#making myself laugh way too hard at that one
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𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: 'Control Freak' ༄࿔ H.H. & H.J.
⤷ DP in One Hole | Orgasm Control | Edging
♱ word count: 1.4k
♱ warnings: fem!reader, mentions of a lot of hickeys (mainly on han but also some on reader), orgasm control, edging (reader + han rec), dom!hyunjin (kinda bratty lol), fingering (barely), double penetration in one hole, breast/nipple play (f rec), mxm if u squint really really hard, creampie, blowjob (han rec), deep throating, it gets silly at the end sorry not sorry
♱ notes: i made myself laugh at the end
Kinktober Schedule
DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!
“F-Fuck you!”
You cried out for what felt like the hundredth time as you clenched harder around the cock nestled deep inside of you. Hyunjin snickers from behind you and quickly moves his hands to your wrists, gripping them tightly and holding you back from touching yourself. You’ve almost lost count at this point, but when you’ve gotten denied 5 orgasms while being spread open, can they really blame you?
Even if they didn’t, their hands are still tight on your body. Hyunjin is keeping your shaking arms still at your sides while Han digs his fingers into your hips, keeping you still from grinding against him.
Once he’s sure your orgasm has faded, Hyunjin gives Han the ok to start moving again, though he doesn’t remove the hold on your wrists. He holds you there with your back to his chest as Han fucks up into you, his hands now at your waist and holding you just high enough so he can pound into you from below.
Your neck is starting to ache from the angle you have your head thrown back on Hyunjin’s shoulder, but you already know if you look at the pretty boy below you, you might just cum on the spot.
Hyunjin knows you’re getting to your limit soon, so he quickly tells the younger boy to slow his thrusts. Han almost cries at the order, but he knows better than to go against Hyunjin’s wishes and eventually slows his hips to a complete stop. You’re forced to finally look at Han when Hyunjin pushes you, making you fall forward onto the man below you.
He’s not faring any better than you, one of your denied orgasms included his denied orgasm, and he’s been getting constant attention to his cock with no release for the entirety of the time you’ve gotten edged. Hyunjin, on the other hand, has only just now pulled out his cock. Hours into this session.
In an apology to Han, you push your lips against his and tangle your hands in his hair to tug lightly, just the way he likes. Despite being obviously distracted, he wastes no time in reciprocating the kiss and shoving his tongue into your mouth off the bat, tangling his tongue with yours as his hands roam up and down your sides.
You don’t really notice Hyunjin quickly pumping himself as he nudges 2 of those long fingers inside of your hole, right against Han's cock and spreading you open even farther. Your mind can’t handle multitasking, and when there’s a pair of pillowy lips sucking yours, you can’t be bothered to even notice the way Hyunjin manages a total of 3 fingers inside of you in record time.
You only notice when Han bucks his hips up into you desperately thanks to the cold feeling of lube dripping from Hyunjins cock. The same cock that is currently nudging against Han’s base as he starts to enter you.
You swear you can see Han’s eyes roll to the back of his head as Hyunjin pushes each and every thick inch of his own cock into your stretched cunt, rubbing so perfectly and slowly against Han. Yours would have rolled to the back of your head too had Hyunjin not grabbed your attention immediately by pulling you back to chest with him the second he bottoms out fully.
“Isn’t he so pretty, love?” You follow his gaze below you to Han; the sight itself is enough to make you gush around them. Han’s eyes are saucers, wide and watery, his eyebrows are furrowed together so tightly, and his pretty lips are parted just slightly despite the pout he keeps up. He has a few drops of drool falling down his chin from your heated makeout session, and as you follow that wet trail, you’re met with the red patches that litter the entirety of his torso.
There are a few surrounding his chest tattoo while there are many that lead to his opposite, swollen nipple. His neck and stomach have equally littered hickeys around them, and you can even slightly see the bite mark on his arm from where you chomped him during your first denied orgasm. Your eyes exploring his body get him desperate all too easily, and he quickly finds something to distract himself with.
You can feel his hands wandering up your sides until they eventually find a home on your chest. He holds eye contact with you as Hyunjin starts moving behind you, slowly at first so as not to hurt either of you. It’s not until he’s speeding up god knows how many minutes later that Han breaks this eye contact, and it’s only to get a good look at your pussy being split open on their cocks.
Your eyes are glued to Han’s lips as he takes the bottom one in between his teeth at the sight, and then still as he pulls you into him and positions you so your chest is directly in his face. He trails kisses up and down the valley of your boobs, and his nose tickles you each time he gets too into these kisses and starts to suck hickeys into your skin.
“J-Jagi- Your tits‘re so pretty…” He slurs his words as if he’s blackout drunk, and he truly acts the part as he latches onto your right boob, sucking it roughly immediately. The other side is given attention by his pretty hand rolling your nipple between his fingertips, occasionally even pulling it to feel the way you clench around them in response.
Hyunjin leans forward to flush his chest against your back once more and he joins Han in marking you up. Their lips feel the same but still so different as they roam any skin they can reach. The older of the two takes it upon himself to fuck into you even faster and rougher to get both of you to the edge faster.
But, let’s be real. It’s not so hard when he has his favorite, desperate sluts below him <3 You’re so pent up from being edged that your orgasm builds fast. Han is close behind, being pent up and eager is in his blood, so Hyunjin isn’t even surprised.
Still, the inner brat inside of him tells him to push both of your buttons just a little more. And he does so at the crest of Han’s orgasm, pulling you off of him just in time for the younger’s orgasm to get denied and fucking you roughly against him. Your cheek is smooshed against Han’s vibrating chest, and the new angle Hyunjin finds with this position is enough to make you cum right then and there.
Your nails dig into the bed sheets and your voice cracks with a squeaky cry as both of the knots in your stomachs snap. Hyunjin buries himself as deep as he physically can as he cums, his forehead dripping sweat onto your back as he milks himself dry with a few final, sharp thrusts.
You don’t even notice what happened until babbles of curses fill your ears combined with Hyunjin’s giggles. You’re still confused until you slump forward and Han’s still hard cock nudges against your chest. He jerks in sensitivity at the feeling, his orgasm still being very close.
Then he almost shouts when your lips suddenly wrap around him, much to Hyunjin’s dismay. He wanted to edge you both tonight, but he also can’t argue when he watches Han’s hand fly to his mouth and his palm gets caught between his teeth. He can’t deny that the boy looks like a masterpiece, so he indulges you both with no further teasing, just this once.
Hyunjin chuckles and shakes his head, resting his body weight onto one hand as the other wraps into your hair and bobs your head for you. He’s quite nice about it for a while, delicate even until Han is at the edge. Then the hand in your hair pushes you down all the way. It’s out of nowhere and makes you gag repeatedly around Han’s tip which is now nestled deep in your throat.
Han’s only response is his eyes rolling into the back of his head paired with a moan so loud that Hyunjin’s hand flew out of your hair to cover Han’s mouth. Once you swallow every last drop, you laugh with Han’s cock still in your mouth and pull off just in time to see him shaking from the vibrations.
“Yo… Hyunjin, what the- Fuck you, man.” He still manages a breathless dig at Hyunjin through these jerks of sensitivity, but can’t help but laugh to himself in disbelief. He gets a pillow to the face in retaliation, and you’re very quickly rolling to the opposite side of the bed as a... naked? pillow fight breaks out.
“You guys are so stupid…”
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Kinktober Day 18: Aphrodisiac + Oral Fixation + Body Hair
Eddie Brock | Venom x Ex!Younger!F!Reader
Summary: Venom uses honey from your purse to whip up some tea for you and Eddie while helping you study. Little did he know, that honey has some…interesting side effects.
Warnings: dub con elements, exes to friends to lovers, accidental aphrodisiac, sub!eddie x horny!reader, consumption, teratophillia, not lore accurate, oral fixation (licking, biting), some scratching, oral through underwear, premature ejaculation, body hair kink, some hair pulling, threeway kiss, venom and reader are in cahoots, french kissing, some dry humping, age gap +18 reader, bimbo!reader, basically whole lot of tongue action
To this day, 7 months later, Venom still curses Eddie for letting you go. Blah, blah…she’s young and going to university…blah blah…new experiences. If long distance is really that hard, why is it that it only took Eddie 3 hours to drive to your dorm? If he was committed to your throupling, he’d make the commute everyday to see you.
But Ole Venom supposes he shouldn’t be too hard on Eddie. After all, he’s attentive enough to Venom where he notices his changes in mood. Especially when Venom’s in one of those depressive states where he desperately misses you; with the occasional breaking of items to cope with his pained feelings. Whenever he’d get this way, Eddie would take them up go a trip to you and you’d be the three musketeers.
This weekend being a three-day weekend excited Venom for things he had in store. He’s determined to win you back even in spite of what Eddie says because sometimes he just needs a push in the right direction.
Venom likes to think he’s become that of an expert at romance, having read enough gossip magazines and advice columns to say as such. He knows the love languages and he’ll be sure to use his tongue precisely for speaking them to you.
Yeah, he knows Eddie’s been suspicious of his saint behavior since their arrival—the rules were clear not to make any plans of winning you back—but Venom’s entitled to a little bit of rule-breaking. He hovers around, content as he watches Eddie and you laughing during your study session. If he sets the mood just right, things would get more intimate.
He then recalls a fact he’d gotten from an issue of Chic Heat Magazine that explains how tea can make people more susceptible to suggestion because it calms you. If you’re relaxed enough, you might take them back.
So he excuses himself to the kitchen, preparing some rose tea for you all to enjoy. You’d just run out of honey but you had some packets he’d noticed in your bag earlier, hopefully you don’t mind.
Once he returns to the circle, you beam at his gesture. “V…you are such a cutie. Thank you so much.”
“I wouldn’t say that too soon,” Eddie says in a tone that is both jest and serious. “We’ll check the state of the kitchen in a minute.”
You shrug. “No worse than the state I left it in.”
“You’ve gotta be more responsible, babygirl.” He frustratedly sighs.
“I’m studying. That’s pretty big for me,” You defend. “Usually I’d just flirt with the T.A. for the test answers or cram the day of. But I’ve been trying because you said I could do it.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Really proud of you, buddy.” He says, patting your knee and earning a smile from you.
Then, you’re taking a sip of your tea wanting to give Venom the praise he deserves. Your eyes brighten soon as the first sip stains your tongue and goes down your throat . “This is really good, V. Seriously. I couldn’t have done this better myself. What’d you put in it?”
“Honey…” He begins.
“Oh, I could’ve sworn I ran out—”
“…the ones in your purse.” He finishes.
Your eyes nearly leave your skull. “H-how many?”
“5,” He answers proudly. “Wanted to make it extra special for you.”
“Oh, it’s extra special alright.” You say with a nervous laugh.
“Everything okay?” Eddie asks in concern.
“Mhm,” You hum between a strained toothless smile. “L-let’s go back to studying, yeah?”
“What’s in those things?” Eddie questions, his investigative nature getting the better of him.
“Nothing to be concerned about…” Your words escape you when you see that Venom has already retrieved the emptied packet for Eddie to review.
“Sweet Honey Rush? You said you wouldn’t intern with these guys,” Eddie says. “Didn’t you read my story on them secretly being behind these campaigns for increasing the national birth rate. I sent you a link on Facebook. We’re like breeding stock to them.”
“No person younger than 35 uses facebook anymore, Eddie,” You argue. “And besides they were offering some really good benefits if I interned with them.”
“Like getting free honey packets?”
“They aren’t for me…they’re for me to give out to some college students. It’s the new craze. Everyone’s talking about. There’s even a challenge of it on TikTok. You wanna see?” You’re about to pull out your phone but he stops you.
“Don’t you see that they’re purposely targeting the younger population?” Eddie scoffs.
“No, I think I gave one to my pervy old maintenance man,” You justify but Eddie shakes his head in disbelief at you. “Oh come on. It’s not like they’re as good as you think them to be. Venom said he’s added five and you don’t see me on all fours with my tongue out, do you?”
“I guess you’re right.” He says.
“Good. Now pretty please read me the next chapter.”
He smiles. “Of course.”
Venom is stumped. This is not at all going the way he’d planned. Instead of relaxing, it’s only made things more tense between the two of you. He was going to need to intervene internally.
“It’s taking effect.” Venom says from within.
“How are you so sure?” Eddie answers back into the mindscape.
“Come on, Eddie, I know it’s been months. But tell me you haven’t forgotten the way she looks when she really, really wants you,” Venom purrs. “Look at those eyes glossing over, darkening when she rakes them over you. She’s biting her lip—ha! She isn’t paying attention to your words.”
“You’re wrong. It’s nothing like that.” Eddie says trying to maintain focus by reading to you.
“I’ve been inside her once,” Venom continues. “I can sense the changes in her body even long after we’ve separated.”
“She’s just fine.” Eddie says in clear denial.
“Then ask her if she heard what you just said. Better yet ask her anything, she’ll probably say ‘yes’ to it all if it meant having our cock inside her.” Venom chuckles wickedly.
He’s reluctant, not wanting to embarrass you, but Eddie tests Venom’s theory anyway in hopes to quell his curiosity. Why on Earth would you want them back when you had so many different options at college? The sooner Eddie could disprove his claims, the sooner they can put aside that hopeful part of them that thinks the relationship could work.
“Hey, um, by any chance do you wanna share a jar of olives together?” He asks.
“Yes.” You sigh dreamily.
He perplexedly blinks at your reply to his absurd question. You hated olives.
“Babygirl, are you paying attention?” He asks.
“Mhm.” You nod still looking at him as if he hung up the stars. And now that Venom pointed it out, Eddie, too, could see your telltale sign in just the way you clenched your thigh together alone.
“Oh, really,” He asks, cupping a hand under your chin; his fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “What did I just read to you?”
“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell?”
“We’re studying American History, angel.” He smirks.
“Sorry, daddy,” You say, taking them completely off guard. Eddie hates how he instantly hardens at thought as if he’d taken the aphrodisiac, too. “Can I make it up to you? Taste you.”
“Yes!” Venom says.
“No,” Eddie protests. “You’re not in the right state of mind, missy. You’re going to bed, if you decide to take care of yourself on your own that’s your choice. In the morning if you still feel like you want to, then we can—”
“It’s only an aphrodisiac, dude. Not a drug. I’m not out of my mind for wanting you inside me. Both of you.”
“We’re in!” Venom says ready to reach out for you but Eddie smacks his dark tendril from your reach.
“No, we’re—” Eddie’s cut off by your lips on his. Somehow, Venom was able to sneak his mischievous tentacles around and bring your heads together.
You immediately get to work french kissing him passionately and tugging the hair on the back of his neck. His beard burns your face from the rough friction of the make-out session but it doesn’t deter you from being more forceful.
Venom’s tongue joins into the entanglement flicking and gliding between you and Eddie’s tongues, gathering a mixture of your salivas.
When Eddie breaks the kiss, you’re at his thick neck licking and biting away while Venom’s eager tongue, slithered and constricted around your body like vines.
“Stop. You don’t…” Eddie’s interrupted by yet another one of your lingering wanton kisses, finishing his sentence once you break apart. “…want this.”
“I’ve never stopped wanting you,” You suck on the space connect jaw and his neck before dragging your teeth along the vein. “Please fuck me.”
Eddie’s still too afraid to answer, cradling the back of your head while your lips and tongue continue their assault on his body.
“Fuck, babygirl,” He groans, missing this feeling of you devouring him as if he were a buffet. You and Venom were always big tongue enthusiasts wanting to put your mouths around anything that attracted you including Eddie.
His eyes flutter shut and you crawl into his lap, grinding your hips down while you tasted what you could. You pay special attention to his plump lips, licking and biting them.
“Can I go further?” You ask him.
“You heard Venom—”
“What do you want?”
“I want you.”
At his admission you moan, not being able to take it anymore. You and Venom work in sync. He begins to remove Eddie’s clothes while each sink that’s exposed you go over it with your tongue.
Eddie’s really hairy so occasionally your tongue would run over a patch of hair and you’d give it special attention.
“Fuck, I think I might actually cum from this alone,” He laughs bashfully, surprising himself. “I’m so sensitive for some reason.”
You dip your tongue into his belly-button, swirling it around before your tongue finally trails down to his throbbing bulge. It jumps in his khaki shorts the moment you place your tongue’s pressure directly on it. He shudders, his fingers through your hair.
The feverish heat of the effects take over you just as you pass the first barrier, bringing his pants down around his ankles. Venom lifts you by the waist for a moment, adding a pillow underneath for your knees. You run your fingers along the underside of his tentacles—where it’s most sensitive for him—as a thank you.
You’re not gentle at all once you spot the wet spot on Eddie’s underwear. He’d cum already and had been too ashamed to speak up. He could already see you making an old man joke about him needing the honey packet more than you but instead you went for his soul.
Immediately, you clamp your mouth around the clothed tip to suck at the sticky essence. It’s so sensitive he could cry, it’s as if the aphrodisiac is giving him a contact high.
He tries to pull your hungry mouth from him but is thwarted when Venom wraps a snaky limb around his wrists, pinning him down.
“Oh god, fuck. Baby…please.” Eddie whimpers.
You drag your nails along his little belly, gripping and pulling the tiny hairs of his happy trail while you sucked him off. Another one of Venom’s tendrils finds their way between your legs, teasing your little nub. You let out a shuddery gasp, your warm breath skirting over his now exposed veiny length.
You trace your tongue on the lightning-patterned cock, tasting the addictive earthiness of him. You’re gushing wet and ready to their cock and Venom could very well slip a wriggling tendril inside of you this instant…
…but he’d rather Eddie get first dibs.
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can i request a fluff one shot where reader has to go on a trip (either for work or family reasons) and melissa meets them at the airport when they arrive back and is just super domestic once back at their shared apartment 🥺🥺
In the Quiet of Absence.
Summary: After spending a month in Paris for a work conference, you finds yourself longing for the warmth of home and, more than anything, for Melissa.
Tags: @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota <3
You sink into the plush hotel bed, a sigh escaping your lips as you look out at the city lights glimmering against the Parisian skyline. It’s breathtaking—no doubt about that—but after almost a month, even the magic of Paris can't dull the ache you feel right now.
“God, I miss her so much…” you mutter to yourself, rubbing your temple as you glance around the luxurious room.
Your right hand drifts to the nightstand, fingers brushing over your phone. Without thinking, you pick it up, your thumb tracing over Melissa’s name. You can picture her asleep back home, curled up in bed, her auburn hair spilling across the pillow, maybe even with little Sweet Cheeks nestled at her chest. The thought brings a goofy but genuine grin to your lips as you press ‘record voicemail.’
With the phone cradled in your hand, you start speaking quietly, as if she could somehow hear you through the miles of the ocean.
