure. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you as you took him in fully, and you wondered if his fingers might leave marks. 

Your own hands curled around his arms for support, gripping tighter each time he filled you, your bodies falling perfectly in sync.

As you grew more comfortable, your pace quickened, driven by the sheer pleasure that neither of you could hold back.

“Rafe…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you began to falter, feeling yourself edging closer. No one had ever made you feel this way before, and you could sense you wouldn’t last much longer, each movement pushing you closer to the brink of release.

“You just feel so good. You’re so perfect, princess,” he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck and onto your breasts. With each thrust, he guided your movements, pulling you down harder onto his lap, as if channeling the jealousy he’d felt over Chris into each motion.

Rafe’s arm tightened around your waist, drawing you in deeper, the pressure becoming almost unbearable in the most addictive way. The sound of your pleasure filled the small space, mingling with the sound of the rain pounding against the truck. You swore that if it weren’t raining so hard, anyone nearby would hear the sounds of your moans. Soft whimpers and moans spilled from your lips as Rafe continued, making you completely his. He groaned, his voice low and rough, as your moans nearly sent him over the edge.

You were lost in the rhythm of it all, overwhelmed by the sensations as you neared your peak once more. Rafe’s thrusts became more intense, and you felt the tightening of your walls around him, a telltale sign that you were on the brink.

“Rafe!” you gasped, feeling your climax wash over you in waves, pulling a deep moan from your throat. “I want you so bad,” you murmured, 

“Come inside me, baby…” Your words seemed to ignite something in him, his eyes widening as he watched your body react, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as he thrust deeper.

You could hardly breathe, your body trembling as the overwhelming pleasure intensified. It felt like you were floating, the world outside fading until only he remained—his touch, his heat, the way he made you feel. Rafe groaned, a low, desperate sound as he felt your walls tighten around him, his own release fast approaching.

With a final thrust, he buried himself deeper, his hips moving sloppily as his climax took over. His hands gripped your waist as he moaned against your skin, his lips finding your chest as he rode out the last waves of pleasure. For a moment, both of you remained still, panting as you caught your breath, hearts racing in unison.  Rafe whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you caught your breath, Rafe fixing your hair.

“You okay pretty girl?” he asked leaning in to kiss you.

“More than okay, Rafe,” you say between kisses, smiling more and more. You swear you've never felt so happy.

You pull back slightly, and he does too, your eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability. You can't quite put your finger on why kissing him feels so different—so much better— so right.

You kiss him once more, instantly melting into his warm touch. You want to stay in his arms forever until your moment is interrupted by the buzzing of a phone. You glance over and it's Rafe's phone on the dashboard, Dad.

Rafe answered the call, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. “Hey, Dad,” he said, leaning slightly away from you as he focused on the conversation. You watched as his expression darkened, his jaw tightening at whatever his father was saying.

“I told you I’d handle it,” Rafe snapped, frustration evident in his tone. You could see the tension building as he rubbed a hand over his face. “No, I’m fine. Just… give me a minute. Just dropped Y/N off. I drove extra slow since the rain was so bad.”

Your heart sank as you realized your time together was slipping away. Rafe looked back at you, his expression apologetic, but you could see the stress brewing in his eyes. “I have to go. I’ll call you later, Dad” he said, clearly trying to wrap up the conversation.

You sat back slightly, feeling the warmth of your earlier intimacy fade, trying to give him space while the weight of the moment lingered between you.

Rafe ended the call and exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that. My dad’s being… well, you know how he is. Just pissed off about some investment bullshit,” he said, frustration still etched on his face.

“It’s fine,” you replied, trying to sound more upbeat than you felt. “Family stuff comes first.”

“Yeah, but I was really enjoying… this,” he said, with a smirk on his face but his voice still lingering with regret.

“Me too,” you admitted.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and for a moment, everything felt perfect again. “Let’s go do something this week, okay? I’ll take you out on a real date.” His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, promising more to come.

You nodded eagerly, giving him another soft kiss, cupping his cheeks as you savored the moment.

He helped you swiftly off him, both of you collecting your scattered clothing and attempting to put it back on correctly.

“I should get you home before your dad starts worrying,” Rafe said reluctantly, the reality of the situation settling over you both.

You nodded, feeling a mix of disappointment and understanding that this moment together was ending. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Rafe started up his truck, creeping closer to your house. He pulled over in front of your home and parked.

As you climbed out of the truck and into the pouring rain, Rafe came over to the other side and offered you his hoodie to protect you from the rain. You swiftly put it on, feeling its warmth envelop you.

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, finding any reason to spend more time with you.

You didn’t really have a choice but to nod. “Yeah, that’d be great,” you replied, a flicker of anxiety rushed through you at the thought of getting caught but it out to be rainy and dark enough, no one could make out his figure.

As he walked you to your front door, you said a quick, discreet goodbye, not wanting to raise any flags or cause your dad to look out the window. You took one last glance at him, watching him walk back to his truck, his shoulders slightly hunched against the rain.

As you slipped inside, your heart raced as you stood in the hallway, the familiar sounds of your home bringing you back to reality as you tried to shake off the lingering adrenaline from your time with Rafe.

“Y/N?” your dad called from the living room, pulling you out of your thoughts. You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself as you approached.

“Hey, Dad,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. He was sitting on the couch, the TV flickering in the dim light.

“Where have you been? You got home a little late,” he said, looking up at you and the clock with a hint of concern.

“Oh, I was just with Sarah,” you said quickly. “Her brother drove me home since she didn’t have her car.” The words felt slippery, but you hoped they’d hold.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly gauging your sincerity. “Okay, just make sure you’re careful out there, especially with the rain coming down so hard.”

You nodded, relieved that he seemed to accept your explanation. “I will, Dad. I promise.”

He glanced at the hoodie now draped on your arm, his brow furrowing slightly. “That’s a nice hoodie. Is it new?”

“Yeah, I just borrowed it,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you fiddled with the fabric. “I got cold, so… you know how it is.”

Your dad nodded but remained silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Just remember honey, I worry about you, sometimes I don’t know if you’re out with those pogues or not. I’d rather you be safe than sorry.”

“Of course,” you said, forcing a smile to reassure him. “I’m always careful Dad, I promise.”

He smiled back, his worry easing a bit. “Good. Now go wash up and get some rest. You’ve had a long day. I love you”

“Okay, night Dad, love you too,” you said but right before you headed up the stairs you turned around, “Oh Dad, Ward Cameron wanted to meet with you about some business investment stuff” 

He simply chuckled and said “Okay” before you continued heading up the stairs towards your bedroom.

Once back in your room, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in the pillow as a muffled scream escaped—equal parts frustration and exhilaration. The adrenaline started to fade and the memories of Rafe’s touch, his kisses, and that promise of a real date whirled through your mind, making it hard to catch your breath. Excitement buzzed through your veins, filling you with a warmth that felt as surreal as it was intoxicating.

None of tonight felt real.

You could still feel the comforting weight of his arms around you, and his hoodie was still curled up in your arms, smelling strongly of his cologne—a lingering reminder of everything that had happened.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Reaching over, you saw a message from Kiara.

Hey, Y/N! The Pogues and I are hitting the beach tomorrow. The waves are supposed to be crazy good. Wanna come?

A grin crept across your face as you quickly typed a reply.

Oh, hell yes! That sounds perfect!

But as soon as you hit send, another notification flashed across your screen. This time, it was your manager, Lance.

Hey Y/N! I’m so sorry it’s late, but could you pick up a morning shift tomorrow? We’re short-staffed, and I could reallyuse your help!

Your heart sank as you rolled your eyes in frustration. Taking an early shift meant skipping the beach day you’d just agreed to. You hesitated, caught between the thought of spending time with the pogues or actually making some money.

With a reluctant sigh, you typed out a response to Lance,

Sure! What time?

Then, biting your lip, you shot a follow-up message to Kiara.

Shit, Ki, I’m so sorry! My manager just asked me to work tomorrow morning, so I’ll have to miss out. But maybe I can meet up later?

After a few seconds, you saw Kiara’s text bubble pop up.

Ugh, bummer. Don’t let those Kooks work you too hard! We’ll be at the Chateau if you wanna swing by later. I’ll even save you a drink. Plus, we have some stuff to catch you up on.

You tossed your phone on the bed with a sigh, the weight of the skipping out kind of making you upset but you’ve called off so many shifts these past few weeks. Plus you know there will be a party this week to make up for lost time. You kicked off your shoes and pulled the covers over you. Your body was utterly exhausted.

As you settled into bed, Butters, your cat, jumped up and curled himself beside you, purring contentedly. You ran your fingers through his soft fur, letting the rhythm of his purring lull you into a sense of calm.

"I hate skipping out on the Pogues," you muttered to Butters, who responded with a contented purr. "But, hey, at least I won’t be broke."

You sighed, snuggling into the covers and letting the warmth of your cat and the quiet of the room start to ease your mind. Just as you were starting to drift off, a new notification buzzed on your phone.

You picked it up, blinking at the screen in surprise.

Goodnight beautiful

A small smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the text. You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, even though you knew you'd have to face the consequences of whatever you were getting yourself into with Rafe. For now, though, you let the words settle in and your exhaustion wins, letting sleep pull you under.

--——----------————- ❥・-------------------------

Taglist: @rafesno1bae, @drewsphswife, @maybankslover

[onlymimiwastaken]

Warrior Penelope stuff cause I've been listening to too many EPIC genderbent covers, and I wanted to give my take on it (also cuz I kinda want to draw it one day)

- Ares as Penelope's patron, absolutely! But Ares was never too worshipped in Greece, not even in Sparta (no one kinda gave a shit about him except for during war and thought he was kinda gross). So my lore take version thing is that ATHENA wanted to be Penelope's patron (she had already an eye on Ody kinda) but Ares saw his chance, got to it first and became attached to Penelope without wanting to admit it, also because she saw the good and useful in him. Athena still watches over Penelope (especially after her and Ares platonically break up, which she finds really stupid) and is the one who does her best to protect Ithaca while she's gone. She's by Ody's side while he misses his wife and is mostly the reason why the Suitors hadn't taken over yet.

- To get Ares to realize his mistake, Athena tricks him into helping Telemachus defeat Antinous in Little Wolf because free bloodshed, only to end up sensitized by Telemachus because holy shit, my friend's son is here almost dying to this ASSHOLE who thinks he's so much stronger than MY friend the queen and even me like who tf does he think he is. Athena makes Ares fucking rational for once. And maybe even Aphrodite, as well, gets some damn sense in his mind like "they love each other like you and I and my girl is doing her best to get home you're going to apologize rn"

- ctimene holds a claymore double her height with no problems

- penelope is more "cold ruthless" than Odysseus, in a way that she's still poised (until the end or when she's really brought to her knees which is disturbing) while doing merciless stuff. She's emotionless a lot more (just on the surface)

- Ares was the one to give Penelope the idea of going to war instead of Odysseus, for obvious reasons. And Pen is really a mastermind among the Greeks ofc

- Ares and Pen fought in their My Goodbye version because she "held back her power while her friends got devoured" "she didn't even fight Polyphemus, didn't even TRY to kill him" "hid behind her wits to get things done". Because when fighting Polyphemus, she knew that if she tried to kill Polyphemus while he was asleep, they'd be stuck in that cave forever (like in the real Odyssey). And knew that fighting while her friends got killed would slow them down and probably get more people dead. And when they ran away, she didn't go back to kill the Cyclops even if she could've because of yes, mercy, but also because she would've awakened all the other Cyclops and sailing away was faster, better. Ares deemed this cowardice. Crazy thing, since one of the most important things to him is courage.

- Ares overstimates Penelope's power. Like, yes, she's exceptional, but still HUMAN. With her limits. He hasn't dealt with a human personally in years so he doesn't understand this, so his expectations are ridiculously high, which ends up breaking Penelope.

- During 600 strike, Penelope can actually breathe underwater and not hold her breath for such a long time and be fine because she's half naiad (yes, they are fresh water nymphs but still). Also this may make her even stronger around water (to a certain degree, she's still very mortal)

- calypso is pansexual

this is already a lot, ill add more when i think about it lol (also if i realize any of these ideas don't make sense)

[quitealotofsodapop]

I've sent a similar ask before, but in peachsoup I want to see everyone's reaction to Sun Wukong being named Peaches.

Nehza: *face palms.* No memories and he is still subconsciously pining.

Erlang: *on the floor laughing* It takes a special kind of simping to do it with no memory.

Macaque: *crisis because even with no memory, Wukong chose his nickname for him as a name, but also he's supposed to be angry about dying but peaches-*

Prev.

Dont worry about resending. My inbox is stuffed to the gills and I get lost in it. Also indenting doesnt seem to work right when im on mobile.

I ended up making a bit of character dialogue based on this ask between Peaches and his school-friend "Nez"

Nez: "So how did you get the name Peaches?" Peaches: "Oh! When Dadsy- uh dad found me and MK, he called me it because peaches were pretty much the only thing I ate." Nez, agreeing hum: "Make sense." Peaches: "Then when we were adopted, we needed new legal names - so Zhu Taozi it was!" Nez: "So... you never considered having another name? I mean, the legal folk definitely gave you time to think about it. Why did Peaches resonate with you?" Peaches, twirling hair in thought: "This is gonna sound weird... but I felt like it's always been my name." Nez: "Really?" Peaches: "I know! It sounds so weird! But when I heard it for the first time, it just sounded so natural. Like someone I care about a long time ago called me it? Nez, intrigued: "Oh... so you think it was a nickname from a sibling or a parent or...?" Peaches, confidently: "I think it was someone I was in love with." Nez, memory thread unlocked?: "OH. Oh um... how can you tell?" Peaches, blush creeping: "I don't know! When I sit and meditate on stuff like this, I can just imagine someone just so beautiful with this deep voice chuckling my name like it was meant for me." (*hugs his own body lovingly*) Nez, honesty touched: "Aww..." Peaches, little embarrassed: "I'm sorry. Thats sappy." Nez: "Nah, it's really cute. Who knows? Maybe it's a sign from Yue Lao about who your soulmate it. He sometimes uses dreams to push fated lovers towards one another." Peaches, tail swishing with excitement: "Oh my gods, you're right! It could be a premonition! I wonder if my fated one is as beautiful as I see them! Nezha, internally: "He can't remember over 2000 years of life, but he can remember what his mate used to call him. It would be funny if it wasn't so bittersweet."

