#downing a bottle of Diet Coke

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[thinkinonsense]

COLORS₊˚⊹☆

old man!logan howlett x young fem!reader

cw: angst!! nsfw content but no smut

a/n: this has been in my drafts for sooo long

masterlist

you knew better than to be alone with logan. it's wasn't his fault that you couldn't control yourself around him but you couldn't resist his salt and pepper look.

"can i get a beer, honey?" his deep rugged voice asks over the bar counter.

"yeah, one second." you meekly reply.

the two of you met through his son, jack. for months, you knew jack had a crush on you but you always had eyes for his father, logan. when you first saw logan visiting his son on the college campus, you thought that maybe it wouldn't hurt to go on a date with the nice boy.

"here you go." you nod, sliding him the glass bottle. his fingers entrap yours around the bottle, stopping all of your movements.

"thanks, pretty girl." he tries to smile at you. your knees feel weak. logan can smell your arousal leaking in your underwear and down your thighs.

"no problem, mr. howlett."

blush coated your face as he releases your hand around the bottle. logan lets you get back to work, watching your every movement.

"ya' know, jack has been asking about you." logan says after a few sips.

the older man saw right through you. he knew why you suddenly became interested in his son. logan was a bad man who formed bad habits; one of those habits was entertaining your fantasies.

almost every night after work, logan came into the bar you worked at. a bar that was forty-five minutes from his cabin home. he loathed the city however, he liked how the lights twinkled in your eyes whenever you joined him for a smoke outside.

"i've been busy." you shrug. not really feeling bad for canceling plans with jack again.

"hm.." logan huffs, watching you pour liquor into a glass for another customer. "noticed you've taken up more night shifts."

"college is expensive."

"jack mentioned that your folks help pay your tuition." he had you right where he wanted you. "you aren't ditchin' him for some other college boy, are ya', honey?"

air trapped in your lungs at his question. you were torn on if you should look up at him or not. besides the beer in his hand, logan was also drinking in your appearance. always in these tight low-cut tops with tiny skirts and cute sneakers.

"too busy for boys." you reply, taking a sip of your diet coke to the right of logan.

it's been two months of dancing around your attraction to each other. logan loved his son but he knew the poor boy didn't have a chance with a girl like you. you needed someone to tame you, protect and provide for you. jack wasn't mature enough to see that.

"what time do you get off?" logan asks, finishing off his glass.

"thirty minutes."

you bite back the smile forming on your lips. he could hear your heart beat increase causing him to chuckle and shake his head.

"you know the routine, doll face." he puts down some cash and leaves you a nice tip. "meet me in the limo in thirty. no panties either."

"yes, mr. howlett."

was it wrong? maybe, but nothing felt better than logan's hands all over you.

[k0ntr0l]

Tips to help avoid binging…

Cut up cucumbers or celery and put seasoning on them, eat them and drink water in between(gives the illusion of eating a lot and can trick you into not binging on bad food) you can do the same with raw broccoli or carrots

Drink lots of water, or if you can stand the taste drink 16oz water with 1tsp apple cider vinegar, you can add lemon juice to help with the taste

Drink lots of peppermint tea (or any hot tea) (add 0 cal sweetener if u need to)

Obviously Diet Coke, black coffee, or 0 cal monster

Vegetable broth!!!

Look at thinspo!

Take ur vitamins and drink 1-2 full bottles of water with them!

Cut up 1 small apple(55 cals) or one large apple (95 cals) into super skinny pieces(the smaller you cut up your healthy food and the more you chew, the more your brain thinks you’ve eaten) drink 1-2 bottles of water and you will feel full

Make sure SOMETHING is in your stomach whether it’s liquid or food, just make sure you’re putting something in it when you’re hungry to stop your stomach growling or over time your starvation instincts will kick in to eat as much as you can(trust me I’ve been down this road for most of my life) so as a rule, to avoid binging, put something in your stomach even if it’s lettuce or celery.

Whether you want to have the calories or not it will help to let yourself have a tbsp of peanut butter (90 cal) or even some oatmeal (150 cal for 1/2 cup) or both (240) bc those things will stick with you throughout almost the whole day and will keep you full.

Plain Low fat Greek yogurt(90 cal for 3/4 cup) will stick with you throughout the day as well. I put 1 tsp of agave nectar(honey works too)(30 cal) and cut up 3 grapes(10 cal) and it’s sweet and helps stop cravings. 130 cal total. You can also sub the fruit and honey for 1 tbsp peanut butter to stay full longer(180 cal total)

As much as you want to eat literally nothing, that is the reason you are binging. If you eat less than 1,500 calories a day you *will* lose weight. If you eat less than 1,000 a day you’ll lose it faster. But if you eat nothing for days you will binge. Eat small amounts of healthy food and you’ll be in control longer. Trust.

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk besties

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

your transfem friend recommended a clinic to get your bottom surgery done at. she says its cheap, not gatekeepery, and the results are good, even if the doctors a little skeevy. youre at the address she gave you and are wondering how exactly your murder will go down. the door is on a third floor landing accessible only from a fire escape out of a back alley in the worst part of town youve ever seen. you knock three times and the door is answered by a ratty-looking woman with a severe slouch smoking something that doesnt smell like nicotine and doesnt smell like marijuana. her wavy blonde hair is unkempt. shes wearing an oversized grey hoodie that hasnt been washed in some time. you can identify blood on the left sleeve and vomit across much of her side, as well as other, more mysterious stains. you cant tell if shes wearing anything underneath the hoodie. the inside of the apartment - because it is, very clearly, her apartment - has a smell that you cant place but, if pressed, would probably call sweat, though you know that description is lacking something.

dr davis, you ask. she smiles wide, and her teeth are shockingly good for the state the rest of her is in. just call me riley, she says. never did get a degree.

she ushers you inside and sits you down on a sofa almost as stained as her hoodie. can i get you a drink she asks. a drink, you repeat, dazed. she says yeah. she says she has diet coke, beer, vodka, and coffee. says she used to keep tea around for a friend of a friend but she hasnt come by in a few years and the leaves are probably losing flavor by now. you say just waters fine. she shrugs and says your funeral. she comes back from the kitchen and sweeps some stuff off the coffee table. you see a stray scalpel, a roll of gauze bandages, a soda cup from taco bell, and various crumpled papers amongst the rubbish that she knocks aside before setting down your glass of water. she has a beer in her own hand and pops the cap off with her teeth, though the motion isnt quite how youre used to seeing people do it. she takes a big gulp before she keeps talking.

so what do you want your pussy to look like, she asks. you splutter a bit. she says you are the one who needed their bits redone right. you flush and say yeah thats me. she nods and says right so what do you want. you struggle to give a good answer and she starts asking questions. depth? width? color? clit size? you give your answers falteringly. she starts asking about labia. oh, you dont want dentata, do you, she says. that costs extra. you say you dont know what that means. she says dont worry about it. hey do you wanna get pregnant? you splutter again. not now she clarifies. well i can get you pregnant now too if you want that. doesnt even have to be human i think i have some horse sperm around here if you want. i just meant like ever in the future. you say you dont know. she says okay shell leave it out for now but come back if you ever want her to put the womb in. youre too stunned to reply.

she says oh do you want to keep your dick, i can do that. you say you thought they needed the tissue from the penis in order to make the vaginal lining. she laughs and takes another gulp from her beer. she says so is that a no. you say you guess you hadnt thought about it. she says she can reschedule if you need to think, no rush. you say no i guess i dont want it anymore. she nods and says come back if you change your mind.

she says ok, i think i can start operating now if youre ready. you say okay and she tells you to lie on your back and strip naked. you follow her instructions. youre still not sure if youre going to die today or not. she pulls on a big pair of rubber gloves. not latex medical gloves, they're yellow dishwashing gloves. she grabs a small jar of what looks like petroleum jelly off a shelf nearby. you cant help but notice that theres also lube, condoms, saran wrap, and a bottle of honey on the same shelf. you dont ask. she starts vigorously rubbing the jelly into your skin from the belly button down. everywhere it touches you instantly go numb. she keeps talking while she works. a lot of it is her telling stories about "her amy." you cant tell if amy is a sister, wife, or pet. she might be all three.

she reaches up to grab an empty syringe off the top shelf. when she stretches you notice shes naked under the hoodie. you look away bashfully. she doesnt seem to notice.

she fills the syringe with liquid from a bucket in the closet. the liquid is neon green. she injects it into your inner upper thigh. you are now certain you're going to die today, but you cannot make a break for it with your legs numbed, so you wait.

she says okay this is the part where a lot of people get squeamish so look away if you think you might get sick. she pulls out a set of knives. some of them look like dentistry tools, some of them are medical scalpels, and some of them are kitchen knives. you look away. she starts humming to herself while she works. the tune is pop goes the weasel.

hey, she calls out to you from between your legs, how many nerves do you want in your clit? you say uh i dont know, whats a normal amount. she says about ten thousand give or take two thousand in either direction. you say ten thousand sounds fine. she doesnt respond, just goes back to humming. its a different tune. shes humming old macdonald now.

she gets up a couple times to grab new drinks. you say should you be drinking during an operation? she says dont worry i know what im doing. besides i never took the hippocratic oath. she laughs at that, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. you don't think its that funny. she resumes her work.

this time shes humming the alphabet song. you ask how old are you anyway? she says somewhere between 12 and 47. then she laughs again. you decide to stop asking questions.

four beers, two diet cokes, three unidentifiable cigarettes, and five hours later, she stands up and announces shes done. she wipes her brow without taking the glove off, smearing unidentifiable bodily fluids across her forehead. she jabs another syringe into your other thigh and the feeling returns to your lower body. you're a little sore but other than that you feel great. she wheels over a full length mirror and tells you to take a look. its perfect. youre everything youve ever dreamed you would be. you cant describe how euphoric it feels to see a vagina, your vagina, between your legs. you thank her tearfully. she smiles awkwardly. of course, shes saying.

how much do i owe you you ask. she shrugs. iunno, a hundred bucks? im not in it for the money. you pay her the hundred bucks and leave quickly. you barely remember to get dressed again before heading out. you have never seen Riley again.

[number-onekidqueen]

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫

Part One Part Two.

Angst

Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader

warnings: underage alcohol use, minor injuries, angst, denying feelings, surprise kisses

Summary: you and Luke go to a party and some things happen while you’re under the influence.

Parties were secret affairs at Camp Half-Blood.

Well, secret from Chiron, the one who would put an end to them. Mr D. could usually be convinced by one of his children to keep quiet if a dash of something alcoholic was poured into his Diet Coke. Once curfew had passed and all the younger children had been safely and snugly tucked in and Chiron and Mr D. had retreated to Big House, all those involved would gather in one of the emptier cabins that had older campers. The Hypnos kids would place a sleeping spell on the younger kids that belonged to the cabin hosting the party.

And then the fun would begin.