“Good night, Lis. I know you won’t see this until morning since you’re probably fast asleep right now. Paris is... well, it’s Paris. Beautiful, busy, a little overwhelming. Everyone says how lucky I am to be here, but honestly, it just makes me miss you more. I walked by a café today, and I kept thinking how nice it would be to sit there with you, sipping coffee, people-watching, maybe listening to you rant about the tourists. It’s just not the same without you here to share it with.”
Sighing softly, you add. “I spent the day at the conference, and honestly, I found myself daydreaming about our couch and Sweet Cheeks curled up between us. I wish you could’ve seen the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower. You would’ve loved it. I tried to take some pictures, but they just don’t do it justice.”
As you keep talking about the conference through voicemail, the people you’ve met, and the places you’ve seen, you can’t help but let your thoughts drift to home.
Home.
It’s hard being so far from home, but even harder being far from her. Paris might be beautiful, a dream city for most, but without Melissa next to you, it feels empty, just walls and skies. You’d flown here for work, a month-long conference that was supposed to be exhilarating, a stepping stone in your writing career. And while there’s been value in it, each day is a little heavier than the last. Every stroll past the Eiffel Tower, every quiet hotel room evening, only reminds you of how much you miss the life you share with her.
You’d never imagined how hard it would be to be apart from her. Sure, you two had spent nights apart before, but a whole month? It was almost unbearable. You miss everything about her—her laugh, the way she fills the room with her warm, unfiltered energy, and the little things she does just to make you smile. It’s like there's a part of you that just isn't here, and every day, that longing grows heavier.
Everything here felt too polished, too perfect. You missed the little imperfections that made life with the second grade teacher so damn beautiful. How Melissa would wrap her arms around you in the mornings, still groggy from sleep. Her face when she’d forget where she put her reading glasses only for you to find them perched on her head, or the way she’d tease over making the perfect cup of coffee each morning. The way she would immediately fuss over your packing, making sure you had everything you needed, and the soft hum of her voice as she reassured you that everything would be just fine while you were away.
Home was with Melissa Schemmenti, and every part of you ached to be there.
Your girlfriend’s voice on the phone helps – her late-night calls about what went wrong at Abbott Elementary that day, the accent you love laced with the warmth of home. “Mon amour,” you’d whisper into the phone during one of your daily conversations, a term of endearment that wraps around both your hearts, even across the miles. But her voice isn’t enough, not when you’re used to seeing her every night, sharing meals, her touch grounding you in a way nothing else can.
With a gruff, you close your laptop, packing away notes you’d barely read. That’s when you hear the knock on your door, breaking the silence.
“Bonsoir, madame,” one of the hotel staff says politely when you respond. “Dinner is ready downstairs in the lobby.”
“Merci, je serai là dans cinq minutes.” Your answer is quick, almost robotic. Despite enjoying the culinary wonders of the place, you can’t help but prefer the meals of a specific redhead who knows everything about cooking and Italian cuisine.
“Pas étonnant, si vous avez besoin d’autre chose, nous sommes à votre disposition.”
You thank them with a smile, but you’re already glancing at your phone, at the time difference that keeps you apart, counting down the days – just three more – until you’re back in her arms.
Back at the bedroom, after finishing dinner, you’re restless. As much as the meal was filling, your thoughts are back at home with her. You finish up the small dessert in your room, the excitement building to be back in her arms, in the life you’ve built together. The night stretches on, a quiet contrast to the bustling city outside, and your sleep feels even further away.
You slip beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling as the quiet surrounds you. Sleep eludes you as memories of the older woman flood your mind—her lavender smell, the comfort of her presence. Everything.
“Just three more days,” you repeated the phrase, over and over again. Feeling like a mantra.
Closing your eyes, the loneliness is creeping in again, but the thought of returning keeps you anchored, making the distance feel just a little bit smaller.
It won’t be long now.
Back in Philadelphia, Melissa is dealing with her own form of aching loneliness. She’d thought she could handle a month without you; after all, she’d done it before. But the days had dragged on longer than expected, and each night without you next to her was another reminder of how deeply entwined you both were.
The redhead’s days are packed with the usual chaos at Abbott Elementary, but somehow it doesn’t quite fill the space you left behind. She comes home to an empty apartment that feels colder without the warmth of your laughter echoing through it. Sweet Cheeks, her classroom guinea pig, has become an unlikely companion, curled up in a little cage by her couch. She started bringing him home on weekends, claiming it was to keep the kids excited for Monday mornings. But if she were being honest with herself, she liked the company—even if it was just a ball of fur and squeaks. Sweet Cheeks always listened to her rants about the day, his tiny, twitching nose and big eyes a small comfort in your absence.
She talks to him about you sometimes, about the things she knows you’re seeing in Paris. “She’s probably at some fancy shit right now, buddy,” she mutters, throwing him a piece of lettuce as she leans back on the couch. “Probably complaining about how boring those rich dumbasses are.”
Melissa had never really considered herself to be sentimental. She was tough, independent, and good at taking care of herself. But after so many years of you two being together, this past month had taught her just how much you’d become her home. She finds herself missing the little things—your goodnight kisses, the way you leave your books stacked messily by the bed, the warmth of your hand reaching for hers whenever you pass each other in the kitchen.
She sighs and reaches for her phone, scrolling through your photos, lingering on the ones you’ve sent her from Paris. There’s one of you smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower, looking radiant with the city’s lights sparkling behind you. She can’t help but smile, even if her chest aches. “God, you’re beautiful,” she whispers, running a thumb over the screen. The animal lets out a small squeak, almost as if he’s in agreement, and she chuckles. “Yeah, champ. I’m the luckiest gal in Philly, huh?”
Her phone buzzes with a voicemail notification, and her heart jumps a little. It’s your voice, soft and intimate, filling the quiet of her apartment as you talk about your day. You talk about the conference, the view from the Eiffel Tower, and how much you wish she were there. The familiar sound of your voice brings an ache to her chest, but it also fills her with a sense of peace.
She presses the phone close to her heart once your message ends, letting out a shaky sigh. “Just three more days,” she says to herself, mirroring your own anxiety. She settles back into the couch, Sweet Cheeks nestled beside her, as she listens to your message one more time, the sound of your voice helping her feel just a little closer to you.
The nights for your girlfriend are the hardest. She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, longing for the warmth of your body beside her. Sometimes, she’ll grab the spare pillow, pulling it close to her chest as if it could somehow substitute for your presence. She buries her face into it, breathing deeply, as if she can still catch a faint trace of your scent.
She’s tough, but she’s not ashamed to admit that she’s counting down the hours until you come back.
When Saturday morning rolls around, Melissa stands by the sink, her sleeves pushed up, humming a soft tune as she washes the breakfast dishes. Sunlight filters gently through the curtains, casting a cozy glow over the kitchen and giving her that familiar sense of home she craves more than anything right now. Sweet Cheeks squeaks from his spot on the counter, and she reaches over, giving him a gentle scratch.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mama will be back soon, okay?”
Just as the green eyed woman was about to finish the last dish, her phone rang. Seeing your name, Her heart skipped, her fingers fumbling with the dish towel as she hurriedly picked up.
“Hey, amore mio,” she greeted, her voice soft and warm, as if she hadn’t heard from you in months, though it had only been a few days.
“Hey, Lissa! Guess what?” you said, excitement bubbling through the phone.
She grinned, already thrilled just hearing your voice. “What? Tell me!”
“I’ll be back tomorrow!”
Melissa let out a little laugh, caught between disbelief and pure joy. “Shit, really? Tomorrow? I missed you so much!” The words escaped her before she could hold back. She looked down, feeling a bit silly for how much she’d let herself miss you.
Sweet Cheeks, catching onto her excitement, squeaked louder at his feet, little paws tapping against the kitchen counter as though to join in. “See, even Sweet Cheeks missed you,” your girlfriend joked. “I think he’s been going nuts without his other mama.”
You laughed on the other end, and Melissa felt warmth spread through her. She didn’t want to admit it outright, but it had been a long, lonely few days without you, the routine things—the cooking, the tidying, even sitting on the couch—felt empty without you there.
“Well, you just hold tight. Tomorrow, we’ll make up for lost time,” you replied, and she could practically feel your smile through the call.
“That’s perfect. Love you, hon.”
“Love you more.”
After you hung up, Melissa wandered to the bedroom, feeling a deep swell of emotions, her fingers brushing over her pocket where a small, carefully hidden velvet box lay. She’d been carrying it around for days, checking it repeatedly, rehearsing the words she wanted to say once you were home again. The plan was all there—she’d wait for a quiet Sunday morning, like the ones she cherished so much, and then she’d ask.
Unable to resist, she pulled one of your shirts from the closet, bringing it close to her nose. The faint scent of you clung to it, bringing her right back to those lazy Sunday mornings that had become her favorite part of your life together.
She let herself imagine it: you, padding out of bed with only your underwear on, your hair a mess and your eyes still heavy with sleep as you’d pull her into a hug from behind. Every time, she’d grumble a bit, pretending she wasn’t as soft as she actually felt in those moments. You’d tug her back into bed with you, insisting on snuggling under the covers while she made her usual complaints about wanting to get up and start the day.
But truthfully, she loved being wrapped up in your arms as the little spoon. She felt a rare kind of safety there, the weight of your arms around her, the warmth of your chest against her back. She’d pretend to make a bad face, grumbling softly, but she’d inevitably relax, letting out the soft snores you always teased her about later.
And then, just when everything felt perfectly peaceful, Sweet Cheeks would start squeaking from the foot of the bed, weaving around your legs in hopes of an early morning cuddle.
Melissa smiled to herself, clutching the shirt close as she pictured the day ahead, wondering how you’d react when you saw her there, waiting to welcome you home—and how your face would look when she finally asked the question she’d been holding in her heart.
The next day, after what felt like an eternity, she drove to the airport, her heart racing with every step. When she finally spotted you through the crowd, her heart just about burst. She didn’t hold back, rushing over and pulling you into a tight hug, her face buried in your shoulder.
“I missed you so much.”
You held her just as tightly, murmuring, “Missed you too, Mel. So, so much.”
As you made your way back to the apartment, your laughter filled the car, and Melissa soaked in every second of it, feeling like the pieces of her world had finally fallen back into place.
Once home, she proudly led you to the kitchen, where she had your favorite meal prepared and ready, the smell of marinara sauce filling the space. Sweet Cheeks squeaked in delight at the sight of you, and you scooped him up, letting him nuzzle against you in greeting.
After dinner, you settled on the couch together, wrapped up in each other, your sweet guinea pig resting contentedly in his popsicle stick home nearby. The redhead leaned into you, her heart racing again as she reached into her pocket, fingers brushing over the small box.
She took a deep breath, turning to you with all the love she’d been waiting to share. “I know it’s just us, and this fella,” she said softly, glancing down with a shy smile. “But… I couldn’t imagine my life without you. So, I was thinking, maybe… we could make this forever?”
“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti, what are you doing?” you gasp confused, while blinking.
She cleared her thoart and kneeled down. “Y/N. Will you marry me?”
Your eyes widened as she pulled out the box, revealing the ring she’d been carrying. In that moment, with tears in your eyes, you nodded, pulling her close in an embrace filled with all the quiet love and warmth that had defined your life together.
And as the night wore on, Melissa held you close, feeling finally, deeply at home.
#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti x y/n#lisa ann walter#abbott elementary#wlw#melissa schemmenti
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I've been in a real reading mood lately and it made me SO excited to revisit this. Miranda, we've messaged about this before, but I wanted to give it the proper reblog it deserves!!!! (This got a little long. I'd apologize, but as a writer myself I know (hope) it's fun)
Because Dieter and ex-wife!Reader are on my mind all the time. I really like reading about people meeting, but love reading about people and knowing there's history between them, it makes things so bittersweet. Especially with these two because the love is there; you make it so efficiently evident in their "Do you want the truth or a lie?" conversation, and when they admit they think about each other, when Dieter says “I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.” 🥺 It's a quick interaction, but it says so much about them.
As someone who was once a teenager with a crush on David Duchovny, Reader's meeting with Dustin is soooooo satisfying. The way he describes the production of the movie
"Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”
made me laugh out loud.
The interactions between Dieter and Dustin are so fun, too. Their snarking back and forth while discovering they might not be so different after all... You manage to build so much tension between them and Reader in their conversation with her by the door. But then you also pack in gut punches like, “You don’t know. You don’t know me.” “That’s not true.” “Yeah it is. I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.” and “You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this.” OOF. ouch! It’s all walking that line between fun, comedy and sexy so well.
The smut is so good Miranda... Even on a reread I’m sitting here like 😳
Having Dustin between Reader’s legs, having so much fun with her, while she and Dieter kiss, and the way it goes back and forth between the sensations of something new (Dustin) and something familiar (Dieter) is sooooooo fantastic, I love how you kind of juxtaposed them without ever making one feel less involved in the threesome than the other. Also so good for her (reader insert me) to have her little You used to masturbate to this man. Revelation!!!! (and her getting to say it to him later was so… soft?)
I’m obsessed with the fact that you went there with Dieter and Dustin, too. Like not that I didn’t expect that of you, it’s just that M/M/F threesomes can often be... more on the M/F/M/ side, you know what I mean? When they kissed, when Dustin made Dieter suck on his fingers (As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. Damn…) when Reader lays back and tells Dieter “I want to see what you’re like with men,” and they just. went for it. LOVED it.
There’s so much I want to comment on, but instead I’ll give you some passages that made my heart ache…
You know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.
That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.
Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.
“I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”
It’s so beautiful and so bittersweet. It’s so good 😭
And some lines that made… other places ache…
Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity.
“He wants you so bad. Look—” You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”
“Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”
Your Dustin is lowkey a fucking menace, jesus... Which genuinely surprised me so much!!!! But also the You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. made me laugh so hard.
THE ENDING IS SO FUN??? It’s so creative and I love the promise of more between these three. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). made me giggle.
Miranda, this was so fantastic. I said it before but I love the way you work in all these emotions so seamlessly, while never losing any of the sincerity in the process, it's so admirable. Your word choices, your analogies and metaphors, the way you picked such an unconventional relationship for this and made it work... You're an amazing writer, I am in awe of you, and I love this story so much!
three's company
pairing: dieter bravo x ex-wife!reader x dustin mulray rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: smut, pinv, protected sex, oral (female receiving) *inserts good for her meme*, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, light voyeurism, talk and use of drugs and alcohol (weed & wine), the weirdest situationship you ever did see, a bit of angst, jealousy, fingering, dubious consent (but like, only a tiny bit dubious. the tiniest bit) word count: 16.k+ (don't ask me what happened there) summary: The world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with Dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in England. One night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got. a/n: i don't know how i got here but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i could dedicate this to a lot of things but mostly i'm going to dedicate it the red shoe diaries. thanks to david and the horny '90s. also to maria (@sweetly-yours-and-mine) who has spent countless nights working through this with me. you are a gem
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Facetime isn’t the same as real people.”
“Those are bad movies, Bravo. I’m not sure I want to be around those who make them for that long.”
“I know.”
“Actors have never been my favorite company.”
“I know.”
“And I just don’t want to go.”
“I know.”
“I’ll learn to stop answering your calls one day, you know? And then you’ll do everything alone, even a global disaster.”
“I knew you’d give in. That's my girl.”
——
The hotel is a converted English Manor - the very stuff of childhood fairytales and honeymoon daydreams with its Italianate architecture and technicolor green grass. It is warm, inviting, with high ceilings and the soft, consistent hum of human activity as workers scurry around to greet the incoming guests. They filter you in through white plastic tents and stick cotton swabs up your nose before giving you the WIFI password and a room with a stunning view of their expansive, manicured grounds. You don’t have any grounds to look in America, and your studio apartment has been eerily quiet as of late. The pulse of life has stopped in Los Angeles, but here it comes back with an unvarying rhythm.
You don’t like to admit it, but Dieter was right: you are not above loneliness.
The room they give you feels anachronistic, too modern and beige, but cozy in the way all four star hotels aim to be. You’ve got a television, a pristine bathroom that hosts a bathtub and a shower, and enough floor space to move around without stubbing any toes. There’s ample furniture too: a reading chair by the large window, the queen bed, and another chair by the door, which looks like it’s meant only for bags and the stray suit jacket. They’ve given you decorative pillows and instructions not to leave for two weeks - not for any reason.
You lay out on the queen bed and Facetime Dieter. The irony of the situation is too good not to tease him for.
“I know,” he gruffs, picking up your call immediately.
You can’t help but laugh at the misery that drips from his voice. “I’ve always been better at being alone. I think it was you who didn’t want to be alone.”
He runs a hand through his unruly hair and frowns. Even if you won’t take it, you like the idea that he’s only a long walk away now. You give in and shuck off your winner’s ego. “It’s only two weeks,” you assure kindly.
“If I’m good, do you think I can earn a sleepover?” There’s mischief in his eyes, flirtation thick on his tongue. You look askance at him and the dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m only kidding of course.”
“Ha ha,” you deadpan.
“It’ll be nice after two weeks,” he promises. You know that tone, far off and introspective. It’s not good.
“Just Facetime me when you’re losing your mind.”
“You don’t want that. I’ll be on the phone with you all the time.”
You stare down at the phone, frowning. He smiles, coming back to his body. “I’ll be alright, kid. I always am.”
“Two weeks is not so long.”
“No,” he agrees quietly.
——
Two weeks is a prison sentence.
The room they put you in, while spacious, is merely a cell block now, reduced down to its most basic elements: the bathroom with the shower and the tub, which you’ve used so much it's a miracle your skin hasn’t fallen right off; the bedroom area, with the reading chair by the window; the queen bed, which you stopped making after day four and try your damndest not to fall in before 3pm. You’ve paced the floor so many times, feeling the angry itch of loneliness coupled with a newfound, perpetually lurking anxiety.
“One more day,” he reminds you over the telephone, trying to allay your fears. You hear the sound of his tub running in the background, over the static of his voice, and you wonder what he looks like right now. You picture two week’s more worth of beard growth, the slouch of his back as he sits on the edge of the tub, the pudge of his stomach, and the inciting trail of hair below his belly button. And his naked self. At home he was perpetually nude, and you imagine it’s no different now.
You find your own reflection in the mirror over the sink: sunken eyes, with bags underneath and your flesh taking on a slightly gray cast, the color of isolation.The window sun doesn’t seem to be helping much. You frown self consciously, but try to remind yourself he must be in a state himself; he stopped Facetiming you a week ago, opting for the good ol’ telephone call at least once or twice a day since.
