#fuck it sure this one can be rebloggable

[ragnars-tooth]

Yh sorry I haven't been working on the fic.... yeah its because tldc has reached the event horizon where I start putting the characters in my other interests.... yeah even the ones that don't make any sense... btw david just put his car into a wall at the las vegas gp.... if u even care.... zannas calling him a dumb cunt over the radio.... yeah rn. she's a really competent team principal and david is without a doubt her worst ever driver but he has a certain charm to him.... yeah they suck and they don't know how they're going to get funding for next year if old man bacon pulls out of sponsorship... its like really tense actually. yeah the cars are the dragons <- lost it

[parapsychologicalvulpes]

man this is just such a non issue, me thing but ngl I kinda hate that I'll scroll my dash and then come across unrebloggable posts. like obvs!! It is op's right to do that but I'm also entitled ig bc I feel like if you post it on the 'people sharing content' site, you should make it. yk. shareable

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

[themorriganwitch]

Three are never too much

Summary: Bradley agrees to take part in Jakes Fantasy of being watched as he fucks his wife.

Words: 3k

Warnings: pure smut MDNI!! voyeurism, bit of daddy kink, spanking, oral (f! receiving), tiny bit of Hangster tension, masturbation (f! and m!), dirty talk,

A/N: comments and rebloggs are always deeply appreciated

_________________________________________________________

“Are you one hundred percent sure, that you want to do this?”, Jake asks you for the fifth time in the last 20 minutes. “I can still call him and cancel that whole thing, I never want to put you in a- “, you cut him off. 

“Baby we talked about this a million times. I am absolutely down, and I know that as soon as I feel uncomfortable, you would kick Bradley out before he could say “mustache”, you smile at your husband encouragingly. 

“Try to relax a little bit, remember you wanted to put on your best show for Rooster”. 

Jake scoffs.

“Honey we both know that I never have to put on a show”, he exaggerates the last word scathingly.

You roll your eyes amused but right before you could joke about how offended he was by a simple word, the doorbell rings.

“Take it easy, Jake. Just go on as we said, you open the door while I go upstairs and get ready. And then the three of us will meet in our bedroom and have some fun, okay?”, you ask reassuringly. 

He nods before he presses a short peck onto your lips and made his way to the door, while you went upstairs into the bathroom. 

You grab your new set of lingerie, a beautiful green one which left barely anything so someone’s imagination and put it on in front of your full-length mirror. After you admired yourself for a few seconds, you sit down on the edge of your bathtub, trying to control your breath a little. 

The whole thing has been Jakes idea: having someone over who watches the two of you while Jake rails you into the mattress. But after he brought it up you were fully into it and supported his wish. 

Knowing how easily possessive he could get over you, you let him decide who would be the lucky one to take part in his fantasy. You fully trusted him with this process and when he brought up Bradley Bradshaw, it barely took you more than 30 seconds to agree to his suggestion. 

Today the big day finally arrived and even though you could feel yourself getting a bit nervous, you were just as excited and turned on if not even more. 

As you could hear your husband and his best friend coming upstairs and into your bedroom, you took a last deep breath before you re-arrange your boobs shortly, so they looked even bigger and step outside the door, right where the two of them were waiting for you.

Just as you expected, you found Jake sitting on your shared King-size bed, while Bradley already took place in the brown leather armchair, you placed perfectly in front of your bed, which would give him the best view of your husband and you. 

“Hey Bradshaw”, you smile at him, trying not to be too awkward. 

“Hey, sweetheart”, he grimaces, failing his own attempt to not make the situation seem a bit uneasy. 

“So”, you say, finding a seat in Jakes lap, who automatically wraps his arms around your waist. “Did Jake already spoke with you about the rules? And do you have anything on your heart you want me to know before we start?” 

Bradley shakes his head. “I honestly have nothing to say and regarding the rules, yes, he told me all of them. I am not allowed to touch either of you, unless I’ve been ask too explicitly but I can touch myself. I am allowed to give him some suggestions on what to do with you and If I feel uncomfortable, I can go at any time.” You nod in agreement.

 For a hot minute you already forgot that you are wearing a thin piece of nothing, but as you feel Bradley’s hazel eyes heavy on your pushed up breasts, you were suddenly put back into realization on what you were about to do, feeling a tight knot of excitement building in your lower belly.

You turn your head back to your husband, who put your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, before he presses your head down to kiss you.

 It was as if he could feel your slight nervousness, so he gave his best to calm you down by building his kiss up slowly.

He lovingly nips on your lower lip before he soothes it with the tip of his tongue, one of his hands wandering from your waist to your ass check which he squeezes lightly. His tongue found its way between your plush lips, while the kiss grew hotter and more passionate. As he lets go of you, you could feel his now hard cock press against your barely clothed center on which you could already see a dark patch. 

Jake now heaves you up from his lap, positioning you right in front of Bradley’s chair, who had watched your short make up scene with dark eyes. Your husband sits down at the end of the bed, where he has a similar view of you as his best friend has.

 “Honey, don’t you want to show our guest what’s hiding under this beautiful set?”, the blonde smirks at you. 

You nod coyly, your hands finding their way to your bra cups. You slowly put one out after the other, kneading them in a steady rhythm before you hardly pinch your nipples, moaning softly just as you know your husband loves it. 

“Get rid off that whole thing. Now”, Bradley commands in a raspy voice, unzipping his pants while he spoke. Jakes gaze finds yours and as he nods in agreement your hands wander to the zipper between your breasts. 

As you pull yourself out of the lingerie your eyes never left Bradley’s. 

“Isn’t she the most stunning woman you ever saw, Bradshaw”, the blonde asks his friend who hums in agreement. 

“Honey, why don’t you get in the middle of the bed and show us how wet you already are?”

You did as you were told, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed, hips lightly lifted, and legs spread as wide as possible. Even though you could not see your own core, the dark gleam in Jakes and Bradley’s eyes told you that you must be glistening with your own slick. 

“So soaked already honey?”, your husband teases, while he pulls his throbbing cock out of his boxer briefs. 

“Haven’t really touched you yet and you are already a mess. I Think you should touch yourself before you get my cock. We don’t want Bradley thinking that you get anything without earning it before, don’t we?”

You nod eagerly, your fingers already gliding through your folds to collect your wetness and bring it right up to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles around it. 

Soft moans were leaving your lips as you continue your movements on your nub, as you heard Bradley’s deep voice again. 

“Pinch your nipples again, sweetheart. Want to hear you sweet sounds grow a little louder”.

As before, you obey immediately, pinching your hard nipples: “Fuck”, you moan bugging your hips against your own hand. It didn’t take much longer until you heard heavy breaths coming from the other side of the room, where Jake and Bradley slowly pump their selves in the same rhythm as you were circling your clit. 

“Fuck, Jake. I need more”, you whine. 

“Tstsktsktsk”, your husband made, as he left his place at the end of the bed to sit down on the same height where your head was. 

“Did you forget how to ask nicely, honey?” Before you could answer you felt a sudden harsh slap on your pussy which makes you moan out loudly.

“Fuck”, you said in the same moment as Bradley did. Jake shows you his signature smirk.

 “Try again, baby.” 

“Please, please, daddy. I need more. My fingers don’t feel as good as you do. Please I need something more”. 

“Good girl”, he praises as he lets his head down to kiss you again. “Bradshaw what do you think she should get? My fingers, my mouth, or my cock?” 

“Your mouth”, Bradley states immediately, breathing heavy and voice filled with lust as he spoke. “Want to see how much she can take”. 

It does not take Jake more than 10 seconds to obey his friend’s word, setting himself up between your legs. He lets his thick fingers glide through your folds, collecting your slick as you did a couple of minutes ago, before bringing the finger up to his lips, closing his eyes with relish as he tastes you. 

“Do you think we should give Bradley a little foretaste of what he is missing?”, the sparkle in his green eyes was devilish. You nod, knowing nothing but another plea would be able to leave your lips if you opened them. 

The blonde between your legs repeats his earlier action before he stood up, offering the brunette who was pumping his thick cock, his finger. 

 It was not the deep groan Bradley let out as soon as the tastes your wetness, but the look in both of their eyes as Jakes finger still stays in Bradley’s mouth after Rooster had already licked it clean, that makes more than clear to you that this was the first but not the last time Rooster would be a guest in your bedroom. 

Not that you really cared, you simply wanted to be fucked by your husband. 

In a desperate attempt to re-focus Jakes attention on his soaked and naked wife, you wiggle your hips and let out a squeal. “Daddy. Please”. 

“Shhh, Honey. Daddy is here”, your husband reassures you, finding his way back between your legs. “You are a bit impatient today. Let’s see if you are really able to take what you are begging for”. 

With these words his head dives down to your core, his lips immediately wrap around your clit, sucking harshly on it. “Fuck fuck fuck”, you scream, fingers interwinding with Jakes blonde locks and tugging on them. 

Jake eats pussy like a starving man. And you are his last meal.

Being together with Jake for a couple of years now, he had found his way to get you screaming and squirming beneath him within seconds.

He sucks, he nibs, he licks, he nabs at your clit, always changing the motions. He adds a little pressure before he fully takes it away, waiting to hear you beg again.

 Begging for his lips to suck you into heaven. 

“Fuck. Daddy. I can’t…”, you were not able to form a coherent sentence, your brain feels completely mushy as your husband did anything but reducing the intensity of his torture to your pussy. 

Jake groans into your core, as his tongue finds its way to your aching hole, your hips bucking up into his face as he starts to tongue-fuck you.          

“God. Daddy, yes. Please don’t stop. Please. Jake”, you brabble as you feel your climax crushing down on you. Your eyes fall shut, and your mouth was open wide in a silent scream, as your husband makes no attempt to let go of your cunt. Quite the opposite was the case, as his tongue found his way back to your overstimulated clit, sucking on it softly.

“Jake”, you whine, tucking on his hair, trying to make him let go of you.

“You begged for him, sweetheart. Now you should be able to take your husband”, Bradley, who you have forgotten about for a hot second, smirks at you, fisting his cock now in a faster pace. “I think she should take your fingers now”, he adds towards Jake, who obeys as soon as he hears the words.

Two of his thick fingers find their way to your neglected hole, which he curls up just right to make them meet the sweet spot in your tight walls. 

Your back aches up from the mattress at that feeling, screaming out his name. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god”, you moan, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out your cunt filling the room. The air was sticky and hot, sweat pearls down your forehead as you felt your second climax approaching. “Cum for me, Honey”, Jake mumbles against your pussy, sucking your clit accordingly to his finger thrusts. 

The high pitch, porn like sounding moan which left you lips the moment you came again, still echoes in your ears as you pull your husband up to meet his lips in a feverish kiss.

Another, deeper moan, leaves your lips as you taste your own release on Jakes tongue. 

“Think you are able to take my cock now?”, Jake asks, his forehead pressed onto yours, his right-hand cups your heated cheek. 

You nod eagerly, desperate to feel your husband filling you up. Jake manhandles you onto your knees, ass in the air, face turned in the direction where Bradshaw was placed. 

Jake comes up behind you, gliding his cock through your folds, using your slick as lube before he puts his cock right where you need him the most. You whine as you can feel him on your entrance but not pushing into you. “I want you to look Bradley in the eyes while I fuck you. If you break eye contact with him, you will regret it. Understand?”, he asks. 

“Yes, daddy”, you answer turning your head high, eyes meeting Bradley hazel ones.

“Such a good girl for us, isn’t she, Bradley?”, Jake finally thrusts into you as he asks Bradley, who winks at you at the words.

“She is. A really good girl. Even though she looks like a slut when she lets you fuck her like a dog with bouncing tits while she sounds like a porn star fresh out of a movie”.

You moan out loudly as Jake finds that special spot, his rhythm neither really slow nor really fast but his thrusts were hard. 

“Yeah, she is such a good little slut. Always let her daddy use her like he wants. Tell Bradley what you are, Honey.” 

“Daddy’s pretty fuck toy”, you answer, eyes shutting close as you feel the tip of Jakes cock brushing your cervix. 

“But not a good fuck toy”, Bradley smirks. “Didn’t obey your daddy correctly when closing your eyes”. 

Your eyes fly wide open, cursing yourself as Jakes delicious movements stop immediately. 

“Oh sugar”, Jakes says with a mimicked sad voice. “I told you, you would be punished, if you don’t keep your eyes on Bradley all the time”. 

And without a single warning he slaps the flesh of your ass harshly, while his cock was still buried deep inside your cunt. “Keep your eyes on Bradley and count. If you lose track again, you won’t be cumming again tonight. Got it?”

“Yes daddy”, you whine, eyes meeting Bradley’s again, precum was now leaking from the tip of his cock. 

“One”, you count as he slaps you again at the exact same point as before.

“Two”.

“Three”.

“Four”.