The alcoholic beverage supply was not immense, but there was enough provided from older Hermes campers to get, well, severely wasted.

Luke knew that path hadn’t been your initial idea, but you were well on your way there.

He on the other hand, hadn’t drank that much, stopping after he noticed just how much you had been drinking.

You weren’t usually like this. As a daughter of Apollo you were intelligent and responsible, a trusted head counsellor and a masterful healer. It was usually he causing mischief and getting hurt, and you patching him up and reprimanding him.

How the roles had reversed. Instead of your modest camp uniform and demeanour, you were in ripped jeans and a striped tank top and had converted into an absolute entertainer, lighting up the room. You weren’t acting like a semi-rowdy nineteen year old anymore, but a fully-wild twenty-five year old college student. He wished he was as drunk as you, because it seemed you were having the time of your life from how enthusiastically you were laughing with a random Ares girl you had traded drinks with.

Instead he was the only vaguely sober one in a crowd of drunk late teens playing inappropriate games or dancing. It wasn’t fun anymore.

The games were the only thing that kept him there.

“Ok… y/n,” one of your sisters - he couldn’t tell in the dim light, Apollo children all looked golden - drawled, pointing insistently to you. “Do a dare or spin the bottle!”

He observed as you appeared to think, contemplative as you sipped beer - gods you needed to stop drinking, please - before reaching for the glass bottle on the floor. The small crowd cheered and squatted in a wonky circle, Luke joining them and sighing lightly.

He hated this game. Hated how you would happily kiss anyone. He wished in these moments that he did have the courage to talk to you, to tell you how he felt and sweep you off your feet. And then it would be him you would kiss and hold hands with, and he would take care of you and do anything to make you laugh.

But instead you kissed others.

Finally, after a few clumsy grasps of the bottle, you drunkenly clutched it before giving it a rough spin. It whirled around and around noisily, colours shining off of it, and at that moment he loathed that gleaming glass neck, loathed it with a passion for pointing at everyone but him-

For not-

Pointing at him.

At him.

And by some miracle, by some grace from the Gods, it was pointing at him.

His heart raced wildly and he struggled to breathe as he glanced up at you. You were already looking at him. Your eyes looked golden in the light, and your hair covered most of your face, hiding your expression. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, hoping to calm down as he waited for your move.

You stayed still.

Still.

Still.

Maybe this was awkward for you, he suddenly realised, panicking. After all he was your best friend, of course it was weird to kiss your best friend. In fact you were probably waiting for him to call it off, but he’d taken so long to understand, he was an idiot.

“It’s o-okay,” he stuttered, cursing himself, “you don’t-“

You pounced at him, your lips smashing together. Immediately his mind went blank. It was burning, passionate, fierce, and somehow infinitely better than anything he’d ever guiltily dreamed about as he lay awake. He noticed vaguely that you’d landed in his lap and wrapped your arms aggressively around his neck. He was much more preoccupied by your lips, how they moved against his perfectly. How when you were this close to him, you smelled like chocolate chip cookies. How your lips and mouth and tongue tastes like flawless hot spun sugar. How you were into this, and into him. How all of his dreams had come true and maybe this wasn’t a terrible night.

And then you dragged a hand through his curls and it felt so good he had to fight not to groan, ugh.

“Get some, Castellan!”

“Something’s getting a little hot in here.”

And this meant nothing, he realised suddenly as the catcalls continued, his thoughts returning. Because this was all an act, something to impress the others and make them laugh from your boldness. Luke was just the pawn, something to elevate you higher-

He felt sick, his lips slowing, before stopping completely, pulling away from you. He faked a weak smile, drawing his face further away from yours and avoiding eye contact. He didn’t want to see the drunken humour in your eyes.

“Ok, your turn next!!” Someone yelled, and it was all over.

——————————————

So it stayed, an almost torturous existence before he noticed your eyelids drooping as you sleepily accepted the Ares girl’s shot glass. And finally, finally, he had an excuse to get out of this hellhole.

He walked over, dodging campers all around, before he approached, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, y/n,” he said softly, “I think we should get outta here. You seem kinda tired and so am I.”

“How did you know that?!” You asked incredulously, spinning around to him in shock.

“That you were tired?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh,” he chuckled awkwardly, “your eyes are all droopy, it’s kinda obvious.”

“Huh. Well, y’know what, I kinda agree. Let’s go.” You shrugged, waving to the Ares girl as you walked with him. You linked arms and he tried to act normal. You two never shared this much casual contact.

“What’s her name?” Luke asked, focusing on his surroundings, as you walked out the door.

“I have no idea,” you replied cheerily, breaking from him and taking a leap off the step. It didn’t end well, with you tripping and falling in a heap on the damp and cold grass.

“Are you ok?” He asked, knelt over you and concerned. You giggled, nodding and accepting his hand as it pulled you up.

“Ok, just- let me- hold onto me, ok?” He said, looping an arm around your shoulder to keep you steady. He held on as you laughed like a little girl and clung to his t-shirt all the way to your cabin.

The stars were nice tonight. For once, you could see them, like billions of shimmering white dots in the skies and it really added to the peace of the scenery. The air was cooler, there were no people, and it was so much quieter. More serene. He felt as if he could breathe. He glanced at the stars once more as he led you up the stairs to your door, before dropping your hand. Or trying to. You didn’t let go.

“Good night,” he whispered, giving your hand a squeeze and trying again.

Your grip wouldn’t loosen.

“Luke,” you murmured breathlessly, stepping forward, bringing your joined hands to your chest. He could feel your breath, warmth, pulse. Fast. Like his. “Why are you….”

“What?”

You looked as if you were going to say more, but couldn’t find the words, instead stepping even closer, and he could feel your joined hands compressed between your two chests. His chest was still, his breathing completely halted as your eyes observed him delicately, his eyes, nose, scar, jawline, cheeks, mouth, as if he was a priceless painting.

You met him once again.

It was softer this time. Your lips still moved in sync, but it was sweeter, calmer. If the other kiss had been caramel, this was smooth, gorgeous honey. As if you had all the time in the world to dazzle him with your smooth kisses. You probably did. Your hands were slower as well, leaving warm trails all over as they made their way down his back, over his sides and under his shirt, where your fingers traced the hard contours of his chest. He had to restrain the urge to shiver violently at your touch.

You pulled away a fraction, warm breath hitting his lips. “Come inside. Stay over.” You panted against them.

He wanted to. Tiptoeing in with a smile on his face and crawling into your bed, with you beside him? His dream. Being tangled in your bedsheets, waking up with every limb of yours and his twisted together, and your hair splayed over his chest? His Elysium.

But you were drunk, deeply drunk. And if he was ever lucky enough to experience any of that, he wanted to have the real event, where alcohol didn’t influence your willingness. He wanted you to be sober.

“I can’t.” He withdrew from you, out of reach. “You’re drunk and I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N, I’m your best friend, you don’t like me that way. You’re just drunk.”

“Yeah. Like super drunk.” You affirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “But that doesn’t change anything. I like you sooo much-“

No. Luke wouldn’t hear this. After liking - maybe even loving - you for this long, your drunk, confused notions would hurt him too much. He refused to listen.

“C’mon let’s get you to bed so your hangovers not too bad.” He interrupted, taking your arm and leading you into the cabin. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Needless to say, you would never talk about it again if it was up to him.

He left quickly, once you were tucked in, before you could give him a response, with a hurried ‘goodnight’.

Once he was tucked comfortably in his own bunk in cabin 11, he pondered the night’s events. A whole lot of drinking. Stupid games. Not one, but two kisses. Even if they meant… nothing. They were nice either way, and probably the only two he would ever get from you.

————————————————-

The next day, he admitted, was a disaster on his behalf.

He’d had a strong plan to pretend nothing had ever happened. And then while he was getting dressed, four of his siblings wolf-whistled and smirked when they saw him. Clearly not something everyone had forgotten.

And when he saw you at breakfast, wincing slightly and looking drowsy, the moment your eyes had flashed to his, all he could think about were the kisses. He couldn’t see straight, and stumbled while he grasped his breakfast tray, and before he knew it, he hadn’t even said hello to you.

The avoidance gradually increased. After breakfast, he steered clear of you, going straight to his class with younger demigods. He didn’t make an effort to accompany an injured camper to visit you, instead sending one of their friends with them. And during lunch, where he’d usually visit you at the infirmary and bring food, he stayed at Hermes table, with nervous feet rooted to the floor.

He could tell by dinner, you were confused, hurt even, from the glances you were sending to him. And he wanted to go over, make it up to you by sitting beside you and telling you one of the Stoll’s latest schemes, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. It was like he was a shy toddler all over again, clinging to his mother’s leg, and he was so embarrassed for it.

That night, he swore the next day he would be better about everything. Be honest, available and just see how things would go from there. You guys had been through anything. Surely you couldn’t let each other down for this.

He woke early, with a clear mind and went to retrieve breakfast for him and you. Finding you in the infirmary, rolling bandages, he took a deep inhale before stepping in, ready.

“Hey,” he greeted, cringing a little at himself as you dropped the bandage in surprise, and watching as it rolled all over the umber planks in white streaks.

“Oh, uh, hey,” you replied, scrambling to pick it up and sending him a distracted smile. Not the greatest start, but he could improve.

“Sorry I haven’t been around. Been busy, around the place with new campers, y’know,” he lied, feeling guilty, “funny, haven’t actually seen you since we-“

“Hung out at the party?” You interrupted, nodding.

What? Hanging out? Just hanging out did not qualify ignoring him till the party was over and then two kisses and an almost-confession.

Unless you didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. Apparently, this was the case.

“…. Yeah.” He hesitantly agreed, searching your eyes for any signs you might want to take back what you said.

You wouldn’t even meet them.

“Anyway,” he placed the plate down on the bench, faking a smile, “here’s breakfast. Have a great day.”

And as he walked out, disappointed that you had let him down, he couldn’t help but wonder how things would’ve turned out differently if you had been sober.

How he wished you had been sober.

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter One - Tyler Owens x Reader

Chapter One - Nice Try, Owens

It was the end of the second tornado-chasing season for (Y/n) and the Storm Riders. A couple of years ago a local bar in Oklahoma named the Dust Devil Dive hosted a yearly celebration party for all the storm chasers to relax and share stories from the year's chases. 

Granted, most times it was just your team, a few from Storm Par, another smaller team named Atmosphere Aces, and the Tornado Wranglers. Thankfully when the owners, Kathy and Randy, threw this party they closed the place down to outsiders, which included all of the Tornado Wrangler fans. You and your team got tired of having their fans around constantly just because the leader, if you could call him that, was good-looking and charismatic enough to make any girl who looked at him melt. That man is Tyler Owens. 

While, yes, he is good-looking and a smooth talker, he was also reckless and annoying. There were numerous times you had watched him and Boone drive into the middle of a storm in that old red truck of his and put it in park to then shoot fireworks up into the tornado. You’d have to admit that his bravery and respect for the storm were admirable; driving into the middle of a tornado was not as admirable. 