“I’m going out of my mind,” you say as you continue to look at yourself. You lower your voice, vulnerability shared in a hushed, confessional tone. You imagine Dieter again: with that soft concentrated look that pulls his eyebrows together, the one that enhances the lines between them. They called him a curious child and now he’s got the lines to show for it. He told you that. The thought makes you smile at yourself, but you still look so tired.
“Just one day,” he supplies again. He sounds vaguely apologetic.
“I know,” you tell him simply.
“What have you been up to today?” he asks. You hear water come to a stop and a gentle splash follows it. He’s gotten in. “Anything fun?”
“I read, watched a movie. You?”
“I got high and jerked off. So, you know, nothing different than the past thirteen days that you’ve called.”
You scan your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next words. It isn’t a good idea, but nothing is. “What did you think about?” you ask.
“Lots of things.”
He tells you this as casually as if you’ve asked him his name. You are so achingly lonely and this is so embarrassing, but you can’t help it. You know he’ll let you. Hell, he’s probably been waiting weeks for this. Years.
“Do you ever think about me?”
There’s a short, considerate pause. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”
“A lie.” You worry your lip between your teeth.
“Oh, never.”
You laugh, relieved. “I thought you were going to say something different.”
“Hm,” he hums, “I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Mine too. She thinks inviting you was a terrible idea but she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.”
“Mine hates you.”
He grunts. “Suppose I deserve that, don't I?”
“I think this is the first time in history that you diverted phone sex with talk like that.”
“I’m getting older, wiser,” he jokes. Then, “Do you think of me?”
“Do you want a lie or the truth?”
He considers it for a moment. “The truth. Hit me with it hard, baby.”
“Oh, a lot more than I should.”
——
The rapt sound of knuckles against your door incites an excitement in you that you haven’t felt since childhood. You jump from the bed, uncaring of the state of yourself, hungry for the news that awaits on the other side.
A kindly British man tells you that the quarantine has been lifted and that there will be a party and dinner for the cast and crew in a couple of hours. Formal wear is encouraged but not required.mYou spend the next few hours undoing what’s been done by isolation: the bags under your eyes; the unkempt room, with the fetid smell of loneliness wafting over everything; the living out of your suitcase and the wrinkles on your best clothes. You find an iron in the closet and shave your entire body.
Dieter stops by your room while you’re in the middle of getting ready. He sits quietly at the edge of your bed, watching you in the mirror with that dazed look in his eyes. He wears the ugliest goddamn housecoat you’ve ever seen, but he’d smiled so wide at the door that you’ve forgiven him for it.
“You’re excited,” he observes. His fingers fiddle with the sunglasses in his hands. “I thought you hate actors.”
You try to steady your hand as you bring the eyeliner up to your eyelid. “I don’t care what they are, as long as they can hold a conversation,” you mumble.
“I can hold a conversation. Maybe we ought to stay here and celebrate with each other.”
You look at him in the mirror, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. You can’t tell. “You’re kidding.”
He shrugs. There’s a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard about something.
“Are you high?” you ask him.
“No, but I’m thinking maybe I should be.”
“Cheer up, boy scout. You’re the one who wanted to do this goddamn movie.”
He lets out a defeated sigh and falls back into the mattress with a groan. “I’m going to kill myself.”
———
He doesn’t kill himself, but he looks like he’s still weighing the prospect of it as you take your drink from the bartender.
Dieter suffers no one lightly, and you have a feeling the personable strawberry blonde in front of him isn’t exactly his crowd. You smile over the rim of your drink, enjoying seeing him squirm for once. Everything seems to come easy to him–except this. He’s never been very good at socializing when he doesn’t want to.
“That your boyfriend?”
You turn your head and find Dustin Mulray. You feel a hint of your teenage self come back to you as you look at him, struck wordless. It’s nothing as strong as the love that had you tacking up posters with his face on it to bedroom walls, but something vaguely akin to it. You’re happy to find it manifests itself as a friendly smile instead of love confessions. Perhaps it’s helped by his appearance: In his infinity scarf and beige knitted sweater, he reminds you more of a homely professor than a Hollywood movie star. You think: Movie stars! They’re just like us! while shaking your head in answer.
“No,” you tell him, “He’s my ex-husband.”
“Ah. That’s my ex-wife with him. Marriage is tricky, isn’t it?”
He takes a seat next to you and orders a drink. The bartender sits it on a napkin for him and he turns to you, his blue-green eyes awaiting an answer. You hadn’t thought he would want to talk to you, not really. You’re used to being invisible at events.
“I guess you could say that,” you reply.
“Are you working on the movie?”
You remember what Dieter told you to say if anyone asked: “For legal purposes, yes. Art coordinator #3.”
This amuses him, drawing out a smile. “That title come with pay or would you say it's just an internship?”
“I guess you could call it an internship.” You smile back at him. “Why? You think you could pull some strings and get me a paycheck?”
“I think I’d do you one better and get you a better place of employment. Have you read the script?” This makes you let out a genuine laugh. He brightens, smiling a little wider. “What? It’s the truth! Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean—“ He looks over the crowd, lowering his head closer to yours conspiratorially. “—Not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”
“Ah, I feel you but I can’t quite reach you from here.”
“No, I bet not.”
There’s something simmering in that line. If you didn’t know better, you’d figure it was a light flirtation. Surely not.
“I liked your early stuff better,” you confess.
“Me too. But those were the glory days and now I have alimony and child support to pay. How about him?” he nods in the direction of Dieter. “You get half his ass in court?”
You shake your head. His candor, although surprising, is refreshing. “No, no big payout. We’re amicable.”
He clicks his tongue in awe. “I envy the bastard but I can’t say I didn’t deserve my lot.”
“You haven’t even finished your first drink and you’re already gonna confess your sins?” You raise a curious, teasing eyebrow. He hangs his head and laughs.
“You married an actor. Don’t we all wear our hearts on our sleeves?”
“Mm, not mine,” you shake your head. “It seems he saved his emotions for the silver screen.”
It’s Dustin’s turn to raise his own curious eyebrow.
“How cozy.” You look over your shoulder to see Dieter standing in front of your chair, his fingers reaching out to the back of your chair. He looks…jealous.
“Dustin, this is Dieter,” you introduce them. Dustin sticks his hand out and Dieter plays nice, shaking it with a passing grin.
“Nice to meet you,” Dustin mutters. Dieter nods his head. “Yeah, you too. I was actually coming over here to steal her away for a moment. If she doesn’t mind.” He looks over at you, expectant. There’s a bite to his words you don’t like at all. How fucking rich, you think bitterly, remembering all the times you had to sit by while he shamelessly flirted with half the fucking world.
“She does mind,” you respond. The sharp finality of it makes even Dustin cough awkwardly.
Dieter looks taken aback. “Okay,” he mutters, looking between the two of you. He nods again, as though he’s drawn some conclusion. “Alright.”
You watch as he walks away to the other side of the room. Looking back at Dustin, you give him a rueful grin. “Sorry. And here I was, talking about how amicable we are. Exes of the year.”
He raises his glass. “To us pitiful people and our pitiful crash and burn marriages.”
You clink your glass against his, fighting the urge to cry or kill Dieter. “To us.”
—
The dinner table arrangement is unforgiving for Dieter. He’s sat next to Dustin at the far end of the table, with yet another red headed actress to his left. Unlike the talkative one, this one is in a state of brooding and continually huffing at everything he says. You’re slightly more lucky, sat at the other end, sandwiched between Dustin's ex-wife and the director.
He watches woefully as you chat with the ex-wife, nodding your head along politely. You were always such a good listener, even with the worst people. He frowns. He had changed his outfit between the party and the dinner, opting for a classier open dress shirt. He had seen the look in your eye when you had opened the door for him earlier, and figured he could use all the help he could get now that he’s undoubtedly pissed you off. He had hoped that they would’ve sat him next to you so you could talk. He’s even wearing that cologne you like. Or used to like. He doesn’t know anymore.
“So, like what—you usually get along with her or…?” Dustin asks him, following his eyeline right to you. Dustin brings the cool champagne they’ve served to his lips, his eyes too burningly curious as he gazes at you.
Dieter tries not to be possessive. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone: that sharp, angry disappointment that you’re so used to delivering him. You don’t like when he gets like that. Not that he has much. This is a relatively new side effect he’s required since the divorce. He shrugs lazily, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
This earns him an even laugh. He looks over at the older man, frowning. “What?”
“I see magazines with your face all over it, man. C’mon, we all kiss and tell, even if we don’t want to.”
Dieter bites at the side of his cheek and considers him for a moment. “Look you and your wife-“
“Ex-wife-“
Dieter nods, uncaring. “Sure, your ex wife — you both like to talk a lot.”
“I’m just trying to figure out if I can make a pass at her or not. Make it easy for me. I don’t want to have to suffer this entire shoot because you’ve got some weird shitty thing going on between you. I don’t step on kept grounds….Well, not anymore,” he adds.
“How noble,” Dieter says wryly, “She’s not mine to answer for. Besides, it seems like you were already doing a good job at making a pass earlier.”
He fights down the petulant child inside of him, biting at his lip instead of wearing an all out pout. Through the concealed tint of his sunglasses, his eyes soften at the sight of you across the room. He can almost feel the crack in his heart as he considers the fact that you might have actually liked talking to this man.
Dieter knows one day it’ll come, the moment when you find yourself in a serious relationship with someone else. Most of the time he thinks he’ll be okay — that it will affect him like it must but it won’t ruin him entirely — but sometimes, like right now, he worries he’ll get on his knees and beg you not to do it. You don’t deserve that. He hates himself for the greed he feels, how he can’t ever just let you be happy. He doesn’t want to be like this dick, taking and taking from his ex-wife, all while he noses around and wets his dick in anything that will let him. He never wants to embarrass you like that. Not again. Never again.
Chugging the last bits of his drink, Dieter looks over at the man. Dustin looks back at him, nonplussed. It takes herculean strength to say the next words.
“She doesn’t like men who are crude or too direct, but to be frank, I think you can’t really fuck up with her. She likes you and always has.” Dieter casts a glance in your direction again, feeling mischievous. He smirks, letting himself have this one. “Well, since you were last relevant, that is.”
Dustin laughs the burn off, shaking his head. He touches Dieter’s shoulder in a show of faux friendliness. “We’re in the same shitty franchise now, bud, so welcome to the club,” he whispers, just low enough for him to hear.
Dieter raises his empty glass to Dustin with a forced grin. Feeling defeated but comforted by the fact that he’s now got something to separate him from that asshole, he raises his hand to the pretty waitress for another drink. To celebrate.
But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.
He fucking hates Hollywood.
—-
Truth be told, Dieter didn’t plan on doing this tonight. Getting high. He planned, if he was being honest with himself - and he is trying, at his most introspective more now than ever - to be doing you. Had he invited you on the vacation just to fuck you? No, but ignobility inevitably follows in the tracks of his nobility. It was written between the lines, something you both had hinted at over the past two weeks. But now you’re somewhere else. There's a lot of rooms in this hotel. Maybe you’re in your own. Maybe not. Dustin had looked like he was going to devour you at the bar earlier tonight, so probably, you’re doing him in his room.
Or do you bring men back to your own place now? He doesn’t know.
Dieter would blanch if he wasn’t so high. He sits in the middle of the decorative couch, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, and he tries to imagine a different version of your last phone conversation.
When you asked if he ever thought of you when he touched himself, he’d tell you the truth. Because you like the truth. He’d say: all the time. More than he should. Really a sickening, depressing amount because he misses you, especially lately. New York is a terrible place to be these days; death permeates everything and nothing seems as right as it used to. Even loneliness feels worse, no longer poetic or artistic but just lonely. It's less like Al Pacino on the set of the Godfather and more like Michael Corleone, sitting alone at the empty dining room table. Days stretch on and on, and he’s hungry for life that has halted so he paints terribly, insecure of even hobbies. What else is he supposed to do but play with himself and remember poignantly that he had once been married to a lovely sort of woman who would’ve made it all better, if only he hadn’t fucked it up?
Well, he doesn’t think about that last part so much. It doesn’t really make for good masturbating material.
He wasn’t sure he was going to survive the pandemic before they asked him to do this movie. And of course he asked you along when they had. It’s the only way in the world he could ask for your help: through omission of truths and beating around the bush. He wonders if you might take pity on his soul again and let him crash with you for a while, just to wait the rest of this out together after the movie wraps. If you really are fucking Dustin, it might make things tense but not impossible. He’ll learn to live with it. He’ll have to. What else is he going to do? Go back to this moment in time and stop you?
Perversely he wonders if Dustin is not the first man you’ve fucked since the divorce. You’re not his last but he wishes you were a lot. It’s been nearly two years and he’s forgotten what you feel like, what you taste like. It’s miserable. When he touches himself and thinks of you, you’re like an apparition, some Franksteinian woman built of fragmented, hazy memories. All he remembers was that the last time wasn’t nice and that you didn’t cum. He couldn’t make you, something about you being too sad or too angry. It was a shame, because he’d always imagined the two of you would’ve gone out with a bang.
This thought makes him smile, but it doesn’t last for long. There's nothing funny about your divorce, not really. He broke your heart tediously, and now you’ve got to tell people that it wasn’t just one thing but many things. He knows that. An unanswered phone call. That waitress in Vegas who he flirted with so unabashedly your mother thought he was cheating on you - along with half the internet and for a brief moment, yourself too. The apartment in New York he bought and moved into without asking you. That art house opening he missed, the one you’d asked him continually throughout the week to set time aside for. So many things—the seven sins and just a few more to top it off.
He wasn’t really surprised when you had asked him for a divorce over lunch one day. You didn’t even live together at the time - the New York apartment became more permanent than he had originally planned for - and you looked so tired, like you were drained of life, overwrought and quiet. What surprised him was the fact that you hadn’t done it sooner. The knowing that you had tried against hope was not an easy one for him to reconcile with for a long time after that. Even in that moment you had developed a sort of halting lisp as you pushed the statement out, as though your own body protested it. He remembers that better than the sex.
You had waited for him to get better and he never did, so you both took your chicken salads with a side of failed marriage that day, and now here you are. Dieter sighs, feeling the familiar pangs of remorse.
“Whatever drugs you’re on must not be very good because you look miserable.”
Dieter lifts his head off the back of the loveseat, straining his eyes to make out the shape that’s hovering in his doorway. His brain catches up with him before his eyes do, and the distinct mumbling voice of the figure comes to him. Dustin.
Shaking his head, Dieter laughs, relieved. “I was thinking.”
Dustin takes this as an invitation to cross the corridor. As he comes closer, Dieter finds he’s in more casual clothes - perhaps even sleepwear - clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. If this is a peace offering, Dieter will take the olive branch. He’s so goddamn pleased you’re not fucking this guy, he might even kiss him.
“You want a joint?” he asks him, straightening on the couch. Suddenly it’s not so hard to be magnanimous, not with the sheer euphoria of you not having betrayed him (is he allowed to call it that? Probably not, but there’s no word quite so apt). He feels he might even be smiling, but he can’t be sure. He hopes so.
“God, please,” Dustin groans. He sits the bottle of wine on the table and rubs his hands together eagerly as Dieter lights the one he’s been puffing away at.
“I figured you were the one with the goods,” Dustin says around a cloud of smoke. He looks over at the open door, nodding at it. “We should close that, huh?”
Dieter shrugs. He thought he had closed the door, truthfully. “Probably should. I think I saw a kid here,” he says. Neither of them get up.
Dustin passes the joint to Dieter. He takes another hit when he gets it because fuck it, this is a celebration. “What, she didn’t want you?” he can’t help but ask.
Dustin laughs mutedly. “I don’t know. I figured by the way you reacted at dinner that I better not try. And there's that thing with my wife.” He shrugs. “I’m always fucking that one up. I thought I should just wander around and see where the night takes me.”
Dieter rests his head back against the couch again, nodding sympathetically. “Mm, I understand. Me too.”
“What’d you do?”
“The better question would be what didn’t I do.”
“Did you cheat?”
Dieter turns his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t fuck anyone else while we were together but she said I might as well as have. And I guess she’s whose opinion really matters, isn’t it?”
Dustin mumbles an agreement. “I fucked a lot of people,” he confesses. “Even the divorce lawyer.”
“And she still talks to you?” Dieter asks.
“We’ve got a kid.”
“That’s right. She told me that, because she likes to talk.”
“Hey don’t be a dick. Yours does too, you know? That’s what women like to do—talk. And they like to be listened to.”
Dieter narrows his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the bar? Talking?”
Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”
“I listened.”
“But you didn’t like what you heard.”
Dustin says this more as a statement than a question. Dieter looks back to the ceiling and pinches his eyes closed, too high. “Mm,” he mumbles. “I’m just so happy she isn’t fucking you right now. I really thought she would be there for a second and it was making me sick.”
Dustin huffs out a laugh. “I take it you never shared?”
“What do you mean ‘shared’?” Dieter asks. “Like wife swapping? No. We seemed to have left the practice in the sixties.”
“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”
“Have you done that?”
Dustin shrugs, smiling unashamedly. “Before we got married, of course,” he tells Dieter. Then, “And a little after too.”
Even with the high, Dieter can’t help but feel curious about the arrangement. “With men?”
“Sure. It wouldn’t have been fair with just women. That was the rules, anyway. Why? You’ve never been with a man?”
“A few. That’s not what strikes me as odd. You just didn’t strike me as the type.”
“I wouldn’t say I was, but fair is fair. And it can be nice. Interesting.”
Dieter rolls his eyes. “Gay sex is gay sex, no matter how you cut it. If you’re about to tell me it doesn’t count, I’m gonna laugh.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just like there to be a girl there too.”
The information weighs heavily on Dieter’s drug induced state of mind. He finds himself beginning to laugh. “Wait a minute, are you trying to talk me into a threesome? Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That’s what the wine is about, isn’t it?” He points to the bottle in question, and everything suddenly seems much too funny.
Dustin begins laughing too. “No! The wine was for something. I just couldn’t figure out what”
Dieter ignores him. “Your…your wife hates me,” he manages to hiccup out, “And mine? She—“ She hates me too. This thought makes the laughing come to a slow halt. That’s right. She hates him too.
“I bet she’d do it,” Dustin supplies, soft chuckles still emitting from him. “They can surprise you like that sometimes.”
Dieter shakes his head, his smile more soft, almost sad. “Not with me. I pissed her off. I was thinking I’d try with that waitress downstairs but she’s young and I’ll for sure hate myself for that later.”
“Don’t do that. Your wife really will hate you for that,” Dustin advises. “Take it from an expert. Just call her. Apologize.”
Dieter shakes his head. “That won’t work. It’ll just make her more mad when she realizes I’m high.”
Dustin considers this. “Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s go to her room. Do it in person.”