At the fifth slap you were not able to hold back a deep moan as his hand meets your red and hot skin. 

“She really is a slut. Getting off by her punishment”, Bradley grins.

“Jealous, Rooster?”, the blonde behind you asks, as he meets your ass for the sixth and seventh slap.

“Just a tiny bit”, Bradley grumbles.

The last three slaps followed quickly before Jake presses a kiss to your sweaty shoulder and reminded you  of his rules again. 

He then starts to set a fast, hard pace. His cock brushing your cervix again and again.

“Such a good girl”, he praises you. “Took your punishment so well. Such a pretty slut for me and Bradley. Going to fill you up so nice with my cum, honey. Mark you up, so Rooster never forgets that he is allowed to look but never to touch you”.

Jake brabbles, his grips on your hips becoming stronger, the both of you knowing very well that there will be bruises the next day. 

“Look at him, Baby. How the poor guy fists his cock, looking at you but knowing that he will never be able to have you. Having to see your beautiful tits bounce but he will never be allowed to hear your soft moans when he sucks them gently, just like you love it. Fuck. 

You are just mine to fuck. Mine to breed. Mine to care for. Mine to love. My wife”.

You moan in agreement, not able to form a sentence while you desperately try to let your gaze stay interlocked with the heavy breathing man in front of you. 

“Isn’t that what you want, Bradshaw? Fucking my wife? Feeling her hot walls clench around you dick? Feel her plush lips on your neck?” 

“Fuck yes”, Bradley moans, his hand movements become frantically.

“Fuck, Jake, s’close”, you moan. 

“I know, Baby. I feel you. M’close too. Bradshaw?”, he asks his friend, who then nods. 

“Want us to come together”, you say, begging Bradley with your eyes to agree to this. 

“Fuck, yes”, both of them said at the same time. 

Jake picks up his pace, Bradley’s hand movement follows so that he was fucking himself in the same rhythm as Jake was fucking you.

“3”, Jake starts to count down.

“2”, Bradley moans deeply, as he saw your eyes roll in the back of your head.

“1”, you scream out, as you reach your climax as the boys reach theirs. 

You saw white streaks of cum flooding out of Bradley’s cock as Jake feels you up with his, marking you as he promised too. Your body collapsed onto the sheets, your breath heavy, and a bit irregular. You close your eyes, as you feel Jake pulling out of you. 

“Honey are you with me?”, your husband asks, as he rubs soothing circles on your back before he picks you up into his lap, cuddling you close.

You nod, your throat feels dry from begging and moaning for the last hour. 

Bradley’s eyes meet yours, as he reaches out for the wipes Jake has placed on the desk next to him, to clean himself up.

“That was insane”, he states, voice sounding hoarse.

“Indeed”, Jake agrees, pressing a kiss onto your head.

“Who wants a repetition?” 

[unspeakable-imagination]

Cigar smoke and Sleepless nights | part one

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Rebloggs and likes are appreciated

Cw: Cigars and smoke, drinking, reader has ptsd, Logan has ptsd, canon-typical violence

Part two. Three four

The humans made your life hell, especially since you were the only mute in the tiny town that hardly had 500 people. They ran you out, and in such a time of need, imapretly the old professor had heard your cries the loudest.

It had been five days since you'd arrived at Charles Xavier's school for the gifted. Granted, you weren't a child like many of the people here. A woman named storm had retrieved you, by Charles' request. After leaving your home at seventeen, you lived, bouncing around place to place till you landed in a little nowhere town in montana, just south if the Canadian border. You stayed for awhile, plenty of years, until word got around that you were a mutant.

Storm had managed your retreaval in a matter of hours with the x-jet. By the time she'd gotten you back to the mansion, it was coming dawn, and your bedtime. Foxes are nocturnal, after all.

Storm and Xavier were quick to set you up in a hardly furnished room, telling you to make if your ownm The smell of all of the mutants was thoroughly overwhelming and only made you want to sleep more. So you did.

You slept through just about every hour of daylight, and then, as the sun set, you had finally woken up. It was easy to hear that nobody was awake, and so, in an attempt not to bother them, you found the jacket that you'd tossed on the floor while you prepared to crash. Fishing through the pockets you found the object of your vice, a pack of thin cigarette and pretty silver zippo.

Opting not to wake the people in the building with creaky stairs, you flung open the window, leaning your head as far out as possible, since Xavier didn't like smoking indoors. It was easy to light the cigarette and only took you a few minutes to finish.

When you returned in from the position in the sill, you figured you'd had some exploring to do. It didn't take long to find your way down the stairs, to the communal kitchen, and it didn't take you long to find a pack of bacon in it, either.

It had only taken you another moment to get the stove top lit with a griddle ontop, waiting for the pan to heat. After an impatient few seconds you preferred to just slap almost half the slab and the hardly warm pan and fork it apart, watching parts of it smoke, the fat bubbling. The constant impatience of you flipping the bacon, almost every twenty seconds was making it cook slower, and your frustration rise quickly until you scrunched your face in pure frustration and just threw the fork onto the counter, stepping away in defeat to just let the damn bacon cook.

At this point you didn't care if it burned. Turning around to rummage the fridge, you bristled at the fact you couldn't even find a beer. "Of course not," you stated. "It's a fucking school." Closing the fridge, you jumped in surprise to see the only other person you've met, Hank.

"What's that meant to mean," he said, tilting his head. Hank constantly gave you that innocent and sassy vibe, so you weren't sure what to say. Deciding to be truthful, you shrugged.

"I mean, you guys don't have a beer or even a fuzzy navel, nothing good. I should have figured since there are so many children." He nodded, quickly catching to what you said.

"Alcohol isn't good for you, but if you really need something, I think Logan has something in his room, but he's not here. I can go in and grab it?" You didn't know who logan was, and honestly didn't need a drink that badly. "Plus, we have milk... and water? Oh there are tea packets in the cubbord and, " his eyes shifted to behind you, "and- I think your bacon is burning."

Flipping around you hastily stepped to the stove grabbing the fork you earlier then and flipping the now slightly charred bacon. Grimacing at the smell of the burn, you turned back to the blue beast. "Sorry, Hank. Where did you say that tea is?"

"That cubbored down there," he pointed up to one of cabinets at your knees, under the microwave. You nodded a d grabbed a cup from one of the racks filled with mugs hanging from the wall and filled it with tap water.

"Thanks, Hank. Shouldn't you be asleep?" He nodded before saying something under his breath and then replying.

"Yeah, I'm just on my way there, now. Deal well, [Name]." She said, nodding his head a little awkwardly, then walking away. She just nodded her head and waves him off.

Turning off the burner, you used your fork to scrape off the cooked slices, that had simmered down to a considerablely smaller amount, to your plate your gotten out earlier. You put the water in the microwave and set it on two minutes, just to get the water hot and began to shuffle around in the tea cubbored. After finding some random flower flavor that sounded appealing, you tore open the packet and threw away the wrappers setting the bag on the counter next to the microwave.

"Thanks for the food," you mumbled to whatever God could have been listening. Grabbing the bacon, slice by slice, you practically shiveled it into your mouth until the microwave sounded. You shifted away from the island you were eating on, taking your cup and putting the teabag in, tying the string around the handle so it wouldn't fall in.

You let it steep while you finished your bacon, and looked to the sink. It was empty so you figured, maybe waking what mess you made would be better. Flipping on the faucet, you put the griddle and your plate and fork in, just quickly washing them and setting them in the drying rack. It okay took a couple of seconds, but when the faucet went offc you realized you heard something.

It was a somewhat familiar rumble of a distant motorcycle engine. Plenty of men in montana drove motorcycles and they didn't sound to much doffrent aside from volume.

Grabbing your cup of tea, you listened. The rumble gradually got closer as you sipped, realizing that they were coming to the school. Within a few minutes, they were here. Sipping your tea, you watched a silhouette with the burning embers of a cigar open the door to the school, walk right in, and wander up the stairs. You weren't sure if the man noticed you. IF he did, it wasn't obvious. You tilted your head and listened to him wander down the hallway and slam a door.

Finishing your tea, you shrugged it off and continued your nightly activities.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 6: Pepperdine

Note: Okay...this one is long as hell, so sorry in advance! Thank you for all of the love, notes, comments, rebloggs! They are really inspiring and it's great to interact with you all. Some people have made me aware of things that I can do to make this easier to find, so I will sit down and apply those changes later today. I hope you all enjoy this one, and alsooo my best friend just started reading this story so if you're reading this hey boo! Thank you all for reading and reminder...all of the characters are pieces of shit in their own way...as it is in the movie. Alright! Enjoy <3

Warnings: Cheating (back to sorta), mild sexual content (MDNI!!!!!), some strong language, mention of injury.

Taglist: @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

She feels like she’s going insane. For what it’s worth, Heaven did not get a single ounce of sleep after she did what she did. Her lip curls as she looks down at Art, his arm tossed over her lap, his large hand spread over her bare thigh, the heat of it a reminder of her…predicament. 

I love you.

She winces as she envisions the moment again, hears Art’s voice and pictures Patricks face, Tashi’s face if they knew, jesus. Heaven bites at her thumb nail nervously, staring off at the mostly bare wall in Art’s dark room. “Fuck.” she mumbles to herself, picturing Art kissing her, touching her, on top of her, between her legs- “Fuck” 

Art’s hand tightens on her leg and she shifts her gaze down to him. He’s in the same position that they’d laid in when they’d gone to bed. His eyes are closed, she can see his lashes against his cheek. It’s annoying and unfair, men always have the best eyelashes. Art’s are a brown color, not quite dark brown or black, not quite blonde. She likes looking at his eyelashes, but she does wish that she could see his eyes.

It would distract her. From the tightness in her chest that had her wrenching his thin twin XL blanket off of them both because she was pretty sure the fabric was trying to smother her, earning a groan from Art as she slipped from under his grasp and sat up with her back against the cool painted cement walls of his dorms. 

Heaven takes a deep breath trying to get rid of the squeezing feeling in her chest without waking the blond man half draped over her lap. Clenching her teeth she rolls her eyes upward  to look at the ceiling as she wills her thoughts to slow the fuck down. 

I love you. 

She didn’t say anything. He said he loved her and she said nothing. Jesus, she is just like Tashi. As much as she loves her, the thought is scary. But what’s even scarier is that she almost wasn’t. She almost wasn’t Tashi. When Art looked at her and said what he said her mouth fell open, and she almost said the thing. She almost…she almost said what he said.

I love you.

“Fuck you.” she whispers, gaze dropping back down to the man below her. A careful manicured hand sweeps over the pale skin on his cheek, sliding along his jaw before a traveling finger smoothes over his nose. She giggles breathlessly as his nose wrinkles and his arm tightens around her legs. Heaven smoothes back the messy blond hair that had fallen on Art’s forehead as he slept, smiling to herself as he hums in his sleep, leaning into her hand.

I love you.

Heaven’s brows furrow as she suddenly feels very naked and very self conscious. She yanks her hand away from him, careful not to disrupt his sleep as she tries to lift his arm off of her. She barely has both feet on the cold, white dorm room floors before the arm is around her waist.

“Where’re you goin’?”

His voice is raspier in the morning. Heaven feels herself melting at the feel of a thumb smoothing over her stomach, rubbing circles over the baggy shirt she’d borrowed from him. Stolen? She has absolutely no intention of giving it back. 

She almost gets back into bed. It would be so easy. Sliding into his arms, feeling him burrow his face in her neck, kissing her as she’s lulled back to sleep. Just one leg up, and then the other. It could be good. It could be great.

But then her eye catches on a framed picture on his desk. It’s one she’d known he’d have, but didn’t think he’d have so readily on display. Patrick was very open with discussing his affection for Art. He has no problem kissing his friend on the cheek or forehead. Talking about how they’ve pushed their beds together since their second year of being roommates, always opting to sleep next to one another in their one, big ‘super bed’ as he’d called it. 

Art was subtle. He might share some food or toss an arm over Patrick’s shoulder. Turning red and furrowing his eyebrows when Patricks would lean into any insinuation about the two of them. But he loves his friend. It’s clear, it's obvious. And Tashi’s a homewrecker for messing with them.

And so am I. Heaven eyes the picture of Art and Patrick. Bright smiles on their faces, kissing their trophies while cheersing each other. This is too much. It’s all too much. Between Patrick and Tashi and now these feelings for Art…Art’s feelings for her- Heaven needs out. 

This toxic jumble is not her idea of fun. 

Her decision made, Heaven takes one more deep breath. She steels herself, and decides she’s doing what’s best. Snatching her bag and jeans off of the floor where she’d let Art tug them off the night before she rushes out of the dimly lit room as the sun starts to rise through the cheap, white shutter blinds. And she only lets herself look back once.