Once Macaque gets back, it's hard to see where his face mask begins and end. Learning that even with his memories gone Wukong chose to be called "Peaches", sends the shadow monkey into a conflicted mess. He's mad about getting KO'd obvs, but "Peaches" is both a tragic example of what if Wukong had died (Peaches is almost his own monkey after all), and a revelation that Wukong never truly forgot his mate.

Erlang is laughing his ass off as all of this goes down. His third eye was just spitting patch updates to him one day and BAM; Wukong's mate is back, and just learned that his amnesiac mate remembered and valued his pet name enough to make it his new name. It's way too funny to keep quiet about. He tells all his sworn bros about it.

When Peaches' family realises that "Peaches" was the pet name his big bro's crush called him back when they were a couple... they think its really cute. But the bad boy still isn't coming over for dinner.

[bisnes-socks]

i love kot kot. i've always loved kot kot. and i'm gonna tell you why.

i think it's a beautiful song, i think it's a banger, i think it's a nostalgic sound, and i think it's an incredibly sad song.

musically, i think kot kot sounds like a summer night in finland. the contrast between the melodic, soaring chorus and the darker, harder verses sounds like walking back and forth between the bright light midnight and the dark clubs or bars or restaurants or something. going from the first verse into the chorus again feels like stepping out from a dark venue and it's 2 am but the light outside is the same as it was when you went in hours ago. it's actually super eerie the way time doesn't seem to move at all during the height of summer in finland. it's a sort of a liminal space that can feel either like never ending horror or an addictive state of true living, depening on how you deal with endless light. 

this is a summer song to me.

i love love love the free flying chorus.

i love love love the old school sound of the verses.

the chorus is beautiful with it's long soaring vowels and lines. the verses are mega bangers that remind of early 2000's music. the echoes of like old school drum and bass, breakbeat etc. are super nostalgic to me and have sent me down the rabbit hole of music from my childhood multiple times since the song came out. and i personally love the contrasts and different sections in the song. i think they go together well, i don't think they clash.

i think jurek and allu have composed a clever song. and honestly allu deserves more recognition across the board i am sorry i've been slipping in that department.

now. to the sad part.

i always felt like the chorus was sort of... wistful and melancholic. but the album puts all of that in a different context. he's not just mr. lonely. he's fucking terrified of being alone. 

"pelottaa, ettei jatkopläänit ehkä osukkaa, kuumottaa tosissaan, osote ois saatava, poket tos jo hoputta siis vastatkaa nyt saatana" meaning "i'm scared that after party plans will fall through, seriously getting jittery about it, i need an address, bouncers are on my case, somebody pick up the phone" like with the context of the full album now, it's really painting a picture of someone who does not want to go home and face being alone with his thoughts.

i remember when the song came out and people had all sorts of headcanons and ideas as to why the second time round the voice on the phone is in english - things like maybe he's making an international call or something. well, the truth is that in finland, that message is always played in three languages: finnish, swedish and english. so why is it in english the second time? honestly in all seriousness i think it's just a little nod to his international fans or something, like i don't think there is a real story reason for it. but if there was.. well, if anything, to me it suggests that he must have stayed on the phone, listening through the whole litany: valitsemaanne numeroon ei juuri nyt saada yhteyttä, kontakt med numret ni har valt fås ej, the number you have dialed cannot be reached. to get to the english part he has already been told twice in two languages that there is no one there, nobody is picking up, but he's still there.

honestly this song more than anything feels like the true pair of autiomaa, because to me, this song is someone trying to avoid feeling exactly the way autiomaa describes. feeling empty, feeling nothing, feeling alone. he says as much: "tää klubi on yht tyhjä ku sen katsoja" meaning this club is as empty as he who is looking at it. he's empty and finding other people to party and hang out with is the only way out of feeling empty, the only way to distract himself from the fact that he is lost.

and so for skit and autiomaa to come right after this? he has reached a breaking point and realised he has to face the nothingness inside.

and again, like with takavoltti, i think this song represents that long standing finnish tradition of writing funny lyrics about difficult subjects. it's also very very typical in finnish culture to make songs that seem to be about drinking on the surface level but are actually not about that. this song builds a lot of very comedic images: him vibing to celine dion alone in a club and refusing to leave, fighting with bouncers etc. and then of course there is the whole chicken thing with kot kot kot. it's funny - except it's not funny at all.

but the thing is, it's okay to find things funny in the song. they both are and are not funny at the same time, because isn't that what life is. i don't think the intention of these songs is to make you feel one specific way, it's just a matter of perspective. and that can change from day to day. so i think it's okay if one day the song breaks your heart on behalf of the käärijä in the story of the song, and on another day you just want to belt out the chorus and dance through the verses. it's all okay, it's all good.

and that's pretty skilled song writing.

[ot3]

pretty long meandering post here just talking through some thoughts about the late game arizona progressive endorsement for kamala

i find it really fascinatingly racist the way certain people took the letter from local arab/muslim leaders in arizona endorsing kamala's campaign and decided that mean they now had 'palestinians want you to vote for kamala' as a hammer they could deploy in a world full of nails. to be clear i don't think this endorsement was meaningless at all and the opinions of these people are certainly worth considering. especially for swing state voters, who were the target audience here.

but i saw people responding to fucking bisan's on-the-ground video of people in gaza saying the election results made no difference to them with sentiment along the lines of 'don't believe this video,, its disinformation, palestinians want you to vote for harris' and i can only assume it's because none of them actually read the letter. they just saw headlines like this one and decided that absolved them of any need to own their own decisionmaking at this time

now clearly the palestinian people are not a monolith, and palestinians currently living in gaza and suffering through a genocide vs those living in the US in a swing state are going to have different priorities vis a vis this election. i don't think acknowledging that in any way diminishes the validity of either group's opinion, and it's absolutely not my place to critique the way these various communities are choosing to respond to kamala's stance on israel. so it really disgusts me to watch mainly white liberals act like this specific group of people discussing the specific political context they currently exist in represents the complete and collective will of the palestinian people, just because doing so happens to support their political goals. i don't know man i think the second you start talking about an entire nationality of people as if they have the same political opinions you've already lost!

the reason i say i don't think most of these people read the letter, beyond the fact that i've yet to see anyone discuss the specifics of it, is because the letter does go out of its way to acknowledge potential strategic benefits of 3rd party votes in the 43 other states that aren't going to be the deciding factor. i know this is not sentiment that the average voteblue liberal agrees with.

anyway. there's not really a conclusion to be had here other than i think we're going to see a lot of vitriol directed towards third party votes in the immediate future. we saw similar sentiment after the 2016 election; people were INCREDIBLY quick to say that the reason donald trump won was because not enough people showed up for hillary. people are still saying that, as a matter of fact.

as i and many other people have been pointing out for the past eight years, hillary won the popular vote by a margin of several million, and still lost. at that scale you simply can not blame things on voter turnout. i don't really know what to say at that point. trump's 2016 victory really just pitch perfectly illustrated in a way too blatant to ignore that the US presidential election does not represent the will of the public. but people will do literally anything to keep viewing the state of US politics as a result of people Voting Wrong and Being Too Stupid To Understand What's At Stake

as always, we are not allowed to hold the democrats accountable for delivering nothing to their constituents, but we can hold the constituents responsible for not showing up like loyal dogs to beg for whatever table scraps harris's campaign vaguely pretended to offer us. surely this strategy will work in 2028! see you all then.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

staring at you. l Frankie “Catfish” Morales

Summary:  he saw her in a bar and then everything changed

Warnings:  fluff, slow burn, two people are looking for each other

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a few days now. I hope for a few chapters. I don't know if anyone will read this... if that's you, good luck.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

chapter 1.

The first time he saw her was at the bar where he was with Benny and Will. It was a nice Friday night. The place was full of people having fun, pleasant music mixed with the buzz of conversation and laughter, and Frankie was sitting at the bar slowly finishing his second beer.

The feeling that he was being watched didn’t leave him, so he raised his eyes and looked around. At first he thought that Will might be looking for him in the crowd, although he had clearly told him where he would be. 

And then, on the other side of the bar, he saw gentle eyes staring at him. For a moment he thought that she must have mistaken him for someone else. But when their eyes met, she smiled, and Frankie felt a pleasant tickle in his heart.

She raised her drink as if she was making a silent toast, and he did the same, without taking their eyes off each other, they finished their drinks.

The decision was quick, but not quick enough. The urge to approach her was overwhelming, but when he finally lifted his ass off the bar stool, another woman approached her, whispered something in her ear, and she quickly stood up.

One last look, and she disappeared into the crowd of people.

The second time he saw her was a few days later, in a local store. And this time, the universe wasn’t on Frankie's side. 

His brain quickly registered a familiar face. After all, he had spent most of his last days thinking about this lovely stranger. 

He completely ignored Benny, who wanted to buy a beer for Saturday's match, and, leaving him the cart, he set off after his target.

His eyes were devouring her figure, and the girl must have sensed that someone was staring at her. She turned around and spotted him almost immediately. A beautiful and sincere smile appeared on her face, as if she had seen a long-lost friend.

Frankie smiled too. He moved towards her, bypassing a family with small children and an old couple arguing over laundry detergent. But this time he failed too.

The girl answered the phone, grabbed her shopping and quickly headed for the exit. Before she was out of sight she turned around and found his gaze. Frankie saw a sad smile on her face, her lips moving in a silent "I'm sorry."

And she disappeared again.

After a week he spotted her in the city, but before he could react the traffic lights at the intersection changed color and the driver behind him started honking, urging him to move.

"Fuck!" he hissed, slamming his hand on the steering wheel.

It wasn't even a game of cat and mouse. It was more like catching smoke and Frankie found himself looking for her among other people almost all the time. To no avail.

"Does she even exist?" Benny asked when he finally told him about her.

"Of course she does!" Frankie mumbled, scratching his head and pulling his baseball cap back on. "I don't even know her name, but I can't stop thinking about her."

He didn't know her name. He knew nothing about her. All he had was a few exchanged glances, a few smiles. It was next to nothing, but it seemed to Frankie that that should be enough to find her. Right?

And then fate dealt him a good card for a moment. Or maybe he himself contributed to it. He took the same chair again in the same bar. Now alert. His gaze wandered over the faces of the guests and each time he straightened up when the door opened. The first hour passed, and then the second. When doubt slowly started to creep over his skin, that's when he saw her.

She must have entered when he blinked, because Frankie couldn't find any other explanation for it. She was talking to some girl, but her eyes wandered around the place as if she was looking for someone. Him?

Now Frankie didn't wait anymore, didn't hesitate. He immediately headed towards her, afraid that she would slip away from him again. She noticed him the moment she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, and her face lit up.

"Hi." was all he could manage.

"Hi." she replied, her voice sounding beautiful in his ears. "We should stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, a bit stressful." he laughed quietly.

He felt as if her eyes were devouring him and heat seeped into the back of his neck. No one had ever looked at him like that, it was even a little embarrassing.

Frankie wanted to say something, make a joke or ask if he could buy her a drink, but then a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

In a second her hand was on the back of his neck as she pulled him closer. Her lips met his in a soft and sweet kiss. A few seconds during which his heart almost stopped beating.

When she pulled away from him she was still smiling.

"I had to, I'm sorry." she said.

"Jesus, don't apologize." he rasped in surprise. "I mean... We’ve already done this in my head." God! He would do anything for that smile. "Maybe I can buy you a drink?"

"I can't. I should probably go now..."

Something in her eyes changed, some small detail that Frankie noticed right away. He quickly pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket.

"Will you give me your number?"

She hesitated for a split second, but took his phone anyway.

"Just please don't give me the number of a mechanic or something." he snorted, and she shook her head. "Your real number?"

"Check."

She handed him the phone and Frankie dialed the number she had entered. A soft ring sounded in her purse. They both laughed.

"I'm Frankie, and you are?"

She gave him her name, and he repeated it quietly. It was a nice feeling, finally being able to name the being who had been living rent-free in his head for a long time.

He opened his mouth to say something when the phone in her purse rang again.

"Not me now," he joked, but she lifted her hand slightly and reached for her phone.

She was visibly worried as she read the message, and then looked around for her friend.

"I'll have to go now, Frankie." she said as she nodded to her friend “I wish I could stay longer, really.”

He could tell in her voice that she really meant it. He felt strangely sorry for her, he didn't know why.

"Maybe we could meet up?" he suggested.

"Will you text me?" she asked.

"Sure. If that's what you want..."

"Yes, please."

She squeezed his hand gently, smiled, and left.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 85 (Searching for Rafa Bonilla)

cw: mentions underage trafficking, drug smuggling

Conrad looked for Rafa Bonilla between his regular cases at the precinct, following clues and booking suspects to keep his captain satisfied. A few months into his search he finally located one of Rafa's known associates, according to police reports.

He called Heather, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Hey, you've reached Heather's phone. It's either the middle of the night or I'm with a patient, so leave a message and I'll call you back."

"Hey, it's me. I was hoping to talk to you, but I've got to work a little late tonight. I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry. I love you."

He drove outside Brindleton Bay to greet the man who thought he had everyone fooled with his chess mentorship program. It would be less than thirty minutes before his students - mostly children - started showing up for their scheduled lesson in the park, so Conrad knew he had to work fast. He shuddered as he got closer to him, and not just because it was freezing outside.

"Jimmy Stefano," he said, dropping his voice an octave to sound serious.