“You can’t go,” Dieter tells him evenly. It’s not often he’s the voice of reason — even less so when he’s high — and this dynamic is beginning to make him feel out of sorts. He wants to shut his eyes and sleep this off, but naturally — because he is who he is — he will follow this train of thought through with Dustin.
“Why not?” Dustin smiles widely, catching his stride in the conversation. He speaks more animatedly, bringing his hands into the mix for emphasis. “She doesn’t want to fight with you in front of me! And she can see we’ve made friends. That’s progress! She’ll like that.”
Dieter considers this. He does want to show you he’s sorry — really.
“You just want to fuck her,” he says to Dustin. He’s too high to be angry, even if he really wanted to be, but he is suspicious.
When Dustin doesn’t respond to that, Dieter narrows his eyes. “You do!” he accuses, acutely horrified by the idea.
Dustin looks at him, a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, aren’t you a little curious to see what it’d be like?”
“No. And besides, even if I was, I don’t think she would. She’s not…I don’t know, I don't know how to explain it.” Dieter pinches up his face, stuck for the right words. “She’s not a prude by any means, but I don’t think she would.”
“Would you? If she did?”
Dieter doesn’t consider the question, only beats around it. “She wouldn’t. I know her.”
He watches as Dustin rises from the couch. “Let’s just go ask her.”
Dieter jumps up, feeling sobriety sneak up on him. “No!” he says, horrified.
But Dustin has snatched up his bottle of wine and began to make his way out into the corridor before Dieter can stop him.
So crumbles the olive branch.
—-
When you see Dustin standing at your door, holding up a bottle of wine with a goofy grin, you think it's a sign from the Heavens above. No more Dieter, that’s what it tells you. He’s ruined your life for a decade now and it’s a cause you’ve got to accept is a lost one. A new man is here and you’re lonely, and you didn’t even have to go search this one out. You smile, open the door a little wider.
But then you see Dieter shuffling down the corridor, brown eyes blown wide. Dustin looks over at him with a grin and you realize with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t what you imagined it was. You don’t know what it is, to be exact, but you’re sure it’s not right.
They look up to no good, with glazed eyes and Dustin’s too wide grin. You close your door just a smidge when Dieter shoulders to the front. He smiles apologetically, and you instinctively hold out a hand to keep him steady. But he’s steady, in no risk of tumbling forward. He puts his hands over yours before you quickly take it away. He looks stung but you don’t care.
“Hey kid,” he says sheepishly. His eyes seem to be asking you something - saying something - but you’ve long lost that way of communicating. You frown, slumping against the doorway.
“Make friends?” you ask, nodding back to Dustin.
Dustin nods his head, unaware or — more likely — too high to be aware. “He’s being a good boy,” he vouches.
“I’ve been good,” Dieter echoes. He tries another grin and that easy charm of his, but none of it works. You fold your arms over your chest.
“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“
“I’m sorry. I know what I did earlier was shitty. I don’t know why I do things like that. Don’t shut me out. Please.” Dieter pouts. The sincerity of his words punches you in the gut, and makes you angrier somehow. Like it’s mocking, even though you know it’s not. He seems to sense this and he continues talking. “I know I don’t own you like that. I had no right. None at all. And I’ve been meaning to say it to you all night. And I know you’re thinking ‘this prick is high.’ I am. I’m really high, and I can’t deny it, but I’m sorry too. I was sorry even before I got high. That’s why I got high.”
Dustin giggles behind Dieter. You look over, feeling pangs of annoyance for him too. Now that he’s not your knight in shining armor he’s just some asshole in kahoots with this asshole. “That’s terrible,” he huffs out. Dieter glares at him over his shoulder before you’ve got the chance.
“I’m sorry,” Dieter tells you again, pleadingly. You shake your head.
“You’re always sorry. That was always the problem.”
“I know! God, I know.”
“Ask her if she wants some weed,” Dustin whispers.
“And I suppose you smuggled that in?” you ask, straightening yourself up. You feel motherly, glowering at him like this. You want to wring his neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed fuck you, make you feel eternal and sexy. But no. Now you’re so matronly, standing there in your PJs, frowning so hard wrinkles are mapping their permanent home in the places your face creases.
He nods guiltily. “But you knew that! I’ve talked about it all week.”
“Yeah but—“ you wave your hands in the air. “It all adds up with you. It’s..”
“The little things,” he finishes sadly. “I know.”
“Why do you know so little if you know so much?”
Dustin coughs suggestively behind Dieter and Dieter turns around swiftly. “No,” he tells him sharply.
You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”
Dieter shakes his head dismissively and Dustin shrugs, looking around aimlessly. He’s trying hard to contain a laugh or a grin, you can tell. You hate that Dieter is making you a bitch in front of him. You could be fucking him for God’s sake, but you’re just annoyed.
“Go to bed,” you tell them.
“Well that’s the idea,” Dustin counters, his lips drawing upwards. Dieter looks pallid.
“It wasn’t,” he tells you. “I swear. I came here to stop him from asking!”
“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.
“For a threesome,” Dustin says simply, like it’s nothing at all. “Though I can see now that’s probably not in the cards. And it wasn’t really asking for one, just a hypothetical.”
You look over to Dieter. He looks down at the floor, like a kid in trouble. “Dieter,” you scold.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to ask. I told him—I said you wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to suggest it,” he mumbles helplessly. “That’s not what this was supposed to be at all, kid. I swear. I just wanted to say sorry and…I don’t know.”
You don’t know whether to believe him or not. “But you talked about it?”
“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.
“The threesome? You were talking about having one?”
“Yeah, but not like—it wasn’t locker room talk. Not really. He just started talking about it and asked if you would and I said no—“
“How do you know I would say no?” you huff. “You don’t know. You don’t know me.”
Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah it is,” you nod. “I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.”
“I never thought of you like that.”
“Well, still, yes,” you say, feeling angry and stung and in a desperate need to prove him wrong and spite him all in one go. It’s such an ugly feeling and it’s not right, but you can tell the words take him by surprise.
“Yes?…” he asks. “Listen, I get that you’re angry, but you don’t have to do this.”
“No I want to,” you say. “If that’s what you want, what he wants, I want it too. If that’s what you’ve come for, then you’ll get it.”
He shakes his head. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. You’re…being mean. And you’re only going to piss yourself off more, I think, and then you’re going to be mad at me because I drove you to it.”
You shake your head. “No. I think I’m being quite nice. I’m standing here telling you I want you to fuck me. I want him to watch. I want him to fuck me and you to watch. Whatever perverse things you cooked up together, let’s do them. If you’re going to make me mad, then I’m asking that you have the decency to fuck me too.”
Dieter struggles to compute the information. You do too. You hate him. You love him. You are so high strung and pissed and you’d do anything to be touched. Let him prove himself, goddamnit, or let him be damned jealous. Either way, you get fucked. Everyone's a winner or only you are. You don’t give a shit.
Dustin seems altogether pleased by this, clapping a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “I told him you might surprise him.”
“Mm hm,” you hum. You do not break eye contact with Dieter. He nods his head, resolving to trust you—or to go along with it. It doesn’t matter, just so long as he doesn’t question it.
When he steps forward, you put your hand up, blocking him. “First the weed.”
He lets out a soft sigh and stays put for a second, looking as though he wants to say something more. He’s wise enough not to in the end.
As he rounds the corner, heading back to his room, you finally glance back up at Dustin. He smiles softly. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells you. “I really was just to get some fire under his ass. I mean, I’m not against it, but if you’re just doing it because you’re pissed—“
You cut him off with a hard look. “I want to,” you say resolutely. “And I am pissed. So be it. Men start wars for less.” You shrug. He looks amused and you feel something arise in you, up alongside the anger — arousal. Desire. Something. He smiles handsomely. The grayish scruff on his cheeks bodes well with his aged features.
You do want to fuck him. That’s freeing information. Propping the door open wider with the kick of your foot, you nod him in. “C’mon. Get in here before I change my mind.”
The dichotomy between his laughter and the intensity of the fight you just had with Dieter makes you smile despite yourself.
“Wouldn’t want that,” he responds with a wink.
He brushes past you with his body and you fight the urge to suck in a shallow breath at the sudden casual contact. As he moves into the room, he pulls you away from the door with him, gripping at your shoulders. He doesn’t let you stay back and wait for Dieter like some lost puppy.
You look at him, eyes wide, and he hands you the wine in his hand. He is so unserious that it’d be plain endearing if it hadn’t been a source of annoyance a moment before. You watch as he wets his lips and looks down at yours. There seems to be a pregnant pause, eyes searching yours for an answer to an invisible question. You think of Dieter, of all the sex you’ve not had since the divorce, and how hurt he seemed when you pulled back from his touch. You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this. You heed your mother’s warning too late and you kiss Dustin hard on the mouth. He takes some of your grief with a practiced tongue, kissing you deeply until you’re interrupted by a cough in the corner a few blurry moments later.
Dustin smiles, holding your face between his hands. “The weed,” he remarks. Dieter nods. He looks a little hurt, a little angry, a little betrayed—looks like he’s always made you feel, and you are not surprised it doesn’t make you feel any better.
You love him. You fool.
You shake Dustin off and Dieter hands you the joint with a forced grin. “It’s strong,” he warns softly as he lights the end. As you inhale, Dustin comes to stand behind you. Dieter’s eyes watch as his arms snake around you. He plants wet kisses alongside your neck and Dieter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
Dieter reaches out to you, touches the wrist you’ve risen to put the joint in your mouth. His calloused fingers try to reach across burned bridges and you aid him, handing the joint back and reaching out to him too. His baggy sleep shirt is easy to take between your fingers. He takes a hit and then comes closer to you, pressing into you.
When he kisses you for the first time, you think of an ouroboros. Whole and eternal, destruction and rebirth. Your mother hates him when she once loved him. He knows your birthday and the way you like your coffee in the morning. You don’t know what he did yesterday. He doesn’t know your friend’s old cat died and that you’d been to two weddings before COVID hit. He tastes familiar and feels strange against you, unreal and vivid. You open your mouth and he slides in his tongue. The kiss isn’t like the one with Dustin; he does not explore you as much as he remembers you.
Dustin and Dieter pass the joint between them. When you feel the loss of warmth behind you, you turn curiously, detaching from Dieter’s lips. Dustin goes to abandon the joint on the table by the bed and Dieter’s hot mouth presses kisses alongside your neck. You wrap your fingers in his hair and you can't help but moan when he tongues alongside your jaw. Dustin’s eyes spark with delight at the sound.
You look down at the wine bottle still in your hand and hold it up. Dustin takes it from you, grinning. “I forgot to tell you it was my gift. I’ll open it. It’s good, aged to perfection,” he comments.
He searches your bedside for a glass and finds a crystal one beside the water vase that they gave you earlier that week. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and frowns. “Fuck, I forgot the wine opener.”
“Call the desk,” Dieter says against your skin.
You turn your head back and begin kissing him again, humming an agreement against his lips. Dustin shuffles behind you as you return completely to Dieter, your lips ghosting over his. He licks into your mouth and grasps at the back of your neck, keeping you attached to him as you begin the dance backwards to the bed.
The weed gives you a cloudy feeling, enhancing the warmth of his fingers and lips on your skin, but erasing any inhibition that would make you embarrassed to be doing it in front of another man. You like the idea of it, actually, that there’s some stranger - albeit a familiar one - standing somewhere in the room as Dieter’s fingers lift up your sleep shirt and dip beneath the hem of your underwear. Your ass presses against the edge of the bed and you feel his erection against your thigh. You moan carelessly, tugging at his hair, and he exhales into you, the line between pleasure and pain thin and delicate as he rushes to do what he’s afraid Dustin will get to first if he doesn’t.
Dustin hangs up the phone and looks at the two of you on the bed, a surge of desire filling him as he watches. You’ve got your legs open and Dieter’s got his hands down your underwear and he can see it all from this angle. You’re making delicious, breathy moans and Dieter’s arm muscles flex as he works them out of you. There’s a wet spot on your underwear and he wants nothing more than for Dieter to take them off so he can see more of you.
He watches a while longer, captivated by what makes you tick and what kind of a lover Dieter is. It's kinda like hotel porn that he’s had on repeat the past few days, but live. Before he can get out the request for Dieter to take your underwear off, or wait for the inevitability of it, there’s a knock on the door. He rushes to answer it, holding the door open only enough to take the glasses and the bottle opener. He mumbles a quick thanks before shutting the door on the confused worker.
Dieter enters you with a thick finger and you let out a loud uninhibited moan around his kiss. As Dustin attempts to open the wine he smiles, thinking of the young man who was just outside the door. He likes that you aren’t afraid; he’s always found that attractive in women.
“Here,” he says, pouring the pinkish liquid into three separate glasses. Neither of you look at him, so he repeats it again, this time with more command in his tone. You look so thoroughly kissed when you look up, red lipped and swollen, that it makes him ache, and Dieter’s wild haired annoyance is charming in its own way. He hands you both a glass and you take it with a shy smile. Dieter is less pleased, but takes it anyway with a soft ‘Thanks.’
Dustin watches as Dieter wipes your slick from his fingers with a pang of envy, swallowing down the wine. This isn’t something he’s made a habit of doing often— watching people fuck, threesomes — but he had felt that it wouldn’t have been right to do without Dieter. Truthfully, he had had every intention of going to your room by himself before he had peered into Dieter’s open door. The sight of him sitting there, staring up at the ceiling like he had been doing, inspired sympathy. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about that with Dieter, but what he’s learned over the years about sex is that some little white lies must be told sometimes.
A part of him feels guilty, knowing his own ex-wife lies somewhere in this hotel, probably brewing in her own anger. But he’s leaving her alone. That’s what she asked of him, isn’t it?
“So, any rules?” he asks, abandoning this train of thought before it crashes.
Dieter unwraps himself from you, sitting on the edge of the bed like you are, and shrugs his shoulders. You both look at each other. Dustin feels like an outsider, intruding on something too big and personal, but he doesn’t mind. A bit of self-flagellation mixed in with pleasure was always how he did his sex best, and there’s nothing quite like sleeping with two people very much in love during a pandemic.
“Dieter said you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking at you. “Is that true?”
You nod your head. “What do you mean by ‘rules?’”
“Well, I guess it’s a bit different because no one is with anyone here, but sometimes there will be requests people make to ensure no one gets their feelings hurt. For instance, you might not want me to cum inside of you or enter you at all. They’re for safety too—consent, boundaries.”
“I see.” You look down at your glass of wine, thinking. “I don’t really have any rules. Maybe just use condoms.”
“Are you sure?” Dieter whispers, tugging at your shirt sleeve. He leans in closer, says something Dustin can’t hear. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care if you do that,” you tell him. He seems surprised by your answer.
Dustin can’t help himself. “What’d you ask?”
Dieter shrugs his shoulders. “Just about how she feels about us.”
“Do you have any rules?” he asks.
“Don’t cum in her first.”
You look at Dieter quizzically and all he provides is a shrug that says nothing. Dustin nods his head. “That seems easy enough: condoms, don’t cum first.” He swallows down the rest of his wine and sets the glass aside.
You twirl the liquid around in your own glass, smiling faintly. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” you say.
“Me either,” Dieter replies. He sits his glass, half finished, on the nightstand.
“I’m feeling high,” is your next sentence. Dieter seems to grimace.
“You’re in the wrong state of mind,” he tells you.
You shake your head. “No. I made up my mind before I got high. I want to be fucked,” you tell him, voice plain and even. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll be okay with just him.”
Dieter shakes his head adamantly, cheeks beginning to red. “I—I do want to. I always want to. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you’re going to regret later.”
With a smile, you tell him teasingly, “I won’t regret it later. Not if you do it right.” You offer him a teasing wink that draws out his dimple. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, too romantic and sweet to be good for your soul.
You decide then that this will have to be less Dieter focused if you want to last. “Lay on the bed,” you say to him. He nods his head, prying off his house shoes. You look over to Dustin, who stands awkwardly at the head of the bed. He smiles again with that charming Hollywood grin that age hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, and you grin back. “I want to kiss you again,” you tell him directly.
“That can be arranged,” he says, dipping onto the bed.
Dieter lies back against the heap of pillows at the headboard, his knees spread apart to make a spot for you. Dustin guides you there slowly, his body pressing into yours until there’s nowhere left to go but into Dieter. He kisses you deeply, hands strong and warm and unfamiliar in an entirely exciting way as they bunch up the fabric of your sleep shirt and expand over your skin.
Dieter doesn’t touch you, even though he badly wants to. Part of it is heartbreak and disbelief, and the other part is erotic fascination—watching you come apart like this, at another angle, is undeniably doing something to him. You are so pliable under Dustin, so easy for him, like you’ve waited your entire life to be like this. Maybe you have. Maybe he never paid enough attention—maybe in all your thousand little, subtle ways you had once alluded that you’d like to be this way. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prick, he could’ve made more rules, one like ‘Don’t enter her at all’ and ‘Don’t kiss him like that because I know once upon a time you kissed me like that and I screwed it up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better husband. I’ll be a better friend, just don’t kiss him like that.’
But then again maybe not. That’s a mouthful and you’re high and he’s high. Maybe it would be just like this. It’s just that he loves you. It’s an odd kind of love, but it’s real. Dustin has his tongue down your throat, his exploratory fingers beneath the fabric of a sleep shirt, but Dieter loves you. The fool.
Blissfully you are unaware of the pity party Dieter throws for himself behind you. He is a body, a springboard for desire and heat, as you surrender yourself to lust the way you never really have before. You do draw up some comparisons, unable to help yourself.
Dustin is grittier, all command and surrender. He is an electric taste of the illicit, some faraway fantasy made palpable. Dieter is your ground zero, vivid and stormy. He is what yesterday was. You read somewhere once that when you have a child with a man, their genes have the ability to change your own. Though you and Dieter have no children, you feel like something irrevocable like that happened — that you carry a part of him in your genetic makeup. It doesn’t make Dustin worse for it. In fact, it makes him better, an exotic vaccine into your very tired bloodstream. You deserve it. You deserve it so much, and you practically beg for it, mewling as Dustin kisses his way down.
“I bet you taste like heaven,” he mumbles warmly into your skin, licking a teasing strip over your midriff. You watch, mouth agape, heart beating wildly in your chest. Dieter tilts your chin up, directing your attention towards him, feeling impossibly greedy now. He kisses you languidly, tonguing lolling gently against yours, making it lasts forever. Your mind is in a haze, the slow, sensual turn of your tongues lighting a fire in your belly as Dustin uses his own on you. He trails lower and lower, warm and wet, fingers drawing down your underwear and then—
“Fuck,” you say, gasping out the word. You surprise yourself. Dieter captures the word in his mouth and groans in soft appreciation. You glance down your body, your knees hanging loosely over Dustin’s shoulders, watching his warm tongue pressing against your clit. It’s a sight to behold, the way his pink tongue flattens over you. His large hands grip onto your legs, holding you apart as your back presses into Dieter’s front. You feel his semi-erection nudge into your back.