You smirked to yourself while sitting at the bar while sipping your whiskey and diet coke thinking of all the crazy stunts the Tornado Wranglers have pulled. You turned your barstool slightly to watch the teams intermingle on the dance floor, forgetting about all the turbulence everyone had gone through the last few weeks. 

As Rodney Atkins played throughout the bar, you turned back to the bar and finished your drink hearing everyone sing along at the top of their lungs. 

“If you’re going through hell, keep on going, don’t slow down!” They all sang, “If you’re scared, don’t show it, you might get out ‘fore the devil even knows you’re there!” 

In the corner of your eye, you could see Tyler playing pool with Dexter while trying to teach Ben, a journalist from a city near London. You smirked while watching Ben try to use the cue to hit the white ball on the table which was basically lined up with the seven ball and one of the corner pockets. 

While he took his shot and missed horribly by barely hitting the white ball and almost falling onto the table, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. That caused Tyler to look up from under his cowboy hat and make eye contact with you. 

For a man you didn’t necessarily enjoy talking with, he sure did something to your brain chemistry. You lifted your new drink and slightly tipped it toward him in a cheers manner. He did the same with his beer bottle, the two of you both took a drink and you turned back to the bar where the bartender was asking if you needed anything else. 

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, placing your glass back on its chintzy bar coaster. You took your phone out of your pocket and scrolled Facebook for a minute or two to catch up on your family's lives that you had been missing for the last few years while out storm chasing. 

“It’s hard for you, too, huh sweetheart?” A voice you knew instantly asked from beside you. 

You glanced over and saw Tyler sitting on the stool while putting his bottle on the bar to signal the bartender for another. 

“I wish I could go back more and- wait. Why am I telling you my sap story of not seeing my family for the last couple of years?” You laughed, putting your phone down and grabbing your drink. 

“Because I’m just another friendly face at the bar?” He said, looking over at you and smiling slightly. 

“I don’t know about friendly, but definitely another face,” you said, stirring your straw around. 

“Ouch, okay, (Y/n)’s in that type of mood tonight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I’m in no mood, Tyler,” you stated, “Just stating a fact.” 

“I see how it is,” he chuckled, “And to think I was talking to quite a beautiful face.” 

This statement took you back slightly, you were used to Tyler picking on you and calling you other things like your last name and calling you Salado, which is the town in Texas you’re from that’s about 45 minutes away from Waco, Texas. Salado is a quaint village with what you can call an artistic flair. While your parents were cattle farmers, you did your chores and spent time with a few favorite cows; you also liked going to the heart of the small town and enjoying the artists painting and sculpting in the parks and the numerous bands playing around the town in the little saloons. That’s where you fell in love with music and tried to pursue it as a second job aside from helping out on the farm as that was a full-time job. 

When that fell through, you moved up to Oklahoma to try storm chasing as you had always been in love with storms when you were little. Instead of hiding under the covers or running to your parents, you were at the big picture window in the living room watching the lightning and trees blowing in the wind. 

You were jolted from your thoughts by Tyler nudging your elbow with his. 

“Hmm?” You asked. 

“Dance with me?” He asked, standing up and holding his hand out to you. In the mirror behind the bar, you could see the teams paired up in couples to do their best slow dancing. 

You laughed slightly, “Nice try, Owens.” 

“Please? We’re the only ones not dancing right now,” he said, taking your hand off your glass and pulling you to the dance floor to the tune of ‘Made For You’ by Jake Owen. 

He didn’t give you much of a chance to say no as he pulled you to his chest, his right hand going to your waist and his left finding your hand. You sighed to yourself and put your left on his bicep, which was more muscular feeling than it looked. You figured as long as you were here, you might as well enjoy the dance since the last time you slow danced was with your dad at a friend's wedding. 

You weren’t sure if he was just that intoxicated or if he was fully coherent, but he was rubbing small circles with his thumb on your hip while you both swayed to the music. While your body relaxed you took a deep breath in, smelling the mix of leather, dried rain, an almost musky smell, and a hint of sweat. All of it combined made your heart swoon for this crazy cowboy. 

“Hey (L/n)?” He whispered in your ear, holding his head close to yours. 

“Yeah, Owens?” You whispered back. 

“Think maybe sometime I can take you out?”

You looked up at his blueish green eyes that looked down at you with the most sincere look. 

“Why?” You asked, giggling slightly, “Why would Tyler Owens want to go out with someone like me?”

“Because the girl I’m holding in my arms is the best woman I’ve met in my years of livin’,” he stated, pressing the bridge of his nose to the top of your head. 

“Yeah right, Tyler,” you said, sighing, “Everyone knows you got a thing for Kate.” 

“But she is nothing compared to you,” he said, pulling you closer slightly, “Call me crazy, but I fell in love with you when we first met and I knew I’d have to try and get closer to you somehow. I just hate that it’s taken me this long to finally say somethin.” 

“I guess I don’t believe you?” You said softly, taking in the scent you’ve grown to want more of.

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he said, “It might be, well, I know it’s the beer talkin’, but everything I’m sayin’ is true. You’re one of the smartest and most beautiful girls I’ve seen. And that’s sayin’ a lot since I’ve seen my fair share of gals.” 

“I can’t tell if that last part is an insult or a compliment,” you whispered, Tyler kissing the top of your head softly. 

“Always a compliment when it comes to you, baby girl,” he said, pulling away and twirling you as the song ended and ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ by Luke Combs started. 

You looked back up at him, his eyes looking back at you with happiness sewn in them.

“I suppose one wouldn’t hurt, just no YouTube star Tyler, got it?” You said, walking back to your seat at the bar. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, following you to the bar. 

“You should probably get back to your game of pool before Ben hurts someone,” you giggle, Tyler looking over and seeing Ben almost hit Boone in the gut with the end of the cue. 

“Good call, I’ll be back once we win,” he said while grabbing his beer. 

“If you win,” you state, taking a drink of your now watered-down whiskey coke. 

“Don’t test me, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your head, kissing it before walking back to Dexter and Ben. 

You shook your head and laughed softly. If the tornadoes you chased didn’t do anything to you, this cowboy definitely would. 

Want more? Here's Chapter Two! Masterlist :)

[narafeedee]

Do you think you could talk more about what happened during those five weeks where you gained 50 lbs? I can only imagine that it was a mixture of amazing and annoying to grow so rapidly, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!!

sure!

before i start i have to preface with some warnings; this gets pretty detailed and graphic regarding some of the health issues i had at the time. do not read if you are not okay with that please.

i was in a weird spot at the time; my husband had left me a couple months before all of this and i was exploring myself and who i was now that my marriage was over. a large contributing factor to that separation was feedism; my sexual needs just were not met with someone who wasn’t into it.

it started early in the week of Thanksgiving, Tuesday 11/20/18. i met a feeder online four years prior who had gotten me from just above 200lbs to 300lbs slowly but steadily. to this day the best feeder i’ve ever met, sincerely considerate and never once crossed any boundaries.

he came to me with a proposition the weekend prior; gain from 300lb to 350lb by the end of the year and i will fund it.

say less.

that Tuesday was the first time i ever video called with another feedist; it wasn’t the feeder that proposed and funded this challenge, instead it was a guy that pushed me to eat until i threw it all back up because he’s really into emetophilia, i didn’t really know the limits of my stomach so i let him.

however, that evening launched me into the most insane five weeks of my life.

when i woke up Wednesday morning i was somehow starving; despite not keeping anything down the night prior my stomach had still stretched out considerably. that on top of how insanely horny i was at the thought of packing on 50lbs by new years i spent the entire day shoveling in as much food as humanly possible. i didn’t count calories that day, just pushed myself to the absolute limit.

when i woke up Thursday i was impossibly hungry and ready to do it all again. i did the same thing as before, just as much food as humanly possible all day; i distinctly remember dinner being a large pizza, garlic knots, specialty chicken, lava cakes, and a 2 liter of soda from Domino’s.

when i woke up Friday i had a goal; 10,000 calories a day until the ball drops.

and that is exactly what i did.

every morning i would wake up and drink a pint of heavy cream for an easy 1600 calories to start the day right. i would swing by McDonald’s on my way to work and get two McGriddles and a large iced coffee. i’d get to work and have a blender bottle on my desk also full of heavy cream and sometimes condensed milk, i would either drink straight from it or add it to cups of coffee from the break room.

at lunch i would always order with my coworkers to have something delivered… but i would also leave on my lunch break and go back to McDonald’s for 4 McChickens and a large diet coke. then come back to the office and eat the lunch i had ordered with my coworkers.

after work i would swing through another drive thru, often McDonald’s once again. I’d get a couple sandwiches but nothing crazy, just a light snack to hold me over til dinner.

i would order massive feasts for delivery from Domino’s or I’d go back out after dark and order enough food for a family of 4. you guessed it, usually from McDonald’s.

to finish my night, i would drink another pint of heavy cream. totaling 3200 calories of straight fat every single day.

the weight piled on rapidly; new stretchmarks were appearing daily.

this is where i should put a disclaimer. this is all 100% true, every single detail is lived experience. i know it sounds insane. it was. i have literal scars to prove it. one feedist saw me do it live and in person, in the flesh, i believe he follows me on here so if you’re reading this G, please corroborate.

i gained 10lbs a week through the end of the year. i was cumming harder than i ever had before. my entire life was consumed by food and gaining.

i did not have a bed to sleep in at the time; there were some other issues i was dealing with that made it so i had to sleep in a recliner in my living room.

because i was gaining so rapidly and sleeping with my legs below my heart, i developed extremely bad edema. my legs were so swollen they started to weep a clear liquid; i would put on a pair of leggings and they would be soaked from the knee down before i even left the house. my shoes were soaked. i developed ulcers on my shins that just would not heal, the skin almost looked necrotic but they would just weep all day every day with no relief and stick to anything i tried to wear.

mid-December i was bursting out of my clothes. most of the weight i gained went straight to my belly. i went on a little shopping spree at Torrid and had to buy all 5’s and 6’s for the first time.

my mobility suffered at this point as well. i couldn’t do much of anything without getting red-faced and winded within a minute of moving. i had a step tracker at the time and was only walking about 200 steps a day, literally the bare minimum for me to go to work and come home.

i had no time for my body to adjust to the weight so i developed a heavy waddle. my back absolutely killed me.

i swear some days i woke up actually feeling fatter and looking fatter. it was the absolute hottest thing i have ever done and probably ever will do. i started at about 303lbs and landed at 357lb on New Year’s day. my gains didn’t actually slow down til i was in the mid 360s despite my efforts to pump the brakes.

would i do it again? absolutely not. i was in excruciating pain and the ulcers on my legs did not stop for an entire year (after i gained another 50lbs in an 8 week period but we ain’t talking about that [even tho i still have all the content i made from that gain lol])

but if i went back in time i would not change a thing except better leg elevation and compression. i do not regret it for a second; it’s what shaped me as a feedist and i’m grateful i was able to do it, i don’t have pics from when it was really bad but the scars i have today are still evident.

so yeah! that’s the story! sorry it’s super rambling, i sincerely hope it was coherent, now i gotta go clean my toys so i can take care of myself cause lord 🥵 thems some intense memories, my only regret is i deleted 99% of the pics and videos i took at that time.

here’s a couple more pics; one is my cart at the grocery in early December, the other is a screenshot of the weight gain calculator i used from the same week when i realized i didn’t have to eat 10k a day, i could make it happen with 7k a day but the former sounded much better (read: hotter) to me

[zepskies]

One Exception

Pairing: CJ Braxton x F. Reader

Summary: Joey has invited you to a party at Pacey’s apartment, and CJ has agreed to go, despite the contentious history between him and your new friends. He doesn’t want to be the reason you miss out on a good thing, but it also means he’ll have to hide his apprehension (and his alcoholism).  