"Not lately," mused the man with a laugh. "Who's asking?" He turned to face the voice who knew his old identity. "You? They said you were a cop now. No surprise they never let you work our cases."

Conrad knew they had no time for small talk and he whipped out his cuffs. "You're under arrest for aiding and abetting a known fugitive."

"You can't be serious! Who?"

"Rafael Bonilla."

Jimmy's face went white, but he stopped resisting. As Conrad cuffed him, he asked, "Are you taking me in to help San Myshuno PD, or did she call you?"

Conrad scoffed. "She who?"

Jimmy laughed. "She told both of us sweet nothings, old friend. You were just dumb enough to believe them."

"Shut up and get in the cruiser."

Back at the station, Jimmy looked around the interrogation room in his orange jumpsuit once Conrad booked him. "Aren't you going to need the cameras on to record your attempt at my confession?"

"I want you to speak freely, Stefano. Tell me everything you know."

Jimmy eyed him suspiciously. "You're not working with San Myshuno PD at all, are you."

"I didn't stage an elaborate arrest just to scare you. I still plan to file a report after you and I catch up. Just talk."

"She really did get to you. Are you trying to let her ruin your life again?"

"Where the hell is Rafa?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in two years, when the last job we did together went bad. I assumed his sister told him to run since the charges he's facing are so serious."

"She doesn't know where he is."

"I'm sure she told you that. Did she tell you she was done with Los Tigres, too?"

Conrad flinched, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

"I'm happy with my chess students, but I can't get out now. When you walked, I should've joined you, but I didn't have your father's connections at the police station to keep me out of jail."

"I wasn't even there that night, but you gave them my name."

"Yeah, I did, because you walked before you even got started. Los Tigres only let you live because you became a cop and they didn't need the heat. I don't know what she told you, but if you think Ximena's turned over a new leaf and is done smuggling for the cartel, you're an idiot. She just uses new aliases these days."

Conrad breathed in through his nose. "If I turn the cameras on, will you avoid mentioning our history while you tell me what Ximena's still doing with the cartel?"

"What's in it for me, Sargent?"

"If it comes to it and you're telling the truth, I only want Ximena. As long as Los Tigres doesn't get caught up in anything at the Brindleton docks, I've got no reason to open up a window to the past. You should think about moving on, too. Turn that chess mentorship program into more than just a front."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Some of us are lifers, you know."

Conrad hit record while Jimmy told him everything he knew about Ximena's past - how she escaped being trafficked in her teens by offering to run drugs for Los Tigres de Selva, working her way up to running an entire operation moving drugs from Selvadorada to San Myshuno, through Britechester, and back again. Her associates called her The Chameleon because of how often she changed her hair.

She'd been arrested but never did hard time, with those who worked under her often taking the fall, instead - like Jimmy Stefano. Twice. Ximena kept herself just clean enough to avoid prison, and dragged her brother into the same life. "Rafa and I used to pose as Simlandian military to run product for his sister, but he never got caught for that," Jimmy said.

"When was the last time you worked for her?"

"Four months ago."

Conrad led him through several questions, showing copies of Ximena's old police reports. When they'd finished, he released Jimmy Stefano. It didn't satisfy him to send a known smuggler back to the streets, but he'd gained some incriminating evidence against Ximena, at the very least. He was beginning to think he might need it, eventually.

He headed home in darkness, and his mind raced with possibilities. Could Ximena's activities have led directly to her brother's disappearance? Who were her enemies these days?

He tried to call her, against his better judgment, but she didn't pick up her phone. He hung up before the voicemail kicked in.

When he walked in the door, he found six-year-old Ash on the floor, working on a castle diorama for extra credit at school. He knelt down to help him without even changing out of his work clothes. "Can you help me with the small pieces? Mommy won't let me use better scissors, but my kid scissors barely cut anything!"

He grinned. Grateful for the distraction, Conrad pulled out an instruction booklet tucked under the edge of the box. "Of course. What did you need me to cut?"

"Just these windows," he said. "They're too small. And can you measure to make sure my towers are big enough? I want the biggest towers of the whole class! Like the Spire Tower!"

"Tallest towers, can do. Hey, did you want to use this lump of clay for anything?" (Finally, the clay comes out at a sensible moment!!)

"Yeah! Moat mud! And we could use real water!"

"Your mom won't be very happy if we make real mud in the house, buddy."

Heather walked into the room then, kneeling down next to them to play with Gord. "Please don't make real mud. Why don't you use the clay to mould a base for the castle?"

"Good idea, Mommy! Can we have pancakes for dinner tomorrow night? I've been thinking about pancakes all day!"

"I can make you pancakes for dinner, but your mom and I won't be here to eat them with you," said Conrad. "Tomorrow night, I'm taking your mom on a date."

"What's a date?"

"It's when people who like each other hang out," Heather said.

Ash's eyes grew wide. "Is there kissing?"

Conrad grinned. "There might be. What do you know about kissing?"

He paused. "Nothing, I guess. Scotti Holiday says it's like eating faces, but why would people who like each other eat their faces?"

Heather laughed. "Don't worry, Conrad's not going to eat my face. Are you almost finished with your diorama for the night? It's getting late and you should get to bed soon."

"Just a little while longer, Mommy. Please! I'm not tired and I'm almost done!"

When he and Conrad had finished, they displayed the excellent diorama on a kitchen countertop until Ash could take it to school in the morning. Before he went to bed, Conrad went upstairs to check on his sleeping baby girl.

Intuitive to his human's growing stress level, no matter how well he hid it from everyone else, Gord followed him. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[danidrabbles]

I've been in a real reading mood lately and it made me SO excited to revisit this. Miranda, we've messaged about this before, but I wanted to give it the proper reblog it deserves!!!! (This got a little long. I'd apologize, but as a writer myself I know (hope) it's fun)

Because Dieter and ex-wife!Reader are on my mind all the time. I really like reading about people meeting, but love reading about people and knowing there's history between them, it makes things so bittersweet. Especially with these two because the love is there; you make it so efficiently evident in their "Do you want the truth or a lie?" conversation, and when they admit they think about each other, when Dieter says “I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.” 🥺 It's a quick interaction, but it says so much about them.

As someone who was once a teenager with a crush on David Duchovny, Reader's meeting with Dustin is soooooo satisfying. The way he describes the production of the movie

"Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

made me laugh out loud.

The interactions between Dieter and Dustin are so fun, too. Their snarking back and forth while discovering they might not be so different after all... You manage to build so much tension between them and Reader in their conversation with her by the door. But then you also pack in gut punches like, “You don’t know. You don’t know me.” “That’s not true.” “Yeah it is. I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.” and “You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this.” OOF. ouch! It’s all walking that line between fun, comedy and sexy so well.

The smut is so good Miranda... Even on a reread I’m sitting here like 😳

Having Dustin between Reader’s legs, having so much fun with her, while she and Dieter kiss, and the way it goes back and forth between the sensations of something new (Dustin) and something familiar (Dieter) is sooooooo fantastic, I love how you kind of juxtaposed them without ever making one feel less involved in the threesome than the other. Also so good for her (reader insert me) to have her little You used to masturbate to this man. Revelation!!!! (and her getting to say it to him later was so… soft?)

I’m obsessed with the fact that you went there with Dieter and Dustin, too. Like not that I didn’t expect that of you, it’s just that M/M/F threesomes can often be... more on the M/F/M/ side, you know what I mean? When they kissed, when Dustin made Dieter suck on his fingers (As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. Damn…) when Reader lays back and tells Dieter “I want to see what you’re like with men,” and they just. went for it. LOVED it.

There’s so much I want to comment on, but instead I’ll give you some passages that made my heart ache…

You know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you. 

That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life. 

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

It’s so beautiful and so bittersweet. It’s so good 😭 

And some lines that made… other places ache…

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity.

“He wants you so bad. Look—” You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

“Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

Your Dustin is lowkey a fucking menace, jesus... Which genuinely surprised me so much!!!! But also the You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. made me laugh so hard.

THE ENDING IS SO FUN??? It’s so creative and I love the promise of more between these three. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). made me giggle.

Miranda, this was so fantastic. I said it before but I love the way you work in all these emotions so seamlessly, while never losing any of the sincerity in the process, it's so admirable. Your word choices, your analogies and metaphors, the way you picked such an unconventional relationship for this and made it work... You're an amazing writer, I am in awe of you, and I love this story so much!

three's company

pairing: dieter bravo x ex-wife!reader x dustin mulray rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: smut, pinv, protected sex, oral (female receiving) *inserts good for her meme*, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, light voyeurism, talk and use of drugs and alcohol (weed & wine), the weirdest situationship you ever did see, a bit of angst, jealousy, fingering, dubious consent (but like, only a tiny bit dubious. the tiniest bit) word count: 16.k+ (don't ask me what happened there) summary: The world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with Dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in England. One night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got. a/n: i don't know how i got here but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i could dedicate this to a lot of things but mostly i'm going to dedicate it the red shoe diaries. thanks to david and the horny '90s. also to maria (@sweetly-yours-and-mine) who has spent countless nights working through this with me. you are a gem

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Facetime isn’t the same as real people.”

“Those are bad movies, Bravo. I’m not sure I want to be around those who make them for that long.”

“I know.”

“Actors have never been my favorite company.”

“I know.”

“And I just don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll learn to stop answering your calls one day, you know? And then you’ll do everything alone, even a global disaster.”

“I knew you’d give in. That's my girl.”

——

The hotel is a converted English Manor - the very stuff of childhood fairytales and honeymoon daydreams with its Italianate architecture and technicolor green grass. It is warm, inviting, with high ceilings and the soft, consistent hum of human activity as workers scurry around to greet the incoming guests. They filter you in through white plastic tents and stick cotton swabs up your nose before giving you the WIFI password and a room with a stunning view of their expansive, manicured grounds. You don’t have any grounds to look in America, and your studio apartment has been eerily quiet as of late. The pulse of life has stopped in Los Angeles, but here it comes back with an unvarying rhythm.

You don’t like to admit it, but Dieter was right: you are not above loneliness.

The room they give you feels anachronistic, too modern and beige, but cozy in the way all four star hotels aim to be. You’ve got a television, a pristine bathroom that hosts a bathtub and a shower, and enough floor space to move around without stubbing any toes. There’s ample furniture too: a reading chair by the large window, the queen bed, and another chair by the door, which looks like it’s meant only for bags and the stray suit jacket. They’ve given you decorative pillows and instructions not to leave for two weeks - not for any reason.

You lay out on the queen bed and Facetime Dieter. The irony of the situation is too good not to tease him for.

“I know,” he gruffs, picking up your call immediately.

You can’t help but laugh at the misery that drips from his voice. “I’ve always been better at being alone. I think it was you who didn’t want to be alone.”

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and frowns. Even if you won’t take it, you like the idea that he’s only a long walk away now. You give in and shuck off your winner’s ego. “It’s only two weeks,” you assure kindly.

“If I’m good, do you think I can earn a sleepover?” There’s mischief in his eyes, flirtation thick on his tongue. You look askance at him and the dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m only kidding of course.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan.

“It’ll be nice after two weeks,” he promises. You know that tone, far off and introspective. It’s not good.

“Just Facetime me when you’re losing your mind.”

“You don’t want that. I’ll be on the phone with you all the time.”

You stare down at the phone, frowning. He smiles, coming back to his body. “I’ll be alright, kid. I always am.”

“Two weeks is not so long.”

“No,” he agrees quietly.

——

Two weeks is a prison sentence.

The room they put you in, while spacious, is merely a cell block now, reduced down to its most basic elements: the bathroom with the shower and the tub, which you’ve used so much it's a miracle your skin hasn’t fallen right off; the bedroom area, with the reading chair by the window; the queen bed, which you stopped making after day four and try your damndest not to fall in before 3pm. You’ve paced the floor so many times, feeling the angry itch of loneliness coupled with a newfound, perpetually lurking anxiety.

“One more day,” he reminds you over the telephone, trying to allay your fears. You hear the sound of his tub running in the background, over the static of his voice, and you wonder what he looks like right now. You picture two week’s more worth of beard growth, the slouch of his back as he sits on the edge of the tub, the pudge of his stomach, and the inciting trail of hair below his belly button. And his naked self. At home he was perpetually nude, and you imagine it’s no different now.

You find your own reflection in the mirror over the sink: sunken eyes, with bags underneath and your flesh taking on a slightly gray cast, the color of isolation.The window sun doesn’t seem to be helping much. You frown self consciously, but try to remind yourself he must be in a state himself; he stopped Facetiming you a week ago, opting for the good ol’ telephone call at least once or twice a day since.

“I’m going out of my mind,” you say as you continue to look at yourself. You lower your voice, vulnerability shared in a hushed, confessional tone. You imagine Dieter again: with that soft concentrated look that pulls his eyebrows together, the one that enhances the lines between them. They called him a curious child and now he’s got the lines to show for it. He told you that. The thought makes you smile at yourself, but you still look so tired.

“Just one day,” he supplies again. He sounds vaguely apologetic.

“I know,” you tell him simply.

“What have you been up to today?” he asks. You hear water come to a stop and a gentle splash follows it. He’s gotten in. “Anything fun?”

“I read, watched a movie. You?”

“I got high and jerked off. So, you know, nothing different than the past thirteen days that you’ve called.”

You scan your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next words. It isn’t a good idea, but nothing is. “What did you think about?” you ask.

“Lots of things.”

He tells you this as casually as if you’ve asked him his name. You are so achingly lonely and this is so embarrassing, but you can’t help it. You know he’ll let you. Hell, he’s probably been waiting weeks for this. Years.

“Do you ever think about me?”

There’s a short, considerate pause. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”

“A lie.” You worry your lip between your teeth.

“Oh, never.”

You laugh, relieved. “I thought you were going to say something different.”

“Hm,” he hums, “I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Mine too. She thinks inviting you was a terrible idea but she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.”

“Mine hates you.”

He grunts. “Suppose I deserve that, don't I?”