Thirty minutes. Art lays in his bed with his eyes squeezed shut hoping he dreamt it. He was praying to himself that he felt the cold morning air on his chest because he was having some kind of bad dream, not because Heaven had snuck out of his bed without saying goodbye all to probably go running back to Tashi and go back to pretending there wasn’t anything between them. The longer his eyes were closed, the longer he could pretend he still felt her soft fingers ghosting across his face. He could pretend that she was his.

He had to be fair, he asked her to pretend for the night, he never said anything about the next morning. 

Sighing deeply, he opens his eyes, staring up at his ceiling he frowns, forced to be faced with reality and the hand he’s been dealt. All he had really accomplished was planting seeds of confusion in the girl’s head, they were far from the point where she was ready to leave her relationship for him. She still has feelings for Tashi, and what’s worse, Patrick. 

Art loves his friend, he really does, but he knows him very well. He’s watched the guy go through puberty, learn that he’s got a sleazy type of swagger a lot of girls find attractive. He’d been there for Patrick’s first date with Lana Powel and his second the same week with Angie Cooper. Art had watched Patrick run through women like water, down to his last girlfriend who he had just started dating when he met Tashi and Heaven. Poor girl couldn’t compete with the hot Princess of Tennis and the sexy Ballerina two for one special being dangled in Patrick’s face and was therefore left high and dry with a simple breakup text. It’s not working. You were great.

Yeah. Forgive him if he doesn’t exactly think his friend is all that deserving of the masterpieces that are Heaven Whitlock and Tashi Duncan. 

And Art doesn’t pretend he’s a saint. Like Patrick has said, he does…well for himself in the women department and has since he hit a cute little growth spurt back in the 8th grade. But he has the common decency to make his feelings for the girls he would see clear. If they were his girlfriend, they knew it, he would treat them like a girlfriend. If they were a fling, he would acknowledge that they were just having fun. It ends with him getting a lot less drinks tossed in his face than his friend does.

See, Art is smart. He knows how to compartmentalize. Random girls who throw themselves at him after tennis matches go in one category, nice girls he meets in class go in another. 

Heaven and Tashi are in a league of their own.

Tashi is awe inspiring. Beautiful, talented, smart. Scary.

Heaven was scary in a different way. Scary like, the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Scary like he was desperate to do anything and everything to make her happy, including play along in this little push and pull game she’d tossed them into. Scary in a way that despite the fact that she creeped out of his bed at the crack of dawn, cowering away from the feelings he has with her tail between her legs, he still pushes his nose into the pillow she’d laid her head on the night before, trying to take in the last of her scent before it fades into the morning air. 

Dragging his way out of bed and away from what he has left of Heaven, he makes his way to the bathroom and forces himself to face the day.

Match point. Tashi thinks to herself, whistling out the extra hair in her lungs as she regulates her breathing, bouncing from foot to foot as she finishes out her final scrimmage against her teammate before her match with Pepperdine.

Her brain is nearly empty, the only thing swirling within her thoughts is following the ball, the only sound in her ears is her own breathing and the sound of her opponent’s sneakers scraping against the court. There’s no one in the world other than her and the girl across the net. 

With a final swing she sends the ball sailing over the net, down the line where the girl is just not quick enough to reach and with that Tashi had one. It was over. Tashi always gets this brief, melancholy feeling when she finishes a match, or even something as small as a scrimmage. The high she gets from playing simmers down into a dullness that makes her miss the version of herself she was just moments before, when the match was still going. 

That numb thrumb of disappointment under her skin usually dies out as she reminds herself that there will be more. More game to play. More time on the court. More of a tennis player she can be. 

What can she say? Tennis makes her feel greedy. It was never enough. The only thing that ever brought her a similar high was being with Heaven. And while she meant being with Heaven, she also just meant…being with Heaven.

The two of them have been together in every capacity that matters. Friends, best friends, friends with benefits, girlfriends, exes, partners. The only title she would never give Heaven is her rival. They have too much history for that.

Tashi feels the sensation of a toe pushing insistently at her side, digging into her ribs as she tries to focus on the sound of Aaliyah singing in her ears. “Stop it.” She says lowly.

“‘M’trying to show you something, just look for a second-” her little brother Ellis whines, tugging at his seatbelt to get more wiggle room, nudging the girl again with a snicker when she swats his foot away. “Tashi, play with me-”

“Jesus, can I have one fucking second-”

“Tashi Sierra Duncan!” 

The voice is sharp and unforgiving. Her mother’s tone leaves no room for nonsense as she whips around to stare her down, her father’s own gaze in the rearview mirror. Ellis is suddenly quiet, wide eyes watery as he looks at her from his seat causing a pang of guilt to form in her chest. 

Great. Now she’s the bad guy. 

Big bad Tashi. Taking her parent’s attention away from her siblings, needing to travel for tennis, being too tired to play all the damn time. Between struggling in school, watching her five younger siblings and helping her parents pay the bills with what she won at challengers and bigger competitions, somehow, she forgot to force herself to have the personality of a disney princess. 

Sue her, she wants to focus before her match. God forbid she wants to be at her best when there’s a fucking Nike rep watching her, a detail about today that her father had only mentioned 500 times, mentioning what a great fucking opportunity it was. 

Maybe she was the bitch who couldn’t take the time to glance over at her 8 year-old brother’s gameboy as he won the same game over and over again. But she was also the bitch who was working her ass off so that he could get new games. So that her sister would be able to afford the cute clothes by the time she started high school. So that her mom could stop working the job she fucking hated. 

When everyone forgot that, she didn't know. What she does know is Cleo demanded that she let her do yoga with her this morning, and Carter fucking had to practice his recorder at the exact time she started meditating. And now she’s sitting in this hot ass car, with no air conditioning, stacked with her parents and siblings, looking at her like she's the monster for wanting to do her pregame ritual.

But they’d all be smiling at her when she won.

Just 20 more minutes. 20 more minutes until she could have some peace. 20 more before the world will disappear, and all there will be is tennis.

“Apologize to your brother, please.” 

But for now she’s still here.

“I’m sorry, El. Didn’t mean it.” She sighs, brushing the back of her hand over the little boy’s wet cheek. “Mom, I need to start working my heart rate, I’m gonna take a lap.” 

“Okay, honey, just wait for us to sign in.” 

“Kay.” Tashi pushes the door open to the car, ignoring the whines of her youngest sister to go with her as slams the door to the minivan shut. There are crowds of people already gathering. Other competitors and their families. Coaches. Hers should be around here somewhere. 

Normally she’d scope the competition. Her presence tends to put the other girls on edge, so she often chooses to warm up in front of them, letting them know what the fuck is on the other side of the net before they even hit the court. But today, all she could think about is all that’s on the line. Her head swirls with thoughts of how winning today could change a lot of things for her and the people she loves. 

All she wants is to get rid of those thoughts. She wants to be one track minded. She wants to get on the court and have a good fucking time without worrying about what’s going on in the stands. 

“Hey, I heard Tashi Duncan’s here, should we all just like, quit tennis and kill ourselves?” 

A smile forms on Tashi’s face as she turns away from the van, finding Heaven standing behind her holding a piece of poster board. “Hey, there, Serena. I got here a little early. You’ve got bitches quaking already.” 

The taller girl basically hops forward, tossing her arms around Heaven, Tashi giggles as the girl stumbles back a little in an attempt to catch her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I think my best friend plays in some of these things. I came to cheer her on.” Heaven squeezes her back before stepping away, holding out the poster for Tashi to see. “You’re crumpling the poster I made you.”

“There’s,” Tashi laughs again, placing her hands on her hips. “A lot of curse words on that.”

“I’m passionate.” 

“The poster makes you look like a fan girl, Hev.” She jokes, looping her arm with Heaven’s, guiding her toward the tennis club’s center and away from her parents' car. The headache that had started forming moments ago begins to fade as she and Heaven step side to side as they make their way to where the fences surrounding the courts are, ignoring the nervous looks from the girls they pass. “I’m usually a little more subtle when I come to see you twirl.”

“Twirl, you bitch.” Heaven scoffs. “Well, you don’t like flowers-”

“Who said I don’t like flowers?”

“Um, you, when Dylan Cho bought you some and I watched you regift them to your elderly neighbor after you said, quote, ‘I don’t fucking like flowers’ end quote.” 

Tashi stops walking, standing in the little grassy area next to the fence she rolls her, “Fine, correction, I don’t like flowers from Dylan Cho.” 

“And from Heaven Whitlock?” the shorter girl flirts, rocking on her feet. 

“Dunno, get me some and find out I guess.”

“You’re annoying.” Heaven huffs. Her eyes narrow as Tashi plops down into the grass, ignoring the blades poking at her bare legs and sitting criss-crossed, taking in a deep breath. “You okay?”

“Yup, I’m fine.” Tashi sighs, eyes slipping closed.

“Oh, okay.”  A beat passes. “It’s just you don’t seem okay. So, what’s up?”

“Just got a lot riding on today. And, I didn’t get through my regimen, so I feel fucking,” she waves her hands around as she tries to find the words. “Like just…too much. I’m thrown off. I hate when shit is too much right before I have something to do. Like, I like doing this, but I didn’t get to do what I need to and now i feel like-”

“What, you’ll lose?” Tashi’s eyes shoot open at that. Heaven had crouched down to her level, head tilted as she genuinely looked at her like she’s confused.  “Since when do you do that?” 

“What? Lose?” Tashi asks, staring into the deep brown eyes of her best friend.

“No, stop betting on yourself. You’re a tennis player, right? That’s what you are.” 

“W-yeah-”

“Okay, so you’ll win. Because you’re a tennis player and because you’re the best. Because you have to. Because its what you do.” Heaven gently pushes Tashi’s cheek with the knuckle of her pointer finger. “And because I don’t move my dance practices for people who don’t fucking win.”

“No pressure.”

“You’ll be fine.” Heaven shrugs. Tashi laughs, dropping her head forward. It almost alarms her how similar she and her best friend are in times like this. Heaven is genuinely her other half. She’s the only person who can demand that she show results and get away with it. Tashi respects her, she’s strong and yet understanding. She’s a perfectionist, and expects excellence, but she can meet her own expectations. With her, Tashi doesn’t feel like she has to run everything, she doesn’t have to carry her weight along with her own. She’s her equal. 

She may have grown up in a different kind of home, being an only child and not very close to either of her biological parents. She might be rich and spoiled. But she has what Tashi has. She knows it. The drive, the tunnel vision, the lust for her craft. 

Tashi remembers the first time she’d seen Heaven dance. The girl had shown up to the gym they used to hang out at, held her hand out to Tashi, and demanded she come watch her dance in one of the empty rooms. She’d said she’d watched Tashi play and it was only fair that she knew she was the best at something too. Tashi couldn’t have known what she was about to experience. The heart pounding, throat tightening feeling of watching someone change your life with every movement. Heaven’s eyes had been closed. It was like Heaven might as well have been alone. Everything had fallen away, including Tashi. It moved the young tennis player.

That was years ago, and now they were 16 and inseparable. They practice together, go on double dates, workout, and spend time with each other’s families. Mostly, they were themselves, not having to apologize to each torah about their passions. They were best friends. 

Which is why Tashi is shocked when she feels Heaven’s hand cup her cheek, her face moving impossibly close to hers, yet, their lips not touching, her eyes searching. “You’ll also win, because you’re Tashi.”

Blinking slowly, Tashi’s eyes flick between Heaven’s eyes and lips, her own parting slightly as she inches just a little bit closer, yet still refusing to be the one to close the distance. “What’re you doing? Trying to motivate me?”

“You need me to motivate you?”

“I’m always motivated.”

“Okay.” Heaven’s smile brushes Tashi’s mirrored one for a moment, causing both girls to shiver. “Then it’s not motivation.” She stands abruptly, swiping the grass that stuck to her legs with the morning dew away. “It’s just something to think about.” With that, Heaven turns on her heel, jokingly waving her slightly explicit, very encouraging sign in the air before calling over her shoulder. “Destroy that bitch. And then, I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

Before Tashi takes the final serve she sees Art coming through the fence. He sends her a soft smile and a wave before he moves along the edges of the court to avoid getting in their way. 

She hadn’t gotten to see a lot of him recently. Between classes, tennis and trying not to blow her brain out listening to Patrick bitch about tour, she hasn’t had time for much else. Yesterday she had four missed calls and no texts from Heaven when she’d gotten back from the courts. She offers him a smile back before serving the ball over the net.

When the match is done, Tashi watches on as her teammate pretends to whisper as she talks shit about her, taking a swig out of her water bottle before pushing it into her bag.

“Hey, you look good out there.”