Dustin spends his time with you, teasing you lightly with his tongue at first, learning the careful intricacies of your body. As you run your hands through his unruly bed hair, the tip of his tongue dips into your opening experimentally. He looks up to you, blue-green eyes searching for approval. You buck against his face, desperate, full of want and drugs and something indescribable but undeniably exciting. Ambition. Want. Joy. You used to masturbate to this man. His nose grazes against your clit and he laughs as you struggle. It is warm and bubbly, and you feel it all the way down to your bones.
You tug his hair so hard that he sends another noise vibrating through you: a low, half pained, half aroused groan.
Dustin brings his mouth back to your clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. “Oh,” you say, your head drawing backward, falling into Dieter’s shoulder. He watches you, his dark eyes fixed. He presses his lips onto yours like time hasn’t changed anything. You bask in it, give yourself over to the fantasy with the ease he’s offering it—you kiss like lovers, familiar and intimate, an unformidable duo in sex where you weren’t in marriage.
Dieter doesn’t leave your lips as he says, “I never got to see this sort of thing from this point of view. You’re so goddamn pretty.”
His hands tease up your sides, fingers drawing closer to your chest. “Is he making you soaked? Just like I used to?” he asks, his voice a low drawl. You arch up, bringing your lips up to his. He slots his mouth over yours, pressing into you roughly as his fingers find a pebbled nipple through the cloth of your night shirt. As he scraps over the top of it with the pad of his thumb, you draw your eyes closed. The heady scent of Dieter surrounding you mixed with the intoxicating feel of Dustin pressed against your cunt is almost too much to bear. Almost. You moan against Dieter’s lips again as Dustin’s tongue works you, and Dieter smiles, nodding. “Oh baby, he’s gonna be like me. A pitiful, helpless fool for you. Aren’t you?” he says, looking down the valley of your body to the other man.
Dustin grunts wordlessly against you and your hips fail you again, pressing up into the vibration. Sensing this isn’t the end of lack of control, Dustin presses a hand against them, pinning you down. As he licks you open, spreads your folds with the warmth of his eager tongue, you feel on fire, the sensation reaching every part of your body. He’s good at that. He’s lapping and lapping, his strong nose meeting your clit at just the right time each time he comes up.
“He’s so fucking good,” you say helplessly, uncaring of who hears. The drugs make you uninhibited, looser. You meet Dustin’s eyes as he takes your clit into his mouth again. He is sucking lightly and you try to roll your hips into him, but he presses down, a silent no. “Fuck, you’re so—good at that. Oh my god.”
Dieter pinches your nipple between his fingers, humming softly at the sight before him. “You’re gonna make me jealous, baby.”
Dustin’s mouth grows more focused, intent. You feel your orgasm drawing up, coming closer and closer. You open your eyes, blown wide with desire, and focus on Dieter. He kisses you softly again, bringing his hand up to your other breast. Dustin sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and your hardened nipple scraps against the warmth of Dieter’s palm. It's all so right. You cum then, toes curling into the sheets, body going rigid beneath the touch of them both. Dustin doesn’t stop; he laps up your want greedily and Dieter draws up his head to watch. His eyes darken, full of desire and what you assume is a begrudging respect.
After you’ve ridden out your orgasm on Dustin, Dieter huffs out a soft laugh. “He wants to fuck you,” he tells you, thumb swiping affectionately across your cheek. Dustin, unable to let that one go, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and muffles a laugh against your skin.
“Bravo, you’re so jealous it’s making you stupid. She knows that,” he says, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Of course she knows that.”
“M’not jealous,” Dieter denies evenly. When he looks down at you, brown eyes too kind, you half believe him.
You break the eye contact and smile appreciatively down at the man between your legs. A finger you’d locked in his hair now swipes across the bottom of his shiny lips. He takes it into his mouth, wetting the pad, and you say, “You aren’t a very good team. I think it’s important to be a good team.”
Dieter places a hand on your arm, more of a phantom touch than a grip, but you know it’s a stroke of possessiveness. You glance back up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. “Dieter likes men,” you tell Dustin, not looking away from Dieter. “He’s not playing nice now and I think it’s a shame because I bet you taste just like me right now. And I know—“ your gaze drops down to Dustin, your voice velvet “—how much this dearest ex-husband of mine likes the taste of me. Have you ever kissed another man, Dustin?”
Dustin bites at your bait, smirk growing wide as his body stalking up yours. “Of course. I looked like a God in the ‘90s. Everyone wanted me and I wanted everyone,” he jokes, his warm hands flattening against your torso. His legs rest behind your thighs as he sits upwards, and you can see the tent of his erection against his sleep shorts. The black of them does little to conceal the full outline, and you thrill at the idea that he’s probably not wearing any underwear beneath the fabric.
You’re not one for getting starstruck - not anymore, anyway, a Los Angeles resident for years and the ex-wife of a star - but the fact that you used to masturbate to this man in front of you is something you still can’t shake. It occupies your mind, the way you had rewinded scenes from his raunchy, made for tv erotica over and over. Even now, many years later, you can still picture it: his younger frame pressed behind a blond woman, fucking into her in haste, his hands all over her and his thrusts rough. It was incredible to you back then, placed in some seedy location like an alley. Public and animalistic—the stuff of paperback romance novels. You remember the way he tugged her shirt upwards, how in the heat of the moment he grasped at any part of her he could get. A black bra and a long skirt, the bra pushed askew, going higher and higher with each thrust, and the skirt gripped onto, used for leverage as he pushed into her from behind. The VHS that hosted the scene had been passed from friend to friend in your college days, until someone’s VCR had eaten it. You feel a bit excited to know you’ve got the real thing right here. You think about telling him.
But it’s not about you, not now; it’s about Dieter. You widen your legs, make room for the ‘90s heart throb to slip between your body and come closer to the man you’ve dedicated your life to. In this moment you can admit as much. Dieter’s got his cock pressed against your back, and you know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.
Dieter stiffens as Dustin presses closer and closer to him. You shift to accommodate them, moving your body up, guiding Dieter along. He holds you close like a shield but doesn’t protest when Dustin’s lips press into his.
Dustin tastes of earthy vineyards and you—like sweetened strawberry wine and the familiar palette of tangy and acidic that’s blessed Dieter’s tongue many times over. That’s it, he thinks with a smile against Dustin’s generous lips. That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.
He plunges his tongue so deeply into Dustin’s mouth, it threatens to gag them both. But it doesn’t. They’ve both got their party tricks, after all. Dieter’s kiss grows hungry and suddenly there’s no space between any of you. You are a perfectly molded puzzle, fingers on skin, in hair, tongues swiping against lips and chests, and there are deep guttural moans exposing what the erections do well to show.
You know Dieter wants this, can feel his evident excitement press into your back. You happily welcome the warmth of Dustin’s firm body pressing impossibly close to yours. Dieter wets his bottom lip and squeezes you reassuringly, a habit from other life slipping into this new one.
You alternate kissing one another, creating a new taste on your warm, eager tongues. It is perfect. Dustin’s hands gingerly fumble over your chest, not focused or intent but curious, and Dieter’s allow it. The possessiveness has translated into something entirely more agreeable, and these men work together like lovers.
Your fingers grip at Dustin’s muscular shoulders, trail lower and lower over the slope of his chest down to the dip above his shorts. The path is slow and arduous to your lust riddled brain. He grunts against your collarbone, his hot breath fanning over you, and you go lower still, taking the shorts with you.
Dieter’s eyes trail the same place yours do, his chin tucked into your neck; you share the same view of Dustin: the red weeping head of his cock as it bops against his toned stomach, eager to be touched and licked and surrounded. Dustin sighs hotly against you as you press against him - against it - and Dieter swipes his tongue behind your ear. It is heaven, the way Dieter and Dustin feel against you, combined like this. You want them both. You need them.
You wrap your hands in Dieter’s curls, let him support your body as it rubs frantically over Dustin’s. Dieter peppers kisses alongside your neck and whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. God, I was so fucking lucky—“
The rest of it is lost against the shell of your earlobe. Some things - even the kindest, most genuine things - are better left unsaid.
Dustin emits soft, urgent moans as his cock catches between your bodies. The tempo of your shared thrusts grows quick, more focused, and he is close, on the very brink of letting go. You knit your brows, watch curiously and excitedly as he draws closer. You think of it: A hot spurt, just for you. Dieter holds up your sleep shirt, seeming to expect the same.
But then Dustin stops, his thick fingers rough and tight against your skin as he stills your movements. In the morning you’ll be bruised, a thought that thrills you. “Not yet,” is what he says in explanation, leaning his forehead against yours.
Dieter laughs softly, some terrible joke about bad endurance dying before it rises to be heard. He’s on his best behavior. Dustin tastes of you, of him, and you’re all naked and you’re so happy, so pliant. You lean against him like he’s someone you can lean on, and he swallows the serenity of that thought silently. Dieter is a half guilt, a perpetual bleeding heart, and you are his salvation. He knows it doesn’t work like that, can’t, but sex is not about what is real and logical. That’s why you were always so fucking good at it; it was beyond the both of you, and somehow a language you spoke best together.
He should feel worse about Dustin. Perhaps it’s because you want it so bad, or maybe it’s because he’s so horny, but the inclusion of him feels less intrusive than before. This is not your marriage bed - it’s been lost to the cruel seas of time - but it feels like a union, and Dustin plays a curious part. Not the voyeuristic onlooker, but the active participant, his glistening cock hot and heavy against your beautiful stomach. It should make Dieter sick. It did, thirty minutes ago. But now it makes him hard, wets his mouth. The bastard is good looking.
What can he say - you have always had good taste.
You turn your head and lick into Dieter’s mouth, redirecting your attention. He turns you between their bodies, pressing you into him as he kisses you feverishly. Dustin assists him, holding you against his body like Dieter had been doing before, only upwards. Dieter draws back and lifts the cotton sleep shirt over your head. He takes advantage like Dustin hadn’t been smart enough to, wetting your nipple with his warm mouth and tweaking the other between his fingers. You squirm, pressing your hot cunt against his stomach. He feels too clothed suddenly, having been denied contact because layers. You help him take off his shirt and Dustin helps you take off his pants. You waste no time wrapping your hot hand around him and tugging loosely.
His mouth finds your nipple again and you wrap your fingers into his unruly hair, jerking him off slowly as he kisses and sucks at your bare chest. He knows you’re already dripping, seen it on Dustin’s glossy lips when he got done with you, but this is his body remembering you and he can't stop. He remembers the way you got when he licked at you like you were the last scraps of his final meal on earth. How desperate and needy you became, just as desperate and needy as him. His hand travels down your stomach, straight down to your cunt, and he palms the wet heat of you into his hand. Dieter relishes the way you gasp into his mouth as the heel of his hand finds your clit, a smirk on his lips and a sentence like, “That’s it, baby,” coming out against you.
He fingers your entrance teasingly and finds you devastatingly wet. This is heaven, he thinks, the wet stickiness of you on the pad of his finger and your hot breath on his lips. You dig your nails into his shoulder, shut your eyes against the sensation of one of his fingers entering you. Dieter is ground zero. In your Garden of Eden, Dieter was there, at once Adam and the serpent. This is the apple. How delicious it is to be fucked, how perfectly human. Of course they’d turn on God for this. Cover up with leaves and be terrified of the whole earth later. Bleed and cry. Divorce. Whatever. This is worth turning back on perfection for. Poor Eve. Poor you.
You rub yourself against his hand and Dustin takes one of your breasts into his hand, watching. Dieter is so focused on the squelch of your juices and the way his finger - fingers now, two, and you stretch so perfectly for him - enters you that he doesn’t even mind. You’re no pissing contest, he sees that now—you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He swallows your moans and tries his best not to cum. Your grasp on his cock is so loose and it’d be so embarrassing to cum on your stomach when the tugs are nothing, and besides this is about you. So he focuses on trying not to.
“Condom,” you mutter, your lips landing on the side of Dieter’s mouth. Dieter nods his head but doesn’t pull back from you. He watches, enchanted, as your hips move against his hand. He can feel your orgasm build in the way you clench around his fingers, the penultimate pressure too much to bear. When you come, its with a shudder, your body tight and rigid above his as you ride it out. Dieter is so high and so in love with you, and he’s so sick about it that all he can do is laugh earnestly, even though what he wants is to ask you to marry him again.
Dustin is touching you all over with his hands, palming your perfect breasts, and you’re arching farther and farther back. Dieter can hardly bear the sight—not because of the jealousy—but because he’s deathly afraid this is it for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had, and he knows he can’t think that way. You had a good run—you’re great friends now—but God, you married him in Vegas and you used to sketch his nose with careful affection onto canvases you kept for yourself. Who’s gonna sit in your studio now? Who’s gonna take up space in your heart, make you smile over the canvas as you work? He would weep if you didn’t look so pretty and sated, leaning into Dustin the way you are.
He kisses you hard on the mouth just to get rid of the thoughts, and then he kisses Dustin too, grabbing roughly at the back of his hair the way he hasn’t ever with you. It’s not kind, but Dustin doesn’t seem to mind; he moans gruffly, absorbing nothing but the desire behind it.
Your hands explore Dieter’s exposed skin as they kiss, warm and gentle, unconsciously fingering the scar he got as a child. You know the map of this body. When his hard cock bops against his stomach you take it in your hand again. Before he has time to think, you put him in your mouth.
“Fuck,” he mumbles against Dustin’s lips. They stop kissing, looking between them at the sight of you. Dustin is so considerate, so much better than Dieter has ever been. He moves aside your hair, kisses against the curve of your spine. All Dieter can do is think about not cumming. He feels bad about this, wishes he could gather enough strength to think about your hair and things like that. But your mouth is warm and you take him in with expertise, bobbing in a rhythm he wouldn't dare break. Up, down, the tip of your tongue running alongside a vein, back up again. He’ll cum like this. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he touches the top of your head with unspeakable tenderness. Cum, you beckon, but he won’t. Can’t.
Where is that goddamn condom? How can he make this last forever?
He pulls back from your lips smiling an apologetic grin when you at him, surprised. You seem to understand, a devilish little smirk playing across your glossy lips. He wants to kiss you, but even that feels dangerous right now. He thumbs your lips instead.
“Condoms,” he tells you softly. You nod your head.
“In my bag.” You point over to the corner of the room. Dieter pads off to get them.
Dustin’s hands sneak between your thighs and you sigh when he finds your entrance, the tip of a finger rubbing the spot Dieter abandoned. You’re so wet and you want it so badly. He presses his lips against your shoulder and you feel the heat of his breath against your goose pimpled flesh. As you loll your head against him, he slides a finger in. You scratch the back of his head and nod frantically.
“You’re so tight.” He nips your skin and then licks at you with a desperation you’ve only experienced in Dieter. You like being wanted this badly. You lift your hips and ride his finger, squeezing around him. So tight, right. He laughs and you feel that too. “You like being talked dirty to, don’t you? You’re being so good, riding my finger like this. I can’t wait to fuck you. To feel you around my cock like this. And I bet he’s thinking that too.”
You both look over to Dieter as he unwraps a found foil and takes out the condom. You sigh; Dustin’s thumb finds your swollen clit. “We’ve got to make him cum in you, but I don’t think you’ll find that hard. He wants you so bad. Look—“ You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”
Dieter strokes himself through the protective sleeve as he watches the two of you. You feel the familiar sensation of heat spreading low in your belly. When Dustin dares to enter another finger into you, you gasp, feeling full and stretched and yet not full enough. He spreads his fingers inside you, preparing you. You tug at his hair and make eye contact with Dieter.
He smiles lopsidedly, suddenly boyish and more handsome than he’s ever been. You think he looks happy for you—so pleased that you’re pleased, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it’s the drugs. You don’t know. Maybe he is happy that you’re happy. He was always better at saying he loved you than he was at showing it, but you suspect that this is his showing you. Love. Maybe it spills over in divorce, just another cruel thing you’ve got to cope with.
When Dieter comes back, he presses a condom into Dustin’s thigh. You are at the edge of another orgasm, everything perfectly in place — the sensation of Dustin’s thumb, the way his breath hits your skin, the idea that Dieter is watching you—but he denies you it, interrupting. You go to protest, whine, but he doesn’t give you a chance.
Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity. You squeeze Dieter’s shoulder. The other condom package falls loosely onto the bed as Dustin uses his hand to keep you steady, your knees weak from the pleasure.
You tug at Dieter’s hair to make him stop. Dustin seems to know instinctively, leaving you feeling empty when he takes his fingers away. His slick covered fingers rest on your hips as you tell them both, breathlessly, “I can’t do another one. It’s too much.”
Dieter shakes his head in protest but Dustin takes the information in stride. He’s too good at this, moves through the motions with ease, improvising quickly. He extends his slicked fingers to Dieter. Dieter, who has been so focused on you, looks at them quizzically, unsure of what they mean. Then he seems to get it, hard features smoothing out in realization.
He looks at Dustin, and it’s not like with you. He's focused, not icy or angry but so intent. It’s not a loveless gaze, per se, but it is devoid of love; filled not with something warm but something hot.
Dustin’s cock presses into the small of your back. As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. You bite at your lip. You’ve never seen Dieter with men before, and this new side of him excites you—like unlocking a new door in a house you’ve had for ages. He puts on a show for you, bobbing like you did on him. Dustin’s fingers seem to be an extension of yourself. You shudder as Dieter tongues along them, and Dustin rubs himself helplessly against your backside.
“I want to see what you’re like with men,” you say to Dieter, your voice barely a whisper. But Dieter hears you and his eyebrows perk in interest. This is a long unanswered question to something you’ve never been brave enough to ask. You’ve always known that he’s been interested in men — that he’s had sex with them — but you’ve never really questioned outright about what it was like. It felt equal parts too personal and hurtful; you didn’t want to know what it was like with other people before you. But everything seems different tonight. You want to know badly, like he’s got secrets that could be your salvation hidden in him.
You slip from between them, lying against the pillows. Before filling the space, Dieter looks over at you. His brown eyes implore you for a sign and you nod your head.
He’d asked you earlier, when Dustin asked about rules, if you’d be alright with them touching each other, maybe even entering one another. You hadn’t expected it to get to that, so it had been easy to say you didn’t mind. In fact, you had figured Dieter only said it as a means to scare you away from the idea. And now that the notion is not only on the horizon, but a reality, it comes just as easy to say yes—maybe even more so.
He stalls, hesitating, so you nod again, laughing. He smiles. Your ex-husband is a startlingly beautiful man like this, looking so openly vulnerable. He’s physically and emotionally naked and you’ve waited decades for it.
Dieter and Dustin kiss each other like men do, aggressive and dominating, neither willing to lose the good fight just yet. You feel your interest piqued, watching the way their fingers touch each other. How they tug and grip, search for purchase all over. Dieter is much rougher with Dustin than he’s ever chanced to be with you, with bruising kisses and bruising touches. When he grabs the man’s cock, it is with an ugly dedication, fast dry and quick tugs. Dustin hisses the first time but doesn’t protest. In fact, he thrusts his hips unashamedly into Dieter’s closed fist, licking into his mouth with a degree of delight. They tug at the back of each other’s heads of hair and eventually Dieter gives way, falling back to allow Dustin to mount him.
Dustin searches for the condom on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily in an attempt to grasp at long denied air. You watch through heavy lids as he slides the latex onto himself. He’s circumcised, pink and swollen at the tip. Drips of pre-cum have made him all glossy and you bite your lip watching him struggle to line himself up. When he gets the latex down to his base, he smiles a satisfied smirk. He doesn’t look at you. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t mind at all. This is his favorite play, and he’s an actor after all.
Dieter’s knees knock apart to accommodate his frame—a body you’ve begun to notice with quiet admiration in your desire. He’s broad, much broader than he’d been in his youth, and he’s got muscle all over now, whereas before he’d been lean and lanky. He’s hard and tight and as he begins to rub himself against Dieter, you’re taken with the way his skin stretches over the plains of his back, his arms, his stomach. Dustin is in impeccable shape, perhaps one of the only men who can claim he’s doing better now than he was in his youth. Gone is the boyishness, replaced with a heady, sure masculinity.
Dieter seems to relinquish his fight happily now, soft growls emitting from his lips. Dustin presses down into him, and while most of what they’re doing is obscured by Dieter’s legs, you can imagine it well enough: the steady, erratic thrusts of Dustin’s cock rubbing against Dieter’s. There’s a sheen of sweat on them both and Dustin buries his head in Dieter’s neck. He licks at the places you had once, and it is nothing but erotic little huffs from them both.
“You’re…” Dustin begins, but falters off. He lifts himself up, repositions, bracketing Dieter’s head between his strong arms. Dieter’s eyes are pressed closed, his dark features etched with pleasure. All they do for a while is rub against each other. You feel like an intruder, like something stopping them from getting where they need to be. Maybe you are.
You dare to speak: “Aren’t you going to touch each other?”
Dieter looks startled. He’s red in the cheeks, the exertion of their movements and the heat of his desire making him flush. He taps Dustin on the arm, making the steady roll of his hips slow until suddenly it’s nothing. It’s all quiet for the first time in minutes.
They both look at you with intent eyes. But Dieter is the first to take charge. “You should fuck her,” he tells Dustin. Dieter looks at you, questioning.
“But—“ you protest. Dieter shakes his head.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”
Dustin has no qualms about the interchanging of you and Dieter. You notice that he's notably gentler with you than he was with him, though. He crawls to you, kisses you chastely—as if testing the waters. There’s nothing necessarily erratic or rough about what he does to you. He looks between your spread legs and fingers at your entrance once more, circling the area teasingly. You groan in anticipation and his head falls to your chest. He takes a taut nipple into his mouth as he plunges his fingers inside of you, pushing them against your front wall. As you sigh heavily, he moves his wet mouth to the other nipple.
You turn your head, catch Dieter’s fixed gaze. He reaches out his hand and you lace your fingers together. He’s touching himself through his condom, stroking softly. You want to devour him.
Dustin takes his fingers from you, and you look back at him. Before you can plead for more he says, “I’m gonna enter you now.” You nod, wordless.
He gathers the slick from his fingers and coats his latex covered cock with it. As you squeeze Dieter’s hand, Dustin lines himself to your entrance. His kiss is soft, barely a kiss at all, and he enters you, inch by careful inch. He feels so overwhelmingly right, snug, puncturing something decidedly primal inside of you when he bottoms out.
“Oh, fuck,” you groan hotly against his shoulder. He manages a small laugh, running his lips against your cheek. “Go hard,” you ask. He hasn’t moved yet, stays still inside of you. You think of the way he was with Dieter.
“I don’t know if I can. I think I’ll…” He swallows. “I know I’ll cum.”
“Please,” you beg. You dig crescent shaped nail marks into ass and he smiles teasingly, running his warm tongue against your sensitive skin. He presses so intimately into you, your nipples scrap against his chest. It feels so good. Everything does.
“He said no,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes.
“He’ll give me anything I want,” you say. Dieter’s fingers leave yours then, and you look over. You think you’ve made him mad but he’s only repositioning himself, coming closer to your bodies. He doesn’t say anything.
Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Dustin mumbles, finally drawing back. You nod your head, encouraging, but he doesn’t go harder. He moves in the same way he did before, experimental and slow. When you look at him, imploring silently, he shakes his head. “But a rule is a rule, baby. ‘Sides, I think he’s making me get you ready. Your husband is a bit of a pervert. He’s touching himself, watching me stretch you open with my cock.” Dustin presses his lips into yours. Against you, he mumbles, “Did ya know he likes to watch? Bet he likes to hear too. You—“ Dustin pushes back into you, stopping himself, and the squelch of your juices adds to the effect. He smirks. “—You’ll get fucked. Just not by me. Not yet. Maybe I’ll fuck him while he fucks you. Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”
You feel Dieter’s fingers but can’t move your eyes away from Dustin’s. They’re greener like this, up close. Dieter trails a line over your body, and then up to Dustin’s, with a lone finger. Dustin turns to look at him and he smiles, nodding. They seem to work without words.
Dustin reaches down to grip the condom as he pulls out of you. You look over at Dieter, half angry and half amused that he could interrupt. You realize what they’re doing almost immediately. Dieter holds open your legs by pressing his palm against one of your knees, and Dustin shuffles, moving back to let Dieter take his place.
His cock probes against your entrance and he smiles down at you like a fool. “Hey,” he tells you evenly, half sober. You ache for him. You clench around nothing as he licks into your mouth.
“Hey,” you respond, overcome. Your fingers wrap around his arms and you notice that he’s got more muscle than before too.
“You want to be fucked?” Although he attempts to make this a question, it is more of a statement. You nod along anyway. He kisses you hard, rough like with Dustin, and he nearly enters you as he rubs himself greedily against your naked warmth, wetting himself with your slick.
“Yes. Hard, like you do with him,” you tell him. He smiles against your lips. You take his cock in your hand, so much more sure with him than anyone, and he slides into you. It feels like homecoming, wet and warm and familiar, your fingers digging into his skin and the smell of sex in the air. He does what you ask, his thrusts sharp, his hips snapping against your hips.
“Dieter,” you pant out, nodding your head. He kisses the side of your mouth sloppily and you smile the best you can. Where Dustin felt right, Dieter feels perfect. You feel like you touch the hem of eternity as he plunges into you with the intensity you requested, uninhibited and giving in the roughness.
He repositions you both in one expert movement, moving to his knees, pushing your hips farther up. This makes you let out a startled gasp; he hits you far deeper like this, his thumbs digging into the flesh on your hips with bruising intensity. You can’t kiss from this position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks you. Really fucks you.
You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. He doesn’t even touch himself. This makes you frown.
“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.
“Huh?” he grunts.
“Dustin.��
“Mm, what—what about him?”
“Let him fuck me too. Please.”
Dieter shakes his head. “No, you’re mine right now. You’re—“ he snaps into you roughly, the bed creaking. “I’ll suck him off. Or maybe—“ Dieter grunts again, “Maybe he’ll be smart and he’ll get behind me. And maybe he’ll—“ his head drops to your neck, and your head the next part through mumbles. “Maybe he’ll rub against me like he was doing before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Just think about you. It’s all for you.”
You close your eyes, nodding. That sounds fine. Great. Dieter’s finger gazes at your clit and you nod, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist. You always liked to feel the way his forearm moved as he did this to you.
“Cum for me and I’ll cum for you,” he says, and you feel it begin, the stirrings of another orgasm. You think of him, of the way he punctures his thrusts with grunts, how good he feels inside of you, bottoming out like this with measured fury. You like how rough he’s being, like never before. You like this side of Dieter. You like that there is more of Dieter to know.
When you cum, you call out his name. He swallows it, pressing his lips to yours. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me. You’ve always been.” He fucks faster into you, his own release on the horizon. You squeeze around him once, twice, and that’s it; he’s filling the condom up and he’s gasping earnestly, amazed and so goddamn in love. He kisses you on the mouth and it’s so genuine. You kiss him back, smiling like a newlywed.
“Dustin,” you say against Dieter’s lips, after a moment. Your chests are both heaving and you're drenched in a thin layer of sweat. He presses his forehead against yours and you smile. “Let me take care of him,” you tell him.
Dieter rolls off of you, collapsing into bed with a soft groan and saying nothing. You take a moment to recuperate, breathing in and out, letting the bliss of this moment wash over you.
“Come here,” you say to Dustin, patting the open space of the bed beside you. He listens, the bed dipping beneath his weight. It takes a lot of effort on your part, but you rise to your knees. You guide him onto his back and he helps you straddle him. For a moment, you just sit there on top of him, looking at him.
“I used to masturbate to you,” you finally admit. This makes him grin. Beneath your cunt, his erection jumps a little.
“Thanks,” he says. His hand palms one of your breasts again. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I can finish myself off if you want.”
You shake your head, grinning. “Didn’t you hear me? I used to masturbate to you. This is a dream.”
Another hand comes up to cup your other breasts. “Are you sure you don't feel too sore? He fucked you pretty good.” You begin to glide your cunt alongside his prominent erection. He sucks in a swallow breath. “Guess that’s a no.”
“That’s a no,” you confirm.
“Just let her fuck you,” Dieter tells him quietly. You smile over at him but he doesn’t see it; he’s too busy watching the way you move your hips over Dustin. Even with a flaccid penis and in a state of post-coital peace, you manage to get to him.
You ride Dustin quickly, grabbing onto his strong shoulders as he tongues your alongside chest, finding your nipples. He groans, the sensation vibrating throughout your body as you follow the motion his hands set for you. A fast up and down, your back arching, taking him in completely and then pushing back so far he nearly falls out.
Admittedly he does most of the work, your legs wobbly and your body tired. But it feels good. God, does it feel good. You like this, being with two men back to back, each of them taking turns. Dustin generously tries to get you to cum again, his fingers sliding between your bodies, but you stop him.
“It’s too much. Just this,” you tell him. You grind down on him to make him feel better about it, and he hums sympathetically around a mouthful of your breast.
You ride him less enthusiastically the closer he gets, both of you too tired and worn. He stops aiding you so much, kissing anywhere he can access: your jaw, your neck, the side of your mouth. He lets your body fall forward into his. It’s a sort of lazy fucking that you do, meeting halfway to create the sharp thrusts that push him closer to climax.
“Cum in me,” you tell him, voice silky against his ear. He knows how tired you are, feels it too. He gathers up the last of both of your strengths, rutting up into you with intent. As he cums, you ride him, curious, taking all he can give. Dieter is too sensitive, can’t stand to move when he cums, but Dustin nods, moaning against you. When it’s over, you collapse into him, hugging his sweaty body. He laughs against your warm skin.
“Thank you,” he tells you softly, so only you can hear. You nod. You lie on him like that for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart. Dieter watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look faraway.
You reach out to him with your fingers and he smiles, coming to.
Dustin helps you off of him and you fall between them, sated and spent. He slides off his condom and reaches across your body. “You want me to take yours?” he asks Dieter. Dieter, no longer feeling jealous but merely tired, nods. He hands the man his condom and Dustin pads off to the bathroom. Dieter and you watch this, amused.
“I kinda understand what you see in him now,” he confesses, smiling. He interlocks your fingers and you let him.
“Thank you,” you say, ignoring his comment. You look over at him.
He nods, sincere. “Of course. I assume I did it right?”
“You did it right.”
“And you don’t regret it?”
You shake your head. “I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I love you.”
You kiss him chastely, even though you know you shouldn’t. “I know,” you tell him softly. “I love you too.”
“Like a friend?”
“No.”
“Like a husband?” he asks, testing the waters. You laugh. Dustin comes back from the bathroom.
“No. Something more than all of that.”
“I can handle that.”
You nod your head. “Me too,” you tell him.
The bed dips from the weight of Dustin once more, and you roll over to your side, cuddling into him. He passes a warm rag to Dieter and he accepts it, cleaning himself. He goes to hand it to you, but you shake your head.
“I’ll take a shower in a little. When I can walk.”
This earns a laugh from them both. Dustin reaches an arm around you, drawing you closer to his body. Dieter, surprisingly, doesn’t mind this; he curls up behind you, too, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re all so close, and it’s nice. He thinks maybe they might be something to this sharing after all.
“I liked that,” you say to no one in particular.
Dustin hums, fingering trailing over your arm. “Enough to do it again?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I think the opportunity for this kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know about that. This is Hollywood, and they love sequels,” Dieter adds, smiling.
“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”
You close your eyes, smiling faintly. “A sequel, then, maybe,” you say tiredly.
In the morning, you do not regret any of it.
—-
A YEAR LATER.
SUBJECT: THREE’S COMPANY, BUT ONLY SOMETIMES from: [email protected]
I was at an art show the other day and I saw a painting with your name on it. The guy in it looked a little familiar (they told me it was an old painting, from nearly a decade ago, before you were both famous. Cute). I bought it, of course. Not that I’m in the habit of buying paintings from people I’ve slept with, but it was for charity and it looked good and I’ve got a new apartment that I’ve got to fill, so I thought why not? It cost a lot (good for you!) and because of that they let me wrangle an email address from them to tell you what a brilliant job you did. You did great. Very Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of you. Anyway, to the point: You weren’t at the premiere of the documentary with Dieter last month. He told me that it's because you don’t like that scene, and I don’t blame you. Neither do I. But I was wondering how you feel about commissioned paintings? And do you think that Dieter would like to come with you to deliver it if your opinion is positive? (He told me I had to ask you that myself, so I think he’d be happy to accompany you if the canvas is too big to carry by yourself). P.S. I’m asking you for sex–a sequel, as it were–but I really would like a painting, too. I’ll spend a lot (not for the sex, but the art. I guess for the sex too, if you’re into that). Love, D. Mulray.
—-
SUBJECT: HOPEFULLY NOT ROSEMARY’S BABY SITUATION to: [email protected], [email protected]
Sometimes I commission art work for people I like and sometimes I make an exception for those I don’t if they pay enough. I’m sure you fall somewhere in those categories, Dustin. But I must warn you: I won’t do dick drawings. I might do a vagina one if the inspiration strikes. I must admit I’ve never had a man ask me for sex over email. Kind of thrilling, like a retro sext but without any of the sexy parts. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). P.S. It will cost you. For tax purposes, I hope you’ll let ‘it’ be the art.
—
from: [email protected] to: you, [email protected]
Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?
#FIC REC#CAPITAL LETTERS#it's so fucking good...#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x reader x dustin mulray
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Unseen Beauty
Synopsis; After hearing cruel comments about his appearance, Kurt begins to doubt himself, feeling like he’s something less than human. But with your gentle words and unwavering belief in his beauty and kindness, he begins to see himself through new eyes—eyes that reflect the warmth and worth he truly holds. Warnings; None! Love you and enjoy kits! Requested by @hulkingharbor
You find Kurt sitting alone on the mansion’s steps, his tail curled tightly around him, head lowered as he absently traces patterns in the stone. His usual cheerful demeanor seems to have vanished, replaced with a quiet sadness that tugs at your heart.
“Kurt?” you say softly, sitting beside him. He looks up, and there’s a flicker of surprise in his yellow eyes before he quickly glances away.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” he mutters, trying to muster a smile. “I did not mean to be such… gloomy company.”
You shake your head. “You’re never gloomy company. But something’s obviously on your mind.”
For a moment, he hesitates, and then, as if he can no longer hold it in, he sighs, his shoulders slumping. “It’s just… some things people said,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with lingering hurt. “That I look… frightening. A ‘monster’.” He swallows, the words barely audible. “Sometimes it is hard not to see myself that way, too.”
Your heart aches at the pain in his voice. Without thinking, you reach over, gently touching his hand, offering silent reassurance until he finally meets your gaze.
“Kurt, that’s not true. You’re not frightening; you’re beautiful.”
He blinks, caught off guard, and a faint blush colors his cheeks. “You don’t have to say that, you know,” he says, half-smiling, though there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes.
You smile, holding his hand a little tighter. “I want to say it. The way you smile, the kindness in your eyes, the way you care about everyone around you… that’s what makes you so beautiful. And anyone who doesn’t see that? They’re the ones who are missing something.”
His eyes soften, and he looks down, a small, genuine smile breaking through the sadness. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely,” you say, your voice firm. “Every part of you—your laugh, your heart, even your tail—makes you who you are. And who you are is beautiful, Kurt.”
Slowly, his hand relaxes in yours, and his smile grows, warmer now, with a hint of his usual brightness. He lets out a deep breath, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispers. “You do not know how much it means to me.”
You squeeze his hand. “Anytime, Kurt. You’re precious to me. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
As he smiles back at you, the sadness fades, replaced by a quiet gratitude and a spark of confidence you hope will stay with him long after tonight.
#x men#x men fanfiction#x men 97#x men comics#x men movies#female writers#kurt wagner#writing#kurt wagner x reader#x men x reader
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Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 18)
Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)
"Hey," Kevin waves when Derrick opens the front door.
"Hey, glad you could make it," my deskmate says. "Where's Brittney?"
"Surprise!" Brittney shouts, popping out of Kevin's shirt pocket. She blows a party horn and throws a handful of confetti into the air.
"Sorry," Kevin says. "She insisted on making an entrance."
Derrick laughs. "That's Brittney for you! I wouldn't have her any other way!"
Derrick stands to the side of the door so Kevin and Brittney can enter the house. Kevin, I notice, has changed into a more casual outfit—jeans and a brown oversized t-shirt. Brittney, on the other hand, is still sporting her school uniform.
"Here," Brittney says, removing her necktie and shoving it into the pocket of the blazer she's holding out along with her bookbag. "Can you hang these up for me, babe?"
Without saying a word, Kevin pinches the green blazer and the bookbag between his fingertips and hangs them beside mine on the coat rack. As I watch him set them in place with one swift motion, I can't help but wonder if he's gotten used to handling human items. Derrick was so surprised at the size of my blazer when he held it, but Kevin seems unphased in comparison.
"Oh, yeah," Kevin says, turning to Derrick. "You said to bring a board game, so we brought Aventerra. There weren't a ton of options at my place."
"That works! Anything different from the usual is great!" Derrick says, taking the box in his hands. "We can only play Deduce and Roam Runner so many times."
Kevin nods. "Also, this is for you," he says, holding up a thin rectangular object. It's wrapped in some kind of shiny paper that's decorated with multicolored stars.
"And this, too!" Brittney exclaims, holding out a human-sized gift wrapped in what looks to be the same paper.
Derrick's eyes widen. "You guys didn't have to get me anything!" He says, holding up his hands.
"Go ahead, take them!" Brittney says. "What are friends for, anyway?"
Derrick laughs, taking the items. "Okay, okay, only if you insist."
I try not to look up at Derrick when he approaches the table to set down the Aventerra box and put the gifts with the others, but something in me gives in and I find myself staring higher and higher until my eyes finally meet his. My insides churn when he flashes a smile at me from above. I turn my eyes to the table's surface in an instant, but the image of him looming over me remains burned into my mind and causes my head to start spinning.
"Kaylin!" Brittney hollers, running from where Kevin set her down on the table and attacking me with a tight hug. "You came!"
"Can't...! Breathe...!" I manage through what little breath has yet to be squeezed out of my lungs by her embrace.
"Oh, sorry!" Brittney says, releasing me. "I'm just super glad you're here, since I wasn't sure if you were really coming! I figured it would be hard for you to show up to a party at a place like this because of your—"
Derrick clears his throat. "Hey, how about we get things started? Do you guys want to play Aventerra?"
Brittney's eyes light up as she smiles. "Yes! I'd love to!"
I hesitate, looking back at Mrs. Drake. She's wiping off the counter with the rag she used to dry dishes, but her eyes are focused on Brittney and I. I spin back around, and my eyes lock onto the table's surface. I try to concentrate on steadying my breathing, but all that manages to escape my lungs are quick, shuddery breaths to go with my trembling. I grab hold of one of my hands and squeeze it tight, trying my hardest to focus on the pressure instead of my rapid heartbeat.
"Kaylin?" Derrick asks.
"Y-yes?" I manage to answer while slowly craning my neck back to look him in the eyes.
"Would you like to play too?"
"Uh, maybe," I say. "But... don't you want to wait for more people to get here first?"
The room grows quiet, and I look around as I wait for a response. Brittney looks to Derrick with sadness in her eyes. Kevin glances away, a hand on his chin. I don't dare look at Mrs. Drake a second time. I take a step back and reluctantly peek up at my deskmate, who seems to be searching for something to say. He smiles.
"Since this is a last-minute sort of thing, it's only going to be the four of us. There aren't a lot of people who would be willing to show up to a party held at the last minute on a Forsday, anyway," Derrick chuckles.
"O-oh," I say, forcing a smile and a laugh.
"Anyway," Derrick says, opening the big, navy blue box labeled Aventerra, "let's begin, shall we?"
"Um," I pipe up, "would this game happen to have any heavy pieces?"
"It's actually really easy for humans to play!" Brittney exclaims, taking me by the hand and pulling me to the center of the game board Derrick just laid down. "It's even got one of these popping things, so we don't have to pick up the dice!"
Brittney stomps on a pedal with her foot, causing a pair of dice contained within a large plastic dome to tumble around with a loud pop. Taken aback by the unexpected noise, I flinch, only to gaze at the device before me in wonder.
"Is it really that easy?" I ask, looking to Brittney as if requesting permission to try rolling the dice myself. When she nods, I give the plastic pedal a gentle tap, and a loud pop fills my ears once again as the dice bounce around in the dome.
"Wow," I whisper, positive this is the first time I've laid eyes on a game like this. "I never thought a perthean board game would be this accessible to humans."
Brittney picks up a red disk the size of a bicycle tire with the words '100 soldiers' written on it. "All we really need to pick up are these tokens and some cards. It's really easy!"
"What do you say, Kaylin?" Derrick asks, crouching down to be eye level with Brittney and I. "Do you want to play?"
I glance over at Brittney, who, with a big smile, nods her head up and down vigorously. Kevin, almost predictably, has already pulled out his phone and begun to stare at it with an expression devoid of any life. Then my gaze rests on Derrick. My insides flip as I examine the great face before me, and my heart begins to pound when our eyes meet. I quickly turn away, placing a hand on a cheek that I'm sure has reddened by now as I squirm where I stand on the table. I want to look my deskmate in the eyes, but for whatever reason, I just can't handle the weight of his stare!
"Y-yes," I finally manage. "I'll play."
Mrs. Drake passes by the table and ruffles her son's hair. "You kids have fun. Your dad and I will be in the other room if you need anything."
"Right. Thanks, Mom." Derrick says, fixing his hair as she walks away.
The room grows quiet once more as Mrs. Drake closes a door somewhere down the hall. Derrick lets out a sigh and turns back to me.
"So, you probably want to know how to play, huh?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After a few minutes of explaining, confusion, and more explaining, I figured I knew enough about the game to give it a try. Derrick, being the birthday boy, went first when Brittney convinced him to, even though he initially wanted to decide who went first by dice roll as the rules directed. Since play was supposed to go clockwise, Kevin should have been next, but Brittney was too eager to roll the dice and ended up going before him. Kevin went after her, and I went last.
The game itself is simple— roll the dice, send out soldiers, and claim land. If the land you end up on is already claimed, fight for it by dice roll. I'm sure I'm forgetting something from Derrick and Brittney's explanation. But I figure if I try to memorize the rules in their entirety, we'll never get to play.
"You'd think all this land we're claiming would already have some owners, wouldn't you?" Brittney says, gazing at the soldier tokens Kevin just set down on his newly claimed territory.
"What?" Kevin says, his eyes narrowing in confusion at his girlfriend's statement. "The back of the box says it's a new world no one has discovered before. Why would there be people there?"
"Well, that's true," Brittney says, "but don't explorers sometimes say they've discovered new land when it's already being occupied?"
"But that would be lying," Derrick chuckles. "They wouldn't have discovered it at all!"
"Yeah," Kevin adds on, "what kind of psychopath would make a claim like that?"
"Ha! Yeah, just... a lot of Earth's explorers were like that, I guess," Brittney laughs nervously before turning to me. "Okay, your turn! Think you've got it figured out?"
"I think so. I'll send out 300 soldiers," I say, stacking three tokens and stepping on the dice pedal. After the two cubes settle down, I read the numbers on the top. "Three and one. Four?!"
My eagerness to play turns to panic as I realize that moving four spaces from start would land me on the space Kevin just claimed on his turn. I don't want to fight Kevin! I begin to shake as I stare at the dice with no clue how to proceed.
"Kaylin?" Brittney says, tapping me on the shoulder. "You good?"
"G-good? Y-yeah!" I utter through my trembling. "Just making sure I read that right."
I turn and begin walking towards the start space, the wobbling in my legs nearly causing me to trip with each step. What am I going to do? When I arrive, I lift my plastic red pawn and count the spaces in front of me over and over again to ensure I'm not making some kind of mistake.
Kevin taps the fourth space on the board in front of me, where he's stacked four of his blue soldier tokens. I gulp as a shudder runs down my spine. If I don't start moving, he's going to realize something's wrong with me for sure! I begin inching forward, my heart pounding in my chest with each step I take toward Kevin's claimed territory. After too short of a distance for my liking, I reach my destination and set my pawn down beside the stack of blue tokens.
"Well, well, well," Kevin grumbles, his low voice reverberating through the table and shaking me to my core.
I don't dare look up. I don't dare make contact with those narrowed brown eyes of his. Not when they remind me so much of...
SLAM!
I struggle to maintain my balance as various game pieces fly through the air and come crashing down all around me. My eyes snap to the right, widening as they land on the cause of this sudden disruption. Before me is a fist. Kevin's fist. I spin around, hoping to locate Brittney or Derrick, but they're nowhere to be found. Trembling, I begin to tiptoe away from the clenched hand.
"Thought you could escape?" Kevin asks, his booming voice reverberating through my body as he pinches the back of my shirt and lifts me high above the table.
"H-hey!" I protest, kicking my legs in a futile attempt to get away.
"Resisting? What a pity," Kevin sighs before a devilish grin spreads across his face. "Most tinies give up and let me win."
My heartbeat rings in my ears as one massive digit pins me between another, forcing the breath from my lungs and leaving me without any air. One by one, other fingers begin to curl around my quaking frame, trapping me completely. No, no! Anything but this!
"If you can't play nicely," he growls, lifting my head to meet those narrowed brown eyes of his as he tightens his grip, "then don't play at all."
All at once I'm thrown down onto the game board, where I land on my side with a loud crack. I don't have time to process the burning pain in my hip when, to my horror, the very same fist that threatened to squeeze the life out of me comes hurling down toward me from above.
SLAM!
"Hello?! Kaylin?!" Brittney says, shaking me by the shoulders.
"Y-yes?!" I answer, clueless to what's going on around me.
"Finally!" she huffs, releasing me. "We were getting worried! You've gotta stop zoning out like that, it freaks people out!"
"S-sorry," I manage, wiping away a stray tear with one of my trembling hands. "What's happening, exactly?"
"You were just about to beg for mercy," Kevin says with a wink.
My lip quivers as I take a step back, unable to tear my eyes away from the massive perthean looming above me.
Brittney lays a hand on my shoulder. "He's joking."
"300 soldiers, right? This stack here?" Kevin asks, pointing to one of my stacks of red soldier tokens by the dice.
"Y-yeah," I nod.
"Well then," he says, picking up the stack and setting it beside the stack that was already on his claimed space, "better hope for a high roll. As defender, I'll roll first."
I flinch when Kevin reaches around Brittney and I to tap the dice pedal. After a loud pop, the cubes in the dome settle down again, and we all lean in to see the result.
Kevin leans back in his chair upon seeing the two and the one he rolled.
"Three times four hundred... That's twelve hundred points," he sighs.
"Mhm," I hum as I rub one of my trembling arms.
"Come on, Kaylin!" Brittney cheers. "You can definitely beat him! That roll was pathetic! You've got this!"
"P-pathetic?" Kevin mumbles. "I thought you were on my side."
"Technically, nobody's really supposed to be on anybody's side," Derrick laughs.
Brittney crosses her arms and turns away from the boys, her bottom lip protruding in a pout. "I was just trying to encourage her, that's all!"
A soft chuckle escapes me as I step on the dice pedal. I bite the inside of my cheek and squeeze my eyes shut as the cubes dance around in their container. When they come to a stop, I reluctantly open one eye and see one of the dice landed on one. My heart sinks. I almost want to keep my eyes shut and pretend I'm not even playing this game.
"Wow! You did it!" Brittney exclaims, shaking one of my shoulders.
"I-I did?" I ask, opening both of my eyes to see the other die, which managed to land on five.
"Eighteen hundred points," Kevin says. "Good game."
As I allow my shoulders to relax, a smile creeps onto my face. I wasn't expecting to win at all! And I wasn't sure if I could expect Kevin to be a good sport about it, either.
Kevin swaps his four blue tokens for red ones and places them beside me.
"So," he says, grinning, "what would you like to do with your new land?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The game went on for an hour or so, and things were really close between Brittney and Derrick during the last quarter. It was anyone's guess who the winner would be, but ultimately, Brittney came out on top.
After thinking through other games we could play, we decided to switch from board games to video games when Derrick suggested we play Super Crushers Ultra on his FlexPad. I wasn't sure at first, since I've never been a big fan of violent games. But then I learned I could play as Mr. Buck from Flower Forest, or even that lovable orange blob, Borbo! Since a kid-friendly character like Borbo was involved, I became convinced that the game couldn't possibly be as violent as I had initially worried it would be.
Derrick happened to have two sets of human-sized FlexPad controllers, which took me by surprise. I wonder how many humans he plays video games with.
"Gah!" Brittney says when Borbo is cornered by Luis, the blue electrician.
Derrick, not wasting the opportunity, proceeds to mercilessly mash buttons on his controller until poor Borbo is flung off screen by a powerful bolt of lightning coming from Luis' wrench.
"Not fair!" Brittney exclaims. "What did I ever do to you?!"
"You did take his land," Kevin says, moving the angry black cat, Eclipse, off a ledge and toward Luis. "Don't worry, I'll get him for you."
"I thought we weren't taking sides!" Derrick says as he continues to mash buttons.
I move Mr. Buck from ledge to ledge above the other two fighters, still not quite sure how to control him. Once Eclipse is thrown out of the arena, Luis jumps up in front of Mr. Buck! My heart beats faster and faster as I struggle to remember the right buttons to press.
"W-wait!" I plead. "Can't we talk about this?"
To my surprise, Luis stops.
"Oh, come on!" Kevin shouts. "You didn't even show any mercy to your own best friend!"
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I look down at my controller. I didn't mean to make anyone angry.
"Hold on, I just want to see what she has to say," Derrick says.
My heart skips a beat. I didn't think my plea would get me this far. I turn back from my spot on the sofa's armrest to look up at Derrick, whose warm smile almost seems unfitting for a guy who just beat two of his closest friends in a video game without holding back.
"Well?" Derrick says.
"U-um," I utter, desperately trying to think of any string of words that could get me out of this situation.
Derrick tilts his head, waiting patiently for my response.
"Y-you..." I start, putting on the best impression of Mr. Buck I can muster. "You wouldn't hit a fellow with glasses, now would you?"
My deskmate is silent at first, but after a moment, bursts out laughing.
My heart sinks in my chest as my face turns a bright shade of red. What was I thinking? Why would I say something so stupid?
"That was really good!" Derrick laughs, wiping a stray tear from his eye.
I look up to my deskmate in surprise. "R-really?"
"Yeah! And you do have a point. I guess I wouldn't hit a guy with glasses."
"S-so you'll reconsider?!" I blurt out, hanging on to the last bit of hope I have left.
Derrick finally stops laughing and smiles warmly at me. "No, I don't think I will."
Before I even have the chance to turn back around, the sound of Mr. Buck being electrocuted fills my ears.
"WINNER!" declares the game's announcer as the blue electrician dances and the other characters clap.
"Sorry, Kaylin." Derrick chuckles.
My attention immediately shifts when I hear a door open down the hall, followed by some shuffling in the kitchen. My curiosity turns to trembling when I realize that Mrs. Drake couldn't possibly be alone in there. Who else could be with her? I look around the room, but the others don't seem to take notice of the noise as they go through the play-by-play of the game's last round.
All at once, the lights in the living room turn off. I let out a gasp as endless possibilities run through my mind. Could the power have gone out? Not if the TV is still on. Could something have short-circuited? Could someone have turned the lights off? What sort of nefarious reason could someone have to do that?
I turn to see a faint orange glow coming from the other side of the room, accompanied by two shadowy figures. One of them has to be Mrs. Drake, but I can't help but tremble as I glance at the two! And who's the tall, foreboding figure beside her?!
As the two figures approach Derrick, one of them begins to sing:
Happiest birthday, child of ours
Happiest birthday, light of our lives
Live years of joy and happiness
And know that we hold you so dear
I look to Derrick, whose face is illuminated by the glow of what I've come to realize is a candle sitting atop a birthday cake. One of his brows twitches as he forces a smile.
"Well? Aren't you going to make a wish?" asks his mom, cake in hand.
Derrick sighs. Then, closing his eyes, he blows out the candle.
"Yay!" Brittney says. She claps, but nobody else joins in.
"Mom," Derrick starts, once again forcing a smile. "I did tell you I didn't want to have cake tonight, right?"
"I thought you were only talking about dinner," Mrs. Drake says, her smile fading. "Besides, it's tradition to have cake on birthdays!"
"I know, but..." Derrick starts, flashing a worried glance in my direction before turning back to his mom. "Can't we save it for later?"
"Why don't we ask your friends if they're comfortable with— I mean, if they'd like to have some before we put it away?" Mrs. Drake suggests.
"I'll have some cake!" Brittney hollers, waving her arms in the air.
Kevin sighs. "You and that sweet tooth. You are way too excited for this."
Mrs. Drake laughs. "Of course, Brittney. You'll get some cake. How about you, Kevin?"
"Sure," Kevin shrugs.
"And how about you?" Mrs. Drake says, turning to me. "Would you like some cake?"
No, no! I want to shout. But instead, I bite my tongue and fold my hands in my lap, pressure building within me from the weight of everyone's stares. How am I supposed to get out of this?!
"Y-yes, please," I finally manage.
What have I done?! I could have at least said 'no thank you!'
"Then that settles it!" Mrs. Drake says, spinning on her heel and heading to the dining room.
Once she's gone, Derrick and I share a look. His brows are turned upward, and his blue eyes almost seem to be asking me if I really want to go through with this.
A quivering sigh escapes me as I bury my head in my knees. I want to go home.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I poke at the chocolate cake in front of me with the plastic fork in my trembling hand. I don't dare look up from the portable balcony Brittney and I are on, lest I be faced with the reality that I'm actually sharing dessert with pertheans. At least I'm not on the table's surface like I feared I would be, but I can't decide if being closer to these pertheans' faces as they eat their cake is any better.
"This cake is super good!" Brittney says, shoveling a big bite of what I'm certain is only frosting into her mouth. "My compliments to the chef!"
"Oh, it's not homemade," Mrs. Drake laughs, "it's from Stanley's. It was the only chocolate one they had, too."
"Store-bought, huh? I never would have known!" Brittney says as she examines the hunk of dessert on her fork. "Is chocolate your favorite, Derrick?"
Derrick, poking at his slice of cake with a fork, doesn't answer.
"Uh, Derrick?" Brittney tries again.
"Huh? What was the question?" Derrick looks up from his plate to the balcony Brittney and I are on.
"Is chocolate your favorite type of cake?" she asks.
"I don't know," he answers, returning his gaze to the plate in front of him. "I like a lot of different flavors. It might be John's favorite, though."
"Oh, if only the two of you were able to celebrate your birthday together," Mrs. Drake sighs, glancing at the banner that bears both of the brothers' names. "It's a shame we can't even wish John a happy birthday over the phone since he's away from Perthea."
"You know, you could have been on Erimathea too right now if you had studied harder," a low voice rumbles.
The room quickly quiets down to a deafening silence as Mr. Drake's statement hangs in the air. Dropping my fork, I reluctantly look up from the cake in front of me. I've avoided looking at Derrick's dad since we sat down, and now is the first time I'm getting a good look at him. His brown hair is a bit darker than his son's, and while Derrick's blue eyes are warm and welcoming, his dad's blue eyes are cold and narrow. I can't help but shiver in my seat as I gaze at him from the balcony.
"Well, studying abroad was more of John's thing," Derrick says. "I'm happy where I am."
"Hm, but you could have at least graduated early like your brother if you hadn't blown that equivalency exam," his dad continues. "Each subject on that darned test was 400 koroz."
"Jason," Mrs. Drake whispers, leaning in closer to her husband. "Maybe now isn't the best time for this, hm?"
Mr. Drake sighs before taking another bite of his cake. "It's just that I want both of our sons to succeed, Dianne. And Derrick still has a lot of catching up to do if he plans on getting into a decent university like his brother."
"You say that like I'm behind," Derrick pipes up from across the table. "I'm still getting good grades, and I'm on track to graduate."
"Hmph," Mr. Drake huffs. "Dropping out of a school like Pacific still won't look good on your applications, in my opinion."
"Jason, please," Mrs. Drake pleads.
My insides begin to twist and churn as my heartbeat quickens. I don't like where this is going.
"But I'm back to finish what I started. Isn't that enough?" Derrick says, narrowing his eyes at his dad.
Mr. Drake doesn't miss a beat, and narrows his eyes right back. "If you ask me, you should have stayed put at Pacific instead of running away from your problems. Instead, you let a little gossip run you out of a good school."
"Maybe we should talk about something more positive," Mrs. Drake laughs nervously. "You know, the yellow flowers on this cake are part of the reason—"
"I didn't run away, Dad," Derrick says, raising his voice. "I moved on, just like anyone else would have done."
Something breaks in my heart when I hear the shift in Derrick's tone, and I grab onto the edge of the balcony's table in an attempt to ground myself as the world begins to spin around me.
"Hey," Brittney whispers, tapping on my shoulder. "Kaylin? Are you okay?"
I open my mouth to answer, but the words don't come. I look down at my trembling hands as my breathing quickens and tears begin to blur my vision. This isn't good. This isn't good at all.
Mr. Drake raises his volume to match his son's. "You still called it quits when it got hard. You threw away everything you worked so hard for! Do you know how much it even cost to put you two in that school?"
"Please, you two! Settle down!" Mrs. Drake begs.
"And your brother!" Mr. Drake continues. "Did he let a little rumor decide his future for him?"
"It wasn't a little rumor, and he wasn't even involved!" Derrick retorts.
"But look where he is now! If you would have stopped fooling around and focused on what really mattered, you could have been lightyears ahead of where you are now!" Mr. Drake sighs, cutting into his cake with his fork. "If you put in the work like John did, you could have—"
Derrick jumps up from his seat and pounds the table. "Look! I'm not John, okay?! I'm sorry I'm not your favorite son!"
Mr. Drake rises. His tall, tall frame towers above the table and everyone around it, including Derrick. He stares his son down, his narrowed eyes seething with rage.
The edges of my vision begin to fade to black as my core tightens and my trembling becomes completely uncontrollable. I'm going to die here!
Mr. Drake stares down his son for only a moment before abruptly picking up his plate and leaving the table. He sets his plate in the sink and retreats down the hall, the loud slam of a door acting as his final addition to the conversation.
Derrick sighs, tearing his gaze away from the hall. That's when he finally sees me. His eyes widen, and he lets out a faint gasp.
"Kaylin?" Brittney says, placing a hand on my back. "Are you—"
Immediately, I turn away from Derrick and into Brittney's shoulder. Sob after gut-wrenching sob escapes me as tears refuse to stop falling from my eyes.
"Shh, it's okay," Brittney whispers, wrapping her arms around me. "It's over now."
"I-I—" I stutter as I try not to choke on my own sobs. "I want to go home."
#too small to be afraid#tstba#perthea#g/t#giant/tiny#g/t writing#giant/tiny writing#sfw g/t#gt writing#gianttiny#aaaaaaaa!!!!!!!! after so many months it's finally here!!!!!#I'm so excited to share this with you all#please please please let me know your thoughts!!!!
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picture this: it’s your second week at the commission. your boss is a fucking fish. your coworkers are way too friendly. your higher-ups’ biggest concern is a random ex-employee who you’ve never met, her next being her fashion game. and her daughter is just running around wreaking absolute havoc.
and then one day the meanest 13-year old you’ve ever seen in your life walks in, finishes his case in 10 minutes, and immediately after gets recognized as the best worker in the room full of adults.
im quitting on the spot wbu
#sorry but the line “your boss is a fucking fish’’#is so so funny to me#making myself laugh way too hard at that one#funniest part is that it’s literally not exaggerating. he literally is a fish#laur says stuff#the umbrella academy#tua#umbrella academy#five hargreeves#tua s4#hargreeves siblings#number five#tua season 4#tua five#number five hargreeves#tua number five#old five#the commission#temps aeternalis#temps commission#tua season 1#tua s1#tua s1e6#tua spoilers#five tua
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why do you insist that the men of acotar are all gay lol
HAHA bc im being silly but I shall indulge you anon.
okay there's no explicit writing on the page that states these characters are Gay but there are a few curious things sjm included that give me pause (don't take this post too seriously lmao):
-we learn that the bat boys used to have sex with females at the same time, in the same room as each other. so they have all seen each other naked and erect. do with that what you will.
-they hang out in the steam shower together naked. apparently this is a thing straight men do in real life too because of sports or something. idk. but if you're naked with another man, surely the thought has crossed your mind at least once? perchance? ill let you ponder that. at the very least they are looking at each other's junk trying to decide whose is the biggest. (I am a woman so idk i'm just making this up as I go).
-cassian woke up one solstice completely naked with nothing but a wig on. he had been partying with rhys and azriel. there were no females around. this gives me pause. sir, why are you naked?
-they are OLD AS FUKKKK yo come on they must get bored. nothing can phase you after 500+ years on earth. imagine how desensitized they must get. like surely they would do it just to see what all the fuss is about.
-cassian was jealous when azriel's full attention was no longer on him. interesting.......
-azriel whispering in eris's ear. PLSSS ik he said something dirty. anon is it not so much more fun to think he was like "next time choke on my cock" instead of "I am going to skin you alive"? come on. BORING. no more tired death threats!! I need more depth to this feud. get over yourself boo. Ik you liked eris underneath you. who wouldn't
-we learn that rhys apparently taught tamlin how to bed females. how? LOL I know rhys was like "here tamlin let me show you what females like in bed" and took off all of his clothes.
#I rest my case#the one exception to this in my mind is lucien. im so sorry but I ship him too hard with elain.#cassian#eris vanserra#azriel#rhysand#tamlin#also I am sure there are more examples but these ones stood out to me#I make myself laugh way too easily#azris#tamsand#rhyssian#cazriel#?#idk these ship names lol
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God, "I missed you" sex is the best
#eep.txt#as soon as we were alone he kissed me hard and just couldn't get close enough#we went to his room and he immediately attacked my neck i don't think i've ever had so many hickeys at once#he kept grinding for so long against me on his lap 😵💫 i was very desperate for more but he just wanted so feel my skin against his#he was sososo cute with his messy hair and the way he kept saying i love you!#i could see myself in the mirror in front of his bed i didn't think i was this fucked out lmao#maybe the first time i moaned this loud and talked this much too#usually i have to keep quiet even though it's hard cuz there's other people but it was so nice having him aaalll to myself#when he finally put his fingers in it felt like heaven i'd been so long#and same he just kept going so deep and so fast my god he said he liked hearing me again#i had to stop him cause i was getting really overstimulated but it was so good#i'm pretty sure it's the first time i've actually like moaned his name without meaning to do it#apparently i didn't realise i was babbling and scratching his back so hard#god i love being a power bottom and calling him cute or my sweet boy and getting him desperate but...#when he goes feral like that after not seeing me for a while? it's the best. i'm so lucky to have such a service top#so happy to be with him again#after we cuddled and we showered and we cooked and then watched videos and then talked and laughed#i'm so happy right now to even see him sleeping next to me :]#sorry i meant to do a sexy post but i guess this is more positive venting i'll make a proper one later#still new to this writing thing i'm probably very bad at it but it's nice to have a place to write down my memories and experiences
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Reading my fave thin man and lady fic. Kicking my feet a lot because tbh. Sometimes a sad man really is just a weird woman's science project in a way that is so homoerotic
#carols.txt#when i tell you i've been re-reading this single one shot religiously every single month for almost three years I mean it#《straight》 ship so good we call it queerbaiting#LMAOOOOOO#call it yaoyuri the way these old people r tragic and doomed by the narrative or whatever#listen as a bi person on the aroace spectrum whatever this fic was trying to convey really strikes a cord#while its not the same as my own this characterization of them is so intriguing. im so hooked on it#^^ one thing i think this person really nailed was thin man's immaturity (stemming from his emotions oftentime being too big to control) ->#and the desire of attention that comes with said immaturity while also having the lady be both cold (normal) and intrigued in a way that ->#that really fits her character. curiosity is one of the many facets that make up her character that don't get explored much and i think its#done so well here for like no reason💀 THIS AUTHOR COOKED TOO HARD YOU GUYS#like ofc she wouldnt send him away. shes studying him under a microscope. even though hes annoying as hell#thin man is plagued by sassy man syndrome in this which is really fucking funny cus it lasts a total of 3 seconds before she finds him out#PLUS THE TALK ABOUT THE TOWER AND THE WORLD... AUGHHH#i need this author to give me their brain NOW#AUGHHHHHAAGGGHEEHH#everyone needs to start doing thinlady the way this person was doing it#this is the biblically accurate old people (in case my theory abt baby lady having been in the pale city is wrong)#live laugh love. its my birthday. spoiling myself a bit. goddamn.
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sometimes i think about the fact my grandparents literally overnight just cut us off and im like. how did u even do that. does it torment you
#eeaao's 'how did you let me go so easily' moment. like i dont let myself even THINK about this too often#bc i immediately beat myself back with the 'if it's hard for you then imagine how hard it is for mum. her PARENTS cut her off'#but like. idk. my nan i couldn't give less of a shit about which is something i always find so interesting#bc even as a child with NO basis for it or any understanding of her behaviour both past and present i still wasn't Comfortable around her#like children are smart actually. i just Knew her vibes were off and i Knew my mum was weird when she was around#like i truly dont think i ever loved my nan even when she was a very frequent part of my life#but my grandad? i ADORED him. id see him multiple times a week and he's the kindest man ive ever met#and hannah what i told you about my mum saying certain people have magnetic auras THAT WAS ABOUT HIM#like i cant actually put into words what it was about him but people just wanted to know him and spend time with him#but he was weak and let my nan walk all over him and when push came to shove he chose her and now ive not spoken to him in 3 years#& i KNOW he loved me. he thought the world of me like it's a bitter unspoken thing between me & my sister that we KNOW i was his favourite#he used to buy me egg butties at agricultural shows when my mum said no and specifically ask for two eggs#he used to sit and eat his soup with me when he came over to do work at the house#he used to play with me. he used to smile all the time. i can so clearly hear the way he'd go ''iya [my name]' with his proper rural accent#or how he'd tell anyone who would listen 'she's tough as old boots that one'#and i could make him laugh like NO ONE else could and he'd light up and go 'give over' and he genuinely enjoyed my company#i KNOW HE DID. and i havent spoken to him in 3 years. he'll be dead soon#and i cant talk to my mum about it bc it's her DAD it is so much worse for her and i cant talk to my sister about it#bc she wasn't close with him like i was and she just shuts the conversation down and those are the only two people#who know my grandad and know what he meant to me so im just here like. he literally stopped speaking to me overnight#i stopped hearing from him i stopped meeting up with him im so so angry with him the love is still there i dont know where to put it now#why couldnt he stay. why did he pick her when she's a loveless void of inhumanity. why werent we enough#hella goes home#my grandparents on my dad's side are also not in the picture funnily enough but idgaf about them. she got that grandparentless swag
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Going through the Utahim.e tag had me checking several times if at some point I had clicked on the G.ojo/Utahim.e one instead
#It's mainly the ship and mainly ship art. Very pretty btw. There's people with gorgeous styles there#There isn't even a lot of x reader fics haha I guess people don't want to bang Utahime?#Anyway... lowkey wished this happened with Ijichi lol#I so wanted Ijichi to mention or even hint at a mention of Gojo one last time like they did with Nanami#If nothing else for the weight of it all. The weight of feeling your youth dying piece by piece alongside the people who made it out#And everything it implies#Art of Shoko dealing with Gojo's death even in a cold way always strikes hard for that motive but I always love it#with pretty much everyone of those years. There was one piece I saw once that was not explicitly or necessarily romantic about Utahime#being hit by Gojo's death and I don't recall exactly how it was (I think I may have queued it?)#but it moved me more than any piece more clearly emotional that I had seen before#I don't know. I thought it held the potential of that. That weird uncomfortable heartbreaking feeling#of hearing bad news about old friends or classmates and how it makes you realise the weight of time#They suffered and accident. They tried to kill themselves. They are very sick. Their sibling or parent died. And you knew these people#You saw them daily for years. Maybe you weren't close but you knew these people. They cut my bangs when I was eight and I punched them#I tripped over them playing hide and seek and we both lost at the same time. We both hated each other's favourite teacher#They borrowed my pen once and then never gave it back. I once drenched them at the fountain after PE and it was winter but they laughed#Their mother got mad though. Now she's dead. We were made to sit together in French class in middle school. They loved to keep their hair l#Now they're sick and have lost their hair#Their little sibling was so annoying always trying to make us play with them during recess too. It was kinda cute. Now they're dead#I don't know. That kind of stuff#Utahime boosts Gojo and then he dies. Shoko opens him up to make a tool of his body#Ijichi accompanies another kid to clean after him in the meanwhile. And then the realisation hits. He is dead#He was annoying. He was my friend. He was so rude#He had such a sweet tooth. He laughed so loudly. He used to lean over people when talking with them#We were kids once. We are here now. He isn't here anymore. Some of us haven't been here anymore for a long while. It's been so long#He was still young. I am still young. We felt so old. At times it feels as if the time back then didn't happen at all.#And now he's dead and oh it's true he was so annoying but he also had such a sweet tooth. I forgot. What do I do with this memory now?#At times it felt as if the time back then didn't happen at all but then at times it shone through. He brought it back#He asked me a favour knowing I wouldn't betray his secret. He still teased the same way. He still leaned on people. But now he's dead#I don't know if I'm explaining myself well xD I think it's a pretty common emotion when it happens.Oh I forgot to censore words again sorry
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apparently im in my audiobook era now.... ૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა
#like the only books i get thru atm are audiobooks#i used to have such a hard time w them#i only listened to horse audiobooks when i was a kid lmao#and then there was a period where i listened to audiobooks when i had a migraine nd used a coldpack T-T#but then my neighbors got too noisy so i stopped that#buuuut now bc of all the constant noise i cant rlly listen to music anymore#music makes my heart race nd so many sounds in it makes me think it's my neighbor banging smth skksks#so that made me get back into audiobooks bc i need to listen to smth that isnt music#nd podcasts dont work bc.. i find them boring + if they laugh or suddenly yell i get stressed out#i cant say... im 100% following along in the audiobooks but i do get the overall story#at least im still reading books one way since i cant focus on actually sitting down nd reading myself bc of all the noise
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wait ok im sorry for still talking but its funny this time i promise
#my art#im making myself laugh way too hard w this one but in my defense i deserve it#i deserve a good chuckle!! a 'laugh out loud moment' if u will
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#me? about to use tumblr as a diary again? in 2024? unfortunately:/#but here have a waterfall i saw on a hike last week as payment#i am sO tired and exhausted emotionally after dating#there's this guy that i fr thought was going to last and be around for a long time. we spent like every moment together that we could for 2#months straight and if we werent physicaly together we were texting or calling or on ft . just every part of our day had the other in it#not once did i ever feel unwanted undesired or uncared for. not once did i feel that i wasnt sure of his intentions. i felt safer with him#in those 2 months than i ever did with any one else i could think to compare to.#until one day he just didnt think it important to communicate any more. after 3 days of nearly nothing .. hardly any talking . i asked if#he was ok if we were ok. what was going on in his head. he said some ive just been with my buddies and family and havent been on my phone#and just. immediately thats heartbreak yanno. thats :// thats what they say when theres a new girl. but there'd never been a reason to think#there was another girl so i was like ok we're gonna trust bc this dude has been So good in every way. so i said imy but i understand. enjoy#your time with your buddies and with your fam -- i cant wait to hear about it (and hold you)#and i havent heard from him in the 3 weeks since. just randomly#so last night#i send the dreaded 'i miss you' text.#i dont expect to hear back and i accept the hurt that will come with that and the confusion that i've felt settles deeper into my heart#until this afternoon i hop on ig and see a hard launch that was posted an hour after my text was sent#that shit kinda hurt different. but also sent me into a bit of a delirious state where all i could do is laugh bc are you for fucking real#did she see my message? i know it. bc i know him and i know that he wouldnt hide anything from the person he's giving his heart#and his softness to. i can almost imagine how he showed her and promised her theres nothing to worry about#and there really isnt anything to worry about because he genuinely is the type to give his all to the relationship he's in#which feels silly to say after what happened w us. like no there wasnt a title ever#it sucks to call it a situationship because a month ago we were laughing in bed together about how we could never bc we were all in.#just the timing of the hard launch makes me giggle. did my text push them to have a conversation about what they are. was she really the#reason that he went away on me.#im trying not to blame myself . trying not to think about the phone calls i didnt answer. about what i could have done differently. trying#not to think about where we would be if i didnt let my anxieties hold me back. if i wasnt scared about what he'd think of the parts of me#that i keep hidden just a little bit longer than the rest.#and at the same time im trying not to put him on a pedestal. but that pedestal is just where i wholeheartedly believe he belongs#he set the bar for me. he set the standard. i was never too much. i was never too little. he made me feel perfect just as i am
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#no one ever touches me#and it bugs me a little#my friend who insists over and over he is very touchy and thats how he engages with the people he likes#does no touch me#no hand on the shoulder#no bumping into me without apology#no poking#or interacting#I think about how I have not had a partner in person in years. not since. 7th grade. 6 year ago.#and and thats not to . degrade on my relationship at all i love my partner#but i just#sometimes it worms its way under my skin that no one has actively chossen to hold me in a long time#that no one touches me at all#it feels sometimes like there is this horrible horrible plague within me and theyre afraid they will contract#that they simply must keep a distance#I think about the fact that in a group of friends. they made a fat joke at me#and i brushed it off and we all laughed and i know i know i know and im sorry im sorry i look like this#im sorry#and im trying#i eat less#i do#Ive been watching every calorie#Ive started throwing up recently#some of its involentary ive been like reacting to grease but some of it is less so#i think too long about how my body looks. about how many people around me refuse to touch me#and it jsut. leaves#im carefull#Im so so careful#I track every calorie like its bible study#I try so hard to make myself into something that people will want to touch
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