“I think this is the first time in history that you diverted phone sex with talk like that.”

“I’m getting older, wiser,” he jokes. Then, “Do you think of me?”

“Do you want a lie or the truth?”

He considers it for a moment. “The truth. Hit me with it hard, baby.”

“Oh, a lot more than I should.”

——

The rapt sound of knuckles against your door incites an excitement in you that you haven’t felt since childhood. You jump from the bed, uncaring of the state of yourself, hungry for the news that awaits on the other side.

A kindly British man tells you that the quarantine has been lifted and that there will be a party and dinner for the cast and crew in a couple of hours. Formal wear is encouraged but not required.mYou spend the next few hours undoing what’s been done by isolation: the bags under your eyes; the unkempt room, with the fetid smell of loneliness wafting over everything; the living out of your suitcase and the wrinkles on your best clothes. You find an iron in the closet and shave your entire body.

Dieter stops by your room while you’re in the middle of getting ready. He sits quietly at the edge of your bed, watching you in the mirror with that dazed look in his eyes. He wears the ugliest goddamn housecoat you’ve ever seen, but he’d smiled so wide at the door that you’ve forgiven him for it.

“You’re excited,” he observes. His fingers fiddle with the sunglasses in his hands. “I thought you hate actors.”

You try to steady your hand as you bring the eyeliner up to your eyelid. “I don’t care what they are, as long as they can hold a conversation,” you mumble.

“I can hold a conversation. Maybe we ought to stay here and celebrate with each other.”

You look at him in the mirror, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. You can’t tell. “You’re kidding.”

He shrugs. There’s a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard about something.

“Are you high?” you ask him.

“No, but I’m thinking maybe I should be.”

“Cheer up, boy scout. You’re the one who wanted to do this goddamn movie.”

He lets out a defeated sigh and falls back into the mattress with a groan. “I’m going to kill myself.”

———

He doesn’t kill himself, but he looks like he’s still weighing the prospect of it as you take your drink from the bartender.

Dieter suffers no one lightly, and you have a feeling the personable strawberry blonde in front of him isn’t exactly his crowd. You smile over the rim of your drink, enjoying seeing him squirm for once. Everything seems to come easy to him–except this. He’s never been very good at socializing when he doesn’t want to.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turn your head and find Dustin Mulray. You feel a hint of your teenage self come back to you as you look at him, struck wordless. It’s nothing as strong as the love that had you tacking up posters with his face on it to bedroom walls, but something vaguely akin to it. You’re happy to find it manifests itself as a friendly smile instead of love confessions. Perhaps it’s helped by his appearance: In his infinity scarf and beige knitted sweater, he reminds you more of a homely professor than a Hollywood movie star. You think: Movie stars! They’re just like us! while shaking your head in answer.

“No,” you tell him, “He’s my ex-husband.”

“Ah. That’s my ex-wife with him. Marriage is tricky, isn’t it?”

He takes a seat next to you and orders a drink. The bartender sits it on a napkin for him and he turns to you, his blue-green eyes awaiting an answer. You hadn’t thought he would want to talk to you, not really. You’re used to being invisible at events.

“I guess you could say that,” you reply.

“Are you working on the movie?”

You remember what Dieter told you to say if anyone asked: “For legal purposes, yes. Art coordinator #3.”

This amuses him, drawing out a smile. “That title come with pay or would you say it's just an internship?”

“I guess you could call it an internship.” You smile back at him. “Why? You think you could pull some strings and get me a paycheck?”

“I think I’d do you one better and get you a better place of employment. Have you read the script?” This makes you let out a genuine laugh. He brightens, smiling a little wider. “What? It’s the truth! Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean—“ He looks over the crowd, lowering his head closer to yours conspiratorially. “—Not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

“Ah, I feel you but I can’t quite reach you from here.”

“No, I bet not.”

There’s something simmering in that line. If you didn’t know better, you’d figure it was a light flirtation. Surely not.

“I liked your early stuff better,” you confess.

“Me too. But those were the glory days and now I have alimony and child support to pay. How about him?” he nods in the direction of Dieter. “You get half his ass in court?”

You shake your head. His candor, although surprising, is refreshing. “No, no big payout. We’re amicable.”

He clicks his tongue in awe. “I envy the bastard but I can’t say I didn’t deserve my lot.”

“You haven’t even finished your first drink and you’re already gonna confess your sins?” You raise a curious, teasing eyebrow. He hangs his head and laughs.

“You married an actor. Don’t we all wear our hearts on our sleeves?”

“Mm, not mine,” you shake your head. “It seems he saved his emotions for the silver screen.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to raise his own curious eyebrow.

“How cozy.” You look over your shoulder to see Dieter standing in front of your chair, his fingers reaching out to the back of your chair. He looks…jealous.

“Dustin, this is Dieter,” you introduce them. Dustin sticks his hand out and Dieter plays nice, shaking it with a passing grin.

“Nice to meet you,” Dustin mutters. Dieter nods his head. “Yeah, you too. I was actually coming over here to steal her away for a moment. If she doesn’t mind.” He looks over at you, expectant. There’s a bite to his words you don’t like at all. How fucking rich, you think bitterly, remembering all the times you had to sit by while he shamelessly flirted with half the fucking world.

“She does mind,” you respond. The sharp finality of it makes even Dustin cough awkwardly.

Dieter looks taken aback. “Okay,” he mutters, looking between the two of you. He nods again, as though he’s drawn some conclusion. “Alright.”

You watch as he walks away to the other side of the room. Looking back at Dustin, you give him a rueful grin. “Sorry. And here I was, talking about how amicable we are. Exes of the year.”

He raises his glass. “To us pitiful people and our pitiful crash and burn marriages.”

You clink your glass against his, fighting the urge to cry or kill Dieter. “To us.”

—

The dinner table arrangement is unforgiving for Dieter. He’s sat next to Dustin at the far end of the table, with yet another red headed actress to his left. Unlike the talkative one, this one is in a state of brooding and continually huffing at everything he says. You’re slightly more lucky, sat at the other end, sandwiched between Dustin's ex-wife and the director.

He watches woefully as you chat with the ex-wife, nodding your head along politely. You were always such a good listener, even with the worst people. He frowns. He had changed his outfit between the party and the dinner, opting for a classier open dress shirt. He had seen the look in your eye when you had opened the door for him earlier, and figured he could use all the help he could get now that he’s undoubtedly pissed you off. He had hoped that they would’ve sat him next to you so you could talk. He’s even wearing that cologne you like. Or used to like. He doesn’t know anymore.

“So, like what—you usually get along with her or…?” Dustin asks him, following his eyeline right to you. Dustin brings the cool champagne they’ve served to his lips, his eyes too burningly curious as he gazes at you.

Dieter tries not to be possessive. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone: that sharp, angry disappointment that you’re so used to delivering him. You don’t like when he gets like that. Not that he has much. This is a relatively new side effect he’s required since the divorce. He shrugs lazily, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

This earns him an even laugh. He looks over at the older man, frowning. “What?”

“I see magazines with your face all over it, man. C’mon, we all kiss and tell, even if we don’t want to.”

Dieter bites at the side of his cheek and considers him for a moment. “Look you and your wife-“

“Ex-wife-“

Dieter nods, uncaring. “Sure, your ex wife — you both like to talk a lot.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I can make a pass at her or not. Make it easy for me. I don’t want to have to suffer this entire shoot because you’ve got some weird shitty thing going on between you. I don’t step on kept grounds….Well, not anymore,” he adds.

“How noble,” Dieter says wryly, “She’s not mine to answer for. Besides, it seems like you were already doing a good job at making a pass earlier.”

He fights down the petulant child inside of him, biting at his lip instead of wearing an all out pout. Through the concealed tint of his sunglasses, his eyes soften at the sight of you across the room. He can almost feel the crack in his heart as he considers the fact that you might have actually liked talking to this man.

Dieter knows one day it’ll come, the moment when you find yourself in a serious relationship with someone else. Most of the time he thinks he’ll be okay — that it will affect him like it must but it won’t ruin him entirely — but sometimes, like right now, he worries he’ll get on his knees and beg you not to do it. You don’t deserve that. He hates himself for the greed he feels, how he can’t ever just let you be happy. He doesn’t want to be like this dick, taking and taking from his ex-wife, all while he noses around and wets his dick in anything that will let him. He never wants to embarrass you like that. Not again. Never again.

Chugging the last bits of his drink, Dieter looks over at the man. Dustin looks back at him, nonplussed. It takes herculean strength to say the next words.

“She doesn’t like men who are crude or too direct, but to be frank, I think you can’t really fuck up with her. She likes you and always has.” Dieter casts a glance in your direction again, feeling mischievous. He smirks, letting himself have this one. “Well, since you were last relevant, that is.”

Dustin laughs the burn off, shaking his head. He touches Dieter’s shoulder in a show of faux friendliness. “We’re in the same shitty franchise now, bud, so welcome to the club,” he whispers, just low enough for him to hear.

Dieter raises his empty glass to Dustin with a forced grin. Feeling defeated but comforted by the fact that he’s now got something to separate him from that asshole, he raises his hand to the pretty waitress for another drink. To celebrate.

But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.

He fucking hates Hollywood.

—-

Truth be told, Dieter didn’t plan on doing this tonight. Getting high. He planned, if he was being honest with himself - and he is trying, at his most introspective more now than ever - to be doing you. Had he invited you on the vacation just to fuck you? No, but ignobility inevitably follows in the tracks of his nobility. It was written between the lines, something you both had hinted at over the past two weeks. But now you’re somewhere else. There's a lot of rooms in this hotel. Maybe you’re in your own. Maybe not. Dustin had looked like he was going to devour you at the bar earlier tonight, so probably, you’re doing him in his room.

Or do you bring men back to your own place now? He doesn’t know.

Dieter would blanch if he wasn’t so high. He sits in the middle of the decorative couch, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, and he tries to imagine a different version of your last phone conversation.

When you asked if he ever thought of you when he touched himself, he’d tell you the truth. Because you like the truth. He’d say: all the time. More than he should. Really a sickening, depressing amount because he misses you, especially lately. New York is a terrible place to be these days; death permeates everything and nothing seems as right as it used to. Even loneliness feels worse, no longer poetic or artistic but just lonely. It's less like Al Pacino on the set of the Godfather and more like Michael Corleone, sitting alone at the empty dining room table. Days stretch on and on, and he’s hungry for life that has halted so he paints terribly, insecure of even hobbies. What else is he supposed to do but play with himself and remember poignantly that he had once been married to a lovely sort of woman who would’ve made it all better, if only he hadn’t fucked it up?

Well, he doesn’t think about that last part so much. It doesn’t really make for good masturbating material.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive the pandemic before they asked him to do this movie. And of course he asked you along when they had. It’s the only way in the world he could ask for your help: through omission of truths and beating around the bush. He wonders if you might take pity on his soul again and let him crash with you for a while, just to wait the rest of this out together after the movie wraps. If you really are fucking Dustin, it might make things tense but not impossible. He’ll learn to live with it. He’ll have to. What else is he going to do? Go back to this moment in time and stop you?

Perversely he wonders if Dustin is not the first man you’ve fucked since the divorce. You’re not his last but he wishes you were a lot. It’s been nearly two years and he’s forgotten what you feel like, what you taste like. It’s miserable. When he touches himself and thinks of you, you’re like an apparition, some Franksteinian woman built of fragmented, hazy memories. All he remembers was that the last time wasn’t nice and that you didn’t cum. He couldn’t make you, something about you being too sad or too angry. It was a shame, because he’d always imagined the two of you would’ve gone out with a bang.

This thought makes him smile, but it doesn’t last for long. There's nothing funny about your divorce, not really. He broke your heart tediously, and now you’ve got to tell people that it wasn’t just one thing but many things. He knows that. An unanswered phone call. That waitress in Vegas who he flirted with so unabashedly your mother thought he was cheating on you - along with half the internet and for a brief moment, yourself too. The apartment in New York he bought and moved into without asking you. That art house opening he missed, the one you’d asked him continually throughout the week to set time aside for. So many things—the seven sins and just a few more to top it off.

He wasn’t really surprised when you had asked him for a divorce over lunch one day. You didn’t even live together at the time - the New York apartment became more permanent than he had originally planned for - and you looked so tired, like you were drained of life, overwrought and quiet. What surprised him was the fact that you hadn’t done it sooner. The knowing that you had tried against hope was not an easy one for him to reconcile with for a long time after that. Even in that moment you had developed a sort of halting lisp as you pushed the statement out, as though your own body protested it. He remembers that better than the sex.

You had waited for him to get better and he never did, so you both took your chicken salads with a side of failed marriage that day, and now here you are. Dieter sighs, feeling the familiar pangs of remorse.

“Whatever drugs you’re on must not be very good because you look miserable.”

Dieter lifts his head off the back of the loveseat, straining his eyes to make out the shape that’s hovering in his doorway. His brain catches up with him before his eyes do, and the distinct mumbling voice of the figure comes to him. Dustin.

Shaking his head, Dieter laughs, relieved. “I was thinking.”

Dustin takes this as an invitation to cross the corridor. As he comes closer, Dieter finds he’s in more casual clothes - perhaps even sleepwear - clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. If this is a peace offering, Dieter will take the olive branch. He’s so goddamn pleased you’re not fucking this guy, he might even kiss him.

“You want a joint?” he asks him, straightening on the couch. Suddenly it’s not so hard to be magnanimous, not with the sheer euphoria of you not having betrayed him (is he allowed to call it that? Probably not, but there’s no word quite so apt). He feels he might even be smiling, but he can’t be sure. He hopes so.

“God, please,” Dustin groans. He sits the bottle of wine on the table and rubs his hands together eagerly as Dieter lights the one he’s been puffing away at.

“I figured you were the one with the goods,” Dustin says around a cloud of smoke. He looks over at the open door, nodding at it. “We should close that, huh?”

Dieter shrugs. He thought he had closed the door, truthfully. “Probably should. I think I saw a kid here,” he says. Neither of them get up.