Tashi looks up from her bag to see Art standing before her. He’d definitely gotten more defined in his time at Stanford. His muscles are more cut, his shirts a little tighter. And he seemed to have a little more swagger about him, his head a little cocked back as he addressed her, an easy smile on his face. And his win record was fucking great right now. It makes her think that maybe her assessment when she met him was right. He’s fucking good. Just terrified of his own best friend. Being out from Patrick’s shadow clearly agrees with him. “Thanks, stranger, it’s good to see you.”

“Oh, that’s my fault? I’m the campus celebrity that gets caught up signing her fans’ t-shirts on her way to class?” he jokes.

Tashi raises one shoulder noncommittally, sweeping her bag onto the other. “I hear the girls talking.”

“All talk, I swear.” He says, eyes widening. There’s the sheepish boy whose ears turn red at the drop of a hat.

“Hey, man, get your dick wet, I don’t care.” Tashi laughs, nudging Art before slipping past him. 

“Wait-” He calls from behind her, stepping into her path again. “Let’s catch up, we can get lunch at the dining hall.”

Tashi quirks an eyebrow, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. “On you?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Good, I’m out of points.

“So, thanks for lunch, it’s nice to see you.” Tashi smiles, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “What’s up?”

Art shifts in his seat. He doesn’t know what he’d been thinking. He’d gone to the courts to hit the ball a little but for some reason, as soon as he saw Tashi, he found himself inviting her to lunch. If anything, he should probably be avoiding her out of guilt or something. And he does…feel guilty. He’s buying her lunch as if the fact that he’s getting her a mediocre campus lunch makes up for the fact that he’d spent the night with his face between her girlfriend’s legs. 

It makes him wonder though. The fact that Tashi wasn’t tossing her gatorade into his face meant that Heaven probably didn’t tell her what happened. Maybe she plans to keep it a secret, and expects him to do the same. Maybe she freaked out and drove all the way back to UCLA, something he prayed didn’t happen because he was sort’ve banking on at least seeing her again later today. He knew he’d be forced to keep his distance, Patrick is coming at some point today and he knows if Heaven was still here, she wouldn’t give him the time of day in front of both of them.

Or maybe she did tell her. Maybe she told her that he’d said he loved her and Heaven and Tashi had a good laugh about it. Maybe Heaven promised that it hadn’t meant anything, and she was never going to let him near her like that again. 

The thought makes Art irritable. 

His mouth ticks downward as he sits back against the back of his plastic chair. “It’s nothing, I just wanted to catch up.”

“Mm, okay, well, Patrick and Heaven are supposed to be coming down later for the Pepperdine match, we should all get dinner or something.” 

That makes him freeze. So she doesn’t even know she was here. 

“If you want.”

Tashi’s fork hits her plate causing a plink sound to ring out in the air between them. “Okay, Art, this is fucking stupid.”

“What’s stupid? What’re you talking about?”

“Like you ask me to this lunch and then you’re being all weird-”

“I wanted to catch up with you, it’s not weird.”

She huffs, resting her elbows roughly on the table. “Just fucking say it. Spit it out.” 

He shouldn’t. Art’s not an idiot, he knows he shouldn’t. He should shut the fuck up. Or make something up. This line of conversation would lead to nothing but trouble and he should know better. He does know better. So, he’s not gonna say it. He’s gonna keep his mouth shut-

“I’m just surprised you guys are all still together, that’s all.”

If looks could kill, Art Donaldson would be dead and fucking buried. The icy stare that Tashi fixes him with has him slumping in exasperation with himself. He just couldn’t fucking help himself. Tashi’s brows furrow as her eyes move across his face almost rapidly, studying him. “Why?”

“I don’t…I’m just surprised. I just, like Patrick’s never-”

“Is he fucking other girls on tour or something? Like is this your way of trying to tell me?” 

“No, I don’t know, we don’t talk about that-”

“Bullshit.” Tashi rolls her eyes. “So what? There’s someone else? Or you feel like…like they’re fucking each other behind my back?”

“No, I don’t think Heaven is fucking Patrick behind your back.” Art scoffs jealously. This is where he fucked up. He shouldn’t have said her name. He knows he can’t say it normally, there’s always something behind it. Even Art can hear it. He adjusts his hat nervously as Tashi sits forward even more.

“I get it. You like her. That’s fine. She shows you attention. Fucking great. I bet it feels good. But Heaven isn’t going anywhere. Not without me. I know that, you know that. I’m gonna give you some advice because I’m actually a good friend. I know I sound like a bitch. I know it feels like I’m the mean one. But I’m actually showing you some grace. You don’t have what it takes to be with Heaven-”

“And Patrick does? He has what it takes to be with you two?”

“I do.” she asserts, scooting her chair out. “You might just be the worst friend in the world.”

The words cause a pang of pain that makes Art hang his head, eyes slipping closed. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.” Tashi scowls, grabbing her keys to leave.

“He’s not in love with you. Either of you.” He calls, squeezing his eyes shut, picking at his nails under the table, but keeping an even expression as Tashi rounds on the table again.

“What makes you think I want someone to be in love with me? Did I say I wanted someone to be in love with me?”

“No.”

“Okay.” she turns to exit again, stopping just short as Art’s word vomit fucks him over one more time.

“But Heaven does.” He says, scratching at his hair and dragging his eyes up to meet Tashi’s. “And she deserves it. You both do.”

Tashi snorts, meanly, crossing her arms over her chest, her large gray t-shirt wrinkles under how tightly she wraps her arms around herself. Her curls shake with her head as she looks down at him in disbelief. “You think because she gives you a crumb of pussy you know her better than me now? Don’t try to play me for her Art. I don’t lose.”

With that, Art watches as Tashi storms out of the cafeteria, her half eaten lunch sitting in front of the empty seat across from him and for the first time, he acknowledges that Patrick might not be the only opponent in his bracket.

“So, have you-uh, you been seeing anybody?” Art shoves his change in his pocket before balancing the two churros he’d bought in his hands, making his way back over to Patrick.

“What’re you talking about?” Patrick shifts on his stool, hooking his foot into the base of Art’s and tugging the chair closer as his friend plops down. “I’m taken. I think that Tashi and Heaven are making an honest man out of me.”

“Right.” Art laughs. 

“What, you don’t believe me? I really like them, man. They’re both good for me in different ways. I didn’t realize how good it could be having girlfriends.”

“Girlfriends? Is that what you are to each other?”

“Yes, actually, that’s exactly what we are.” Patrick chuckles, taking a bite of his churro, “What did they say something?”

“No, not really,” Art shrugs, leaning against the counter. “I just had lunch with Tashi earlier, like we talk sometimes, and it just doesn’t seem like she’s taking it as something serious, you know?”

“Is that right?”

“I dunno man, it just gave that vibe. And like, Heaven, what do you two really have in common?”

“What? Aside from being hot for each other you mean?” Patrick smirks, flicking Art’s hat. 

The muscle in Art’s jaw jumps at that as he involuntarily grits his teeth at the vision of Patrick being with Heaven, touching her, knowing her in the way he does, or worse, knowing her better. “I can’t help but think she might want something more than that and I know that’s not really your style is all. Just don’t want you to get hurt.” He mumbles, staring out of the large window in front of them.

Patrick scoffs and nods to himself before pushing out of his seat, leaning over Art, wrapping his arm around his shoulders as he presses his forehead to his. “You little fucking snake. I’d be doing the exact same thing, I’m almost proud of you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Sure.” Patrick says smugly, popping the rest of his churro into his mouth before snatching Art’s, taking a bite and holding it out for the blond to do the same. “Planting seeds of doubt, smart.”

“I would never do anything to sabotage your relationship, I’m just looking out for you.” Art says breezily, brushing sugar from Patrick’s lips.

“Hm, sure,” Patrick gets a text, slipping his phone out of his pocket, he grins at his phone, smile going even wider when he sees Art trying to nonchalantly peek at the device from his seat. “Hev’s here. You know this just makes it hotter for me right? Knowing you’re here, pining for them. Scheming and shit.”

“Fuck you, m’not scheming, I’m very happy that you managed to scam your way into two girlfriends, Patrick.”

“This is good. It’s nice to see you all lit up about something, I miss that. Even if it is my girlfriends.” The two men stop for a beat and think about the situation they’re in and suddenly they find themselves laughing. It’s crazy. They’ve only ever liked the same girl once before in their lives, and they were kids then. It is absolutely insane now that they both have feelings for not one but two girls. Maybe normal friends would be able to share. They’d each pick a girl and that would be it. But something about this situation was different. Beyond the fact that both of them thought both of the girls were too amazing to pass up, there's an added layer in the conflict, because they both had a fear they didn’t want to address. 

Each girls’ feelings for them are conditional. There is no Tashi Duncan without Heaven Whitlock. There is no Heaven Whitlock without Tashi Duncan. Where one goes the other follows. That’s why none of their boyfriends and girlfriends ever worked out. They tried to divide them. But the grip the two women had on each other was too strong. Even if they could come to an agreement, if Patrick and Art decided they preferred one girl to the other, it wouldn’t matter. The two of them will always choose each other, and would always expect everyone else to fall in line.

It’s a sobering thought for both of them as they sit in the empty cafeteria, silence falling between them. Patrick feels his mind drift somewhere it seemed to be going a lot lately. He wonders if he and Art have the kind of relationship Tashi and Heaven do. Obviously they don’t fuck each other, though he’s pretty sure he’s made it clear before he’s down to hookup. But the loyalty. 

They’re best friends. Fire and Ice. It’s not lost on him that despite the fact that his friend clearly has some strong feelings for his girlfriends, they’re still friends. He still checks in on him. They’re still happy to see each other. Art still feels like Art. And Patrick’s grateful for it. So he can overlook some of the snarky comments, the glares over his shoulder, the questioning of their relationship. As long as things ultimately stayed the same between him and Art, Patrick would be fine. He pats his friend on the shoulder, getting up from the stool, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Walk me over.”

“You look pretty.”

“You look pretty too.” Tashi hums, leaning over and kissing Heaven deeply. When the two girls pull apart Tashi pushes her hands under Heaven’s large red t-shirt, running her hands along the skin of her stomach. Her brow arches as she looks down at the girl. “Art give you this shirt?”

“Tashi-”

“I know it didn’t mean anything.” Tashi says lowly, glancing over at the bathroom door, careful not to let Patrick hear the conversation. “He’s pressed though, so, what do you like him or something? Like are you over Patrick?”

It didn’t not mean anything.  “It’s fine, I…just couldn’t get you on the phone and Patrick was busy, so…it, I was just having a bad day.” Heaven breathes, bringing Tashi’s hand to her lips and kissing her palm. “Sorry.”

“Fair is fair, I’ve hooked up with both of them, now you have too.” Tashi shrugs. As much as her face is fixed in an uncaring expression, Heaven can tell she’s bothered by the fact that Heaven had been messing with Art. She’d never even addressed that she’d gone to visit Patrick without her again. Heaven wants to talk to her about these feelings she has. She wants to tell her that these guys are different from the others for her, and she thinks they are for Tashi too. The knob turns on the bathroom door and Patrick comes out, pulling his shirt over his head.

But now is not the time.

“Starting without me?” Patrick jokes, leaning down and kissing Tashi’s knee as he wraps a hand around Heaven’s ankle, causing her to squeal as he tugs her down closer to him. “Missed you.” He murmurs against Tashi’s skin before pulling away to capture Heaven’s lips. “Both of you.”

“Yeah?” Tashi smiles, sitting up and planting her hand on Patrick’s chest, pushing him down onto the mattress. He sits back, staring at the two women sitting on their knees in front of him. Tashi climbs into his lap leaning over and kissing Heaven one more time before she sinks down beside Patrick, kissing along his jaw. 

Patrick reaches over and tugs at Heaven’s shirt, unable to get it off from beside her so she sits up, pulling the shirt off and tossing it. His eyes trail after the fabric as his face takes on a confused expression. “That’s Art’s shirt?”

Heaven sits up, wide-eyed as she exchanges a look with Tashi. “Uh, yeah, he gave it to me earlier.”

“Earlier. Right,” he shifts his gaze to Tashi, letting her guide his face back to hers. “When were you guys gonna tell me about him?”

“He’s your best friend. I figured you knew.” Tashi hums against the skin on his cheek as Heaven kisses his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” he mumbles against Heaven’s lips, pulling  back and watching as Heaven assists Tashi in getting her shirt off. “I’m the one who won the match. What do I need to be jealous of Art for?”

“Well,” Heaven kisses Patrick’s neck, murmuring her words against his jaw. “He’s smart, and handsome-” her hand slips down in the space between Tashi’s legs and Patricks, she relishes in the gasps they both release. 

“And really fucking good at tennis.” Tashi cuts in.

“He’s always been very good.” Patrick grunts, burying his fingers at the base of the loose braid in Tashi’s hair. 

“But he’s gotten better since he got here. I mean he’s really fucking good.”