AN: Here’s the sequel to Good Morning! This story takes place in 6.14 of the show, with a little twist.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mature themes, but it doesn’t really warrant an 18+ rating. Angst, alcoholism, hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, tinge of spice, and implied smut.

“Nice television,” CJ remarked, noting the giant monstrosity in the middle of this very loud apartment.

“See? Told you it’d be low-key,” you said.

More like high and off-key, CJ thought wryly.

Nickleback’s “How You Remind Me” was blaring. People you and CJ recognized from school were crowded in the living room around the TV, as well as milling around the kitchen with beers and solo cups, and it was pretty much a wall of sound that already grated on CJ’s ears. Pacey had to be in here somewhere too.

You squeezed CJ’s hand and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“You okay?” you asked.

He gave you a smile to hide his nerves. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He was no stranger to parties. He just didn’t often find himself going to parties where the host had once introduced his face to a brick wall.

Before he truly got to know you, CJ had a one-time unintentional fling with your (former) dorm roommate, Audrey. She’d been spiraling out of control in an alcohol-fueled depression. He’d seen a kindred spirit in her and tried to help her. He just hadn’t known that she was still sort of in a relationship with Pacey, who had a mean right hook when he wanted to.

And then there was Jen, Audrey and Joey’s best friend. CJ felt the worst for hurting her along the way, unable to reciprocate her feelings…

And, oh yeah, you still didn’t know about that last part. 

CJ silently stewed in all of this when you led him by the hand to find your friend and current dormmate, Joey.

“Hey! Glad you could make it,” she said with her wide, doe brown eyes and a too-bright smile.

You gave her a quirking look when you hugged her in greeting. She smelled like vodka and orange juice, but you’d never known Joey to go too hard in the paint with her liquor.

She gave your companion a little wave. “Hey, CJ!”

“Hey,” he nodded with a smile.

“You guys want something to drink?” she asked, gesturing to the row of liquor bottles and various chasers behind her on the kitchen counter. You internally paused for a moment, glancing at your boyfriend, but you turned back to Joey with a smile.

“Yeah, Diet Coke would be great,” you said.

CJ gave you a curious look, but he asked for the same. Joey bobbed her head before she went to pour the drinks into some plastic cups.

CJ leaned in near your ear. “Sweetheart, you’re allowed to drink. You know I’ve been to parties before.”

In fact, you and CJ had met at a club party. One where Audrey had been led up to some guy’s room while she was drunk, and CJ had all but broken down the door to get her out for you and Jen.

“I know, I just don’t feel like doing alcohol tonight,” you told him.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You just didn’t want to risk making CJ even more uncomfortable than he likely already was, being near Pacey. You’d asked Joey to talk to him for you—a plea for him to not try and kill your boyfriend.

And there your esteemed host was, coming over now.

“Heyyyy, good thinking,” said Pacey. He went over to Joey’s side when she turned to hand you and CJ your drinks. He grabbed another cup to pour one for himself. 

“Hey, man,” CJ greeted politely. His hands were in his pockets, trying to mask his stiffness.

Pacey hesitated, taking note of CJ, but the beat of tension broke between the two men when Pacey graciously stuck out a hand.

“Hey. Good to see ya…not with my girlfriend,” he quipped with a smile.

CJ’s was a bit more strained, but he gave a wry chuckle along with his handshake. Joey elbowed Pacey in the ribs.

“Ah, what?” he protested. She gave him a firm look, pursing her lips. Then she turned to you and CJ with a smile.

“Hey, you guys have any whiskey?” Jen cut in, as she sidled up to Joey. “I’m not so much in a beer mood, but whiskey I could do. Maybe it’s the burn I’m craving—”

She stopped short when she saw you and CJ. Her smile thinned.

“Oh! Hey, there,” she said.

CJ offered her nod, but his insides tightened. He watched you brighten and give Jen a hug that the other woman couldn’t easily reciprocate. Jen’s eyes were on him, even while she hugged you.

You and Joey then broke off to catch up for a bit (CJ encouraged you to it), while Pacey went back to watching a football game on the mega-sized TV with Jack. CJ was about to join them when Jen’s voice stopped him.

“You guys look good together,” she said. She had a glass of whiskey in her hand and a small smile on her face. Her blonde hair was shorter now, cut just below her ears. Her black halter-style dress suited her.

But she wasn’t you.

CJ smiled more genuinely. “Thanks.”

Jen was a good person. He was still sorry that he hurt her, but he wasn’t sorry for choosing you.

You were happy to see CJ hanging out with his friend David, along with Jack and Pacey and some other guys from school. Meanwhile, you had the chance to catch up with Joey and Jen.

Maybe it would give you a chance to mend this weird rift of distance that had seemed to come between you and Jen in recent weeks.

You didn’t know where it came from, but you genuinely admired Jen as a person. She was smart, and she always spoke her mind and stuck to her principles. That was something you wish you had more of in yourself.

Now, she was a bit quiet while sipping her whiskey. Joey made up for it, with a kind of giggle-snort you'd never heard come out of her mouth before. You raised a brow, despite your smile.

"Yes, Josephine?" you teased.

"Sorry," she waved a dismissive hand. "Just remembered something. Like the fact that I really like vodka. I mean, it's clear, almost tasteless, so it's almost like drinking water, you know?"

You and Jen shared an amused look.

"Sure, that's what it's like," you said.

Joey's eyes went wide then. She leaned in close to you, leaning on your shoulder.

"Oh. Don't drink champagne though," she said, while eyeing Jen. She "whispered" loud enough to be heard over the music, and also hurt your left ear. "She once killed a girl with champagne."

Jen's mouth fell open incredulously. Your eyes went as wide as Joey's. This was some serious “girl time.”

"Wait, what?" you said.

Jen looked at her empty glass. "Well, would you look at that? Right on time."

She escaped to the kitchen to refill her tumbler, but you and Joey followed her; you out of morbid curiosity, and Joey because she too wanted more vodka than orange juice in her plastic cup.

Jen gave you a smirk as she filled up her glass.

"Don't worry, you're all safe. This is Jameson," she said.

You emitted some nervous laughter and leaned on the kitchen counter, trying to figure out where the joke was here. How the hell do you kill a girl with champagne?

“So are you sure you don’t want an actual drink?” Jen asked, gesturing at your soda.

“Oh, no. I’m fine,” you held up a dismissive hand.

“You sure?” Pacey said, coming up from behind your little group to find a beer. “I got your boyfriend a vodka soda. I can get you one too.”

Your eyes widened, though you tried to hide your alarm, smoothing your hands down your jeans.

“What?” you asked.

Pacey paused. He’d caught the surprise flitting across your face. “What?”

“Um…” Your hesitation came from trying to process information in record time. You looked over and saw CJ with David. Your boyfriend was indeed holding a different cup.

You returned your attention to Pacey. His brows were raised. Joey looked confused as well, while Jen was sipping at her own drink, in a way that hinted that she already knew what you were about to say.

“CJ doesn’t drink,” you explained.

Pacey brows popped higher. “Ah. He’s 21 though, right?”

“Yes, but he’s a recovering alcoholic,” you said with a sigh. You didn’t want to have to say that, telling CJ's business, but you didn’t know how else to explain why you were slightly freaking out.

“Oh…uh, sorry about that,” Pacey said.

“No, it’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it,” you said.

Pacey gave a wan smile and returned to the group around the TV, CJ included. You sighed and turned back to Jen and Joey.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know either,” Joey said.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” you said, shaking your said. “I’ll just check on him, if you guys don’t mind—”

Jen’s glass hit the counter, and she poured herself another whiskey on the rocks.

“By all means, check away,” she said.

“Hey, sorry man. I didn’t know,” Pacey had said to him, with a look on his face that also said:

Sorry you’re a leper. That’s rough buddy.

CJ found himself withdrawing from the rest of the guys, even as the smell of vodka wafted from the solo cup in his hand. He glanced down at it with a short sigh, but he didn’t drink it, even though his hand itched to raise the cup to his lips.

You startled him a little when your hand curled around his arm.

“Hey,” you greeted in a whisper.

“Hey,” he smiled back at you. But the worried look on your face made his smile fall.

“Wanna hang out for a bit?” you asked, nodding at a quieter looking corner of the living room.

CJ waved at David with the hand that held his cup, and he followed you over to the far side of the couch. You sat on its edge, arms crossed, while he found a seat on the sill of a large window.

You pointedly glanced at his cup. “Have you been drinking?”

CJ’s lips pursed. He took in your stance: arms crossed, shoulders tense, lips pursed, eyes deeply concerned and wary.

Are we having fun yet? he thought dryly.

“See, I’d be more inclined to answer that question if you hadn’t lured me over here under false pretenses,” he remarked. Though he did set the cup down beside him on the windowsill.

“What false pretenses?” you asked, your brows furrowing.

“You don’t want to be with me. You want to check up on me,” he pointed out. “You’re looking at me like an inmate who got loose in the psych ward.”

You frowned then. “That’s not true. I’m just wondering why you would take an alcoholic beverage from Pacey.”

“Your friend offered me a drink. It seemed rude to say no, so…” CJ glanced down at his hands in his lap. Your head tilted in concern.

“CJ…” you sighed. “Why the hell would you ruin your sobriety over something like that?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he replied flatly.

“Oh really?” you said. Your lips pursed in irritation.

“I just didn’t want to get into it with a stranger,” CJ said, throwing up a hand. “But thanks for telling him that I don’t drink. Now he’s apologizing to me like I’m dying or something.”

A sharper sigh fell from your lips. “I told you we didn’t have to come here. I didn’t want to make you feel pressured to—”

“Again, you know this isn’t my first house party,” he said.

“Yeah, I know it’s not. So why? Why did this happen tonight?” you asked. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been so disciplined with yourself. You have a set of rules, and you follow them.”

“Yeah, well, did it ever occur to you that maybe I realized that I was too strict on myself?” he said. “That maybe we wouldn’t even be together if I didn’t bend those rules?”