Dustin passes the joint to Dieter. He takes another hit when he gets it because fuck it, this is a celebration. “What, she didn’t want you?” he can’t help but ask.

Dustin laughs mutedly. “I don’t know. I figured by the way you reacted at dinner that I better not try. And there's that thing with my wife.” He shrugs. “I’m always fucking that one up. I thought I should just wander around and see where the night takes me.”

Dieter rests his head back against the couch again, nodding sympathetically. “Mm, I understand. Me too.”

“What’d you do?”

“The better question would be what didn’t I do.”

“Did you cheat?”

Dieter turns his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t fuck anyone else while we were together but she said I might as well as have. And I guess she’s whose opinion really matters, isn’t it?”

Dustin mumbles an agreement. “I fucked a lot of people,” he confesses. “Even the divorce lawyer.”

“And she still talks to you?” Dieter asks.

“We’ve got a kid.”

“That’s right. She told me that, because she likes to talk.”

“Hey don’t be a dick. Yours does too, you know? That’s what women like to do—talk. And they like to be listened to.”

Dieter narrows his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the bar? Talking?”

Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”

“I listened.”

“But you didn’t like what you heard.”

Dustin says this more as a statement than a question. Dieter looks back to the ceiling and pinches his eyes closed, too high. “Mm,” he mumbles. “I’m just so happy she isn’t fucking you right now. I really thought she would be there for a second and it was making me sick.”

Dustin huffs out a laugh. “I take it you never shared?”

“What do you mean ‘shared’?” Dieter asks. “Like wife swapping? No. We seemed to have left the practice in the sixties.”

“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”

“Have you done that?”

Dustin shrugs, smiling unashamedly. “Before we got married, of course,” he tells Dieter. Then, “And a little after too.”

Even with the high, Dieter can’t help but feel curious about the arrangement. “With men?”

“Sure. It wouldn’t have been fair with just women. That was the rules, anyway. Why? You’ve never been with a man?”

“A few. That’s not what strikes me as odd. You just didn’t strike me as the type.”

“I wouldn’t say I was, but fair is fair. And it can be nice. Interesting.”

Dieter rolls his eyes. “Gay sex is gay sex, no matter how you cut it. If you’re about to tell me it doesn’t count, I’m gonna laugh.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just like there to be a girl there too.”

The information weighs heavily on Dieter’s drug induced state of mind. He finds himself beginning to laugh. “Wait a minute, are you trying to talk me into a threesome? Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That’s what the wine is about, isn’t it?” He points to the bottle in question, and everything suddenly seems much too funny.

Dustin begins laughing too. “No! The wine was for something. I just couldn’t figure out what”

Dieter ignores him. “Your…your wife hates me,” he manages to hiccup out, “And mine? She—“ She hates me too. This thought makes the laughing come to a slow halt. That’s right. She hates him too.

“I bet she’d do it,” Dustin supplies, soft chuckles still emitting from him. “They can surprise you like that sometimes.”

Dieter shakes his head, his smile more soft, almost sad. “Not with me. I pissed her off. I was thinking I’d try with that waitress downstairs but she’s young and I’ll for sure hate myself for that later.”

“Don’t do that. Your wife really will hate you for that,” Dustin advises. “Take it from an expert. Just call her. Apologize.”

Dieter shakes his head. “That won’t work. It’ll just make her more mad when she realizes I’m high.”

Dustin considers this. “Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s go to her room. Do it in person.”

“You can’t go,” Dieter tells him evenly. It’s not often he’s the voice of reason — even less so when he’s high — and this dynamic is beginning to make him feel out of sorts. He wants to shut his eyes and sleep this off, but naturally — because he is who he is — he will follow this train of thought through with Dustin.

“Why not?” Dustin smiles widely, catching his stride in the conversation. He speaks more animatedly, bringing his hands into the mix for emphasis. “She doesn’t want to fight with you in front of me! And she can see we’ve made friends. That’s progress! She’ll like that.”

Dieter considers this. He does want to show you he’s sorry — really.

“You just want to fuck her,” he says to Dustin. He’s too high to be angry, even if he really wanted to be, but he is suspicious.

When Dustin doesn’t respond to that, Dieter narrows his eyes. “You do!” he accuses, acutely horrified by the idea.

Dustin looks at him, a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, aren’t you a little curious to see what it’d be like?”

“No. And besides, even if I was, I don’t think she would. She’s not…I don’t know, I don't know how to explain it.” Dieter pinches up his face, stuck for the right words. “She’s not a prude by any means, but I don’t think she would.”

“Would you? If she did?”

Dieter doesn’t consider the question, only beats around it. “She wouldn’t. I know her.”

He watches as Dustin rises from the couch. “Let’s just go ask her.”

Dieter jumps up, feeling sobriety sneak up on him. “No!” he says, horrified.

But Dustin has snatched up his bottle of wine and began to make his way out into the corridor before Dieter can stop him.

So crumbles the olive branch.

—-

When you see Dustin standing at your door, holding up a bottle of wine with a goofy grin, you think it's a sign from the Heavens above. No more Dieter, that’s what it tells you. He’s ruined your life for a decade now and it’s a cause you’ve got to accept is a lost one. A new man is here and you’re lonely, and you didn’t even have to go search this one out. You smile, open the door a little wider.

But then you see Dieter shuffling down the corridor, brown eyes blown wide. Dustin looks over at him with a grin and you realize with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t what you imagined it was. You don’t know what it is, to be exact, but you’re sure it’s not right.

They look up to no good, with glazed eyes and Dustin’s too wide grin. You close your door just a smidge when Dieter shoulders to the front. He smiles apologetically, and you instinctively hold out a hand to keep him steady. But he’s steady, in no risk of tumbling forward. He puts his hands over yours before you quickly take it away. He looks stung but you don’t care.

“Hey kid,” he says sheepishly. His eyes seem to be asking you something - saying something - but you’ve long lost that way of communicating. You frown, slumping against the doorway.

“Make friends?” you ask, nodding back to Dustin.

Dustin nods his head, unaware or — more likely — too high to be aware. “He’s being a good boy,” he vouches.

“I’ve been good,” Dieter echoes. He tries another grin and that easy charm of his, but none of it works. You fold your arms over your chest.

“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“

“I’m sorry. I know what I did earlier was shitty. I don’t know why I do things like that. Don’t shut me out. Please.” Dieter pouts. The sincerity of his words punches you in the gut, and makes you angrier somehow. Like it’s mocking, even though you know it’s not. He seems to sense this and he continues talking. “I know I don’t own you like that. I had no right. None at all. And I’ve been meaning to say it to you all night. And I know you’re thinking ‘this prick is high.’ I am. I’m really high, and I can’t deny it, but I’m sorry too. I was sorry even before I got high. That’s why I got high.”

Dustin giggles behind Dieter. You look over, feeling pangs of annoyance for him too. Now that he’s not your knight in shining armor he’s just some asshole in kahoots with this asshole. “That’s terrible,” he huffs out. Dieter glares at him over his shoulder before you’ve got the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Dieter tells you again, pleadingly. You shake your head.

“You’re always sorry. That was always the problem.”

“I know! God, I know.”

“Ask her if she wants some weed,” Dustin whispers.

“And I suppose you smuggled that in?” you ask, straightening yourself up. You feel motherly, glowering at him like this. You want to wring his neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed fuck you, make you feel eternal and sexy. But no. Now you’re so matronly, standing there in your PJs, frowning so hard wrinkles are mapping their permanent home in the places your face creases.

He nods guiltily. “But you knew that! I’ve talked about it all week.”

“Yeah but—“ you wave your hands in the air. “It all adds up with you. It’s..”

“The little things,” he finishes sadly. “I know.”

“Why do you know so little if you know so much?”

Dustin coughs suggestively behind Dieter and Dieter turns around swiftly. “No,” he tells him sharply.

You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”

Dieter shakes his head dismissively and Dustin shrugs, looking around aimlessly. He’s trying hard to contain a laugh or a grin, you can tell. You hate that Dieter is making you a bitch in front of him. You could be fucking him for God’s sake, but you’re just annoyed.

“Go to bed,” you tell them.

“Well that’s the idea,” Dustin counters, his lips drawing upwards. Dieter looks pallid.

“It wasn’t,” he tells you. “I swear. I came here to stop him from asking!”

“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.

“For a threesome,” Dustin says simply, like it’s nothing at all. “Though I can see now that’s probably not in the cards. And it wasn’t really asking for one, just a hypothetical.”

You look over to Dieter. He looks down at the floor, like a kid in trouble. “Dieter,” you scold.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to ask. I told him—I said you wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to suggest it,” he mumbles helplessly. “That’s not what this was supposed to be at all, kid. I swear. I just wanted to say sorry and…I don’t know.”

You don’t know whether to believe him or not. “But you talked about it?”

“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.

“The threesome? You were talking about having one?”

“Yeah, but not like—it wasn’t locker room talk. Not really. He just started talking about it and asked if you would and I said no—“

“How do you know I would say no?” you huff. “You don’t know. You don’t know me.”

Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah it is,” you nod. “I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.”

“I never thought of you like that.”

“Well, still, yes,” you say, feeling angry and stung and in a desperate need to prove him wrong and spite him all in one go. It’s such an ugly feeling and it’s not right, but you can tell the words take him by surprise.

“Yes?…” he asks. “Listen, I get that you’re angry, but you don’t have to do this.”

“No I want to,” you say. “If that’s what you want, what he wants, I want it too. If that’s what you’ve come for, then you’ll get it.”

He shakes his head. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. You’re…being mean. And you’re only going to piss yourself off more, I think, and then you’re going to be mad at me because I drove you to it.”

You shake your head. “No. I think I’m being quite nice. I’m standing here telling you I want you to fuck me. I want him to watch. I want him to fuck me and you to watch. Whatever perverse things you cooked up together, let’s do them. If you’re going to make me mad, then I’m asking that you have the decency to fuck me too.”

Dieter struggles to compute the information. You do too. You hate him. You love him. You are so high strung and pissed and you’d do anything to be touched. Let him prove himself, goddamnit, or let him be damned jealous. Either way, you get fucked. Everyone's a winner or only you are. You don’t give a shit.

Dustin seems altogether pleased by this, clapping a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “I told him you might surprise him.”

“Mm hm,” you hum. You do not break eye contact with Dieter. He nods his head, resolving to trust you—or to go along with it. It doesn’t matter, just so long as he doesn’t question it.

When he steps forward, you put your hand up, blocking him. “First the weed.”

He lets out a soft sigh and stays put for a second, looking as though he wants to say something more. He’s wise enough not to in the end.

As he rounds the corner, heading back to his room, you finally glance back up at Dustin. He smiles softly. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells you. “I really was just to get some fire under his ass. I mean, I’m not against it, but if you’re just doing it because you’re pissed—“

You cut him off with a hard look. “I want to,” you say resolutely. “And I am pissed. So be it. Men start wars for less.” You shrug. He looks amused and you feel something arise in you, up alongside the anger — arousal. Desire. Something. He smiles handsomely. The grayish scruff on his cheeks bodes well with his aged features.

You do want to fuck him. That’s freeing information. Propping the door open wider with the kick of your foot, you nod him in. “C’mon. Get in here before I change my mind.”

The dichotomy between his laughter and the intensity of the fight you just had with Dieter makes you smile despite yourself.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he responds with a wink.

He brushes past you with his body and you fight the urge to suck in a shallow breath at the sudden casual contact. As he moves into the room, he pulls you away from the door with him, gripping at your shoulders. He doesn’t let you stay back and wait for Dieter like some lost puppy.

You look at him, eyes wide, and he hands you the wine in his hand. He is so unserious that it’d be plain endearing if it hadn’t been a source of annoyance a moment before. You watch as he wets his lips and looks down at yours. There seems to be a pregnant pause, eyes searching yours for an answer to an invisible question. You think of Dieter, of all the sex you’ve not had since the divorce, and how hurt he seemed when you pulled back from his touch. You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this. You heed your mother’s warning too late and you kiss Dustin hard on the mouth. He takes some of your grief with a practiced tongue, kissing you deeply until you’re interrupted by a cough in the corner a few blurry moments later.

Dustin smiles, holding your face between his hands. “The weed,” he remarks. Dieter nods. He looks a little hurt, a little angry, a little betrayed—looks like he’s always made you feel, and you are not surprised it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You love him. You fool.

You shake Dustin off and Dieter hands you the joint with a forced grin. “It’s strong,” he warns softly as he lights the end. As you inhale, Dustin comes to stand behind you. Dieter’s eyes watch as his arms snake around you. He plants wet kisses alongside your neck and Dieter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dieter reaches out to you, touches the wrist you’ve risen to put the joint in your mouth. His calloused fingers try to reach across burned bridges and you aid him, handing the joint back and reaching out to him too. His baggy sleep shirt is easy to take between your fingers. He takes a hit and then comes closer to you, pressing into you.

When he kisses you for the first time, you think of an ouroboros. Whole and eternal, destruction and rebirth. Your mother hates him when she once loved him. He knows your birthday and the way you like your coffee in the morning. You don’t know what he did yesterday. He doesn’t know your friend’s old cat died and that you’d been to two weddings before COVID hit. He tastes familiar and feels strange against you, unreal and vivid. You open your mouth and he slides in his tongue. The kiss isn’t like the one with Dustin; he does not explore you as much as he remembers you.

Dustin and Dieter pass the joint between them. When you feel the loss of warmth behind you, you turn curiously, detaching from Dieter’s lips. Dustin goes to abandon the joint on the table by the bed and Dieter’s hot mouth presses kisses alongside your neck. You wrap your fingers in his hair and you can't help but moan when he tongues alongside your jaw. Dustin’s eyes spark with delight at the sound.

You look down at the wine bottle still in your hand and hold it up. Dustin takes it from you, grinning. “I forgot to tell you it was my gift. I’ll open it. It’s good, aged to perfection,” he comments.