Heaven’s brows furrow as she hears Tashi’s whispers. Was this really the time to be talking about Art? Hell, since when did Tashi have such a good fucking glowing review of him? Literally minutes ago she was dismissively saying that she knew hooking up with him would mean nothing. If she was trying to make Patrick jealous she should know the mission was already accomplished. As soon as they started talking about Art, he started kissing them a little rougher, gripping them a little tighter. “He’s never beaten me. We’re not still playing for your numbers. I won.” Patrick laughs. 

“He’s been working hard.” Heaven blurts. Both her boyfriend and girlfriend look at her as she crosses his arms. “It’s just like, are we gonna hold that shit over him forever, he’s our friend.”

Tashi purses her lips, looking between the two of them. “See? This is your problem. You always think the match is over before it is. It’s why you’ve still got that serve.”

“Jesus, Tashi-”

“Are we talking about tennis right now?” Patrick asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’m always talking about tennis.” She huffs, sitting up straight, still perched on his lap. Heaven rolls her eyes, knowing exactly where this is going. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she snatches Art’s shirt off of the floor and storms into the bathroom.

Patrick gestures toward the bathroom exasperatedly. “Could we not?” 

Tashi tilts her head from one side to the other, cracking her neck before chirping out a short, “Sure.” Climbing off of him she grabs a fresh t-shirt from her drawer and pulling it over her head. “Don’t know what else there is for us to talk about-”

“Maybe we should talk about the fact that she’s wearing Art’s shirt and neither of us knew when she got here.” Patrick follows the two girls off of the bed, standing in the middle of the floor between the bathroom door and where Tashi was rolling out her yoga mat.

“Heaven’s attracted to winners.” Tashi squats deeply on her yoga mat, not bothering to even look at Patrick out of the corner of her eyes. “So am I.”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“Art’s been winning, that’s all.” She says passively, standing into a tree pose.

“And so she’s cheating on us because Art’s getting better at tennis?”

Tashi fixes Patrick with a sharp look. “She’s not cheating on me. But if you want to confront her, go ahead, be my guest.”

“Yeah, fine I will.” Patrick takes two long strides and bangs at the bathroom door. “Hev. Can you come out here?” The door creaks open and the girl is fully dressed, still wearing Art’s shirt and a pair of shorts. “You’re dressed.”

“Yeah, imma head out, see you guys at the match.”

“Patrick wants to talk to you about Art.” Tashi says, moving into her lunges. 

“Now’s not the time, Tashi has a match.” Heaven shrugs, grabbing Tashi’s water bottle and taking a drink.

“And you don’t think it’s important to talk about this now?” 

“I tried to talk to you.” She sighs, “But I’m not gonna throw her off right before the match.”

“So this is still about tennis? Are you fucking serious?” He looks at the blank stares that both girls offer him and throws his arms out. “This is fucking crazy. So, you’re messing with Art because I lost a couple matches on tour?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heaven frowns, crossing her arms. 

“I’m saying I don’t need a fake fan for a girlfriend who's gonna mess with a different guy every time I go through a rough patch.”

“A rough patch?” Heaven scoffs. “Patrick, I’m having a rough patch. A rough patch is a bad day at practice, not your shitty win-loss record. Look, I’m sorry about the fucking shirt, okay? I’m sorry I went to see him, I’m sorry for this stupid fucking conversation, so take this-” She wrenches Art’s shirt over her head, and tosses it on the bed, grabbing one of Tashi’s instead. She looks at the girl with a scowl on her face. “You did this on purpose. I’ll see you guys at the match.”

Patrick watches in disbelief as Heaven has the audacity to be the one storming out and turns back to a still stretching Tashi. “I don’t need a coach for a girlfriend either.”

“Seems like you do.” She sighs, stretching her back. “Look, what is it you think you need from me, Patrick? Like really? There are plenty of girls who’d like to be your little girlfriend, cheerleader, whatever. You’re cute, you’re rich, you’ve got a big dick, go be with them. I get it, you’re living the dream, having two fucking girls but, Heaven and I actually expect results, so, I dunno. It’s kinda embarrassing, if you suck.”

“I suck now? I’m sorry not all of us are running around playing against Suzy Country Club, calling ourselves the Duncanator.” 

“Fuck you.”

“I don’t see you harassing Heaven about skipping rehearsal to come see me.”

“Heaven’s a fucking professional. Doesn’t embarrass me.” Tashi scratches her ear as she sits on the floor. “Do you know how much of a fucking waste of time it is for us take turns sitting through listening to you bitch about how you’re being cheated out on tour?”

“Sorry for inconveniencing you.”

“You are actually.”

Patrick crouches next to her, face close to hers as she faces forward with a blank look. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m beneath you two, I’m not desperate for you to like me, I’m not Art. I’m your boyfriend, not a member of your fan club.”

He stands and Tashi quickly follows, scowling at him as she stands almost nose to nose. “You’re not a member of my fan club?”

Patrick stands his ground, staring down at her. “I’m your peer.”

Tashi scoffs, laughing humorously. “Look, I’m just warning you, if you lose her, it’ll be your fault. And I’ll go with her.” Patrick curls his lip, sneering at that. He knew that. He knows that. But to hear her say it. Like its a given. The verbal confirmation that he’s valued less has his blood boiling. “I don’t have time for this, I’ll just see you at the match.”

“You don’t get to just dismiss me.” Patrick huffs, grabbing the shirt Tashi had shed and pulling it over his own head. “I don’t need this shit.”

The pieces of Tashi’s hair that had fallen out of her braid blow into her face as the door slams shut, and all she can do is try to regulate her breathing as she thinks that she somehow lost another point because there were too many balls in play.

Heaven’s leg jumps as she sits in the bleachers at the school match. She watches students climb into the stands, decked out in ‘Duncanator’ attire. She’s fucked everything up. With Tashi. She’s pissed. She knows she is. Her even voice and blank stare is something Heaven knows well. And now she’s digging shit up with Patrick. 

She knows it’s her fault. No matter how sad she was she knows she had no business hanging out with Art. Not while he…feels the way he feels about her. Not while she feels the way she does. She clearly can’t handle even being his friend. One minute she’s just running into him, or alone with him by happenstance, or just calling to chat. The next he’s looking at her the way he does and her mind is foggy. 

She needs to do better. Patrick and Tashi deserve better. Art deserves better than half of her. So she’s going to keep her distance. 

In her peripheral view she sees blond hair moving up the stands towards her and immediately curses whatever god decided to make a joke of her today. She can feel Art’s intense gaze burn into her skin as he moves to sit in the seat next to her, pausing briefly, choosing to put one empty seat between them. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He says softly, eyes on her as she faces forward determinedly.

“You aren’t.”

“You won’t look at me.” His voice cracks on the last word and on the side opposite of him, Heaven grips the bottom of the bleachers, willing herself not to face him. “It’s because of what I said.”

Yes. “No.”

“Yes.” Art breathes. “I know I fucked it up. But I just…care about you. A lot.” 

“I care about you too.” Heaven sighs. “But-”

“What would it take?” He blurts, shifting completely in his seat to face her. “I’m just…he won and that’s fine but it was a stupid fucking game, so, what do I need a rematch or something, because I’ll win this time. Heaven, I’d win this time.”

“Art, we can’t talk about this okay? Patrick’s-”

“Not coming. He isn’t coming.” The blond man shrugs, sitting back in his seat, still watching the girl beside him. “I came, Heaven.” 

“It’s complicated. I shouldn’t have gone out with you in the first place. I’m fucking up. Even now, sitting here, I’m fucking up. You’re confusing me, a-and distracting me. It’s not like that with them, and I’m…I can’t come running to you crying with my problems every time I’m upset. It’s not fair to you-”

“I want you to come to me.”

“It’s not fair to them. And…I’m gonna stop, Art. We’re going to stop.”

Before Art can say anything the crowd starts cheering loudly, everyone jumping to their feet apart from him and Heaven. He just stares at her. It’s as if he could blink and she’d be gone. He feels her pulling away, and it’s causing him to panic. He nervously picks at his fingers, chest rising and falling rapidly as he sifts through his brain, anything he could do or say, just for a glance, he just needs her eyes. Just for a little bit. Just one more time. He didn’t know what to do. What to convince her. He could be so much better for her. He would do anything. He could be anything, if she’d just look at him. He’d show her he could earn her attention. Her love. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice the match started. Art watches Heavens pupils focus on one side of the court. He knows who’s over there. He knows who’s getting the attention he’s begging for. But she has his. Even like this, breaking his heart, she’s beautiful. The sad look on her face hardly affected her beautiful features. Her unbreaking focus makes her look otherworldly to him. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he might’ve been able to appreciate her passion, even if it wasn’t directed at him. 

A pained wail finally pulls Art’s attention away from Heaven. 

Studies say that the color of pain is red.

Studies are fucking right. Red is all Tashi fucking sees when her body decides to betray her and her knee absolutely snaps in half. The entire rest of her is numb as her knee screams and she feels her dreams start slipping away. It’s not fair.

Hurting this bad is not fair. That’s what really has her screaming out into the air. Several sets of eyes locked on her as she writhes on the court. The crowd had the fucking audacity to gasp when she went down. Oh you’re shocked? Me fucking too.

Quick footsteps make their way to her and she hears a man’s voice as she feels her head being lifted from on top of her racket and onto someone’s lap. “Tashi, Tashi-”

“Get that fucking camera out of her face, now! Fucking idiot!” There are two more steps and the sound of something sliding on the ground next to her. Suddenly, she feels a soft hand on her jaw. “T, you gotta breathe, babe, you have to breathe or you’ll pass out.” 

The softness of Heaven’s voice makes her cry even harder as she tries to lean her head toward her. “You shouldn’t move, Tashi.” 

Art. He’s here. Of course he is…Heaven’s here. But, still, as he smooths his hands over her hair, she thinks, he’s here. Despite what she’d said to him, he came. He’s here, after she yelled at him, holding her, lifting her gently to carry her to the infirmary. And Patrick was nowhere to be found. When she finally opens her eyes, she turns her head to focus her wet eyes on Heaven who was holding her hand over Art’s shoulder. Through her tear soaked lashes she can see the way Heaven was looking at him. And suddenly, she realized that she was too late in what she warned Patrick of. He’d already lost her. He was a sinking ship. Losing Heaven, fighting with her right before a match, not showing up. He’s unstable, unable to follow the course Tashi was charting. And she refuses to go down with him.

“Tashi, Tashi listen-”

“Out! Patrick out!”

“Just listen to me, Heaven talk to her-”

“Don’t fucking talk to her.” Tashi yells from the medical examination bed they had her wrapped leg hoisted up on. She points to the door again with venom. “Out!”

“Patrick-” Heaven starts, biting her nails from her seat next to Tashi, holding her hand with the other, Tashi whips her head to look at her, a teardrop escaping from her eye causes the girl to go quiet, sweeping her thumb across her girlfriend’s cheek. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, just listen-”

“Patrick get the fuck out!”

The outburst even startles Heaven. She turns her head to see Art standing from his seat, breathing heavily, fists clenched. Patrick’s face absolutely drops as he takes one slow step backward before turning and leaving the room entirely. 

As soon as he leaves Tashi’s head falls back against the pillow, bottom lip shaking as he stares up at the ceiling. She attempts to disguise a sob as a sharp breath and Heaven hops down from the examination bed, ignoring Art’s soft call of her name and Tashi’s wide eyed look.

“Hey!” Heaven rushes out into the hallway, eyes burning from sterile white lights and drying tears. “Hey! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

“Look, your girlfriend and boyfriend told me to go so-”

“So…so you’re just gonna leave? Fucking loser” She huffs, shaking her head at Patrick. Her lip curls as she sees him standing there in Tashi’s shirt. He’s breathing heavily, eyes narrowed at her disapproval. “Gimme her fuckin’ shirt back.”

Patrick scoffs, wrenching the fabric over his head, tossing it roughly at Heaven’s feet. “Here, give it to Art. Guess it’s his turn with you now-”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she whisper-yells, not flinching at all as Patrick walks up on her, his nose nearly touching hers.

“I know you’re fucking him.” He says, a mean, rueful smirk on his face. “We know you’re fucking him.”

Heaven swallows hard. Clenching her teeth and looking back toward the door, praying that Art and Tashi weren’t hearing this conversation. Her voice betrays her as her heart drums against her chest. “You don’t know anything.”

“She’s done with me, so, so are you. That’s how this works, right?” He challenges, not moving an inch as she turns back to him. “You’re her bitch.”

“I’m her bitch?” Heaven laughs humorously, tossing her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re a fucking fan.”

“I’m a fan? Yeah, no, sweetheart, wrong boyfriend-”

“No, you’re a fucking fan, Patrick. It’s how you met Tashi, it’s how you met me, it’s why you’re about to cry like a little bitch because Art yelled at you, God for-fucking-bid-”

“Is that all?”