Your mouth fell open incredulously, a bit of anger sparking your blood. He knew he shouldn't have said that. It just kind of flew out of his mouth, immediately sparking his guilt.

“Okay,” you snipped. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be bending those rules at all if this is where it leads.”

CJ's lips pursed. “What, because I’ve been sitting here, spending the last hour debating whether or not to take a drink?”

He gestured at the cup beside him. 

Your eyes blinked wider, with even more surprise, and a heavy dose of confusion.

“Wait, what? Are you telling me that you haven’t been drinking tonight?” you asked.

“Is that going to magically change all the conclusions you just jumped to?” CJ retorted.

You closed your eyes with a sharp, exasperated sigh. When you opened them again, you frowned at him.

“Uh, yeah!” you exclaimed. "Of course it does, CJ!"

“Well, it doesn’t work that way,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. Fine. Just like I’ve been trying to find some normalcy with you here. But apparently you find that wildly insulting.”

He was getting wildly defensive right now. You sort of saw where he was coming from, but it was still frustrating. You held a hand to your chest as your heart raced with the force of your relief.

“Look, I’m sorry for assuming. I’m just…I was worried about you,” you said honestly. “I knew coming here might be stressful for you—”

“I can handle stress,” CJ said. “What I can’t handle is you looking at me like I’m a powder keg waiting to explode.”

You raised up placating hands as you glared at him.

“Fine,” you said. “Sorry for being concerned about my boyfriend. I’ll try to curb that behavior in the future.”

At that, CJ’s frustration and anger simmered down, swiftly followed by more guilt.

You got up and blinked quickly, like you were fighting tears as you shook your head. You aimed to get by him, but he got off the windowsill and went for your hand. There was no drunk excuse for his behavior now.

No, this one was all him.

“Hey,” he said, in a softer voice. He looked down at you with softer eyes too. He could see now that you didn’t mean to make him feel less than, like you had to watch him so he wouldn’t mess up in front of your friends. No, you were just genuinely worried about his wellbeing. 

You looked up at him warily. He held your hand more securely in his.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I am,” he said, when he noted your raised brow. “I’m really grateful that you care about me. That you’re concerned about me. But I’ve been dealing with this for a long time. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be yourself either, even when we’re out here in the wild.”

A small smile twitched at your lips. You held his hand back.

“Out in the wild, huh?” you quirked a brow. CJ smiled back and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I just need you to trust me a little more,” he said.

You nodded, smiling when his forehead gently rested against yours. The ends of his hair tickled between your brows.

“Okay, I’m sorry too,” you said. “Next time I won’t be so quick on the draw.”

You leaned up for a kiss. CJ met you there, sweetly at first. Then he tilted his head and deepened the angle of his lips moving against yours.

“Ooh save that for later,” Joey said, loudly from behind you.

It made you jolt in CJ’s arms. You turned your head and met your friend with a wide-eyed look of confusion. She held an empty wine bottle in her hand and waggled mischievous brows.

“Come on, let’s play.”

You really couldn’t believe that Joey was making you all play Spin the Bottle. For you, it was the stuff of awkward middle school horror stories of the highest form. She’d roped in you and CJ, Jen, Jack, Pacey and their roommate Emma, and Gus, a gross looking guy who was apparently her "fiancé" of some sort. 

Gus took the first turn, and got creative with it—giving Joey a nice lick on the cheek.

That’s what you get for making us play this dumbass game, you thought as you laughed.

Joey ended up giving Jack a sweet kiss, followed by him and Emma sharing a little lip-lock, and even Emma and Jen giggling as they came together for a peck.

But when it was Jen’s turn, the wine bottle spun, and spun…and landed on CJ. A chorus of “ooohs” came from the others.

You felt yourself bristle internally. It’s just a game, you reminded yourself. Just a stupid, stupid game.

You patted CJ’s knee and tried to school your face into amusement.

“You’re up, babe,” you said.

He looked a bit uncomfortable when he met your eyes, and then Jen’s. She wore a smile, though she was a little absent in the eyes. She’d been pounding hard liquor pretty much all night.

“All right, CJ. Let’s get this over with,” she teased.

He let out a subtle breath through his nose, but he uncurled his arm from around you so that he could lean over to meet Jen across the circle. Instead of the light peck that he was aiming for, she surprised him by taking his face in her hands and giving him a kiss deep enough to make him taste the burn of whiskey.

He parted from her with a flinch. His eyes blinked wide. A quick glance around the circle told him he wasn’t the only one who was surprised, but you were the only one he cared about. He settled back next to you and felt guilty for your muted disbelief, even though he wasn’t the real perpetrator here.

CJ frowned hard at Jen. She just smiled and crossed her arms around her legs, head bobbing to the tune of the alt rock music playing.

“Damn, Jen,” Pacey said, laughing uncomfortably. “That’s some dedication to the game.”

You were still shocked into stillness. You knew Jen was a bit deep into the bottle, but was she really drunk enough to try and make out with your boyfriend in front of you?

Joey finally dropped her hands from her face (she’d been watching the scene through the cracks in her fingers). She gave you an apologetic look. She was very effing drunk as well, you knew, but not make out with your boyfriend in front of you—drunk.

You finally looked over at CJ, not knowing who you should be more irritated with: Jen for sticking her tongue down his throat, or CJ for letting her.

“It’s your turn, bro,” Gus said. Not that he cared about whoever CJ landed on. He just wanted the chance to kiss another one of the girls. Preferably Emma.

CJ shook his head. “I don’t think I—”

“Go ahead,” you said. Your tone was a challenge, as were your crossed arms, and the tight expression on your face. “It’s just a game, right?”

That last part, you aimed at Jen. She finally had enough self-awareness to avert her drunken gaze. Your teeth were grinding.

Though you had to pause when you realized where CJ’s spun bottle had landed: right on you.

“Aw, well that’s good,” Joey said, with a nervous laugh that broke some of the tension in this little circle.

CJ let out a subtle breath of relief himself. But this was a whole new challenge as he met your steely gaze. He tried to give you a smile.

Your eyes fell. So with a small sigh, he gently took your chin between his fingers and tilted your face up to him, just before he leaned in to kiss you.

He plied you softly at first. His lips dragged against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. Then he angled his head away from the circle, away from prying eyes as he brushed his tongue across your lower lip, seeking entrance. You inhaled deeply, and you couldn’t help but let him in.

You uncrossed your arms and found his cheek with your hand. Your fingers soon delved into his hair, nails lightly scraping the back of his neck. He barely restrained a shudder.

“Ah, okay then,” Pacey muttered.

When you parted from CJ, your heart was racing, and there was a fire in your belly that you could see reflected in his eyes.

“I’m a little thirsty, you wanna…” he trailed. You nodded and let him help you off the ground where you all had been sitting.

CJ’s arm once again wrapped around your waist, and he led you into the first bedroom he could find. The door shut against the blaring music, the sounds of laughter and stories and dumb middle school games.

Until all that was left was you and CJ, and the sounds of quick breaths, clothes hitting the floor, and skin against skin.

“I’m sorry about earlier. With the game,” CJ later said. “Jen took me by surprise.”

Much later, where you were tangled up in his arms and the sheets, both of you mostly naked and tucked under the covers. You felt bad that you didn’t even know whose bedroom this was.

Jack’s maybe? You could only hope so. That would probably be the least awkward situation if you two were caught in here.

But at CJ’s question, your blissful mood of moments before was wiped away. Your face dropped into a frown. You turned in his arms so that you could see his face, resting your head on his arm.

“Yeah, what the hell was that with Jen?” you asked.

CJ soothed a hand up and down your arm. He knew it was time for him to come clean with you, even though he knew it might make you look at him differently. He could only hope that it wouldn’t.

“Before you and I started talking, dating—well, you know what happened with me and Audrey,” he said, expelling a breath of regret. “Before then, Jen had feelings for me.”

Your eyes widened. By now you could’ve guessed that Jen wanted your boyfriend, but you had no idea it had started way back then. CJ looked you in the eyes.

“I just didn’t feel the same way,” he said. “Then Audrey and I happened, just the one night. But Jen…I know I hurt her, and I felt terrible. I still feel bad about that, because I never meant to hurt her. I just thought Audrey and I had a connection.”

“And then Pacey,” you supplied, realizing where this story was headed. A fight between Pacey and CJ. Audrey left for rehab in California. And Jen was left to nurse her wounded pride and hurt feelings…especially when you and CJ began for real.

You closed your eyes on a sigh. This explained why she’d been so frigid to you lately.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” CJ said. “I didn’t want to come between you guys, or hurt her more by pursuing another one of her friends…I just couldn’t help falling for you.”

At that admission, you softened. You caressed CJ’s cheek, and you brought him down to you for a kiss. Again, it was slow and unhurried, yet no less passionate.

Your lips parted from his first, so you could meet his eyes.

“I’ll talk to Jen,” you said. “But…I’m glad I fell for you too.”

You and CJ shared a quiet moment then, each of you processing, hands intertwined. It had you thinking about everything he said tonight, even before the game. 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. Fine,” he’d said. “Just like I’ve been trying to find some normalcy with you here. But apparently you find that wildly insulting.”

You sighed and squeezed his hand. It was comfortably trapped between his bare chest and yours.

“Just for the record, you don’t have to be ‘normal’ for me, or be what you think I want around my friends. Just be you,” you said, meeting his green-eyed gaze. “I do trust you, CJ. I trust that you want to be with me, and that you have a handle on yourself.”

CJ smiled ruefully. He ran his thumb across the back of your hand.

“You were right though. The truth is I did get a little nervous tonight,” he said. “Being here, seeing Pacey…it brought up all that drama again. I took that vodka soda from him, and I was thinking about drinking it.”

“But you didn’t,” you said firmly. “Because you’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know.”

CJ looked down at your hand joined with his, at your face, set with honesty and vehemence. You seemed to believe every word of what you were saying. That alone made him feel strong.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile.

It hadn’t been all that long, but he knew this felt right. It always felt right with you.

You smiled back at him and leaned up for a sweeter kiss.  

“Thank you for bending your own rules for me,” you teased.

CJ chuckled. He stroked your cheek and pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“You’re my one exception,” he said.   

AN: As frustrated as CJ made me at times, somehow he weasels his way back into my heart. 😂💗 If you enjoyed this, let me know!