He searches your bedside for a glass and finds a crystal one beside the water vase that they gave you earlier that week. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and frowns. “Fuck, I forgot the wine opener.”

“Call the desk,” Dieter says against your skin.

You turn your head back and begin kissing him again, humming an agreement against his lips. Dustin shuffles behind you as you return completely to Dieter, your lips ghosting over his. He licks into your mouth and grasps at the back of your neck, keeping you attached to him as you begin the dance backwards to the bed.

The weed gives you a cloudy feeling, enhancing the warmth of his fingers and lips on your skin, but erasing any inhibition that would make you embarrassed to be doing it in front of another man. You like the idea of it, actually, that there’s some stranger - albeit a familiar one - standing somewhere in the room as Dieter’s fingers lift up your sleep shirt and dip beneath the hem of your underwear. Your ass presses against the edge of the bed and you feel his erection against your thigh. You moan carelessly, tugging at his hair, and he exhales into you, the line between pleasure and pain thin and delicate as he rushes to do what he’s afraid Dustin will get to first if he doesn’t.

Dustin hangs up the phone and looks at the two of you on the bed, a surge of desire filling him as he watches. You’ve got your legs open and Dieter’s got his hands down your underwear and he can see it all from this angle. You’re making delicious, breathy moans and Dieter’s arm muscles flex as he works them out of you. There’s a wet spot on your underwear and he wants nothing more than for Dieter to take them off so he can see more of you.

He watches a while longer, captivated by what makes you tick and what kind of a lover Dieter is. It's kinda like hotel porn that he’s had on repeat the past few days, but live. Before he can get out the request for Dieter to take your underwear off, or wait for the inevitability of it, there’s a knock on the door. He rushes to answer it, holding the door open only enough to take the glasses and the bottle opener. He mumbles a quick thanks before shutting the door on the confused worker.

Dieter enters you with a thick finger and you let out a loud uninhibited moan around his kiss. As Dustin attempts to open the wine he smiles, thinking of the young man who was just outside the door. He likes that you aren’t afraid; he’s always found that attractive in women.

“Here,” he says, pouring the pinkish liquid into three separate glasses. Neither of you look at him, so he repeats it again, this time with more command in his tone. You look so thoroughly kissed when you look up, red lipped and swollen, that it makes him ache, and Dieter’s wild haired annoyance is charming in its own way. He hands you both a glass and you take it with a shy smile. Dieter is less pleased, but takes it anyway with a soft ‘Thanks.’

Dustin watches as Dieter wipes your slick from his fingers with a pang of envy, swallowing down the wine. This isn’t something he’s made a habit of doing often— watching people fuck, threesomes — but he had felt that it wouldn’t have been right to do without Dieter. Truthfully, he had had every intention of going to your room by himself before he had peered into Dieter’s open door. The sight of him sitting there, staring up at the ceiling like he had been doing, inspired sympathy. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about that with Dieter, but what he’s learned over the years about sex is that some little white lies must be told sometimes.

A part of him feels guilty, knowing his own ex-wife lies somewhere in this hotel, probably brewing in her own anger. But he’s leaving her alone. That’s what she asked of him, isn’t it?

“So, any rules?” he asks, abandoning this train of thought before it crashes.

Dieter unwraps himself from you, sitting on the edge of the bed like you are, and shrugs his shoulders. You both look at each other. Dustin feels like an outsider, intruding on something too big and personal, but he doesn’t mind. A bit of self-flagellation mixed in with pleasure was always how he did his sex best, and there’s nothing quite like sleeping with two people very much in love during a pandemic.

“Dieter said you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking at you. “Is that true?”

You nod your head. “What do you mean by ‘rules?’”

“Well, I guess it’s a bit different because no one is with anyone here, but sometimes there will be requests people make to ensure no one gets their feelings hurt. For instance, you might not want me to cum inside of you or enter you at all. They’re for safety too—consent, boundaries.”

“I see.” You look down at your glass of wine, thinking. “I don’t really have any rules. Maybe just use condoms.”

“Are you sure?” Dieter whispers, tugging at your shirt sleeve. He leans in closer, says something Dustin can’t hear. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care if you do that,” you tell him. He seems surprised by your answer.

Dustin can’t help himself. “What’d you ask?”

Dieter shrugs his shoulders. “Just about how she feels about us.”

“Do you have any rules?” he asks.

“Don’t cum in her first.”

You look at Dieter quizzically and all he provides is a shrug that says nothing. Dustin nods his head. “That seems easy enough: condoms, don’t cum first.” He swallows down the rest of his wine and sets the glass aside.

You twirl the liquid around in your own glass, smiling faintly. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” you say.

“Me either,” Dieter replies. He sits his glass, half finished, on the nightstand.

“I’m feeling high,” is your next sentence. Dieter seems to grimace.

“You’re in the wrong state of mind,” he tells you.

You shake your head. “No. I made up my mind before I got high. I want to be fucked,” you tell him, voice plain and even. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll be okay with just him.”

Dieter shakes his head adamantly, cheeks beginning to red. “I—I do want to. I always want to. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you’re going to regret later.”

With a smile, you tell him teasingly, “I won’t regret it later. Not if you do it right.” You offer him a teasing wink that draws out his dimple. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, too romantic and sweet to be good for your soul.

You decide then that this will have to be less Dieter focused if you want to last. “Lay on the bed,” you say to him. He nods his head, prying off his house shoes. You look over to Dustin, who stands awkwardly at the head of the bed. He smiles again with that charming Hollywood grin that age hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, and you grin back. “I want to kiss you again,” you tell him directly.

“That can be arranged,” he says, dipping onto the bed.

Dieter lies back against the heap of pillows at the headboard, his knees spread apart to make a spot for you. Dustin guides you there slowly, his body pressing into yours until there’s nowhere left to go but into Dieter. He kisses you deeply, hands strong and warm and unfamiliar in an entirely exciting way as they bunch up the fabric of your sleep shirt and expand over your skin.

Dieter doesn’t touch you, even though he badly wants to. Part of it is heartbreak and disbelief, and the other part is erotic fascination—watching you come apart like this, at another angle, is undeniably doing something to him. You are so pliable under Dustin, so easy for him, like you’ve waited your entire life to be like this. Maybe you have. Maybe he never paid enough attention—maybe in all your thousand little, subtle ways you had once alluded that you’d like to be this way. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prick, he could’ve made more rules, one like ‘Don’t enter her at all’ and ‘Don’t kiss him like that because I know once upon a time you kissed me like that and I screwed it up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better husband. I’ll be a better friend, just don’t kiss him like that.’

But then again maybe not. That’s a mouthful and you’re high and he’s high. Maybe it would be just like this. It’s just that he loves you. It’s an odd kind of love, but it’s real. Dustin has his tongue down your throat, his exploratory fingers beneath the fabric of a sleep shirt, but Dieter loves you. The fool.

Blissfully you are unaware of the pity party Dieter throws for himself behind you. He is a body, a springboard for desire and heat, as you surrender yourself to lust the way you never really have before. You do draw up some comparisons, unable to help yourself.

Dustin is grittier, all command and surrender. He is an electric taste of the illicit, some faraway fantasy made palpable. Dieter is your ground zero, vivid and stormy. He is what yesterday was. You read somewhere once that when you have a child with a man, their genes have the ability to change your own. Though you and Dieter have no children, you feel like something irrevocable like that happened — that you carry a part of him in your genetic makeup. It doesn’t make Dustin worse for it. In fact, it makes him better, an exotic vaccine into your very tired bloodstream. You deserve it. You deserve it so much, and you practically beg for it, mewling as Dustin kisses his way down.

“I bet you taste like heaven,” he mumbles warmly into your skin, licking a teasing strip over your midriff. You watch, mouth agape, heart beating wildly in your chest. Dieter tilts your chin up, directing your attention towards him, feeling impossibly greedy now. He kisses you languidly, tonguing lolling gently against yours, making it lasts forever. Your mind is in a haze, the slow, sensual turn of your tongues lighting a fire in your belly as Dustin uses his own on you. He trails lower and lower, warm and wet, fingers drawing down your underwear and then—

“Fuck,” you say, gasping out the word. You surprise yourself. Dieter captures the word in his mouth and groans in soft appreciation. You glance down your body, your knees hanging loosely over Dustin’s shoulders, watching his warm tongue pressing against your clit. It’s a sight to behold, the way his pink tongue flattens over you. His large hands grip onto your legs, holding you apart as your back presses into Dieter’s front. You feel his semi-erection nudge into your back.

Dustin spends his time with you, teasing you lightly with his tongue at first, learning the careful intricacies of your body. As you run your hands through his unruly bed hair, the tip of his tongue dips into your opening experimentally. He looks up to you, blue-green eyes searching for approval. You buck against his face, desperate, full of want and drugs and something indescribable but undeniably exciting. Ambition. Want. Joy. You used to masturbate to this man. His nose grazes against your clit and he laughs as you struggle. It is warm and bubbly, and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

You tug his hair so hard that he sends another noise vibrating through you: a low, half pained, half aroused groan.

Dustin brings his mouth back to your clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. “Oh,” you say, your head drawing backward, falling into Dieter’s shoulder. He watches you, his dark eyes fixed. He presses his lips onto yours like time hasn’t changed anything. You bask in it, give yourself over to the fantasy with the ease he’s offering it—you kiss like lovers, familiar and intimate, an unformidable duo in sex where you weren’t in marriage.

Dieter doesn’t leave your lips as he says, “I never got to see this sort of thing from this point of view. You’re so goddamn pretty.”

His hands tease up your sides, fingers drawing closer to your chest. “Is he making you soaked? Just like I used to?” he asks, his voice a low drawl. You arch up, bringing your lips up to his. He slots his mouth over yours, pressing into you roughly as his fingers find a pebbled nipple through the cloth of your night shirt. As he scraps over the top of it with the pad of his thumb, you draw your eyes closed. The heady scent of Dieter surrounding you mixed with the intoxicating feel of Dustin pressed against your cunt is almost too much to bear. Almost. You moan against Dieter’s lips again as Dustin’s tongue works you, and Dieter smiles, nodding. “Oh baby, he’s gonna be like me. A pitiful, helpless fool for you. Aren’t you?” he says, looking down the valley of your body to the other man.

Dustin grunts wordlessly against you and your hips fail you again, pressing up into the vibration. Sensing this isn’t the end of lack of control, Dustin presses a hand against them, pinning you down. As he licks you open, spreads your folds with the warmth of his eager tongue, you feel on fire, the sensation reaching every part of your body. He’s good at that. He’s lapping and lapping, his strong nose meeting your clit at just the right time each time he comes up.

“He’s so fucking good,” you say helplessly, uncaring of who hears. The drugs make you uninhibited, looser. You meet Dustin’s eyes as he takes your clit into his mouth again. He is sucking lightly and you try to roll your hips into him, but he presses down, a silent no. “Fuck, you’re so—good at that. Oh my god.”

Dieter pinches your nipple between his fingers, humming softly at the sight before him. “You’re gonna make me jealous, baby.”

Dustin’s mouth grows more focused, intent. You feel your orgasm drawing up, coming closer and closer. You open your eyes, blown wide with desire, and focus on Dieter. He kisses you softly again, bringing his hand up to your other breast. Dustin sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and your hardened nipple scraps against the warmth of Dieter’s palm. It's all so right. You cum then, toes curling into the sheets, body going rigid beneath the touch of them both. Dustin doesn’t stop; he laps up your want greedily and Dieter draws up his head to watch. His eyes darken, full of desire and what you assume is a begrudging respect.

After you’ve ridden out your orgasm on Dustin, Dieter huffs out a soft laugh. “He wants to fuck you,” he tells you, thumb swiping affectionately across your cheek. Dustin, unable to let that one go, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and muffles a laugh against your skin.

“Bravo, you’re so jealous it’s making you stupid. She knows that,” he says, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Of course she knows that.”

“M’not jealous,” Dieter denies evenly. When he looks down at you, brown eyes too kind, you half believe him.

You break the eye contact and smile appreciatively down at the man between your legs. A finger you’d locked in his hair now swipes across the bottom of his shiny lips. He takes it into his mouth, wetting the pad, and you say, “You aren’t a very good team. I think it’s important to be a good team.”

Dieter places a hand on your arm, more of a phantom touch than a grip, but you know it’s a stroke of possessiveness. You glance back up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. “Dieter likes men,” you tell Dustin, not looking away from Dieter. “He’s not playing nice now and I think it’s a shame because I bet you taste just like me right now. And I know—“ your gaze drops down to Dustin, your voice velvet “—how much this dearest ex-husband of mine likes the taste of me. Have you ever kissed another man, Dustin?”

Dustin bites at your bait, smirk growing wide as his body stalking up yours. “Of course. I looked like a God in the ‘90s. Everyone wanted me and I wanted everyone,” he jokes, his warm hands flattening against your torso. His legs rest behind your thighs as he sits upwards, and you can see the tent of his erection against his sleep shorts. The black of them does little to conceal the full outline, and you thrill at the idea that he’s probably not wearing any underwear beneath the fabric.

You’re not one for getting starstruck - not anymore, anyway, a Los Angeles resident for years and the ex-wife of a star - but the fact that you used to masturbate to this man in front of you is something you still can’t shake. It occupies your mind, the way you had rewinded scenes from his raunchy, made for tv erotica over and over. Even now, many years later, you can still picture it: his younger frame pressed behind a blond woman, fucking into her in haste, his hands all over her and his thrusts rough. It was incredible to you back then, placed in some seedy location like an alley. Public and animalistic—the stuff of paperback romance novels. You remember the way he tugged her shirt upwards, how in the heat of the moment he grasped at any part of her he could get. A black bra and a long skirt, the bra pushed askew, going higher and higher with each thrust, and the skirt gripped onto, used for leverage as he pushed into her from behind. The VHS that hosted the scene had been passed from friend to friend in your college days, until someone’s VCR had eaten it. You feel a bit excited to know you’ve got the real thing right here. You think about telling him.