“No. And you’re a bum. You’re talented but it’s a fucking waste, why don’t you go out there and win something, instead of watching everyone else achieve shit and scoffing like a pretentious prick. And then you won’t waste all your time shitting on people for actually working for something.”

The brown haired man sucks on his teeth, nodding along. “My turn yet?” Heaven just places her hands on her hips as the man moves closer. “You know what, Hev, maybe you’re right. Maybe that shit is true. But you’re looking in a mirror, baby. You’re just like me. You might go to your fancy school and you’re a hell of a dancer but at the end of the day you learned to like tennis for her. You came here for her. You like me, you like Art, but you’re so fucking scared of her being unhappy that you can’t move. Everytime we fight it’s over her. Do you even know what you want?”

Heaven sniffs, looking off to the side as Patrick smoothes back some of the hair from her ponytail fell into her face, his palm slightly soothing the headache that had formed the moment Tashi hit the ground. “I didn’t tell you to leave, Patrick.” 

“Alright, so come with me.”

“What?”

Patrick leans on the wall staring at her, daring her. “Come with me.” He watches as Heaven wraps her arms around herself, brows furrowing, and scoffs at her again. “We both know you’re going back in that room.” 

“Yeah.” she nods. “I am. And you’re fucking pathetic if you don’t come with me.” 

“And do what?”

Heaven’s hand fists in the baggy shirt, propelling her up slightly so they could be more face-to-face. The disgusted look on her face is evident as she stares him down, pretty feature’s dancing with rage. “You broke her, you fix her.” 

Patrick’s face softens as he looks at Heaven. There’s emotion behind the anger, the fear. There’s desperation. She’s desperate for a solution, desperate to help Tashi, one way or another. Right now, it's clear nothing else mattered in Heaven’s eyes. It's clear that she blames him.

He brings his hand down to the raw, bleeding skin of Heaven’s knee, cupping the back of it. “That looks bad-”

Heaven knocks his hand away, lip quivering as she pleads with him through brown eyes. “Are you gonna fix it?” All it takes is a look. And then she’s shoving away from him, storming her way back to the room, sending him one last scowl of disappointment before slamming the door behind her. “Fucking pussy.”

“What the fuck did you chase him for?” Tashi calls harshly from the padding. “Heaven.”

Heaven just silently limps in, trying hard to mask the pain in her own knee. It’s nothing like Tashi’s. It’s not even worth dealing with. Not when Tashi is in pain like that. She simply sits on the edge of the pad, careful to sit on the side that Tashi’s isn’t injured on. Her eyes slip closed as she leans up, pressing her forehead to hers. “S’okay. M’gonna fix it.” she promises. “This doesn’t…it’s not over. We’re gonna fucking fix it.”

Art’s jaw sets as he looks away. It felt like he was intruding on a moment between the two women. He hears Tashi’s faint sniffles mixing with whatever Heaven was quietly whispering in her ear. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He was worried for Tashi. Heartbroken for her. Laying in the bed, with an injury like that…he just doesn’t know. 

But all he could focus on is that damn drop of blood traveling from Heaven’s leg and splattering on the cold, white floor. The pink flesh showing from where she’d skinned herself, for her. She won’t just look at him. 

As he watches Heaven tend to the injured girl, Tashi’s words from the day before echo in his mind. But that damn drop of blood. He can't help himself. So he stays.

When the pain drugs finally force Tashi to sleep, Art’s had enough. 

Heaven was just…sitting there, watching Tashi sleep, running her hands over her hair with one hand, holding her hand with the other. He watches as she runs her thumb over Tashi’s forehead, staring blankly and biting her lip.

He takes a deep breath before whispering. “Hey, let me wrap that for you.”

“Wrap what?”

Does she really not feel it? She has to. The adrenaline had to have worn off, and she was limping when she came in. That scrape had to hurt like a bitch. 

“Your…your leg, Hev, let me wrap it.” Art says softly, pushing off of the chair and walking around to the side of the bed she’s sitting on. “It looks like it hurts.”

Heaven doesn’t look up from Tashi as she quietly shakes her head no, opting to continue combing her fingers in Tashi’s now loose hair. 

“Baby, c’mon-”

“I said no.” Heaven snaps, whipping her head to look at him briefly before turning back to Tashi. “Don’t call me that.”

Don’t try to play me for her. I don’t lose.

Art steadies himself before stepping closer, wordlessly holding his hand out to Heaven. He knows what he’s hoping for. He wants her to take it. But he also knows what he expects. 

So he’s shocked when he feels a soft hand in his. 

She’s still sitting. Still holding Tashi’s hand with her other one, but she took his. He has to do the rest. He knows that. Her eyes tell him that’s the only step she’ll take today. It’s been a rough one. For both of them. 

So he pulls, and she stands, and he scoops her up. Hands holding the backs of her thighs as he lifts her, eyes locked on hers as she flinches, once, as her hand pulls from Tashi’s grasp. Art sits Heaven on the infirmary counter and digs around in drawers until he finds alcohol wipes, gauze and band-aids. 

He makes work of her injury slowly, taking his time as he crouches in front of her. Art cleans the torn skin with the alcohol wipe, blowing cool air on it to soothe the sting, looking up at her through his lashes as he cleans her. He holds her thigh as he adds the gauze and band-aid, relishing in the feeling of her eyes on him. Only him. 

Finally, when he’s done, he stops her from hopping down and retreating back to Tashi’s side, bringing the injured knee to his lips and placing long, deep kisses to it, all while giving her his eyes. He watches as different emotions flash across her face as he murmurs sweet nothings and prayers into her knee, allowing herself to be soothed for a moment.

Before long she’s swallowing back her own tears that draw him up to her, determined to catch them on his finger and chasing them with his lips along her cheeks and jaw. He gently pushes her hair back before bringing his lips to her ear, holding her close. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I-” her voice cracks and Art feels her drop her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“What can I do? How can I make it better?”

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and curling into him completely. “I wish it was my fucking leg. Instead…instead of hers.”

“Don’t say that.” He breathes. “Heaven-”

He stops. He was going to say something else. She says something else, her words mumbled against his skin. But Art misses it. 

Because all he can focus on is Tashi’s staring from the bed as he sees the reflection in the mirror.

[rileyslibrary]

Alright. A few updates.

I’m feeling much better. My sickness is almost gone; my stuffy nose is now open for business, and I had my first coffee since Monday. I managed to taste something finally. Needless to say, my eyes don’t hurt when I look at my laptop screen anymore, and I have begun writing again, which brings me to the next point. *changes topics smoother than a DJ transitioning from song to song at a club in Ibiza*

Expect a new story this upcoming week. Yes, it will be your typical platonic/fluffy scenario, but with a twist. What’s the twist? You’ll be getting scolded by the lieutenant in this one.

The library has reached this ☝️ many people, which is probably more than the entirety of Kinder Buenos i downed in my lifetime (and I’m talking per package, not per stick.)

Thank you. Thank you for wishing me well when I was sick, thank you for liking the stories, and thank you for following this blog. I don’t feel like I thank you enough, and I fucking cringe every time I see the word “followers” on my profile. You’re not “followers”. I take the time to appreciate each one of you when I see you in my notifications. Even when I don’t recognise you, I make sure I click on your profile and see your description, learn your name, and get familiar with you, even if that’s your first time or your last time visiting the library. I know how some of you will react when I post a story: the silent readers, the rebloggers, the caps lock commenters (I kind of fear those, but I’m getting more accustomed to it), and I cherish every one of you. Sometimes, I get a little confused when you change profile pictures. Other times, you change names, and I must recheck your profile to figure out who you are. It might sound time-consuming and “a lot” for someone with a full-time job and a life out of here, but I try my best. It’s the least I can do for you, who take the time to read and appreciate the stories. (That and keep making them; yeah, i get it, just go with the flow, I’m confessing my love for you here, jeez.)

I didn’t plan anything to celebrate the milestone (i know, again, sorry), but feel free to keep sending your requests for stories, points you’d like to discuss under the “the librarian answers” tag, your headcanons or anything else you want, really. I don’t know when exactly I’ll answer cause I have to catch up with work but I will, eventually.

Again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

[twopoppies]

hi, gina! you're kind of the queen of fanfiction in the fandom, so I'm coming with this to you. I've been in the fandom for 2 years now and I've been more of a lurker (is that the word? It's not my first language), I don't even have a blog dedicated to the fandom, I've had so many good fic ideas (at least there's something my adhd brain is good at) but never thought to actually do something with them (I'm the sex toy anon, remember me lol?), so I thought why don't I actually start. so I did and it's... going. (not the sex toy one, I fully give that idea to you, I don't want it back ever, I won't embarrass myself by writing smut, I'll leave it to those who are actually good at writing already), but the question is when I finish the thing how do I promote it and get people to actually read it, I imagine I'm not gonna get a lot of engagement by just posting works on ao3, it's not a social media platform after all. should I finally make a blog? how do I get people to interact with me here (I know nothing about social media and life, can you tell)? just unload all your wisdom on me please, I need some fucking guidance, I have absolutely no idea how it works

Hi, love. So glad you decided to give it a go. I know I’ve agreed this before, but here you go:

Hi sugar. I know I’ve answered this question multiple times, but I can’t find my answers! LOL! So, I hope I can remember everything I’ve said before.

1. Make an eye catching moodboard or some sort of teaser post.

2. Write a catchy summary that will entice readers (don’t make it too long, don’t add every detail, you just want to intrigue people).

3. Tag your fic well (ie: make sure you use tags that people would search in AO3––”friends to lovers”, not “they’re friends and then they fall in love OH MY GOD!” Many people search for specific tropes/kinks/pairings to find fics)

4. Make sure you add a link at the end of your fic to your rebloggable fic post/tweet so if the reader has liked the fic, they can spread the word.

4. This is a super helpful post about how to find new fics to read. You can use it to see how to make your fics easier to find.

5. It’s an old post, but it contains a list of fic reccers. Check out their blogs to see if they’re still active, and then ask if they’d be willing to reblog your fic post. I’m one of them, and I’m happy to share your post when you’re ready.

6. If you’re on Twitter, I know there are fic rec accounts there and maybe someone can suggest how to find them. I’d message them as well.

7. Having your own blog would help. At the very least, you can have a blog dedicated to your writing and post inspiration for your fics that people can check out. But interacting with other bloggers is probably the best way to make friends and get people interested in supporting you.

I hope that helps a bit.

If anyone has other ideas, p feel free to add on!

[revvethasmythh]

absolute jobless behavior, what the fuck is going on?

I'm not sure how much you do or do not know about this situation, anon, so I'll give a brief primer just in case you were unaware of any of this. Essentially, for the duration of c3 (or, at least, most of it) there has been a tumblr user (warriorinrevoery) who is an avid fan of a certain ship that starts with an I, and they've engaged quite regularly in a lot of harassment within the fandom toward anyone with differing opinions on said ship. Note: ANYONE with differing opinions. Obviously, this includes folks like myself who are not overly taken with the ship, but there has also plenty of friendly fire leveled at fellow shippers.

Now, this anon-sender and unhinged joker-esque reblogger could theoretically not be our old friend warriorinrevoery, but they do give a lot of the same energy, so I am, admittedly, simply making the assumption that this is them. If so, that means they have escalated from making poorly argued reblogs on better people's meta to sending numerous "hate" anon spam to anyone who's been reblogged from utilitycaster, apparently, according to their own statement.

Generally, I consider this person to be a nuisance more than anything, but an irritating one who block evades regularly with shitty burner blogs they abandon with due haste (see: the fates of "harassing-little-hypocrite" and "petty-little-hater that," which were deleted quite expediently after sending their harassment out into the world. warrior also often employed this tactic).

So, overall? What's happening is that a pest in the fandom is being a pest yet again and the best we can do is block any blogs that pop up and move on (she says, somewhat hypocritically after reblogging that one post. But hey, like I said, I openly admit when I'm engaging in hypocrisy. I'm not afraid of it). So now I will echo some of the replies to that post of mine here because yes, beloved followers, this really is "hobbyless," "jobless," and "cartoon villain" behavior if I've ever seen it. I will disagree that this person needs to be studied, however, because I think it would be far more fitting for them to recede into the recesses of the internet, washed away by the tides of time until they are forgotten, their tepid rebukes unremembered. I think they would hate that the most

[leoandraphssoulmate]

Warning!!!

You read at your own risk! 

I can’t possibly predict what may or may not trigger you!

So, with that being said, READ RESPONSIBLY! If something triggers you, STOP READING!

Also, if you’re a minor, and you continue reading, that falls squarely on you! I don’t work for Tumblr and refuse to stalk every single profile on here to see if you are in fact over 18!! 

I write for myself. If you like what you read, give it a like and a reblogg! No pressure! It just helps get the word out! 