Ko-Fi Me ☕

CJ Braxton Masterlist

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CJ Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @brianochka

@branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords 

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70

@clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @jessjad @pieandmonsters @deans-spinster-witch

@idiotdyslexic @heartlessdelusions @chriszgirl92 @peytongoose @hobby27

@waynes-multiverse @lovelyunjinn @twinkleinadiamondsky

[liamlawsonlesbian]

Charles for the ask game! (Unless someone's asked about him already-- I didn't see it on your page but could be wrong.)

okay, so, I got this ask and went to the dumpling place down the street to get a bottle of diet coke because I was NOT going to answer this with a caffeine deprivation headache

Charles has the same group of friends he had in middle school. Charles gets his hair cut by his mom before the Monaco Grand Prix every year, even though he had spectacularly bad luck at it every year until this one. Charles is obsessed with his cunty little dog. Charles has big red letters spelling L-O-V-E on top of his white piano, like some kind of momfluencer. Charles releases weepy piano music, because he needs an artistic outlet. Charles loves his home country with sincere fervor. Charles makes space to talk about the people he has lost in life. Charles is fast on track, and he pushes the car to its limits in ways that can fail spectacularly, but over the course of a season he gets to the limits of a car's capability better than anyone. Charles wears the fucking stupidest pants and he loves them so much. Charles can sass as well as anyone, and has an obvious, burning need to compete well, but seems to pride himself on being cordial with his colleagues, and seems to sincerely enjoy them, even the ones who aren't his particular friends. Charles is bighearted and self-critical and well aware that he can charm the pants off of anyone in three languages. Charles is far too online, and yet keeps using the goofiest filter known to man. Charles believes that he can win it all, and he wants to take anyone he's ever loved with him, and he makes me believe that he can.

the death of a parent is different for everyone. I don't know Charles's grief, and he doesn't know mine. but I do think it's a broadly (though not universally) applicable statement that it is easy, after your parent dies, to feel like your life will never be good again. Charles has made his life good, through sheer force of will, with a smile on his face. I love him so much.

[annievrse]

boyfriend!eren headcanons pt. 3 *･｡ﾟ

—ᡣ𐭩 headcanons a/n: going insane, so i wrote more bf!eren while in a waiting room. because of this, they are a little more......... unhinged part 1 part 2 part 4

bf!eren's post-game meal is 3 big macs and 2 mcchickens AND a kids nugget meal (he wants to give you the toy that comes with it because he’s cute) but don’t forget dessert!! he sips his *diet* coke as a palate cleanser and then inhales an apple pie

bf!eren will help old people cross the road/down stairs. he is just that type of guy

bf!eren gets a job coaching a kids' basketball team, and that is a canon event

bf!eren carries your belongings in his sweatpants pockets when you’re out together (e.g. your keys, lipbalm/lipgloss, water bottle etc etc you name it, it’s probably in his pockets)

bf!eren’s phone is very simple—a black iphone 14 with a plain black case, but despite it not even being visible, he keeps a photo of you in the back of his phone (so you’re always with him even when he can’t see you)

bf!eren accompanies you to all your appointments (even if he doesn’t have to) but waits in the waiting room (spoiler: he falls asleep most of the time, kinda embarrassing eren pls wake up)

bf!eren gets you a keychain for your birthday to match his own (i fully 103% believe it would be the lego ones (he would get himself batman, and get you spiderman))

bf!eren leaves his dirty ass bigfoot black vans at your front door (a tripping hazard!!), but it feels so domestic and homey that you can’t bring yourself to scold him for leaving them there

bf!eren watches family guy religiously

when bf!eren gets baby fever, he gets it BAD

but bf!eren cannot be trusted with indoor plants 😐 so (please see part 2 for more evidence (cheez-it incident))

bf!eren buys annie's mac and cheese in bulk (read: he is a manchild who loves cheesy pasta 😋)

bf!eren has an emotional support water bottle (a 1-gallon dark green yeti his mum bought him as a college essential). he does not leave that thing anywhere (carla would castrate him :))

bf!eren owns one (1) pen, so he's constantly stealing yours when he has class and tucks it behind his ear so he doesn't forget to give it back to you (warning he does gnaw on the end like a starved dog)

bf!eren showers twice a day even though i make him sound like he does only once a week :) (and the showers are LONG rip water bill)

bf!eren has a spare charger that is for you only at his apartment <3

bf!eren facetimes you from everywhere (like gross bathroom eren wtf i don't want to hear bathroom sounds, and he just :) but i missed u........)

bf!eren kisses you on the cheeks every chance he gets (big sloppy wet kisses that are so (screaming) so cute and loving and i need him)

bf!eren's hands are rough and warm and dry (not like dry, but like man hand working hands dry you know or am i just talking shit)

bf!eren has his own pillow on your bed that he brought from home

bf!eren has half of his belongings in your room, and yours in his (literally just move in together at this point :/ come on guys)

ok ok bf!eren in those prada sunglasses you know the ones. i know i said in part 2 that he has dad speed sunnies, but those prada ones are so ASDFKJHG

bf!eren makes sure you take your meds (if you have them) every morning/night and calls you if he's not with you to ensure you've taken them (he cares!!!! he's not trying to be overbearing or condescending, i promise)

bf!eren has a nintendo switch so he can play his silly little games when he's waiting for you at your apartment to come home from class (his phone and youtube videos get boring after a while (part 1), and studying is not an option so)

i was in that waiting room for a WHILE ok

[trashmouth-richie]

Hi! What about a blurb on Eddie taking care of Tooty post Partum

i love this, hope you enjoy it anon

masterlist

a small kiss sweeps against your neck, soft and sweet, followed by a sleepy little moan.

“good morning, baby.”

you roll over and face him, still adjusting to the pull of the stitches in your abdomen wincing as it feels like your muscles are literally being ripped in half.

you grumble and yawn, “no way the sun is out right now, i just laid her back down.”

he loves your sleepy voice, loves the way your hair is tangled into a mess on top of your head, the way your sleep shirt is twisted under you.

motherhood was his favorite look on you. it fit you perfectly and you wore it well. whenever Eddie seemed to be losing his mind not knowing what was going on when both the babies were crying, you were gentle in explaining to him what they needed.

he chuckles into your neck and you find his lips with eyes still closed, kissing him deep, sighing into his open mouth when his fingers cup your cheek.

Six weeks of late nights and spit up stained shirts— you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Eddie had morphed into the biggest softie, nearly crying himself when you trimmed the babies finger nails, never wanting to lay them down when they were sleeping. Wayne was right, he was the best dad.

“you’re so beautiful,” eddie whispers running his thumb over your cheek bone, “my sweet tooty.”

the butterflies for eddie never stopped fluttering and you never wanted them to, he was perfect. you open your eyes and smile up at him.

he’s completely dressed, keys stuffed into his pocket.

“going to the shop this morning?”

“ ‘m taking the babies to go see grandpa and grandma—” you sit up but large hands put pressure on your arms and lay you back down, “nah uh sweetheart, this is daddy’s day out, you just stay put, rest.”

tears well in your eyes and you aren’t sure if it’s from being so tired and drained from lack of sleep or from pure happiness and the thought of sleeping uninterrupted.

“wh—what if they n-need me?” you sob, tears rolling down your cheeks in an uncontrollable flood.

Eddie’s calm voice shushes you, “baby, I packed everything we might need—bottles, formula, diapers, wipes, socks, extra onesies, burp rags.. we will be more than fine.”

you didn’t think they wouldn’t be, but you sobbed even harder. “—i’m go, ugh Eddie! i’m gonna m-miss them.”

the bed dips where eddie sits next to you, rubbing your back, kissing your temple, “you need sleep, honey. it’s the only way you’ll heal.”

it took some more convincing from eddie, but when the front door shut and tires crunched on the gravel, your tears dried, and you hiccuped yourself to sleep— waking in the late afternoon to the smell of fried food and the smoky scent of eddie’s cologne.

“brought some food home,” he said kissing your lips and holding two large drinks and a bag of food in his arms, “wayne and karen wanted to watch the kids for the night…said I looked like hell and should go home and sleep— can you believe that?”

you smirk and his dimples display in his shit eating grin, “diet coke for the lady, and a regular coke for daddy.”

eddie unravels the slick wrappers from each hamburger, handing you a carton of fries as you sit up in bed, joining you with a burger in his mouth like a dog holding its favorite toy.

“regular coke, huh?” you say taking a small bite from your burger, “damn livin’ life on the edge.”

eddie snorts and swallows his food, “right, might even get real crazy and finish the whole thing.”

“eddie the freak munson still has it, ladies and gentleman.”

Eddie’s eyes cloud dark, a smirk on his lips as he walks his fingers under the sheets, towards your inner thigh— knowing full well that you slept in just panties and that oversized shirt these days.

your breath shifts and you swallow hard when his finger tips graze over your clit, a small little hitch catches in your throat and he grins devilishly, leaning down into you, eyes ripping holes into you, swallowing your bated breath as he moves his fingers underneath your panties, and you welcome him with knees pulled apart.

“oh baby… i never lost it.”

[clearexpertarcade]

matt weekends were filled with partying and beer he was in love with the college nightlife but Matt was steadily increasing his waistline without him realizing it I mean all that beer and getting high which would lead to a pig out at the end of the night Lucky for Matt the first 5 Ibs he gained went straight to his ass only making matt hotter.

Matt had managed to gain a respectable 15 pounds, covering his formerly shredded abs with a bit of a belly but no one would have called him fat or probably even noticed

Matt's love of burgers and pastries was steadily increasing his waistline without him realising it the ex-jock’s belly grew steadily each day he was growing inch by inch how could he not when Matt's diet slowly turned into one of beer, pizza, pasta, McDonald’s, Dunkin’ Donuts, and burritos. And all the partying Matt did Left him with little time to work out not that he gave it much thought

Matt said to his roommate ''am getting pizza you want anything''

Roommate “Shouldn’t you be laying off the fast food?”

Mate “Sure beats having to make my own dinner”

The roommate walked over to Matt lifted his shirt reached out and gave Matt soft layer of extra pudge a squeeze

Roommate “Maybe you ought to think about laying off the pizza a bit.”

Matt lowered his shirt “ Yes, fine Whatever Um, yeah, I’ll take 2 large meat lovers with extra cheese and the dessert cookie cake …. You want anything''

Roommate ''“That’s all for you?”

Matt “Yeah bro what do you want?”

Roommate '' am good''

Mate '' oh and a bottle of diet coke''

Roomate “Haha you enjoyed yourself.''

and enjoy himself he did Matt quite happily and stuffed himself with pizza lifting piece by piece, watching the multitude of cheeses stretch away from the rest of the pizza. He used his finger to sever the excess and toss it back into his mouth.

Matt would be meandering about the dorm room with his bare beer belly on for show. Matt would belch and rub his way around the room. Matt's roommate walked up to him and patted his belly which was starting to droop a little over the elastic waistband “Careful buddy, you’re gonna get fat.” Matt shrugged, taking another sip of his beer “I’ll still hit the gym and run, you know? It will all balance out in the end.”

Matt didn't listen to his roommate's warning and continued pigged out in every sense of the word and his belly grew wider and wider, drooping lower and lower, his once flat chest was developing into a heavy pair of moobs.

Matt kept convincing himself that his 36" pants still fit he’d suck in his growing belly and grunt and groan “Damn it,” he grunted, attempting to get the button in his jeans to reach the hole. Matt tried buttoning them but they wouldn’t close ''Just suck in. Just suck it in''. These fit the last time Matt wore them.