But it’s not about you, not now; it’s about Dieter. You widen your legs, make room for the ‘90s heart throb to slip between your body and come closer to the man you’ve dedicated your life to. In this moment you can admit as much. Dieter’s got his cock pressed against your back, and you know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.

Dieter stiffens as Dustin presses closer and closer to him. You shift to accommodate them, moving your body up, guiding Dieter along. He holds you close like a shield but doesn’t protest when Dustin’s lips press into his.

Dustin tastes of earthy vineyards and you—like sweetened strawberry wine and the familiar palette of tangy and acidic that’s blessed Dieter’s tongue many times over. That’s it, he thinks with a smile against Dustin’s generous lips. That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.

He plunges his tongue so deeply into Dustin’s mouth, it threatens to gag them both. But it doesn’t. They’ve both got their party tricks, after all. Dieter’s kiss grows hungry and suddenly there’s no space between any of you. You are a perfectly molded puzzle, fingers on skin, in hair, tongues swiping against lips and chests, and there are deep guttural moans exposing what the erections do well to show.

You know Dieter wants this, can feel his evident excitement press into your back. You happily welcome the warmth of Dustin’s firm body pressing impossibly close to yours. Dieter wets his bottom lip and squeezes you reassuringly, a habit from other life slipping into this new one.

You alternate kissing one another, creating a new taste on your warm, eager tongues. It is perfect. Dustin’s hands gingerly fumble over your chest, not focused or intent but curious, and Dieter’s allow it. The possessiveness has translated into something entirely more agreeable, and these men work together like lovers.

Your fingers grip at Dustin’s muscular shoulders, trail lower and lower over the slope of his chest down to the dip above his shorts. The path is slow and arduous to your lust riddled brain. He grunts against your collarbone, his hot breath fanning over you, and you go lower still, taking the shorts with you.

Dieter’s eyes trail the same place yours do, his chin tucked into your neck; you share the same view of Dustin: the red weeping head of his cock as it bops against his toned stomach, eager to be touched and licked and surrounded. Dustin sighs hotly against you as you press against him - against it - and Dieter swipes his tongue behind your ear. It is heaven, the way Dieter and Dustin feel against you, combined like this. You want them both. You need them.

You wrap your hands in Dieter’s curls, let him support your body as it rubs frantically over Dustin’s. Dieter peppers kisses alongside your neck and whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. God, I was so fucking lucky—“

The rest of it is lost against the shell of your earlobe. Some things - even the kindest, most genuine things - are better left unsaid.

Dustin emits soft, urgent moans as his cock catches between your bodies. The tempo of your shared thrusts grows quick, more focused, and he is close, on the very brink of letting go. You knit your brows, watch curiously and excitedly as he draws closer. You think of it: A hot spurt, just for you. Dieter holds up your sleep shirt, seeming to expect the same.

But then Dustin stops, his thick fingers rough and tight against your skin as he stills your movements. In the morning you’ll be bruised, a thought that thrills you. “Not yet,” is what he says in explanation, leaning his forehead against yours.

Dieter laughs softly, some terrible joke about bad endurance dying before it rises to be heard. He’s on his best behavior. Dustin tastes of you, of him, and you’re all naked and you’re so happy, so pliant. You lean against him like he’s someone you can lean on, and he swallows the serenity of that thought silently. Dieter is a half guilt, a perpetual bleeding heart, and you are his salvation. He knows it doesn’t work like that, can’t, but sex is not about what is real and logical. That’s why you were always so fucking good at it; it was beyond the both of you, and somehow a language you spoke best together.

He should feel worse about Dustin. Perhaps it’s because you want it so bad, or maybe it’s because he’s so horny, but the inclusion of him feels less intrusive than before. This is not your marriage bed - it’s been lost to the cruel seas of time - but it feels like a union, and Dustin plays a curious part. Not the voyeuristic onlooker, but the active participant, his glistening cock hot and heavy against your beautiful stomach. It should make Dieter sick. It did, thirty minutes ago. But now it makes him hard, wets his mouth. The bastard is good looking.

What can he say - you have always had good taste.

You turn your head and lick into Dieter’s mouth, redirecting your attention. He turns you between their bodies, pressing you into him as he kisses you feverishly. Dustin assists him, holding you against his body like Dieter had been doing before, only upwards. Dieter draws back and lifts the cotton sleep shirt over your head. He takes advantage like Dustin hadn’t been smart enough to, wetting your nipple with his warm mouth and tweaking the other between his fingers. You squirm, pressing your hot cunt against his stomach. He feels too clothed suddenly, having been denied contact because layers. You help him take off his shirt and Dustin helps you take off his pants. You waste no time wrapping your hot hand around him and tugging loosely.

His mouth finds your nipple again and you wrap your fingers into his unruly hair, jerking him off slowly as he kisses and sucks at your bare chest. He knows you’re already dripping, seen it on Dustin’s glossy lips when he got done with you, but this is his body remembering you and he can't stop. He remembers the way you got when he licked at you like you were the last scraps of his final meal on earth. How desperate and needy you became, just as desperate and needy as him. His hand travels down your stomach, straight down to your cunt, and he palms the wet heat of you into his hand. Dieter relishes the way you gasp into his mouth as the heel of his hand finds your clit, a smirk on his lips and a sentence like, “That’s it, baby,” coming out against you.

He fingers your entrance teasingly and finds you devastatingly wet. This is heaven, he thinks, the wet stickiness of you on the pad of his finger and your hot breath on his lips. You dig your nails into his shoulder, shut your eyes against the sensation of one of his fingers entering you. Dieter is ground zero. In your Garden of Eden, Dieter was there, at once Adam and the serpent. This is the apple. How delicious it is to be fucked, how perfectly human. Of course they’d turn on God for this. Cover up with leaves and be terrified of the whole earth later. Bleed and cry. Divorce. Whatever. This is worth turning back on perfection for. Poor Eve. Poor you.

You rub yourself against his hand and Dustin takes one of your breasts into his hand, watching. Dieter is so focused on the squelch of your juices and the way his finger - fingers now, two, and you stretch so perfectly for him - enters you that he doesn’t even mind. You’re no pissing contest, he sees that now—you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He swallows your moans and tries his best not to cum. Your grasp on his cock is so loose and it’d be so embarrassing to cum on your stomach when the tugs are nothing, and besides this is about you. So he focuses on trying not to.

“Condom,” you mutter, your lips landing on the side of Dieter’s mouth. Dieter nods his head but doesn’t pull back from you. He watches, enchanted, as your hips move against his hand. He can feel your orgasm build in the way you clench around his fingers, the penultimate pressure too much to bear. When you come, its with a shudder, your body tight and rigid above his as you ride it out. Dieter is so high and so in love with you, and he’s so sick about it that all he can do is laugh earnestly, even though what he wants is to ask you to marry him again.

Dustin is touching you all over with his hands, palming your perfect breasts, and you’re arching farther and farther back. Dieter can hardly bear the sight—not because of the jealousy—but because he’s deathly afraid this is it for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had, and he knows he can’t think that way. You had a good run—you’re great friends now—but God, you married him in Vegas and you used to sketch his nose with careful affection onto canvases you kept for yourself. Who’s gonna sit in your studio now? Who’s gonna take up space in your heart, make you smile over the canvas as you work? He would weep if you didn’t look so pretty and sated, leaning into Dustin the way you are.

He kisses you hard on the mouth just to get rid of the thoughts, and then he kisses Dustin too, grabbing roughly at the back of his hair the way he hasn’t ever with you. It’s not kind, but Dustin doesn’t seem to mind; he moans gruffly, absorbing nothing but the desire behind it.

Your hands explore Dieter’s exposed skin as they kiss, warm and gentle, unconsciously fingering the scar he got as a child. You know the map of this body. When his hard cock bops against his stomach you take it in your hand again. Before he has time to think, you put him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against Dustin’s lips. They stop kissing, looking between them at the sight of you. Dustin is so considerate, so much better than Dieter has ever been. He moves aside your hair, kisses against the curve of your spine. All Dieter can do is think about not cumming. He feels bad about this, wishes he could gather enough strength to think about your hair and things like that. But your mouth is warm and you take him in with expertise, bobbing in a rhythm he wouldn't dare break. Up, down, the tip of your tongue running alongside a vein, back up again. He’ll cum like this. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he touches the top of your head with unspeakable tenderness. Cum, you beckon, but he won’t. Can’t.

Where is that goddamn condom? How can he make this last forever?

He pulls back from your lips smiling an apologetic grin when you at him, surprised. You seem to understand, a devilish little smirk playing across your glossy lips. He wants to kiss you, but even that feels dangerous right now. He thumbs your lips instead.

“Condoms,” he tells you softly. You nod your head.

“In my bag.” You point over to the corner of the room. Dieter pads off to get them.

Dustin’s hands sneak between your thighs and you sigh when he finds your entrance, the tip of a finger rubbing the spot Dieter abandoned. You’re so wet and you want it so badly. He presses his lips against your shoulder and you feel the heat of his breath against your goose pimpled flesh. As you loll your head against him, he slides a finger in. You scratch the back of his head and nod frantically.

“You’re so tight.” He nips your skin and then licks at you with a desperation you’ve only experienced in Dieter. You like being wanted this badly. You lift your hips and ride his finger, squeezing around him. So tight, right. He laughs and you feel that too. “You like being talked dirty to, don’t you? You’re being so good, riding my finger like this. I can’t wait to fuck you. To feel you around my cock like this. And I bet he’s thinking that too.”

You both look over to Dieter as he unwraps a found foil and takes out the condom. You sigh; Dustin’s thumb finds your swollen clit. “We’ve got to make him cum in you, but I don’t think you’ll find that hard. He wants you so bad. Look—“ You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

Dieter strokes himself through the protective sleeve as he watches the two of you. You feel the familiar sensation of heat spreading low in your belly. When Dustin dares to enter another finger into you, you gasp, feeling full and stretched and yet not full enough. He spreads his fingers inside you, preparing you. You tug at his hair and make eye contact with Dieter.

He smiles lopsidedly, suddenly boyish and more handsome than he’s ever been. You think he looks happy for you—so pleased that you’re pleased, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it’s the drugs. You don’t know. Maybe he is happy that you’re happy. He was always better at saying he loved you than he was at showing it, but you suspect that this is his showing you. Love. Maybe it spills over in divorce, just another cruel thing you’ve got to cope with.

When Dieter comes back, he presses a condom into Dustin’s thigh. You are at the edge of another orgasm, everything perfectly in place — the sensation of Dustin’s thumb, the way his breath hits your skin, the idea that Dieter is watching you—but he denies you it, interrupting. You go to protest, whine, but he doesn’t give you a chance.

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity. You squeeze Dieter’s shoulder. The other condom package falls loosely onto the bed as Dustin uses his hand to keep you steady, your knees weak from the pleasure.

You tug at Dieter’s hair to make him stop. Dustin seems to know instinctively, leaving you feeling empty when he takes his fingers away. His slick covered fingers rest on your hips as you tell them both, breathlessly, “I can’t do another one. It’s too much.”

Dieter shakes his head in protest but Dustin takes the information in stride. He’s too good at this, moves through the motions with ease, improvising quickly. He extends his slicked fingers to Dieter. Dieter, who has been so focused on you, looks at them quizzically, unsure of what they mean. Then he seems to get it, hard features smoothing out in realization.

He looks at Dustin, and it’s not like with you. He's focused, not icy or angry but so intent. It’s not a loveless gaze, per se, but it is devoid of love; filled not with something warm but something hot.

Dustin’s cock presses into the small of your back. As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. You bite at your lip. You’ve never seen Dieter with men before, and this new side of him excites you—like unlocking a new door in a house you’ve had for ages. He puts on a show for you, bobbing like you did on him. Dustin’s fingers seem to be an extension of yourself. You shudder as Dieter tongues along them, and Dustin rubs himself helplessly against your backside.

“I want to see what you’re like with men,” you say to Dieter, your voice barely a whisper. But Dieter hears you and his eyebrows perk in interest. This is a long unanswered question to something you’ve never been brave enough to ask. You’ve always known that he’s been interested in men — that he’s had sex with them — but you’ve never really questioned outright about what it was like. It felt equal parts too personal and hurtful; you didn’t want to know what it was like with other people before you. But everything seems different tonight. You want to know badly, like he’s got secrets that could be your salvation hidden in him.

You slip from between them, lying against the pillows. Before filling the space, Dieter looks over at you. His brown eyes implore you for a sign and you nod your head.

He’d asked you earlier, when Dustin asked about rules, if you’d be alright with them touching each other, maybe even entering one another. You hadn’t expected it to get to that, so it had been easy to say you didn’t mind. In fact, you had figured Dieter only said it as a means to scare you away from the idea. And now that the notion is not only on the horizon, but a reality, it comes just as easy to say yes—maybe even more so.

He stalls, hesitating, so you nod again, laughing. He smiles. Your ex-husband is a startlingly beautiful man like this, looking so openly vulnerable. He’s physically and emotionally naked and you’ve waited decades for it.

Dieter and Dustin kiss each other like men do, aggressive and dominating, neither willing to lose the good fight just yet. You feel your interest piqued, watching the way their fingers touch each other. How they tug and grip, search for purchase all over. Dieter is much rougher with Dustin than he’s ever chanced to be with you, with bruising kisses and bruising touches. When he grabs the man’s cock, it is with an ugly dedication, fast dry and quick tugs. Dustin hisses the first time but doesn’t protest. In fact, he thrusts his hips unashamedly into Dieter’s closed fist, licking into his mouth with a degree of delight. They tug at the back of each other’s heads of hair and eventually Dieter gives way, falling back to allow Dustin to mount him.