Thanks for stopping by!

FLUX

Chapter 4

Star

Side Note: From this point on, FLUX will be written in different POV’s. I will title each chapter accordingly, so that you know who’s speaking when I use the first person perspective! 

Time. 

It isn’t promised. 

Sure, it keeps ticking, long after you're gone.

But it’s only a part of the beat.

It can be the bass, or it can be a tweet. 

It’s not sweet. It’s not mean.

And lord knows you can’t be in between. 

It sees nothing and it knows no one. 

Yet, it ravages you as though you are someone. 

A member of the tribe.

A flash of light.

Uncommonly dark or substantially bright.

In the end, time is always right. 

All I could do was breathe and stare down at my hands as I sat on a very worn couch, my eyes tracing over my fingers and down along the edges of my hands to my wrists. To use the term shell shocked would be putting it lightly.

I smirked to myself. Heh. Shell shocked.

Fuck. I silently swore to myself. If I was still human, my heart would have surely exploded by now! I was like them, yet something much more. I could feel a strange swell inside me. Like a power that had yet to emerge from its hiding place. 

I closed my eyes, trying to remember anything that happened before I found myself in front of Macy’s. I kept hearing what I thought was a male’s voice, niggling at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite seem to….

“What was it like, Star?” Mikey asked, invading my thoughts as he flopped down next to me, a wide grin on his handsome green face, sky blue eyes genuinely curious. 

“Yeah! What was it like?” Donatello crossed his arms over his upper plastron, curiosity also glistening in his hazel eyes. 

I blinked a few times, a shiver running through me as I recalled the quazi dream I had just before the portal spit me out into New York. Ugh! 

New York!

 “Unnerving?” I offered, not really sure what else to say as my hands now gripped my furry knees. I looked up at Donnie and he frowned slightly.

“Did you create the portal?” He asked, eye ridges raising. “Or did it just appear? If it just appeared, why then did you blindly walk through it?” His eyes darkened slightly.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. I had clearly mistook the curiosity in his eyes for suspicion. 

“Why don’t we save the third degree for after she’s had a chance to catch her bearings, Donnie?” Leo said as he came around the couch, setting a cup of tea down on the coffee table in front of me. 

“The third degree?” Donnie huffed. “Leo, don’t you think it’s a little strange that the woman you’ve been dreaming of for months suddenly appears in New York, through a portal I might add, then somehow finds her way to our lair?”

Feeling suddenly small, I wrapped my arms around my waist, gripping the tip of my tail. 

“If anyone’s going to be asking her anything, it’s me!” Leo half shouted, his eyes narrowing. Donnie inclined his head, then turned to walk away.

“Yo, Fearless! Chill out!” Raph said as he walked up behind me.

I swallowed, harder this time. Both Mikey and I looked from Leo to Donnie as I leaned forward, reaching for my cup of tea. The heat felt good in my hands as I brought the cup to my lips. 

Almost instantly, my body seemed to uncoil as the golden fluid made its way to my stomach. I smiled, hugging the warm cup to my chest. “Thank you, Leo.” 

Leo pulled his gaze from Donnie, looking back down at me, his blue eyes fierce. “You’re welcome.” He said softly, his gaze shifting to Raph as he came to stand in front of us.

“What’s with Don all tha sudden?” Raph asked as he picked up a random magazine from the corner of the table, then began lazily flipping through it. “It’s not like him ta be tha one ta start a fight.”

“I’m not sure.” Leo breathed as he sat down on the other side of me. “But tell me to chill again and you and I are going to have an issue.”

The body heat from both Mikey and Leo was almost too much. I never imagined that two males could ever be this warm. My eyes widened with a sudden realization. Or maybe it was the tea? “Um, Leo?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What kind of tea is this?” I held the cup out slightly. 

Leo smirked. “A special kind.” 

“A special kind?” My ears twitched as I sat forward, my head swimming slightly.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t drug you if that’s what you’re worried about.” He smirked.

God I could stare at him for hours.

“I just gave you something to help you relax. You’ve been through alot in the past two hours.”

I nodded silently. He was right. Of course he was right. Giving in, I leaned back against the couch, resting the cup on my chest.

“Speaking of which, how long had you been here, in New York, before you sought out the lair?” He asked softly, his hand gently settling on my right knee. 

I swallowed, his skin finding mine just beneath my fur, burning oh so deliciously. “Not long.” I leaned forward, setting my cup down on the table, deciding I no longer needing its warmth. I felt ready and able to answer any and all of his questions. 

Leo leaned towards me slightly, his lips parting to ask another question, but Donnie interrupted him.  

“Star?!” Donnie shouted, making me jump, as he made his way towards us with his tablet. “Which Macy’s did you appear in front of again?” Leo started to say something, but Donnie quickly showed him his tablet, causing Leo to take in a sharp breath. 

“Please.” Donnie’s face softened as he then showed me what Leo had seen. “I’m sorry for being so insensitive before, but this is important.”

I stared at the information in front of me, my mind pulling a complete blank as my eyes trailed over the gray and black graph. “What is that?”

“Magnetic readings. Very strong ones!” He pointed to several green and yellow graphs just below the darker ones I had been staring at. “Stronger than any I’ve ever recorded. I don’t think your portal closed all the way, Star.”

“Dude!” Mikey tried to look at the tablet, but Donnie quickly pulled it away. 

“What does this mean?” I looked from Leo to Donnie, my heart hammering against my ribcage. 

“If you are in fact its creator, and we can’t get it closed, it can pull you back at any time. Ripping you from this reality.” He looked down for a second, then turned his hazel eyes back to me. “And possibly not taking you back to where you’re from.”

“Wha- “ I didn’t want to be taken away! I wanted to stay here! I wanted to be with- 

Oh god! My throat tightened just as Leo grabbed my hand as he simultaneously put a finger under my chin. 

“We’ll figure this out. I promise. We just found one another! I’m not about to lose you now.” His ocean blue eyes darkened as he looked up at Donnie. “Let’s let Donnie run some tests and maybe he can help you figure out how to close it. Permanently.”

“I think you guys have bigger things to worry about!”

Raph and I slowly turned our heads to see a woman walking towards us, wearing a dark blue tank top that revealed a chinese dragon tattoo on her left upper arm. Her blue eyes skimmed over me just before they locked on Leo.

“The lair’s been compromised.”

“Compromised? How?!” Leo said, instantly standing. 

“Huh?” Mikey and Raph said in unison. 

Donnie quickly swiped through his tablet, his eye ridges raising. “Yeah! How? My system hasn’t-” 

“Is it them?” Raph asked.

“Casey can tell you more once he gets here,” April snapped, “but we need to get you guys out of here. Now!” 

“April, where are we gonna go?” Leo asked, holding his left hand out to me. 

April smirked. “Who’s the new recruit?” 

“April, this is Star.” Leo huffed, pulling me up from the couch. “Star, this is April.”

“Detective April, but yeah.” She tucked a few strands of her long dark hair behind her right ear. 

“And one of tha best detectives!” Raph interjected. 

April’s eyes glittered as her cheeks turned a deep pink. “Thanks, Red.”

“How long do we have, April?” Donnie asked, reattaching his tablet to his arm. 

She squinted slightly. “I’d say no more than an hour.”

“Alright, let’s pack it up!” Leo ordered. “Raph, get Master Splinter and whatever he wants to bring with him.” Raph was in motion before Leo was finished telling him what to do. “Donnie, only take what you need! We don’t have a whole lot of room in the van!” 

“On it! Besides,” he shrugged, “I can just find what I need later.”

Leo tucked me into his side as he turned to Mikey. “Same goes for you, Mike. Only what you need.”

“I kinda figured.” He pouted as he headed for what I assumed was his room. 

“What about you?” I asked, looking up at him.  What the hell is going on?

“I have what I need.” He said, gently squeezing me.

My whole body instantly melted. I was a sheer puddle for this man. 

“As for your earlier question, Casey said that his grandparents own a cabin about forty minutes from here.” April’s left eyebrow raised. “He texted me the directions in case he couldn’t make it here in time.” She held her phone out to Leo and he took it. 

“If they found us here, then they’ll find us there too, April.” Leo huffed, studying the map. “We can’t keep running from this.” 

“That’s true, but I also know that you guys aren’t ready to face them. Not yet.” April frowned as Leo gave her phone back. “And I know Casey damn sure isn’t ready.”

“Who?” I asked, an unfamiliar burn making its way up my middle. Who could possibly be after them? Shredder?

Leo sighed. “I’ll explain everything once we’re safe. I'm sorry this is happening just when we found one another."

“April!” Donnie shouted as he came back with a bag loaded with tech slung over his shoulder. “Do you think a huge magnetic signature had anything to do with them being able to locate us?”

“What magnetic signature?”

Donnie’s eyes landed on me and April’s widened as it dawned on her. “Um, yeah! I’d say so.”

Well shit.

@thelaundrybitch @wynndigogh

[maochira]

Let me get serious for a moment. I've been pushing away these thoughts for a long time because I stuck to the "I write and post on Tumblr for myself not for others!!!" mentality (which isn't bad in itself) and pushed away the part of me, that so desperately wishes for what I originally came here for: interaction, community, bonding and fun.

One of the reasons why I've been getting inactive is because the interactions on my posts have been going down so much. While I've never cared much for having the biggest numbers and never will care much about that, I just wish for meaningful interactions like nice tags in reblogs or whatever. But I only ever get reblogs without tags or the blog's reblog tag or fandom tag.

It just takes away the fun. I remember Spring-Summer 2023 I used to get so many fun reblog tags and I often went back to reading them,, but now there's just. None.

It defeats the entire meaning of why I became so active on Tumblr last year. I didn't have any friends who enjoyed the same stuff in the same way I do and then I was so happy to find people who enjoyed big brother!characters as well.

I no longer get fun tags about that and it's just. Meh. I feel on my own with it again. Sure, I have my qp partner who enjoys those headcanons as well and I can talk to them about that but it isn't the same as feeling a sense of community here on Tumblr like I did last year.

I admit, I've never been much of a reblogger either and I will reblog whatever I like with fun tags more from now on. Because if that's what I wish for to happen to me, I want to do the same for others.

Another thing that's always been a bother is how some people don't even have the decency of reading my request rules or pinned post. With each fem!reader or Itoshi brothers request I just get more frustrated because. What the fuck guys

Anyways. That's all I have to say right now. I will return to writing soon

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: Six Things That Changed Because They Were In A Sedoretu, and One Thing That Didn't

Six Things That Changed Because They Were In A Sedoretu, and One Thing That Didn't (7929 words) by Beatrice_Otter Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Written for: @tielan in Sedoretu Exchange 2023

Relationships: Lee "Apollo" Adama/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Anastasia "Dee" Dualla/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Sam Anders/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Lee "Apollo" Adama/Sam Anders, Sam Anders & Anastasia "Dee" Dualla, Lee "Apollo" Adama/Sam Anders/Anastasia "Dee" Dualla/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace Characters: Lee "Apollo" Adama, Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Anastasia "Dee" Dualla, Sam Anders

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sedoretu, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Happy Ending, Polyamory, Podfic Welcome, Don't copy to another site Summary:

what it says on the tin

On AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Dreamwidth. Rebloggable on pillowfort.

Betaed by iberiandoctor With an old-school fandom, I figured why not go for an old-school format?

Fic wittering and explanation of a sedoretu behind the read-more.

sedoretuex has revealed, and I can now reveal that I wrote TWO stories! (I have not yet had time to read any stories but my own--I have been really busy this January--but I am planning on making my way through the collection soon.)

My second story for this exchange was a pinch hit for tielan that I had been eyeing for treat purposes since the beginning, because our tastes are very similar and every one of her ideas was amazing and absolutely a story I wanted to exist. But there was a problem! Each one of those stories, my feeling was "I want that to exist, but I don't know if I can do justice to it."

Here were my main options:

1) Relationship and prompt I have written for tielan before (MCU, Steve/Maria/Natasha/Bucky, the previous fic being Look Clear and Calm)

2) Really interesting relationship and prompt from a TV show I've only seen sporadic episodes of (Simon Basset/Anthony Bridgerton/Daphne Bridgerton/Kate Sharma (Bridgerton TV), The oldest son and oldest daughter of the Bridgerton family finding and settling on a sedoretu husband and wife for their familial quartet. In the middle of the season. With the ton looking on.)

3) Relationship I requested myself and would really like to se done, but I requested it because I'm not sure of my ability to write it and the canon is a TV show I haven't watched in almost 2 decades. (BSG, Lee/Kara/Sam/Dee)

4) Relationship I already wrote for this ficathon for my original assignment. (Star Wars Legends, Luke/Mara/Leia/Han, the other fic being Dawning Understanding)

And these were just the top four. There were 13 requested quartets and I could have written 10 of them! I was spoiled for choice! Honestly, it was a little bit paralyzing.