Matt tossed himself against his bed pushing himself onto the bed. Sure enough, he managed to get the ends to meet and do up his pants. Sitting up was a little uncomfortable, but at least his pants were fastened.

Later that night Matt and his roommate kicked back watched TV down some beers and got high. Time melted away as they talked and In what seemed like no time at all, Matt had downed two beers The button of his shorts groaned audibly but didn’t give. As Matt leaned forward to reach for his third beer but suddenly he heard the button on his shorts groan. There was a pinch at his waist, then a loud snap, and the pressure dissipated immediately from his waist as his button went flying across the room. His zipper gave under the pressure of his surging belly and jiggled wildly on his lap, jutting forward even farther than it had before, leaving his belly completely exposed, pale, flabby, and jiggly right before his roommate's eyes.

“You’ve gotten fat, man Looks like you could use some new shorts I can't believe you just busted out your pants. You need to lay off the burgers and beer, big guy.''

“Man,” Matt gave his belly a jiggle, “I am getting’ fuckin’ fat dude. I need to hit the gym. I didn’t notice how big this puppy was getting!”

Matt stood shirtless in front of his 3-sided mirror with his shorts busted open and gave his belly a squeeze and grabbed a handful of his flesh. He gasped and he felt his fingers press deeply into his soft stomach. It felt like bread dough being kneaded between his fingers. It was then that Matt realized that the Fat Gut he saw looking in the mirror was his. He screamed aloud in shock when he realized that he was fat.

[kryptonitejelly]

🍯

Hi lovely, it’s been a minute

Sending a request for Jakexreader one shot because I miss your writing!!

Hear me out;

College flyboy Jake x reader, lazy snuggled night in after leaving a party early

Bonus points if there’s snuggle and fluff or Jake falling asleep and being awoken and covering your body with his and getting all overprotective and growly at whoever walked in (//not me needing this in my lifeeee)

ok not really a one-shot but college!flyboy 🥹 my heart, and glad you are back 🍯 anon, i have missed you!

-

Jake notices the moment your social battery drops, sees out of the corner of his eye as you stifle a yawn before swiftly taking a sip out of the red solo cup in hand. He knows the cup which you have in hand is not a mix of vodka and coke which you would have everyone believe, but rather a cup full of pure, unlaced diet coke.

He isn’t standing beside you, but the moment he sees you stifle that yawn, Jake is picking his way across the few people between you both - because he is never that far away - and sliding onto the sofa. You feel the plush material beneath you dip as Jake sinks down beside you, effectively squeezing one of his teammates out and off the sofa as he does so.

“Fucking Seresin,” you hear the half mumble, half chuckle of the displaced teammate as he grudgingly accepts his fate - he knew better by now than to try to get between Jake and you.

“That wasn’t kind,” you state, eyes dancing in slight amusement as you find yourself looking into Jake’s face. He has dropped his own cup onto the short coffee table in front of you which is already littered with an assortment of stray chips, cups, and empty bottles. Jake’s arms are spread, one on the short side of the sofa and the other draped over the back of it, behind you. You instinctively, Jake notices but isn’t sure you do, scoot slightly closer towards him, effectively placing yourself directly in his space and within his wingspan.

“Want to get out of here?” He ignores your jab at him, choosing instead to ask his question.

“But we’ve only been here for an hour,” you say and Jake sees you glance down at your phone screen which you tap with a finger to brighten.

“Not a great party,” he says and shrugs, just as a chorus of loud thundering cheers rings out from the next room over the thump of the muted music which someone turns out louder along with the cheers.

“I think they would beg to differ,” you are now semi yelling to combat the increased volume of music. It makes you lean in further to Jake, and he mirrors your actions, not because he can’t hear you, but because he can.

“Boooring,” he responds before making a face that has you chuckling. Jake doesn’t give you another chance to respond, but chooses to act instead - plucking the cup out of your hand, plonking it on the table, before slipping his hand into yours and pulling you both towards a stand, “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You let Jake pull you out through the crowd, following, your body pressed close to his as he navigates you both out of the crowd amidst the thumps on his shoulder and greetings he gets along the way.

You both stumble out into the cool nights air, the shouts and thump of the music from the party now an somewhat muted echo behind you both.

“Bed and bad tv?” Jake volunteers as you let go off his hand once you are both out of the house. He glances down at the loss of your palm in his but doesn’t say anything, contenting himself with watching you instead as you shut your eyes for a brief few seconds, breathing deeply in, taking in the crisp fresh air.

“What did you have in mind?” You ask as you link and arm with Jake, both your feet beginning on the stroll back towards his fraternity. You had left your belongings there before walking over to the party with him, and it was no surprise where you would be bunking tonight.

“Gossip girl?”

“Hey,” Jake feels your palm hit his chest lightly and finds you mock glowering at him, “that is good tv.”

“Whatever you say princess,” he rolls his eyes, the curve of a smile on his lips.

-

“You’re falling asleep,” Jake mumbles, his eyes fixed on the screen - he hates to admit, but you turning him onto gossip girl - one of the best things ever. He doesn’t need to look to know you are falling asleep, he knows it from the weight of your head that has drooped onto his chest, the way he feelings your breathing slow from the way your body is moving, rising and falling slowly with each breath, from the way your body has subconsciously snuggled closer to his, in search for warmth.

“Mrhmf not,” your groggy, barely audible mumble is the response he receives and he smiles, eyes finally darting down to find you eyes closed, the weight of your head now fully resting on his chest.

“Sweet dreams princess,” he mutters softly; your lack of response tells him you are fast asleep.

-

Jake is almost at the end of the episode, watching as Blair runs, fully clothed in wedding gown and a tiara to a waiting car outside when he hears the door shift open.

“What,” he growls, voice deep as his arm that is looped around you, rising and falling with the rhythm of your breathing tightens. It makes you shift, and he tenses slightly, hoping it hasn’t woken you, relaxing only as you shift slightly, before your body continues on with the same breathing pattern.

“Sorry man,” the head of one of his fraternity members peeks in, identifies the curled up figure Jake has his arm protectively around before shooting an apologetic glance and backing our slowly, as he moves to shut the door slowly, and soundlessly before backing away the same way he came from. He shakes his head at the two other boys coming down the hallway.

“Not there?” One asks.

“With his girl,” the response comes and the boys “ah” in acknowledgment and understanding before turning to go back the way they came.

“With his girl,” the intruder responds to “Ahs” and nods of agreement from the other two before the three boys exchange knowing smiles and turn back in the directions from which they came from.

“With his girl,” the intruder explains and the other two nod in understanding.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

.Dead asleeP.

Title: Chapter 1: COMA Prompt: You were peacefully sleeping when you suddenly wake up to the sound of a heart monitor steadily beeping somewhere nearby, and realize you are in the med-bay with no memory of what happened prior to this. // After watching movies with your siblings all night and passing out in the tv room, you wake up to find that you're alone. What happened? Fandom: ROTTMNT Word Count: 1,927 Author: PhoebePheebsPhibs Rating: Gen Characters: Leonardo, minor Michelangelo, Donatello, & Raphael (disembodied voices) Warning: Derealization, nightmare-ish stuff (Leo is stuck in a dream) Summary: Leo enjoys a calm sleepover with his family... but when he wakes up in the middle of the night, everyone is gone, and the world starts to turn upside down... Notes: No Beta, We Die Like Gram-Gram! More chapters to follow (5 more, to be exact)

@shr00mi3writefight @tmnt-write-fight @that-0n3-shr00mi3

Posted on AO3 <-

Leo missed having nights like these. The five of them, watching movies late into the evening and early into the mornings. Bowls of popcorn emptied within the first fifteen minutes, stacks of pizza for them to scarf down, liters upon liters of soda, boxes of candy for everyone to enjoy, and plenty of pillows and blankets so that not a single square foot of the concrete and metal-grated floor was exposed. The classic Hamato-O'Neil sleepover extravaganza.

Leo battled April with their typical pun battles, where one would make a joke using wordplay, and the other would have to follow suit with a similar or related word. Leo started off saying that all her jokes would be 'cheesy'. April assured him they were all 'gouda'. Leo retorted that her jokes 'were like swiss cheese -- too many holes'. And so on and so forth, gaining complaints and boos from the rest of the group as they went on. Raph brought out all his cuddlies and stuffies, letting each sibling take one for comfort... should they decide to watch any scary movies. Their energy came in waves, the first dissipating after the first J.J. film. They paused, had some food and snacks, watch some 'Try Not To Laugh' challenges, failed the challenges, and then the second wave hit. Donnie set up a special game he'd heard about and fixated over for them all to play. At some point, Mikey started laughing too loudly and accidentally screamed in April's ear. Leo was making fun of the characters with his colour commentary and annoyed Donnie into pushing him off the couch. Raph decided it would be cool to see if a mint in Vitamin Water and shaking it would have the same effect as a Mentos in Diet Coke. News flash, it did.

So the night was going really great!

Leo cackled as he pulled Donnie off the couch with him. Raph panicked and dropped the bottle once it started foaming and exploding, and April grabbed the drink and used it as a weapon against them. Donnie started a massive pillow fight and created a battlefield. Once their second wave of energy had depleted, and the pizza boxes were all but empty, they settled down to continue the movie night. It was really nice, having everyone over together like this. Leo tried to recall the last time they'd gotten together like this and had a massive celebration...

Mikey laughed as he pointed to the screen, cackling madly. Raphael had fallen asleep watching Jupiter Jim's Pluto Vacation 4 and broken the coffee table with his face again. Donnie and April groaned loudly, but Leo and Mikey high-fived with glee.

Just another fun family night. One Leo was so extremely grateful for. Though, he didn't have any real need to feel that way. The Shredder was locked away, Big Mama was not causing any problems (that they knew of), and his family had never felt closer since Splinter had shared the a good portion of his past with them. Everything was... perfect. Sure, things had been kind of rocky before. Concerning Leo's portals needing more experience, the secrets that Splinter kept from them about their origins, Draxum being a villain, and the Shredder's resurrection. Among other things.  They needed a night like this. To unwind, relax, take it easy and have a laugh. They were all just teenagers, after all.

Leo leaned back in his sleeping back, propped up with pillows to form a cocoon throne. He chuckled softly at Raph's light snoring, Mikey drawing pictures on his face, April putting curlers into Mayhem's hair and through Donnie's mask tails...

His eyes grew heavy.

Leo fell asleep.

"Leo, wake up, Leo!"

"Can he hear us? I think he can --"

"How do we know this will work?"

"It just will. It has to."

"Don't give up on us, Leo... C'mon, get up... get up...!"

"Leo?"

Leo's eyes fluttered open. He yawned, and turned over in his sleeping bag.

"Wake me'up... wh'n iz... morn'n....."

No one responded. The lair was silent. Leo couldn't even hear the movie playing.