Dustin searches for the condom on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily in an attempt to grasp at long denied air. You watch through heavy lids as he slides the latex onto himself. He’s circumcised, pink and swollen at the tip. Drips of pre-cum have made him all glossy and you bite your lip watching him struggle to line himself up. When he gets the latex down to his base, he smiles a satisfied smirk. He doesn’t look at you. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t mind at all. This is his favorite play, and he’s an actor after all.

Dieter’s knees knock apart to accommodate his frame—a body you’ve begun to notice with quiet admiration in your desire. He’s broad, much broader than he’d been in his youth, and he’s got muscle all over now, whereas before he’d been lean and lanky. He’s hard and tight and as he begins to rub himself against Dieter, you’re taken with the way his skin stretches over the plains of his back, his arms, his stomach. Dustin is in impeccable shape, perhaps one of the only men who can claim he’s doing better now than he was in his youth. Gone is the boyishness, replaced with a heady, sure masculinity.

Dieter seems to relinquish his fight happily now, soft growls emitting from his lips. Dustin presses down into him, and while most of what they’re doing is obscured by Dieter’s legs, you can imagine it well enough: the steady, erratic thrusts of Dustin’s cock rubbing against Dieter’s. There’s a sheen of sweat on them both and Dustin buries his head in Dieter’s neck. He licks at the places you had once, and it is nothing but erotic little huffs from them both.

“You’re…” Dustin begins, but falters off. He lifts himself up, repositions, bracketing Dieter’s head between his strong arms. Dieter’s eyes are pressed closed, his dark features etched with pleasure. All they do for a while is rub against each other. You feel like an intruder, like something stopping them from getting where they need to be. Maybe you are.

You dare to speak: “Aren’t you going to touch each other?”

Dieter looks startled. He’s red in the cheeks, the exertion of their movements and the heat of his desire making him flush. He taps Dustin on the arm, making the steady roll of his hips slow until suddenly it’s nothing. It’s all quiet for the first time in minutes.

They both look at you with intent eyes. But Dieter is the first to take charge. “You should fuck her,” he tells Dustin. Dieter looks at you, questioning.

“But—“ you protest. Dieter shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”

Dustin has no qualms about the interchanging of you and Dieter. You notice that he's notably gentler with you than he was with him, though. He crawls to you, kisses you chastely—as if testing the waters. There’s nothing necessarily erratic or rough about what he does to you. He looks between your spread legs and fingers at your entrance once more, circling the area teasingly. You groan in anticipation and his head falls to your chest. He takes a taut nipple into his mouth as he plunges his fingers inside of you, pushing them against your front wall. As you sigh heavily, he moves his wet mouth to the other nipple.

You turn your head, catch Dieter’s fixed gaze. He reaches out his hand and you lace your fingers together. He’s touching himself through his condom, stroking softly. You want to devour him.

Dustin takes his fingers from you, and you look back at him. Before you can plead for more he says, “I’m gonna enter you now.” You nod, wordless.

He gathers the slick from his fingers and coats his latex covered cock with it. As you squeeze Dieter’s hand, Dustin lines himself to your entrance. His kiss is soft, barely a kiss at all, and he enters you, inch by careful inch. He feels so overwhelmingly right, snug, puncturing something decidedly primal inside of you when he bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan hotly against his shoulder. He manages a small laugh, running his lips against your cheek. “Go hard,” you ask. He hasn’t moved yet, stays still inside of you. You think of the way he was with Dieter.

“I don’t know if I can. I think I’ll…” He swallows. “I know I’ll cum.”

“Please,” you beg. You dig crescent shaped nail marks into ass and he smiles teasingly, running his warm tongue against your sensitive skin. He presses so intimately into you, your nipples scrap against his chest. It feels so good. Everything does.

“He said no,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes.

“He’ll give me anything I want,” you say. Dieter’s fingers leave yours then, and you look over. You think you’ve made him mad but he’s only repositioning himself, coming closer to your bodies. He doesn’t say anything.

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dustin mumbles, finally drawing back. You nod your head, encouraging, but he doesn’t go harder. He moves in the same way he did before, experimental and slow. When you look at him, imploring silently, he shakes his head. “But a rule is a rule, baby. ‘Sides, I think he’s making me get you ready. Your husband is a bit of a pervert. He’s touching himself, watching me stretch you open with my cock.” Dustin presses his lips into yours. Against you, he mumbles, “Did ya know he likes to watch? Bet he likes to hear too. You—“ Dustin pushes back into you, stopping himself, and the squelch of your juices adds to the effect. He smirks. “—You’ll get fucked. Just not by me. Not yet. Maybe I’ll fuck him while he fucks you. Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

You feel Dieter’s fingers but can’t move your eyes away from Dustin’s. They’re greener like this, up close. Dieter trails a line over your body, and then up to Dustin’s, with a lone finger. Dustin turns to look at him and he smiles, nodding. They seem to work without words.

Dustin reaches down to grip the condom as he pulls out of you. You look over at Dieter, half angry and half amused that he could interrupt. You realize what they’re doing almost immediately. Dieter holds open your legs by pressing his palm against one of your knees, and Dustin shuffles, moving back to let Dieter take his place.

His cock probes against your entrance and he smiles down at you like a fool. “Hey,” he tells you evenly, half sober. You ache for him. You clench around nothing as he licks into your mouth.

“Hey,” you respond, overcome. Your fingers wrap around his arms and you notice that he’s got more muscle than before too.

“You want to be fucked?” Although he attempts to make this a question, it is more of a statement. You nod along anyway. He kisses you hard, rough like with Dustin, and he nearly enters you as he rubs himself greedily against your naked warmth, wetting himself with your slick.

“Yes. Hard, like you do with him,” you tell him. He smiles against your lips. You take his cock in your hand, so much more sure with him than anyone, and he slides into you. It feels like homecoming, wet and warm and familiar, your fingers digging into his skin and the smell of sex in the air. He does what you ask, his thrusts sharp, his hips snapping against your hips.

“Dieter,” you pant out, nodding your head. He kisses the side of your mouth sloppily and you smile the best you can. Where Dustin felt right, Dieter feels perfect. You feel like you touch the hem of eternity as he plunges into you with the intensity you requested, uninhibited and giving in the roughness.

He repositions you both in one expert movement, moving to his knees, pushing your hips farther up. This makes you let out a startled gasp; he hits you far deeper like this, his thumbs digging into the flesh on your hips with bruising intensity. You can’t kiss from this position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks you. Really fucks you.

You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. He doesn’t even touch himself. This makes you frown.

“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.

“Huh?” he grunts.

“Dustin.”

“Mm, what—what about him?”

“Let him fuck me too. Please.”

Dieter shakes his head. “No, you’re mine right now. You’re—“ he snaps into you roughly, the bed creaking. “I’ll suck him off. Or maybe—“ Dieter grunts again, “Maybe he’ll be smart and he’ll get behind me. And maybe he’ll—“ his head drops to your neck, and your head the next part through mumbles. “Maybe he’ll rub against me like he was doing before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Just think about you. It’s all for you.”

You close your eyes, nodding. That sounds fine. Great. Dieter’s finger gazes at your clit and you nod, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist. You always liked to feel the way his forearm moved as he did this to you.

“Cum for me and I’ll cum for you,” he says, and you feel it begin, the stirrings of another orgasm. You think of him, of the way he punctures his thrusts with grunts, how good he feels inside of you, bottoming out like this with measured fury. You like how rough he’s being, like never before. You like this side of Dieter. You like that there is more of Dieter to know.

When you cum, you call out his name. He swallows it, pressing his lips to yours. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me. You’ve always been.” He fucks faster into you, his own release on the horizon. You squeeze around him once, twice, and that’s it; he’s filling the condom up and he’s gasping earnestly, amazed and so goddamn in love. He kisses you on the mouth and it’s so genuine. You kiss him back, smiling like a newlywed.

“Dustin,” you say against Dieter’s lips, after a moment. Your chests are both heaving and you're drenched in a thin layer of sweat. He presses his forehead against yours and you smile. “Let me take care of him,” you tell him.

Dieter rolls off of you, collapsing into bed with a soft groan and saying nothing. You take a moment to recuperate, breathing in and out, letting the bliss of this moment wash over you.

“Come here,” you say to Dustin, patting the open space of the bed beside you. He listens, the bed dipping beneath his weight. It takes a lot of effort on your part, but you rise to your knees. You guide him onto his back and he helps you straddle him. For a moment, you just sit there on top of him, looking at him.

“I used to masturbate to you,” you finally admit. This makes him grin. Beneath your cunt, his erection jumps a little.

“Thanks,” he says. His hand palms one of your breasts again. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I can finish myself off if you want.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Didn’t you hear me? I used to masturbate to you. This is a dream.”

Another hand comes up to cup your other breasts. “Are you sure you don't feel too sore? He fucked you pretty good.” You begin to glide your cunt alongside his prominent erection. He sucks in a swallow breath. “Guess that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm.

“Just let her fuck you,” Dieter tells him quietly. You smile over at him but he doesn’t see it; he’s too busy watching the way you move your hips over Dustin. Even with a flaccid penis and in a state of post-coital peace, you manage to get to him.

You ride Dustin quickly, grabbing onto his strong shoulders as he tongues your alongside chest, finding your nipples. He groans, the sensation vibrating throughout your body as you follow the motion his hands set for you. A fast up and down, your back arching, taking him in completely and then pushing back so far he nearly falls out.

Admittedly he does most of the work, your legs wobbly and your body tired. But it feels good. God, does it feel good. You like this, being with two men back to back, each of them taking turns. Dustin generously tries to get you to cum again, his fingers sliding between your bodies, but you stop him.

“It’s too much. Just this,” you tell him. You grind down on him to make him feel better about it, and he hums sympathetically around a mouthful of your breast.

You ride him less enthusiastically the closer he gets, both of you too tired and worn. He stops aiding you so much, kissing anywhere he can access: your jaw, your neck, the side of your mouth. He lets your body fall forward into his. It’s a sort of lazy fucking that you do, meeting halfway to create the sharp thrusts that push him closer to climax.

“Cum in me,” you tell him, voice silky against his ear. He knows how tired you are, feels it too. He gathers up the last of both of your strengths, rutting up into you with intent. As he cums, you ride him, curious, taking all he can give. Dieter is too sensitive, can’t stand to move when he cums, but Dustin nods, moaning against you. When it’s over, you collapse into him, hugging his sweaty body. He laughs against your warm skin.

“Thank you,” he tells you softly, so only you can hear. You nod. You lie on him like that for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart. Dieter watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look faraway.

You reach out to him with your fingers and he smiles, coming to.

Dustin helps you off of him and you fall between them, sated and spent. He slides off his condom and reaches across your body. “You want me to take yours?” he asks Dieter. Dieter, no longer feeling jealous but merely tired, nods. He hands the man his condom and Dustin pads off to the bathroom. Dieter and you watch this, amused.

“I kinda understand what you see in him now,” he confesses, smiling. He interlocks your fingers and you let him.

“Thank you,” you say, ignoring his comment. You look over at him.

He nods, sincere. “Of course. I assume I did it right?”

“You did it right.”

“And you don’t regret it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

You kiss him chastely, even though you know you shouldn’t. “I know,” you tell him softly. “I love you too.”

“Like a friend?”

“No.”

“Like a husband?” he asks, testing the waters. You laugh. Dustin comes back from the bathroom.

“No. Something more than all of that.”

“I can handle that.”

You nod your head. “Me too,” you tell him.

The bed dips from the weight of Dustin once more, and you roll over to your side, cuddling into him. He passes a warm rag to Dieter and he accepts it, cleaning himself. He goes to hand it to you, but you shake your head.

“I’ll take a shower in a little. When I can walk.”

This earns a laugh from them both. Dustin reaches an arm around you, drawing you closer to his body. Dieter, surprisingly, doesn’t mind this; he curls up behind you, too, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re all so close, and it’s nice. He thinks maybe they might be something to this sharing after all.

“I liked that,” you say to no one in particular.

Dustin hums, fingering trailing over your arm. “Enough to do it again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I think the opportunity for this kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. This is Hollywood, and they love sequels,” Dieter adds, smiling.

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”

You close your eyes, smiling faintly. “A sequel, then, maybe,” you say tiredly.

In the morning, you do not regret any of it.

—-

A YEAR LATER.

SUBJECT: THREE’S COMPANY, BUT ONLY SOMETIMES from: dustin.mulray@gmail.com

I was at an art show the other day and I saw a painting with your name on it. The guy in it looked a little familiar (they told me it was an old painting, from nearly a decade ago, before you were both famous. Cute). I bought it, of course. Not that I’m in the habit of buying paintings from people I’ve slept with, but it was for charity and it looked good and I’ve got a new apartment that I’ve got to fill, so I thought why not? It cost a lot (good for you!) and because of that they let me wrangle an email address from them to tell you what a brilliant job you did. You did great. Very Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of you. Anyway, to the point: You weren’t at the premiere of the documentary with Dieter last month. He told me that it's because you don’t like that scene, and I don’t blame you. Neither do I. But I was wondering how you feel about commissioned paintings? And do you think that Dieter would like to come with you to deliver it if your opinion is positive? (He told me I had to ask you that myself, so I think he’d be happy to accompany you if the canvas is too big to carry by yourself). P.S. I’m asking you for sex–a sequel, as it were–but I really would like a painting, too. I’ll spend a lot (not for the sex, but the art. I guess for the sex too, if you’re into that). Love, D. Mulray.

—-

SUBJECT: HOPEFULLY NOT ROSEMARY’S BABY SITUATION to: david.bravo@gmail.com, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Sometimes I commission art work for people I like and sometimes I make an exception for those I don’t if they pay enough. I’m sure you fall somewhere in those categories, Dustin. But I must warn you: I won’t do dick drawings. I might do a vagina one if the inspiration strikes. I must admit I’ve never had a man ask me for sex over email. Kind of thrilling, like a retro sext but without any of the sexy parts. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). P.S. It will cost you. For tax purposes, I hope you’ll let ‘it’ be the art.

—

from: david.bravo@gmail.com to: you, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?