But in the end, I went with BSG, and decided that Wikipedia would have to be enough canon review. And it really did write itself; everything poured out. As always, for me, Dee was going to have a major role and survive; I love her and she was done so dirty by canon. Her death was the first time I got incandescently angry about a fridging because I could see it for what it was. And of the relationships in this foursome, Lee/Kara is my least favorite. (I am glad that in Kara we got to have a female character who was fucked up and messy and not punished for it or considered 'whiny,' but at the same time, there were a lot of other fucked up and messy female characters on that show, and a lot of the other character arcs interested me more than 'cosmic destiny + will she and Lee ever get their act together.' But I know that Lee/Kara is tielan's favorite! So as I was plotting out each section I had to restrain myself: how much Dee was too much? What could I find to say about the other three? Because if I was writing it for myself, the balance would have been very different. (But I think it would have been a weaker story, less balanced.)

A sedoretu is a specific organization of a poly marriage created by Ursula K. Le Guin in her short story "A Fisherman of the Inland Sea" aka "Another Story" available in a 1994 short story collection of the same name. It includes four people and specific arrangements of the relationships inside it. All people have a "moiety" that is considered as inherent as gender; the two moieties are Morning and Evening. Sex with someone of the same moiety is considered incest. The expected relationships within each sedoretu are: The Morning woman and the Evening man (the “Morning marriage”) The Evening woman and the Morning man (the “Evening marriage”) The Morning woman and the Evening woman (the “Day marriage”) The Morning man and the Evening man (the “Night marriage”) (i.e. two homosexual and two heterosexual pairings)

Here is the Fanlore explanation of it and the E2 explanation.

[gremlins-hotel]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　ANON LOVE　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Just wanted to stop by and share what I love about you and it's your art! I could probably ramble on and on and on about your art for pages and pages but only a smidgen of it would even be coherent, especially when writing about the way you draw Russia! And I can't remember the name of the AU, but that render of America standing under I think a sign in the desert? The lighting, the drama, and I'm not sure if you have fics too, but just from that image alone, I just know I would read the HECK out of that!! I also love your archaeology Jones blog and all the stuff I get to learn, something that has to be one of my favorite things about this fandom, thank you for being such a wonderful part of it!

Now spread the love! (But no pressure!) You can tag someone to say what you love about them, or if you're shy like me, drop some love as anon in their inbox! There's never too much love for us to share with each other 💖

so i've had this sitting in my inbox for nearly two weeks, trying to think of how to respond. nothing eloquent came. so i am thanking you from the bottom of my cringe-loving heart and here to spread some of that love in the most obnoxious way possible.

@ironicorange i can't not start with my goof squad, my beloved, my sunbeam. i love you lots, more than i can say. thank you for always letting me be in your dms with insane words and ideas, we both grow closer to delirium each day. watch your back you whore i'm going to steal your hands so i can one day draw like you.

@abbittheturtle my beloved irl bestie, this creature would be wayward without you. you are a fucking jewel and i will eat your art at every opportunity. also seeing you be happy in working with metal and jewelry has been amazing. i hope you continue to enjoy it! i'm wishing you love and luck with your move and good luck in our upcoming semester! i will be coming up there. this is a threat.

@temtamoo our romerica echo chamber and transatlantic 5g connection is so strong dude. your ideas are deep and your art is stunning, i love to hear from you always, regardless of the topic.

@artistically-hershie from late-night crazy au ideas to invading your workplace establishment to give you a soul-crushing hug, seeing messages from you so we can both be giggly and nuts is the best. also ugh, bro, teach me to draw.

@sunnysssol clown duo, clown twins, the dumbass squad. i will slobber for your oc and your art right here, right now. can i just say i specifically love how you color eyes. like bro!! the sol eye stare. trademark it.

@dusklikescats to you, who was one of my first more steadfast buddies after rejoining hetalia, i know you aren't into it much now, but i still light up seeing your messages. you have an energy unmatched and a contagious laugh.

@snackbar-chez-paro i drooled over your art for a long time dude and similar to miq, you became a fast friend. i always adore seeing your headcanons on discord even if you say wonderful things my tiny anglo brain doesn't always understand. you're awesome!

@irlusa you, good sir, are a fucking angel. and i will smooch you on the lips. stop living so far away!! i'm gonna fight the state. you are far kinder than you let yourself think and your art style is so fucking soft i'm gonna sleep on it.

@picturespurple-68 i'm sending you to the camps for revealing my classified secrets (code for i'm definitely going to watch more shows and movies with you someday). you are so very quick on your feet with ideas and always have fun ones to share. i could slurp up your writing like a fuckign smoothie it's so wonderful. i love our conversations and our hangouts.

there are so many more people i would love to ping but then this post would be far too long. return rebloggers and likers and people in my askbox, those whose posts i see on my dash and interact with, names i have come to recognize and associate with the crazy tunglrites, i salute you. and ily guys.

[okadaizoirl]

yes, i directly tagged @photomatt on purpose, and am doing it again here. i'm a tranny too. i see what the fuck you're doing. if i get banned, my posts will still be rebloggable so long as one single person has reblogged it before. i might not have many other options, but i've taken enough hiatuses before to prove this blog is not essential to my day-to-day life, unlike the trans women you've targeted.

i'm a trans man. the less effected. calling you out directly, making sure you know EVERY trans person is going to help each other.

there's hope on the horizon for us against you legally. there's hope on the horizon for us in the world. you aren't martin luther king jr, matt. you're the FBI sending him a letter telling him to kill himself as he sits in a jail cell in birmingham.

and you'll never BE donald trump, you will never BE elon musk, you will never BE a billionaire, you will ALWAYS flinch when you see a hammer laid atop a car's roof.

it's stupid, but it's a reminder of the time you fucked up so grievously that you'd pissed off the majority of your fucking userbase in one fell swoop.

i can take my business elsewhere. the people you're giving no choice, they can't. but they have to, because your precious ego is made of thin, hollow glass. you are pathetic. and if you have any sense of shame, any sense of remorse or morals, you'll reflect, restore every blog, and have YOUR PR TEAM post a formal, thorough, direct apology.

[arcplaysgames]

i'm finally up to the hawaii trip and i gotta ask: when Ryuuji's going on about the locals talking about the phantom thieves, does he put a little. i hate that i'm speaking mcelroyese here but does he put a little stank on it to make it clear that he's making fun of how they pronounce it

there is a thing in my next letter to you about how i suspect Mishima is a racist, but i think Ryuuji might be one too, from how he talks about the locals and An. like, neither of them are a level of racist that's socially unacceptable in japan, they're just a level of racist that pisses me off because i have to smile placidly and Be Tolerant at people who say this stuff ALL THE TIME

also, i KNOW i'm projecting but i am SUPER irritated that everyone who was a jerk to An is sucking up to her now that they need her english skills!

(You sent this to my side blog so I hope it's okay to publish, if not lemme know and I'll nuke. I'm gonna make it non-rebloggable just in case anyway.)

sup bro, sorry you reached the worst part of the game. Hawaii, esp if you don't have a romance locked, is horrendous. utterly miserable.

listen, sometimes we gotta use the McElroy-ese because its useful vernacular.

Flipping through my screencaps (which I have still not deleted for some fucking reason) of that awful sequence, I feel like Ryuji was at his most disrespectful and shitty. But some of that probably got lost in translation due to how the localization team had to bend so far to, like.... delineate between Japanese Characters Speaking "Japanese" and Americans Speaking English. It's hilarious, the two women who Ryuji fails to get it off with are speaking in THICK psuedo-Texan accents to make SURE the player understands.

So for me, I didn't get the racist vibes but I don't think I would have picked out vibes since Ryuji and Mishima treat literally everyone so fucking reprehensibly that.... pal, I wouldn't have fucking noticed unless they dropped a slur. They treat everyone like garbage or like someone they might potentially fuck. That's it.

That all said, Ryuji is so happy to thoughtlessly dehumanize people around him and sulks when he's called out about it, so I wouldn't be surprised. It's frankly kind of stunning how he just.... has no redeeming qualities that stand out against all his copious fucking flaws.

For Mishima, MAN. MAAAAAAN. When I think about the scenes in his SLink and that really fucking weird one with Futaba in her SLink, I don't even fucking KNOW. Am eager to see what you pull out of this shit because it's Yikes with and without cultural context imo. I heard he's vaguely based on a right wing weirdo but idk. I find it interesting that the game never seems to outright say Mishima is a good person and often gives the player chances to call him out.

The weirdness around Ann is a constant though, yeah. She herself is such a fucking ray of light, it's always.... interesting how everyone around her (except the player character) treats her like an aberrant of some kind. Given the treatise of the game, I assume part of the point is to show the difficulties of Ann's position and the attitudes towards her and the exoticization? But since they don't.... ultimately do anything about it (and circle backward with the whole Nude Painting arc) and her SLink doesn't say anything about it.... it's just another missed shot, imo.

Honestly, if you can hang on 'til the Royal bonus semester, the only Actually Great writing of the game is there. That's the only place.

[crplpunkklavier]

ok i'm not going to make this one rebloggable, i'm not looking to have a discussion or start beef with anyone, especially not on a holiday. i just grow another stomach ulcer every time people on here get psychology so, so wrong. and i need to get this out or i'll explode.

that original original post is so annoying. why are you guys out there trying to one-up and gotcha your therapists. "why do all adults need therapy then?" they dont. they dont!!!! not all adults need therapy. what the fuck are you talking about.

the next one is also annoying. implying that any kid that "seems resilient" is simply repressing trauma to resurface later is so harmful?? what are you doing. some children are resilient!! it doesn't mean they'll never have problems, or never need therapy, or that they aren't still repressing something. even if a child seems resilient, yes of course it should still receive help. but acting like there is no resilience in children is going to just make people misinterpret actual resilient children and offer the wrong help. you'll end up digging for issues where there are none. assuming that every well-adjusted child is just repressing trauma and every adult needs therapy is a pointless doom mindset that helps nobody.

that FUCKING addition. first of all, that person sure seems to reblog from a lot of terfs. secondly, id love to see their sources. because, yes! there HAVE been a lot of studies on child resilience! and yes, if children receive social support after traumatic incidents, they come out more resilient than if they dont. thats.... not all though? what are you talking about, "ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS a result of the support they receive"?? its. its not. science doesnt work with "always," first of all. no serious study is going to claim that child resilience is "always" a result of support. we cant prove "always." nobody can. secondly, that is a GROSS SIMPLIFICATION of a VERY COMPLEX phenomenon, resilience. we still dont fully understand it. we have spent decades researching it, and we still dont think weve uncovered all factors that lead to child resilience. it is in fact still baffling to science just how resilient children can be, so i also honestly dont see why people are harping on a therapist for saying kids are resilient!! a big majority of them are!! and a big majority of children in fact receive social support!! most studies indicate that social support is in fact an important factor for resilience, but never the only one. if your parents dont support you, someone else might, or if your parents do support you, you still might grow up in the worst shithole in the world, and then sometimes you might come out resilient, sometimes you wont, and we dont know why. genetics could play a role. probably in some way they do, but we dont know how big a role it is. what im saying is, resilience can be the result of support kids receive, AMONG OTHER THINGS. i also dont understand what the fuck that person thinks they mean by "true resilience." resilience that isnt just ~hidden trauma~ i guess which apparently ~all adults~ have anyway.

ok. rant almost over. shit like this just gets me, because i know a lot of you are struggling, and i dont want you to get the wrong ideas about what did or didnt happen to you. some of you may have wonderful parents and youre still struggling and you dont feel resilient, and that doesnt necessarily mean that your parents did something horribly wrong. it may mean that something in your genes isnt working in your favor, or that every environmental factor was working against you and your parents.

or, an alternative that i personally find worse because i myself have struggled with it a lot: you may have horrible parents who didnt support you and you may still feel resilient. and if someone comes along and tells you that you can only be ~truly resilient~ if you had the social support, youll start wondering..... are you misremembering? were people supporting you, and youre being a monster by painting them as bad? are you maybe not resilient at all? are you really fucked up and are going to need therapy because all adults do?

you might. you might not. answers to these things are too complex for tumblr posts, and i certainly wouldnt trust people whose blogs are 50% terf reblogs and who claim that science has "proven" anything or that things are "always" a certain way. nothing ever is.

its shabbat and rosh hashanah so im going to only do the bare minimum here but since i was talking about sources earlier, i will say that if you'd like further reading on just how complex and undecided the research on resilience has been, i would point you, for example (there are so many sources), toward masten's papers "competence and resilience in development" (2006) and "resilience in developing systems" (2007), and sameroff & rosenblum's "psychosocial constraints on the development of resilience" (2006). peace and good night.