He sat up slowly, glancing around to see if the others had all fallen asleep as well. No one was here. The projector was still running softly, but there was no sound, no image. Just TV snow -- static buzzing across the screen as the machine whirred and whined with exhaustion. Huh. Weird, he'd never known the projector to do that... Leo tilted his head in confusion. The screen blinked at him oddly. The static took soft shapes Leo could almost swear he saw images in the interference. It must be his imagination.

⠀⢀⡀⡄⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⢶⢶⢲⠄⠀⢴⠦ ⢸⡈⣷⢱   ⠏⣾⢾⢸.    ⠿⡀⠀⠀⢸⢸.  ⡿⢹⠀⢸⡈⣷⢱⠲⢶⢶⢲ ⠀⠁⠀⠈⠉⠈⠀⠈  ⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⡇⢸⢻⠀⡞⢠⠖⢦⠀⣇⡤⠂⣠⠶⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⡆⢰⠴⠢⡄ ⠀⢳⡏⠀⣷⠃⢶⣉⣹⡀⡏⠳⣀⢯⣉⡩⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣀⣯⢻⣄⣠⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠂⠀⠀ ⢸⡈⣷⢱   ⠏⣾⢾⢸.    ⠿⡀⠀⠀⢸⢸.  ⡿⢹⠀⢸⡈⣷⢱⠲⢶⢶⢲ ⠀⠁⠀⠈⠉⠈⠀⠈  ⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠲⢶⢶⢲⠄⠀⢴⠦

But the instant Leo called his attention to it, the projector popped, fizzled, and disconnected.

Huh. Must be the sleep deprivation...

Leo's attention came back to the emptiness of the room. Where had everyone gone? It was too dark and too quiet to be morning yet. Maybe... they'd all gone to get more snacks? It was a silly idea, but the only probable one he could think of. Leo rose to his feet, stretched, and clambered over the sea of pillows and cushions surrounding the area. He wondered what time it was. He tried to find his phone... but, uh... hm. That was unlike him, to leave his phone unattended. Oh well, he didn't actually need it. Besides, there were other clocks in the lair. Leo roamed into the halls, which seemed a lot longer and more dominated by shadow than usual. These shadows were strange, rounding about the walls and ceiling and floor as if they were cloth rolling down a hole. In fact, the more Leo focused on the world around him, the more it seemed distorted and out of place. The photos on the walls were tilted and slanted, the images were too blurry to be discernible. There were doors that he did not recognize, practically littering the hallway. And the hallway itself went on for miles and miles and miles. Leo eventually saw a door that felt familiar. Felt familiar. It did not look familiar. But being near the door felt like being at the end of a task you forgot you were doing. Recognition of completion. He opened the door.

It was the kitchen. And it was empty. No one was here... huh. Weird. Where had they all gone? Leo glanced at the wall clock. The hand were at... uh... He couldn't read the numbers. There weren't any numbers. And for whatever reason, he couldn't recall in what order numbers ran, or where they started on a clock. At the top? The middle? The bottom? Where was the 1 supposed to be? And which hand represented the hour?

Uh... h-he didn't really want to see the time, anyway. It would just remind him of how many hours he had left to try and sleep.

"You've been sleeping enough, I think..."

Who said that?

Leo glanced around room anxiously. The once warm light was starting to dim, darken, desaturate. It was getting pretty cold in here. Leo ran out of the room, and looked down the halls. The way back to the living room was pitch black, and getting darker and scarier by the minute.

"This way, Leo! Follow us!"

Leo turned to look the other way.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel! A deep, warm, golden amber light. He'd go that way. Leo started running. It was so hard to run, he felt like he was running through water, or molasses. Slowed down to a crawl, he forced his arms and legs to move as fast as they could to escape the oncoming, ever consuming darkness.

"Come on, Leo, you can do it!"

"You've got this, dude! Keep going!"

"Don't give up!"

Leo struggled hard, gritting his teeth and growling with strained effort.

"Rrrrrgh! Who ARE you weird disembodied voices, anyway?! What have you done with my family?!"

The voices didn't answer. Or maybe they did, he just wasn't hearing them anymore. Everything felt like slow motion.

Leo finally made it to the edge of the light. As soon as his fingers touched the sparkling beams, he felt the effects of the darkness bleed off of him, ebbing away like the tide as he crawled out of its reach. The cold chill that had been clawing at his heart and lungs was now replaced by a glorious sensation of healthy warmth. The air sparkled, chasing the dark back into the abyss. The light brightened, beckoning him. Something about this light felt like... like... Like Mikey, somehow. It mirrored his bright personality. Leo could almost swear that touching the light was like holding his hand. He could feel the weight in his palm.

"...Mikey?" he asked aloud, eyes wide with shock at how familiar and real it all felt. The realest thing here...

"He felt me!"

"Huh?" Leo asked, still unsure where the voice had come from...

But before he could discern anything, his feet started moving again, almost as if he was no longer in charge. He strode through the tunnels, following the light.

"Don't worry, Nardo, we'll help you get back."

"We'll be right here beside you, no matter what."

"Anatawa hitorijinai."

"I don't speak... whatever that is," Leo mumbled sleepily. He wondered why he felt so drowsy all over again.

But Leo felt like the voices weren't malevolent. They weren't evil, or cruel. Maybe they had done something to his family, maybe not. It felt more like they wanted to help return him to them. Leo wasn't an overly trusting guy, but he was willing to stake his life for his family's sake.

He was willing to follow the light.

[copperbadge]

La Festa Alla Cinque Cibi!

[ID: My little cafe table near the kitchen, with dinner laid out on it: a plate with fried artichoke, cuts of slow-cooked beef stracotto, and two potato dumplings, with another holding a slice of pie and some cookies nearby. As a finishing touch, I included a bottle of Coke Zero, in homage to my being unable to get any Diet Coke while I was in Rome. The decks of cards in the upper left are the tarot and oracle cards I'm using for New Year's fortunetelling in a bit.]

The Festa Alla Cinque Cibi was a success! Everything came out at least close to what it ought to be and all was delicious. Plus I had forgotten I wanted to make a sauce for dipping the fried artichoke leaves into, but the sauce that the beef cooked in came out so flavorful and nice that I just poured out a little bowl of it and used that for dipping.

[ID: A closeup of the dinner plate, showing a gold-red tomato pesto sauce, the chunks of slow-cooked beef, the fried burik dumplings, and the mahogany leaves of the fried artichoke.]

It is a somewhat monochromatic meal. I probably should have included some kind of non-fried plant or something.

The artichoke was a bit spiky but those buttery inner leaves were perfect. The beef almost didn't come out -- I thought I'd ruined it by browning it too much and making it tough, but then in the last half hour I bumped the temperature on the slow-cooker and the collagen almost immediately began to melt, turning it much more fork-tender and velvety. I'm very much looking forward to leftovers on sandwiches. The burik reheated well, but are also pretty good cold.

And the ricotta cheesecake DID set!

[ID: A close-up of the ricotta cheesecake, with rich deep red cherry jam on the bottom and an airy-textured cheesecake filling under a thick upper crust; a few light tan amaretti cookies are visible on the right.]

The crust was a bit thick but not at all dry. The ricotta filling was very plain, but I prefer a less-sweet pie and the cherry preserve on the bottom added all the flavor needed, really. The amaretti kept pretty well, and tasted nice with the Coke Zero.

The artichoke is a bit of a showpiece, I don't think it's something I'd cook very often, though everything else was varying levels of "yeah I could eat this on the reg". The burik are really delicious and the stracotto is pretty low-maintenance. I liked this version of the cheesecake but I'm not sure if its simplicity would appeal to a lot of people. The amaretti are great, and both simple to make and gluten-free.

All the process photos and recipes are linked in the "festa alla cinque cibi" tag, but I'm definitely going to have to copy a few over into my regular cookbook.

I will admit that by the time I sat down with it all I was pretty tired, so I just kind of inhaled it all and left a wreckage behind. But the leftovers are cooling off before being put in the fridge, and frankly the dishes are 2024 Sam's problem.

[uniquevoidflowers]

random lu incorrect quotes based off of a generator cuz im bored

Twilight: Hey, do you know the password to Legend's computer? Wild: Fuck you, Twilight. Twilight: Hey!! Wild: No, you misunderstood, the password is "fuckyouTwilight". Twilight: Oh, no numbers? Not very safe.

Legend: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Legend lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

Wild: Hey, you wanna know a secret? Legend: No. Wild: Okay. Legend: Legend: Do you smell smoke? Wild: The secret is that the house is on fire.

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Legend: I hate you sometimes. Warriors: Well according to this picture Sky drew of us holding hands that's not true. Legend: Wars, you drew that. Warriors: It doesn't matter.

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Legend: *shatters a window and climbs through it* Legend: *turns around and helps Hyrule through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Hyrule. Hyrule: Okay.

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Wind: Let's all agree that going up the stairs on all fours is actually the best experience on earth. Time: Conversely, going down the stairs on all fours is actually the most terrifying experience on earth.

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*The chain's reaction to being told they're the chosen one* Hyrule: I will not let you down. Warriors: Sounds fun. Wind: K. Legend: No, I'm fucking not. Wild: Do I have to be? Time: Please god, I am so tired.

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Legend: How does one turn their emotions off? Hyrule: Okay, so first go to settings. Hyrule: I'm a fucking idiot, I thought that said emojis at first. Legend: No, I'm still willing to try this, go ahead. I'm at settings, what do I do next?

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Hyrule: So I can either do something dumb that could very well get me injured or I can listen to Sky and not do the thing, Hyrule: Well there’s a clear right answer here. Hyrule: *proceeds to throw five packs of mentos into a barrel full of diet coke*

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Legend: You are a solid 11/10. Warriors: Aw, thank- Legend: Which is 1.1 because you look like shit.

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Legend: What is the one thing I told you not to do? Hyrule: Burn the house down. Legend: And what did you do? Hyrule: I made dinner. Legend: Hyrule: Legend: Hyrule: And burnt the house down.

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Time: .. .----. -- / … --- .-. .-. -.-- (translation: I'M SORRY) Legend: What's that? Time: Remorse code. Legend: I'm even angrier now.

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Hyrule, holding an antique bottle: Is this whiskey or perfume? Wild: *grabs and chugs the entire bottle* Wild: Wild: It's perfume.

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Malon: We're having a baby. Twilight: Oh, congradu- Time, slamming adoption papers onto the table: It's you, sign here.

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Twilight: Is anyone going to tell me what's going on in here?! Hyrule: It's kind of complicated, but Wild- Twilight: Got it. Forget I asked.

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Twilight: Made you all playlists! Twilight: Legend, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul. Twilight: Sky, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression. Twilight: And Warriors has the ABBA Gold album.

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Legend: Do you want to be the Sun in my life? Ravio: Yes. Legend: Good, then stay 92,935,700 miles away from me :)

Generator: