#*Insert that one ''leave me alone'' meme*

[voidsterhehe]

Bitch and his little shit (my fatherly issues are unfortunately craving evil paternal figures my humble apologies)

#mysterious joker #kaitou joker #red scorpion #Doctor Neo #I hate hyper fixations I HATE THEM LEAVE ME ALONE!!! #*Insert that one ''leave me alone'' meme*

[lazykurocat]

awww that's so cute of you! you're so nice and normal and not weird at all (obvious sarcasm...) quit fucking projecting Karen

#tf is yalls problem? like actually? I am one of the least nazi supporting people #but you say I support them...? ok #the free Palestine crowd on some copium or sommin idk #i stand with israel #*insert Akira Leave me alone meme here* #fuck you actually

[wolfjackle-creates]

broski I beg of u to tell me about your Danny is Clark’s nephew wip im so intrigued

@hailsatanacab also asked about this one! I shared two snippets for them so check out Part 1 and Part 2. (about 900 words total between the two asks.)

This was inspired by the discussion on a prompt you made ages ago, actually! Here's the post. The main prompt isn't the inspiration, however. It was the comment about Danny joining the JL and [insert spiderman meme here].

Let's see if I have anything I can add. (I changed things enough when posting the first bits that everything else I have doesn't fit anymore.)

Eh, fine. Just went through and wrote another 600 words.

-----

Danny winced. “Yes, Uncle Cl— Kal. Uncle Kal.” Danny glanced next to him and realized Constantine had moved several feet away and was deliberately trying to not attract attention. He bit back a smile and pulled on the Prince Phantom persona Queen Dora had forced him to learn. “Thank you for your assistance, Laughing Magician. I now declare our deal complete and will make no further claims on you.” He waved his hand producing a piece of parchment which he handed over. “As promised, your payment.”

Constantine grabbed the paper and backed away quickly. “Great. Glad to do business with you, your highness. Hope your family reunion goes well. I’ll just—” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then changed something and disappeared through a portal even as several of the League members present tried to yell at him to stop.

Danny rolled his eyes as he fell back into his more relaxed demeanor. “Oh, please. What more did you want from him? I’ll talk to Uncle Kal and he can decide what is important to pass on. Magician Constantine already told you most of what he knows.”

“Just… come on, Danny,” said Uncle Clark. “We need to talk.”

---

Finding a place to talk to Danny wasn’t the problem, Clark quickly realized. Shaking off his coworkers, however… Bruce in particular did not want to be left out. And Wally was too curious to be put off.

“Danny?” called Clark when he realized the kid wasn’t with him.

“By the viewing window,” said Bruce. “He seems to enjoy the view.”

“Right. Should’ve guessed.” Clark cursed himself silently for forgetting how much the kid loved space. “Batman, please. I know you like to know everything. But can I just talk to my nephew alone? I’ll explain everything I can after, but I need to know how this situation could’ve happened in my own family without my knowledge first without you being there inserting Opinions.”

“Very well. I’ll collect Flash and we’ll leave the two of you alone. But I expect a full report after.”

“I’ll make a peach cobbler, Ma’s recipe, and head to the Manor tomorrow to tell you everything.”

“I’ll let Nightwing know.”

Clark sighed. “I’ll make two cobblers.”

Bruce’s lips twitched upward, but he turned without saying anything more. “Flash! Since this matter is going to be delayed, I believe you still have to file your report on the incident last week.”

Clark chuckled as Flash protested. But he didn’t listen to their discussion, instead joining Danny by the viewing window. He settled an arm around his nephew’s shoulders. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“I can’t believe you get to come up here and look out at the stars any time you want.”

“I don’t get up here as much as I’d like, I’m afraid. And when I am up here, it’s because something somewhere is going wrong so I don’t get to appreciate it as much as I’d like to.”

“So, if you’re an alien, does that mean Dad’s an alien, too? Is that why he is the way he is? Am I part alien?”

Clark laughed and ruffled Danny’s hair. Like this, it felt almost insubstantial, like passing his hand through mist. “Fraid not, kid. No one knows why your dad is the way he is. I can’t remember how often he was tested for the meta gene.”

“Once a year every year from the time he was six until he was twenty-two and graduated undergrad and started living on his own. Then he stopped for a few years. Until he started dating Mom. He accidentally broke her apartment door once and she insisted he get tested again.”

Clark wanted to laugh, but all he could remember was Danny’s earlier statement. “Danny… Are you…safe with your parents?”

-----

Again, anyone is free to continue this! If anyone wants, I can combine everything into one post to make it easier to do so.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #clark kent #danny is clark's nephew #clark is danny's uncle #first time writing clark pov #hope there's no glaring errors

[white-poppie]

Amethyst Reverie

Request: mm, maybee a darling who’s like Kocho Shinobu to leorio, gon, killua, and kurapika??

A/N: This has been in my inbox for over 3 months, I am so sorry nonnie, I hope you have a great one!

GON

He loves your cheery and teasing demeanor at first

He is pretty clueless so he doesn't realise for a long time that it is all a farse

That is until you get into a battle. Then he is scared by how fierce you are.

He gets it tbh, how much hatered you have against the people who killed your loved ones.

If you want to get revenge he will help you.

He has seen his friend and himself go down that destructive path so he wont stop you but rather try to catharize your rage.

KILLUA

He thinks that you are just another Gon at first, until he looks into your eyes and realises how empty they are.

He is scared, he doesn't know what to do, but he wont stop you doing things your way.

His heart breaks everytime you cry or rage, but he is terrible with comforting people and has no idea what to do.

His words of comfort are silent acts of service.

When you are comfortable enough to tell him the story, he almost cries at how much you have been enduring.

He will help you get stronger and stay by your side :)

LEORIO

"I can fix my s/o" No you can't Lay-oreo

Anyways. He is just so pathetic my god, take some time out for him from your revenge.

Thinks you are going on the same self-destructive path as Kurapika and absolutely hates it.

Unlike the others, he will try his hardest to stop you, so arguments are a common occurrence.

Yet he will path you up every time you get hurt, scold you and tell you to be more careful next time.

He hates that he can't do much to help, so he silently accepts defeat and prays that you don't end up getting hurt.

(Poor baby, I feel bad for him :<)

KURAPIKA

*insert spider-man meme* oh damn I forgot about spiders-

Your honour this man is literally the definition of perfection.

Sees right through your facade (after some time of course) but doesn't say anything, thinks he is going crazy.

He just silently listens when you open up and hugs you after you are done.

"It's okay, we will hunt them down together, we both will have our revenge."

He is kinda a hypocrite. Him getting hurt is okay, you, however-

He just gets it, he will help you get your revenge and vice versa.

(A/N: Therapy, both of you, now. Oh shit, don't leave me alone 'pika!)

psst, hey, over here! Uhm hi :) Do you like reading? If so can you please check out my first novel? I am a 15-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! Its okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future.

“Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!!

🏷 Tags: @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp,@rintaroubby @nanaseishiro @innerpurple, @cleaningfairylevi, @webawee

⤷‧₊˚ Hunter x Hunter (ハンタ x ハンタ)

🥀 BYI/DNI ♡⌇ Request Rules 𓏸 🗝️ ₊﹒《 Join my Taglist •

#💌Hunter x Hunter #[🪐] requested #hxh #white poppie🌼 #killua hxh #killua #killua hunter x hunter #killua x reader #killua x y/n #killua x you #leorio #gon #gon hxh #gon freecss #gon x reader #leorio x reader #leorio x you #kurapika hcs #kurapika kurta #hxh kurapika #kurapika x reader #kurapika x you #hunter x hunter #kurapika x y/n #hxh fanfic #hxh manga #hxh 2011 #hxh killua #hunterxhunter #hxh x reader

[wolfcamellias]

how do you picture qpr shadowpeach? your ideas about them fascinate me

@blood-king asked: *cough* So uh, completely unprompted totally didnt see a post or anything; How would QPR shadowpeach work? (Also /gen question cause ur thoughts on them are always interesting lol)

WELL! I’m so glad you asked! Bare with me that I’m working with canon material and even then I have to take into consideration that S4 might erase all of this and produce something different for ShadowPeach  ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ 

[insert “no fear” / “one fear” meme redraw here]

BUT! Anyways! Let’s look deeper into these freaks now shall we 

First let’s dissect everything we got thus far on Sun Wukong and Macaque’s canon dynamic before diving into the QPR aspect of it all 

-------------

Season One 

I want everyone to remember that besides the iconic line of “You are such a gem” has more meaning behind it than we realize. We don’t have much to work with in terms of Season One material and at this base level we can consider the fact that it was.. Just a crackship by this point, they only have one brief interaction and Macaque was never seen again. During that moment we can see that Sun Wukong and Macaque are treated to be “equals” in this instance solely because Macaque was able to absorb Xiaotian’s powers and render him immobile for a while. In this instance we can see that Macaque was copying Sun Wukong’s moves aside from the shadow clone-summonings and the Shadow Puppet creation. 

This implies Macaque was well adept into mimicking Sun Wukong that he was capable of copying all of his moves without pause and heart beat but also managed to “outwit” Sun Wukong by using the fact that he cares about Xiaotian as a stepping stone and tries to get the upper hand constantly on him during the fight. 

“Wukong! How ya doin’ bud? [Scoffs]” “Aren’t you ever going to get sick of living in my shadow?”

“Oh god is Rhy going to psychoanalyz—” yes now sit down. 

Macaque’s tone is mocking all the way during this small exchange, even mocking Wukong’s “bud” that he uses to address Xiaotian, attempting to edge him on and get him to engage with him. Right from the start he’s trying to instigate him, he wants Wukong to react in a way that’ll lead to a fight, that will cause some wreckage, he wants Sun Wukong to see him and think “I want to engage with this person for the rest of my life, I can’t stop thinking about him” when in truth Macaque is the one chasing Wukong’s attention constantly.

Sun Wukong’s tone is something I’ve analyzed once, twice, several times before. Wukong’s tone here is stressed and non-intimidating—he’s more disappointed than you realize. Sun Wukong witnessed Xiaotian’s personality change to someone who snaps back at him, tells him he’s been training with someone who’s actually teaching him when Sun Wukong knows Xiaotian’s mortal and has his limits. Had Xiaotian gotten incredibly hurt, his reaction to Macaque’s mocking would have been worse. Because Wukong does not instigate fights. He doesn’t try to play into the bait that Macaque leaves him, he asks him if he’s tired of repeating this cycle. It’s true, it is a cycle and we see it throughout most of their relationship: Sun Wukong takes a step back and Macaque takes two steps forward. He’s the one keeping Macaque at a distance.

And something that’s very interesting when it comes to Wukong’s word choice: he says, ‘living in my shadow’. Which is interesting! It implies that Sun Wukong does not want Macaque to be in his shadow. He does not want Macaque around let alone being his shadow—he wants him to step out of it. It’s interesting to see that Sun Wukong does not seem to think he was the one who put Macaque in his shadow — it’s interesting to see.

“It’s time to give back what you stole.”

Again, Wukong gets straight to the point: “You hurt my successor, a mortal, and I can tell you’re not going to talk through this so I’ll resort to your level.”

But he also does not engage Macaque immediately. Only does so when Macaque continues and says this:

“You are such a gem. It's going to be so satisfying, killing you with your own powers.”

Did you know that in JTTW Macaque was mirroring all of Sun Wukong’s powers? He was basically an exact replica in that moment and thus it resulted in a stalemate for a long time?

Macaque is A) admitting here that he’s using Sun Wukong’s own strength against him thus making him his equal in that instant, more so with the fact Sun Wukong is canonically holding back at this point, meaning Macaque’s frustration with him later makes sense because he knows Sun Wukong is holding back—he just doesn’t know by how much and B) he’s once again instigating Wukong by calling him a gem, something he only does once throughout the show before he switches to other forms of taunting. 

Sun Wukong is a stone monkey, he was born from a rock. He was treated as more of a piece of coal throughout the entirety of the Journey by both Heaven and his pilgrim brothers and even his master at times (not to say that’s the exact way the Pilgrims and Tripitaka act in the show but I digress) and to call him a gem.. Is purely amusing considering how he then proceeds to say Sun Wukong was gifted with all of his abilities and powers in the following season. He’s not complimenting him—and even if he was, it probably lost its value in the moment, considering the situation they were in.

“Seriously? You fell for that?”

Macaque instigating Sun Wukong and further trying to get him to get angry and stoop down to his level? More likely than you think.

“Come on. Show me the real Sun Wukong. The old you would have leveled this whole mountain range to stop me, but you're scared of hurting some kid? Pathetic.”

Macaque proceeds to try and urge Wukong to go back to being his old self, he wants Wukong to be that reckless, capricious, overpowered guy whom he (for lack of better platonic based term) fell in love with in terms of admiration and, amusingly, it’s also something he clings on to because that’s a recurring theme with Macaque: being stuck in the past.

Sun Wukong is not reacting how he wants him to and that’s what irritates him the most. He wants them to go back to their past and that’s the unhealthy aspect of him: he doesn’t realize people can change for better or worse—or, at the very least, he doesn’t want to acknowledge it with the way he witnesses Sun Wukong protect Xiaotian and worry over him more than he pays attention to Macaque himself. He doesn’t want to believe Sun Wukong’s changed as a person and that he  needs to change before they can make anything work.

------------------

Season Two

Sun Wukong is absent throughout most of this Season due to his quest to find a weapon to fight against LBD and then the subtle timeskip of Heaven’s days and Earth’s years working a little funky. 

Of course then we dip our feet into the very shallow pool that is Macaque’s view of how Sun Wukong’s character works despite not having had a proper conversation with him over the past five hundred years or so. 

“The hero and the warrior were like the Sun and the Moon. Their light, a protective glow, shining upon the world. Together, there was nothing that could stop the two of them. Either in the Celestial Realms or on Earth. As time went on, the hero attained power beyond comprehension. As the hero's light grew, so too did his shadow. And soon, the warrior was cast in that shadow. In the darkness, the warrior was forgotten by the hero.”

Shoutout to Lego Monkie Kid for being able to write biased narratives throughout the show. 

Macaque’s word choices are interesting: he’s glorifying the past (again) and putting the Hero (Wukong) on a high pedestal and repeating he was abandoned and forgotten and cast in the shadows. The interesting point is noting that Macaque is a strongly biased narrator, he views Sun Wukong as lesser than him and wants him to come down to his level of petty words and constant fighting when Sun Wukong does not react nor chase him around. And something to note about Sun Wukong is that he values and cares genuinely and strongly for his friends; to say that Sun Wukong purposefully put Macaque in his shadow is a stretch.

The theory that Sun Wukong told Macaque to stay behind while he went to the war against Heaven (thus fighting with Nezha, Muzha and Erlang) led to Macaque taking it as ‘you are weak and can’t follow me’, twisting Wukong’s words and his perception of him is the most likely theory taking into consideration how LBD was confirmed to have messed with Macaque’s memories and that Macaque later states that Sun Wukong didn’t work hard for his powers.

Unless Lego Monkie Kid rewrote the starting chapters of Journey To The West where Sun Wukong spends years training for his immortality, several more reigning over his kingdom and then the inevitable trauma and imprisonment? Sun Wukong worked very hard for his position, regardless of whether or not he was cocky or gained a high ego over it, and Macaque just turns away from the truth and only sees what he wants to see.

We don’t talk about the fact that he proceeded to project onto Xiaotian and said he did not have abandonment issues and that he forgot about the friends that Macaque himself kidnapped. 

And of course we get the moment where Macaque gets a flashback of Sun Wukong punching him, correlating to the somewhat confirmed theory that Sun Wukong murdered Macaque during a certain point in the JTTW arc of the show.

And then it’s not addressed again until Season Three.

Season Three

(I’ve typed Macaque 37 times and Wukong 48 times and idk how to feel about that)

Sun Wukong is emotionally and mentally and physically drained the moment we see him back at the start of the Season. He’s focused on securing the map and gaining the Samadhi Fire for the chance of defeating Lady Bone Demon and Macaque on the other hand, as we can see in the flashback that occurs later in the season, was leashed and held with a dagger to his neck when moving closer to Wukong.

Macaque and Sun Wukong’s banter is.. a singular moment where he allows himself to fall into Macaque’s cycle. “Always the comedian,” implies Macaque is well aware that Wukong is masking his tone and overall stability to show he’s holding himself together when in truth he very much isn’t. Wukong continues to taunt Macaque because this is what he wanted, he wanted a true reaction out of him — to which I mean, he wants Wukong to react in a negative sense, he wants them to fight, he wants to instigate fights with him because that in itself is a distraction from talking about their past. 

Wukong avoids Macaque and even warns everyone about him, tries to keep Macaque away from Xiaotian and the others as much as possible to the point of making himself bait for the sake of them getting away during the train station scene. 

Genuinely, Sun Wukong saw Macaque as someone dangerous to Xiaotian due to the trauma that Macaque gave him during his introduction episode where he threatened to kill Xiaotian for the sake of getting to Wukong.

And that’s not without discussing the fact that Wukong was able to make Macaque freeze at the change of tone. During the ice scene with Nezha, Wukong tries to instigate a sort of scuffle with Macaque this time, repeating the same tone and mask he used back during the airship fight. Because he wants him to fall back into that little cycle of theirs that Macaque was constantly chasing.

What he didn’t account for was Macaque not following the same path he usually does. The reason behind Wukong’s anger when he reaches to choke Macaque isn’t just because he started the ritual: he didn’t listen to Wukong (again), he tried to shift his blame onto Wukong, he hurt Xiaotian, he threatened Xiaojiao, and pushed Tang into starting the ritual. And, yes, Wukong was watching all of it despite not knowing what it is they were saying, but he is very much aware of Macaque’s actions when he went after them clawing for survival.

It’s also important to remember that it’s heavily implied both Sun Wukong and Macaque must have done something to cause their relationship to become so estranged. Because Macaque is the one who leaves this time, Macaque is the one who tried to get away from this situation, Macaque is the one who tries to escape and that’s what ticks Wukong off further. 

Because Macaque is a coward and that’s something he needs to work on excessively. 

Yes, there is the looking back scene, there is the moment where Macaque and Wukong look at each other in the Samadhi Fire episode but just because they took one step does not mean they’ve finished climbing up the ladder to mending their relationship. 

However.

Sun Wukong was still holding back during his fight with Macaque.

Because despite this intense power imbalance, despite the fact Sun Wukong was possessed, he was still conscious, he was still aware of his actions. Knowing how roughed up he managed to get Macaque it's only safe to assume he was choosing to hold back in an attempt to delay the end result of the fight.

And afterwards we get a cleaner conclusion: they put their differences aside to help Xiaotian and end their last interaction with Macaque falling back into edging Wukong on and ignoring his actions throughout the Season and calling him selfish—as harsh as it may sound, he’s not yet accepting the fact Sun Wukong has changed and thus Sun Wukong will not consider him as someone he can be comfortable around or someone worth having an actual conversation with. 

See: When talking to Xiaotian he drops the masks (slightly) and admits he has never had a proper successor before nor has he ever been a mentor. Even when Xiaotian reveals he plays dumb to lighten the mood, Sun Wukong just laughs and brings him closer rather than pushing him away. He does not do that with Macaque because he doesn’t even consider him someone worth trying for.

---------

“Break Up” Stage

“But how would they work?”

They need to separate first.

Sun Wukong and Macaque require a lengthy break from each other, both without mentioning or seeing the other let alone engaging them because the chances of them actually communicating is slim to none. They need to work on themselves and separate to work on their individual trauma before they can even begin to discuss their own issues.

Sun Wukong is closed off and Macaque is self-centered in the way that, Wukong does not address his trauma and even then plays it off as a joke while Macaque makes his own personal issues seem more important or drastic than others (whether intentionally or not).

Macaque is also heavily focused on Wukong while Wukong can easily look away from Macaque lest the latter mocks or taunts him.  They need to be away from each other for a while before even beginning to take those steps towards friendship.

--------------------

Things they need to work on first

Sun Wukong needs to work on his communication skills, emotional and mental stability, learn how to make healthy coping habits for his trauma and actually talk to someone about his trauma. He bottles everything up and then often uses himself as bait/a shield for everyone (especially Xiaotian) and that’s taking a toll on him. He even openly declares he’s going to sacrifice himself when asked what his plan was about the fire and then immediately joked about it to numb it down. 

He constantly lets others snap at him without defending himself not because he can’t but because of trauma when speaking out towards others if they stick by JTTW lore (when contradicting Tripitaka’s actions, he would be punished with the tightening spell, etc.). He needs to get better at this before even beginning the idea of rekindling a friendship that must have heavily hurt him enough for him to not want to engage with the other party again. 

Macaque needs to work on his emotional and mental stability, learn not to trauma dump onto others, learn to let go and learn that his actions heavily affect others. He berates Wukong for seemingly “making things worse for Xiaotian” and then proceeds to hurt, manipulate and traumatize him and his friends. 

He gets away with it and that’s something that.. should not have happened? His actions throughout the series have consisted of kidnapping and borderline traumatizing a stranger to him who looked up to him and then proceeded to ask if he missed him. He’s mocking him, he’s mocking everyone and Wukong is not exempt from this.

Macaque needs to work on learning how to engage without seeing things through his own bias-tinted lenses and realize there are other people around him who are suffering from his actions and that being traumatized is not an excuse to be a shitty person to others.

Otherwise, the entire relationship could be toxic.

-----------------

Things that could work with them

Sun Wukong opening up to Macaque about why he doesn’t engage with him 

Macaque calling out Wukong on his past actions in a way that isn’t meant to be seen as an attack

Sun Wukong and Macaque (after being separated) finding each other when they’re in healthier environments and talking/discussing their past and how they can move forward together

Macaque apologizing to Wukong first

Macaque realizing Sun Wukong is traumatized from the Journey

Wukong realizing why Macaque chases after him so much and setting aside boundaries so they can engage without it becoming overwhelming

Sun Wukong and Macaque addressing the fact they’ve both hurt each other and realizing it can’t work unless they both put an effort into it

Macaque being Wukong’s shoulder to lean on; Wukong being the one to call Macaque out when he pushes things too far

A normal non-romantic involved QPR or friendship

-------------------

Things to consider

The reason why a QPR works so well with Sun Wukong and Macaque is a bit simple but also complicated: 

Sun Wukong throughout the course of Journey to the West and all its past and future iterations have always had him be uninterested in both men and women. There are multiple instances where he’s capable of courting women and he instead backs away or does not pay it any mind; aside from this he’s heavily implied to only care about familial love and friendships. He does not see his pilgrim brothers as anything more than family and he views Tripitaka as a mentor rather than someone whom he was chained to (coughs). 

Sun Wukong is always been heavily coded to be on the aro or ace spectrum in media and Lego Monkie Kid focuses more on the platonic aspect of relationships and Sun Wukong being in a Queer-Platonic Relationship would be more impacting than a regular romantic one. He does not understand normal human customs being a monkey and all and creating a type of relationship that’s unique to him and Macaque alone would be far more comfortable to him than to have a relationship that follows rules.

Macaque also has shown no signs of romantic attraction towards any of the cast and, considering the idea that they continue this fact, him being on the aro or ace spectrum would also be an incredible move on their part. Not only because he’s meant to represent the other side of Wukong’s metaphorical coin but because it’d be the first canon aro or ace villain character thus far in a kids’ show.

This and the fact that— both Sun Wukong and Macaque are over a thousand years old. Why on earth would they have a normal type of relationship? Giving them a checklist of what passes on as romantic and platonic when to them the line is so blurred it’s barely existent to them is amusing. 

Sun Wukong and Macaque having their own weird relationship where it changes from frustrated best friends to partners to angry middle aged demons to the tired traumatized immortals who sometimes cuddle while marathoning weird stupid comedies or tragedies on netflix is much more appealing than the average type of relationship media often portrays. Having Sun Wukong and Macaque see each other as equals on all known terms is interesting and good.

-----------------

Differences in giving and receiving affection (HC on Macaque’s part)

This one is a tad short considering how little we have on the matter but both monkeys resort to verbal praise — however there is a big difference in this.

Sun Wukong’s love language is acts of service (Journey), verbal reassurance, touch and familiarity with one’s actions and quirks. 

Macaque’s… are genuinely unknown seeing as his verbal praise is just a manipulation tactic but it’s somewhat twistable into something more.. Genuine if you take into account how he could just as easily turn Wukong’s words against himself when he spares Macaque a compliment.

-----------------

Final Message

This took me way longer than it should have.

Buy My Silence.

#Every time I see someone bring up the “oh Wukong!” from Season Three I feel my braincells turn to ashes #ask #shadowpeach #qpr shadowpeach #lego monkie kid #sun wukong #macaque #liu er mihou #monkie kid #oh my god im fucking tired #anyways #rhy analysis #yeap #analysis #qpr #queer platonic relationship #WOOOO #ANYWAYS ANYWAYS ANYWAYS #oofa #im in a stream rn watching swag draw angst of swk and mac and just pointing and going 'HAH losers (affectionate)' #middle aged men who cant fcking communicate my favorite dynamic

[pennyserenade]

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?

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #the bubble #dustin mulray #david duchovny #the bubble fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x reader x dustin mulray #dustin mulray x reader #dustin mulray x you

[bisexualenbyblueberry]

A Guide To TDP's Male Cinnamon Rolls

So, since I have seen even more "season 6 is the most heartbreaking season yet" tweet screenshots (Aaron Ehasz tell your merry band of jolly souls to stop tormenting me and to leave me alone please I can't take it anymore) I figured I would bring more happy content to this fandom and completely ignore season 5 episode eight ahaha what are you talking about

So I will be explaining the differences between each of our little wholesome men here, because they're all just sliiiightly different from each other, which warrants an entire long text post from me because I'm bored

King Ezran- despite all the trauma he's withstood throughout his life, he's still a twelve year old boy, and there's a sense of childlike innocence about him. This boy would like to tell you about Pokemon, and I would listen to him if I were you. He's the type of twelve year old cis boy who would definitely stand up to transphobic bullies. King Ezran is the definition of the "not all (I suppose men doesn't apply here, 12 year old boys ig?) is right, [insert character name here] would never" meme.

Prince Callum- Callum is literally the biggest loser around and it's adorable. He's literally a crown prince and he couldn't ride horses normally until he was like 16. He's just a dorky little man, who gets excited about big books and research and libraries and things like that. Dude would love light academia. He's a nerd with tiny skinny arms, need I say more?

Head crownguard Soren- he's a himbo, need I say more?

Commander Gren: he's the dictionary definition of cinnamon roll. Dude is polite even with his captors. He has the patience I never will, and that is completely envy-worthy. He's that one friend in the gay friend circle who is endlessly polite to the homophobic mom, just because that's how Gren is. I don't think he could ever be mean, or rude, or angry. And that's just the way he is.

Title-less Terry: Terry is the one who is setting high standards for boyfriends. Terry is everything a boyfriend should be, and he goes even above and beyond. Terry needs to get out of this relationship soon, though, because he is too optimistic and happy to realize the gravity of what is going on with his girlfriend. He literally put all of his issues on hold for his girlfriend, and keeps telling her "Claudia you need to sleep, it's not healthy for you to go this long without sleep :(" and then goes around building rafts throughout the night with no sleep and wearing his binder 24/7. Terry you need self-care too!!!

Crownguard Corvus because I just considered to include him- Corvus is a man who is built different. He is the voice of reason in these trying times, but under his rough exterior, he has no idea what is going on. He is pretending to be in control and he is not fooling us. Corvus is the type of man who had an emo phase. Corvus is just trying to keep everyone alive, and honestly, they need to bring him on more missions because he would've probably helped them avoid so much awful stuff.

Another crow themed man I missed- The associate crow lord. While being an unnamed side character, the crow lord is just a struggling man fresh out of college trying his best to help all of his customers. This man exudes waves of he/they energy. He is happy you're happy, definetly. He just got promoted and he is very proud of himself.

Lemme know if I missed anyone

#tdp s5 #tdp #terrestrius #tdp claudia #tdp terry #tdp soren #tdp callum #prince callum #king ezran #tdp ezran #commander gren #tdp gren #corvus #tdp corvus #crow master

[duckapus]

"Emulation is stable. Trinity is online. Drive inserted. Ready to install on your command, sir."

"Proceed."

"Yes director. Uploading mod... now."

"...Upload is progressing smoothly. Time until Activation estimated at 3 minutes."

"Excellent. Hopefully there are no complications."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Great Sky Island

It's a beautiful morning here among the clouds. The Forest Ostriches graze. The Chu Chus slosh along between the trees in search of prey. The temple's bell chimes, prompting the Steward Constructs to resume their work. And far below, the people of Hyrule stir as well, preparing to go about their days.

None of them have any idea of the madness that is to come.

Far above even the highest Sky Island, a mysterious object appears, hurtling down like a meteorite. As it falls it becomes clear that its current path will bring it down directly on top of the Temple of Time.

Soon enough it arrives with a monumental CRASH, yet the Temple remains intact, with the object simply embedding itself into the flat roof. Said object appears to be a silver flash drive, monolithic in scale, with a strange circular symbol painted in orange on the front. A few moments later, a robotic voice calls out.

"Uploading the latest Spicy Memes."

A wave of blue energy pulses out from the drive, traveling across all of Hyrule in seconds, causing anyone it touches to behave strangely and leaving a variety of bizarre people and creatures in its wake. Not done, lighting arcs out from it, causing the temple itself to glow and then emit beams of light in seemingly random directions. Wherever these beams end, a portal is formed, each with a past version of Hyrule on the other side. One bolt of electricity from the drive happens to graze a nearby fairy, causing it to jitter in place and rapidly shift between various colors while spamming Navi voicelines.

Eventually the light show ends, and the drive's front opens to reveal a man with brown hair and eyes who looks otherwise identical to Link (pre-arm loss) wearing an orange version of the Hero of Time Armor Set.

"Hey, what is up every...body?" he looks around, realizing that he's completely alone, "Uh...anybody home?"

As if in answer, the out-of-control fairy careens into his face, still spouting random voicelines. He's initially freaked out, but quickly gets an idea and ducks back into the clearly-bigger-on-the-inside flash drive, coming back with a video camera and a laptop. Within a few minutes he's filmed the fairy and edited the resulting video into a Carameldansen Rave Meme, which he then uploads to the internet (the digital multiverse's internet. much like SMG8 the technological limitations of living in a medieval fantasy setting prevent him from uploading within his actual universe).

Soon after, a flash of light pulses out from the fairy, and their color settles on a deep blue despite the fact that all of the BotW/TotK fairies are supposed to be pale pink. Their flight has calmed down significantly, and they're not saying random voicelines anymore.

They are, however, still talking...sort of, "WwwOOw tHaAAAAaat zuuUc- IIiiII1!iizzzzthhhhaAat7tmeE33ee?"

"...da fuk."

"HhhOoOolLlLlDddDDiIiIiIiiiIIIIti11111igoO0oddafffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffiIigYYyyiuuuooouuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrthIs outwaitokayisthisrightnotoo f a s t a l m ost got it! Okay, testing, testing, do you read me now?" She still sounds synthetic, but at least now she's coherent.

"...Yeah?" 'the fuck just happened?'

"Sweet. Now, my name's Loni. Who the hell are you and what did your weird-ass ship thing do to me?"

"Oh, I'm MRU2, a Meme Regulation Unit! It's my job to keep the universe stable by posting about all the memes my Command Pod uploaded and protecting... the..." He suddenly goes wide-eyed and runs off, "Oh shit I've gotta find my Anchor!"

Unfortunately, there's a certain problem with that, as he realizes when he reaches the edge of the roof, "Uh...that's a pretty long way down."

"Yep."

"...and it's even further to the actual not-flying ground."

"Sure looks like it."

"...is there like a ladder or..."

"LOL no. Sucks to be you dude."

"goddamnit"

#the grid #smg4 ocs #meme regulation units #director k #mru2 #lori the fairy #might do a part two where link zelda and some of the lookout landing crew show up to figure out what the hell is going on #might not #depends how i feel #lori is basically gonna be The Bob of the Hyrule Crew #she uses a vocaloid soundbank for her voice but i'm not sure which one #just that it's not miku because everyone always uses miku

[purpleandstarlight]

@hateweasel it's time for yet another part. I'm kinda trying to space them a few hours at a time so as not to spam but if it bothers u still lmk and I'll just go like 1 or 2 a day?

-DLTD: "Chapter 259: The Messiah is Among US"

Me: ...Sus.

-Me: This happened before Among Us was even released, wich makes it funnier...

My friend: The real messiah is the author...

Me: Immagine being the messiah but writing a fanfic longer than the bible that is all about demons.

-A villain was talking to a minion named "Bigby" but i somehow?? misread it as "babygirl" and it was hilarious to me.

-Copypasting this meme from a message:

DLTD:"The blonde giggled almost uncontrollably as he pulled away to see Ciel blushing from being hugged in front of his arch-nemesis; a hue that only darkened, spreading to his ears when the blonde kissed him. All the Hellsing woman did in response was roll her visible eye and climb back into her car."

Hellsing: [Insert the Queer People Ciel meme here]

-The start of me realizing Dan is fruity, and my friend beginning to ship Dan x Kris because of me...Its the beginning of a tragedy.

-Me being rightfully upset about the love potion and hating DaffyDuck even more. I HATE the concept of Love Potions. They're creepy. I'm grateful of the fact that you recognized that and incorporated how creepy they are into the story.

-In a one-off chapter, Ciel had to babysit Luka and was like "Oh well he's just gonna watch the TV I can mind my own business" wich concerned me greatly at the time because YOU DONT LEAVE KIDS ALONE!!! EVEN IF THEYRE JUST WATCHING THE TV!! THEYRE KIDS!! THEY ARE A DANGER TO THEMSELVES!!! thankfully Ciel followed Luka soon after and I calmed down.

-i kept calling professor Irons "The iconic professor", as we all should. Then at one point I called him "Iron" and my friend corrected me. My friend. Who has heard the name once or twice from me long before that happened vs me who was actually reading the fanfic for several hundreds of chapters. I am really bad at names.

-When Ciel was scared for Oliver in the "found a dismembered foot while on a school trip" arc I was losing it too bc I was, and always will be, an Oliver Midford Stan.

-I at this point in the past told my friend about the Travis-tells-everyone-he-discovered-the-truth-ages-ago scene, wich caused present me to remember something that I should probably tell u in the rereading commentary, and I have a tumblr post about it already anyway, BUT. THE WAY THAT HAPPENS LIKE 20 CHAPTERS IN, BEFORE TRAVIS WAS EVEN FRIEND OR INTERACTED MUCH WITH ALOIS. AND STILL WENT "Okay so my new classmate is actually a Demon who eats souls but you know what? That's his business." AND THEN BEFRIENDS SAID DEMON. ICONIC. LEGENDARY. HILARIOUS.

Like I think you just forgot that they weren't really friends back then yet (i think this happened before the haunted house, or maybe slightly after, but way before they were actually pals?) but?? It's funnier this way.

Mate saw an acquintance he barely spoke to make a deal with another schoolmate and promised to eat her soul in exchange and he went "This is nothing to be concerned about." and moved on with his life.

#DLTD Thoughts #i wish i was as chill as Travis sometimes

[bananakarenina]

20 questions writer meme!

Tagged by the wonderful @breakaway71! A little Friday night break to help me jumpstart some writing, hopefully?

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 26

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 219,077

3. What fandoms do you write for? Julie and the Phantoms, though I have a CW Nancy Drew fic percolating!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

our hearts can speak ourselves unseen (first collab with @where-you-go, peterpatterlina + modern cyrano de bergerac)

complications you could do without (remix of crescent moon, peterpatterlina)

for love's sake only (the fake marriage historical/regency au, rulie)

want your midnights (the OG! new year's eve 1994, hint of peterpatter)

heaven above and closer (the other collab with @where-you-go, the 90s road trip coming of age au, julie x luke x reggie x bobby, willex)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Oh gosh. i try, for real, y'all. i often put it off because i want to get a good grade in commenting/responding, which is something real you can achieve, and then i end up not doing it at all. but i love each and every one i receive! i'm just so inconsistent about actually replying.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? hmmmmm. excellent question; even if i write angst i tend to veer toward a happy or at least hopeful ending (example: leave the light on)

actually you know what, heart like a wheel is probably the angstiest if you think about it. it's just that the main character doesn't know it, lol.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? oh gosh. i love a happy ending, so pick one. they're mostly all varying degrees of happy, lol

8. Do you get hate on fics? i have been very lucky so far in that i don't get outright hate, no.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? it's not the thrust (heh) of what i write, generally, but i have: for love's sake only and its sequel, to love's self alone, are both in the vein of a paperbook romance and are written as such. i do have a carrie x reggie smutfic in the queue though...

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? i can't say that i have! i might nod to another fandom but full crossovers seem so ambitious to me--two different worlds to track, two styles of story. i love reading them, though!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? if i have i'm not aware of it...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? i have not!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? @where-you-go are now on our third collab (she, through some sorcery and witchcraft, got me to round robin on a luke x bobby fake dating story one week on here, and we're expanding it to a full fic, hopefully out before the end of the year!) and @daintyduck99 and i have put on that old song, aka the "i can't believe you married a rodeo cowboy" au, also hopefully coming soon! also maybe i'll poke @breakaway71 again about some dialogue i sent her ;)

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? i am a proud multi-shipper and you can't make me choose lololol

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? lol is "all of them" a valid answer? kidding. i have been struggling with getting over the finish line with WIPs this year so.

16. What are your writing strengths? dialogue, def. that's my theatre training/playwright classes coming through. i can always tell when i'm tired because my drafts devolve into dialogue only, haha.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Oh gosh. endings! i can never seem to wrap things up in a snappy way! also lately stakes. like figuring out what the characters have at stake to lose in terms of the story.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? i'll do it sparingly but i generally avoid whole conversations. my grammar in spanish is terrible and that's the only other language i'd feel comfortable writing any dialogue at all in. maybe i'd ask family about tagalog.

19. First fandom you wrote for? oh man. hahahahahahahaha the real answer might be "self-insert o-town fanfic in which my friends and i fell in love with the band members"? but i think it might be gilmore girls. i do want to archive all my ff.net and livejournal (well, the stuff i can find :( ) things so you may see them on an ao3 near you

20. Favorite fic you've written? oh gosh. i love them all because they're mine! maybe for love's sake only because it really feels like i finished a full novella with that one. or heart like a wheel because i love tertiary character explorations. or want your midnights because it started this whole thing. see, i can't choose. don't make me

Tagging @innytoes, @jmrothwell, @daintyduck99, @invisibleraven, and anyone else who sees this and wants to participate in the fun!

#writing games #tag games #myfic #ourfic

[newtonsheffield]

Okay now I'm obsessed with uni f*ckboi Anthony 😏 Kate would probably chew him out for going to all her games to just oogle her in a short skirt. And Anthony would be like "you're more than welcome to come oogle me at my swim meets and polo matches 😌". Which Kate does go to and is annoyed at how turned on she is by his biceps, thighs and everything else. He also picks arguments with her in their shared classes and she hates it because he's supposed to be a dumb privileged jock but he's actually smart and she also secretly loves arguing with him. Basically poor Kate is just constantly getting worked up by him😆

Anonymous asked:

do u have a little more of uni fuckboy anthony x tennis player kate? *insert meme of robin hood in disguise asking for pennies*

Oh Uni fuckboi Anthony. You stupid little Twat.

I feel like this Anthony is a rower. Because of course he is. He plays Polo in the off season and he's a fucking Oxford blue. And of course it means he's fucking shredded, and he loves to show it off. Loves to lift the edge of his fucking Tom Ford Polo shirt and dab at his forehead, or his chin after he's fallen to his knees in front of her like an absolute animal and Kate knows she shouldn't but something about the fact that she's soaking into his shirt makes her want to tug his lips back up to hers.

And Of course, when her family's visiting Anthony just can't leave her alone. Barrelling up to her like an over excited puppy, scattering everything in his wake, gasping excitedly.

"Sharma! Is this your family?!"

And Kate nearly groans, "Yep, My Mum and Sister, now get lost."

"Katie! Don't be rude." Mary scolds lightly before turning to Anthony, checking him over like a person might check over a car.

"I'm not being rude, he's Anthony. He's awful. Go!"

But Anthony stays put, introducing himself with a charming smile, "Mrs Sharma, It's lovely to meet you, I'm Anthony Bridgerton." Then he turns to Edwina, his eyes flicking between her and Kate. "You must look like your Dad. You don't look like your Mum, Kate."

And Kate can't help but sigh, "Anthony, what the fuck? Are you broken? You can't just say that!"

But Mary seems to find the whole thing charming, "Well it would be a little difficult for us to look alike, I'm Katie's step Mum, sweetheart."

A savage little thrill shoots through Kate at the look of horror on his face, "Oh my god, Mrs Sharma, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything by it, I was just teasing."

"Anthony, it's fine."

Something a little awkward swells in the air for a moment before Anthony clears his throat turning back towards Kate,

"Um, Kate, I actually came over here because Um- next weekend it's the boat race and I just- I wondered if you were going to watch?"

There's something awkward in the air, and Kate can feel Mary and Edwina's eyes fixed between them, between her and a boy wearing a fucking polo outfit, hit helmet still tucked under his arm.

"Oh um- I don't- I don't know, Anthony." Her cheeks are burning, eyes flicking around awkwardly between Anthony, Mary and Edwina, and Anthony's friend Simon who appears to be watching them very closely from a distance, mouthing something that looked awfully like Come on mate

For a millisecond Anthony's face falls before he covers it with a smirk, "Um well, You should, because we're gonna wipe the floor with Cambridge this year, and when we do, I'm having a party at my parents house."

"Well, it's in London this year, so... I don't know." Kate has no idea what's happening, why he's doing this at all. This isn't what they do. What they do is scream at one another before they collide as soon as they're alone, hands gripping and tugging and tearing at clothes until she's screaming for entirely different reasons.

"Okay, well, maybe just think about it. It'll be fun, and um- yeah. I'll see you around!" And as quickly as he arrived, he's sprinted off.

"He seems nice." Edwina hums a little pointedly, still staring curiously after Anthony.

Mary is as well, humming, "Well, that was very sweet."

"Sweet? What about that was sweet? He's an idiot."

"He's a twenty year old boy, they're all idiots." Mary sighs, "But he likes you. You should go to his party."

"I don't- Anthony doesn't like me." Kate snaps awfully, trying to fight the feeling rising in her stomach, "I don't even think he has feelings."

But a week later she finds herself on a train to London. It'll be a good chance to see Mary and Edwina again, she tells herself. And pick up some books from her room. That's all.

She definitely doesn't take extra care getting ready to go to the boat race, because they'll be thousands of people on the banks of the Thames, he's not even going to see her.

Except he does. As the boat's lowered into the water, dressed in dark blue lycra, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, his muscles flexing as he stretches, and his eyes light up as he scrambles over to her.

"Kate! You came!"

"I came."

"That your girl, Bridgerton?!" Someone from Cambridge heckles and she sees the tips of his ears turn red as he calls back.

"Fuck off, Dorset!" and then he's smiling at her, and it's warm and he's ignoring his teammates trying to call him back for the start of the race. "I'm really glad you're here, Kate."

And she doesn't know what to say, because the feelings that have been tugging at her for a while are bubbling to the surface, and it's far too dangerous.

"I have to go, but um- I'll message you the address for my party. You're coming right?"

"Oh- Um- Maybe!"

But he shakes his head, walking backwards, posing like a greek Statue as his eyes sparkle for a moment, "I'll see you there!"

And against her better judgement, she goes to celebrate his victory. Trying not to groan at the music already pounding at the windows of the house that looks old enough to be a museum when she arrives, peering curiously inside.

"Kate!" Anthony appears out of nowhere, fighting through the crowd as though he'd been lying in wait for her. "I didn't see you after the race."

"Sorry, I had to go. Congratulations though!"

"It's cool, you're here now." He's smiling so warmly at her, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders, tugging her against his chest as he leads her through the crowd, "Can I get you a drink?"

"Ah yeah, anything's fine."

and she expects him to let go when they get wherever they're going, but he doesn't. He stays roots behind her, his arm slung comfortably over her left shoulder, tucked under the other. And he stays that way the entire night, playing beer pong against his brother one handed, whispering jokes in her ear, his eyes locked on her all night.

"You are really beautiful." Anthony says softly as they sway together to the music, his flirty remark sending her heart fluttering stupidly, "Like, so beautiful it makes my chest feel tight."

Kate rolls her eyes, "If that's you trying to get me into bed, I think we're kind of past that."

"It's not, I just- I don't think I've ever told you before, and it's true."

And when she wakes up in his childhood bedroom the next morning, her stomach swooping at the way Anthony's holding her against his body, smiling in his sleep. Happy and adorable and soft. Kate knows she's let this go too far. Because this is a game for him. And it's not for her anymore.

#uni fuckboi Anthony #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #molly’s asks and answers #if the shoe fits walk in it

[thedragonlover95]

Don't Change Who You Are Klonoa

Klonoa was just looking around town, it had been a nice day. Till he heard that tourists were coming by, he had seen plenty before and many would give him greetings. While also asking if they could give him hugs or pets, which he did not mind at all, it made him feel happy to know he could make others happy. This time however, was different, and that was during the event where some of his friends were there too. Each where given their own greetings, and appeared to be going fine, , ,that was until Klonoa noticed someone approaching, they were a red head while wearing some weird robes. Klonoa greeted them. Klonoa: Hi and welcome to Breezegale- Dumb: Wait are you Klonoa? Klonoa: Uh huh that's me. Dumb: URGH! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYES! Klonoa: WAH! W-what's wrong?! Dumb: YOU WERE SO MUCH BETTER IN YOUR FIRST GAME! BUT NOW YOU LOOK LIKE THAT BLUE HEDGHOG SONIC! Klonoa: Why would I? Did I do something wrong? Popka: Hey bucko what are you trying to do to our buddy?! Dumb: Oh great the none expressive peanut gallery's here as well! This as dumb as-insert cringy meme here- Lolo: Klonoa hasn't done anything wrong, you're the one who seems to have a problem! Leave him alone, he's not hurting anyone, if anything you're the one who's causing issues and it's very upsetting! Leorina: And I think you owe him an apology. Dumb: Oh great, it's the edgy pirate girl, along with those who'd want to fuck this-Get's Blasted- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Tat: Yeah this one's getting kicked, if they don't want to play by the rules, or be at least decent, they should be escorted out in style. Leorina:-sighs-At leas that's got taken care of. . .Hey you alright Klonoa? Klonoa: Yeah, I am now. But I don't get why that guy had an issue with my appearance. Guntz: It's clear that they're a hated Sonic fan. Anything that remotely has the eyes that you have. They will do what they can to break you down mently. Leorina: Which isn't really right. I'll never get why these kinds of people have to make it a big deal. Popka: That guy got what was coming to him. I bet he's total loser where he's from. Lolo: That still doesn't make it right. Klonoa: But I am glad you guys were around, i'm not sure what I would do if you didn't show up. Guntz: Hey it's the least we can do. Besides that guy was just some trouble maker. You're fine just the way you are, so remember that. Klonoa: Yeah, you are right on that. I'll continue being me, because it's who I am and no one can tell me otherwise! Huepow: That's great to hear. And no one will break that. End Author's Note: So yeah I based this of a "Review" on a Klonoa video, that was made by washout EX Sonictuber Dumbsville. Where he didn't really talk about the stories of the two games, just cringy cutaways and memes. But what really got my blood boiling, is of his Sonic Hate Biased, he hated Klonoa's modern look, all cause of the eyes and body shape. Clearly the guy dosn't know that Klonoa is suppose to be a pre teen. And that was one of the few Klonoa videos I disliked. Also the video was just not very good. This guy's only good t reviewing trash movies, and not charming games. So I made this story, and how Klonoa and friends arn't bad people, and how much they shouldn't let losers like this get to them. This also goes for Sonic as well.

#klonoa #klonoa phantasy reverie series #klonoa heroes #klonoa 2 #guntz #Story

[angelofmusings]

ok danger days analysis. this starts with bulletproof heart because i was super feral about it and couldn’t wait until after look alive sunshine and nanana.

bulletproof heart. “too much talking with a laser blade” it isn’t about using violence as a form of diplomacy. it’s not that at all. it’s the opposite. there’s too much talking with weapons instead of words. insert that astronaut meme “it’s all anti-war?” “always has been”

sing. “sing it till you’re not / singing out for the ones that’ll hate your guts” well fuck okay. if that ain’t something that they sure as hell r living up to now.

planetary (go!). it’s saying, let’s fucking get out of here! “this is a letter / my word / is the beretta / the sound of my vendetta / against the ones that planned it”

the only hope for me is you. well. this is just. a letter to queer youth. it’s no accident that it’s right after planetary (go!) on the album. it starts with “remember me” and invoking imagery of nostalgia and shared history, then the fucking amazing lyrics “and if we can’t find where we belong / we’ll have to make it on our own / face all the pain and take it on / because the only hope for me / is you alone”

jet star and the cobra kid / traffic report. and then jet star and the cobra kid fucking die so. hello narrative foreshadowing

party poison. anygays this one is very interesting tbh it needs a whole analysis of its own. for this purpose tho it basically is the turning point in terms of like, no longer being able to safely play along with society even if you wanted to

save yourself, i’ll hold them back. the first fucking lyric: “right now, i hope you’re ready for a firefight / ’cause the devil’s got your number tonight / they say! we’re never leaving this place alive / but if you sing these words we’ll never die”

the “they” is evidently jet star and the kobra kid, which just. ough sobbing rn. but the interesting part is the first half, basically like, yeah this is about to boil over, i hope you’re ready.

“for all of us who’ve seen the light / salute the dead and lead the fight / hail hail! / who gives a damn if we lose the war? / let the walls come down / let the engines roar!” so these lyrics are linked ofc. “salute the dead” -> “hail hail!” and then “lead the fight” -> “who gives a damn if we lose the war? / let the walls come down / let the engines roar!”

so yknow. it’s about being okay with losing the war. as long as you lived life to the fullest. who cares what happens in the end as long as you live on the way to it?

“be a burning star if it takes all night” the night in the desert is when you’re safe from the sunlight that kills you. well you gotta leave your mark somehow! be a burning star, even though you gotta spend all that safe time getting there.

“i’ll tell you all how the story ends / where the good guys die and the bad guys win / who cares!” it doesn’t fucking matter what the ending is! we’re doomed to die but that doesn’t mean the story is lost! even if they win, that isn’t the point of the story. the outcome is irrelevant, what matters is the legacy you leave behind. the graffiti they write on your grave. i’ll hold them back so you can leave a mark on the world before we go. i can give you tonight, make it count, leave behind a memory of who you really were. be broken glass when the sun rises on the empty space we fled from.

s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w. now this song is talking to a child, coaxing them into shelter before the bomb hits, knowing that when society falls it’ll be devastating no matter how terrible that society was. of course s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w is like an actual BLI thing that is a very real threat in the zones and you have to hide from it, and they come out during the day in the sunlight, but you still gotta move yourself when that sunlight of BLI’s presence is gone, because if BLI dies then that means something worse is on its way. and not even love is enough to stop that from coming. no matter how strong or defiant or queer that love is, it won’t be enough. you have to run.

#yeah this was actually just a ‘‘contextualizing save yourself ill hold them back’’ analysis sorry. its still so feral tho #mcr #danger days #ddttlotfk #lyric meta #lyric analysis #angelofmusings lives up to their url

[relax-and-read-on]

First off thank you for answering about the cuddle headcanon loved it.

Second, do you have any very cursed headcanons about the primarchs? Something like: eats pickles with chocolate or something.

Lmaooo yessss this is! A good one!!!

The primarch, cursed headcanons edition

Alpharius Omegon: Otaku nerds. They found somewhere a gigantic troves of old ass animes, and they are now huge fans. They are slowly collecting anime figurines now too.

Leman: like to urinate outside. It's a wolf thing. If you walk on him doing it, he will do prolong eye contact until you leave him alone.

Magnus: if he's really tired, he kinda forgot what shape he's supposed to keep, and turn into... Kind of a red blob. That's the problem, with being made of warp goo.

Sanguinius: very, very weird food taste. Thinks bugs are super tasty. Never throw out food and will eat absolutely rancid leftover and go "taste fine to me :D"

Horus: send unsolicited dick pics. They are not even good pics.

Lion: has been seen snatching birds from mid air and eating them whole, almost like an after thought, while everyone stare in horror.

Perturabo: love shitty reality tv show. His new obsession recently is that Kitchen Nightmares.

Corvus: has discovered a very old scene queen myspace internet archives, and fully think that it was peak beauty standard. Kind of want to get the classic scene haircut.

Rogal: Someone once jokingly asked if he fucked. What followed was a 25 minutes explanations of all his bdsm activities.

Lorgar: May or may not have written silly little self insert "fanfic" about himself and his bros. It's mostly cute adventures, even if somtime, their is.... Tension.

Angron: he laugh so fucking hard at dad jokes, it's awful. The king of making them.

Roboute: has some of the most intense kinky sex fantasy you can imagine. Think the tyranids are kinda hot.

Fulgrim: has opinion on wich color of paint water taste better.

Ferrus: Has no idea how meme work. He still try to use them. Basically worst than a facebook mok with mignons picture.

Jaghatai: due to a drunken bet, he was almost married to a horse once.

Konrad: love kids cartoon. Would be a brony if he found MLP.

Vulkan: His red eyes let him see in heat vision, right? .... Well. He always know who farted.

Mortarion: doesn't actually like to shower, and will wait until the last possible minute before doing so.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #wh40k #primarch #primarch headcanon #konrad curze #fulgrim #perturabo #roboute guilliman #magnus the red #lorgar aurelian #alpharius omegon #vulkan #lion el'johnson #mortarion #leman russ #sanguinius #jaghatai khan #angron #ferrus manus #rogal dorn #corvus corax #horus lupercal

[thebluestbluewords]

*Insert Pingu card meme here*

Not quite a Valentine's day fic, but something like one, maybe. Mal & Carlos, shippy if you squint. ~1600 words.

&lt;3

“Valentine’s is…fun.” Carlos says doubtfully. 

“That’s what literally everyone says, yeah.” Mal repeats. “Fun. Because it’s a day about feelings.  And people here like to talk about their feelings.” 

“And it’s fun.” Carlos echoes back, sounding even more mystified about the whole concept. “Having feelings.” 

Mal has lots of fun feelings. She has rage, and anger, and sometimes a terrible hot feeling that bubbles up in her chest and makes her want to scream until everyone around her runs away forever and leaves her alone to die. “Look, I don’t know. Evie told me today that everyone here says it’s fun, and we need to make sure we’re not sticking out. And all the girls in third period were talking about how they’re so excited to tell everyone how much they love them, and Audrey was all, like, ‘buy your Valentine’s chocolate from the SGA table to support my school wide empire on fun’ and honestly I sort of tuned out after she started talking so I don’t actually know if there’s anything else to this stupid holiday.” 

Carlos makes a face that might be trying not to laugh. Or possibly trying not to sneeze. It’s hard to tell. “You heard that there’s feelings, and chocolate, and a chance to humiliate Audrey, and decided that obviously we have to make it a magical day for everyone?” 

Mal also heard that there’s going to be a chocolate fountain at lunch in honor of the holiday, but she’s keeping that part to herself for now. “Pretty much,” she agrees. “Throw me the glue.” 

“Do we get chocolate?” Carlos asks as he stretches up to pass Mal the glue. It means that he has to let go of one side of the ladder, which doesn’t feel entirely great from Mal’s vantage point standing on the tips of her toes on the very top step, but it’s fine. If she falls off at least she won’t have to go to class tomorrow. 

“Of course that’s the part you focus on,” Mal huffs, stretching down to snag the bottle of glue from his fingertips. “And yes, if you’re a very good little boy, we can steal Audrey’s student government chocolate as soon as her back is turned.” 

“I could take offense at that,” Carlos says slowly, returning to his place at the base of the ladder. “I could take it by myself and not share any with you.” 

“But you won’t,” Mal sing-songs, spreading a thin layer of glue over the blades of the classroom fan. Details are essential in wicked schemes, and she didn’t earn an A- in Scheming and Wickedness because she forgot the details, like making sure her magical mess is going to be a maximum pain in the royal behind to clean up. “Because you—Hey!” 

The base of the ladder wobbles again, just for an instant. 

Carlos looks up at her, face blank and innocent. “Did you need something?” 

Ugh, boys. 

“You undying devotion to the cause,” Mal snaps, shaking the bottle of glue in a vaguely threatening manner. “And your support on the base of this death trap, come on. If I fall off this ladder and break my neck I’m going to tell everyone you’re the one responsible for this.” 

“I’m already an accessory to your crime,” Carlos says placidly, but he’s holding on to the ladder again, so it really doesn’t matter what he thinks about the supposed legal system of Auradon Prep. Accessories to crime aren’t real when you’re a student, which Mal knows, because she’s read the student handbook. All students involved in mischief share punishment equally, in some sort of attempt at teaching them fairness that’s more misguided than the maps in wonderland.  “I don’t think a broken neck is really a likely outcome at this point anyway. And if you do break your neck from falling six feet down, I’ll just get all of the chocolate that would have been yours anyway. Really a win for me either way.” 

Mal will not laugh at her brilliant, wicked boy. Laughing will only encourage this sort of smart-ass behavior in the future, and as a leader in her school community, she is a pillar for goodness and upright moral behavior. 

Also, she’s afraid that if she laughs the ladder is going to break.  “Shut up and hold my ladder. If we make it through this alive I’ll get you your very own chocolate later. Legally gained.” 

Carlos, safe on the ground, does laugh. “Ugh, why?” he asks seriously. “Stolen food tastes better.” 

“Obviously,” Mal agrees. She’s actually going to murder someone over the stupid glue bottle designs. Stupid middle schoolers. If they hadn’t been caught doing glue shots at the back of the art classroom, Fairy Godmother wouldn’t have banned full size bottles from campus, and she wouldn’t be in this situation at all right now.  “But it’s not a very good gift if it’s stolen. I’m a good and moral citizen now, haven’t you heard?” 

“What if I’m evil and only take bribes in the form of stolen goods?” 

Mal throws up her hands, and the glue bottle with them. The thing stays firmly attached to her fingers. At least the glue inside it works, even if the bottle is a useless tiny piece of junk. “Fine then! But I’m taking it from Audrey, and you’re not getting it because of the holiday. I’m getting you chocolate because you’re a manipulative little rat bastard who is coercing me into acting as an accessory to your crimes.” 

Carlos grins. “Sure, keep telling yourself that, Malfeasance. Are you ready for the next bottle yet?” 

Mal plucks the glue bottle off her left hand and beans it down at his stupidly cute little curly head. “Yes. Step two, engage.” 

The industrial sized bottle of glitter was worryingly easy to procure. One little call to the craft supply warehouse, one school identification number from the back of their art textbooks, and a few little white lies later, five bottles of pastel pink glitter arrived in an unmarked package to Mal’s student locker. It’s really a security risk, how trusting the mailroom staff can be. She’s practically doing the school a favor. After this they’ll have to assess the contents of each and every package that all the students receive, and the mailroom staff will have more work to do. She’s creating jobs tonight, which is a good thing for the economy. Or something. Maybe if Economics wasn’t her final class of the day, and the classroom wasn’t so warm and comfortable for napping in, she would actually care. 

Whatever. Mal’s actions here tonight are an overall act of goodness that will increase the safety of the student population and therefore what she’s doing is a correct and proper thing and Fairy Godmother won’t be able to give her any crap about it later. 

Also, it’s going to be funny as hell to watch the glitter rain down the moment the fans turn on. 

“I think this one might be done!” Carlos calls up, coughing glitter out of his mouth. It’s possible that Mal could have been a little bit more careful with her placement. “If you wanna get down so I can move the ladder, I can take the bottle. Y’know, before you cover the floor too.” 

Mal flicks her final handful down over him, just for evil measure. 

“I think you’re done,” she calls back, shoving the cap back on the glitter bottle and dropping it down in the general direction of the floor. “With. Life.” 

“Ow,” Carlos calls back, voice completely flat. He catches the bottle that she’s dropped down to him though, which counts for a lot. “You’re not as cool as you think you are, dragon breath.” 

“I’m going to dump the leftovers of this in your shoes,” Mal says cheerfully, hopping down from the ladder now that the fan is fully coated, and there’s no longer glitter resting precariously below her feet. “You’re going to track it everywhere you go for months on end. The teachers are all going to know exactly where you’ve been each day and you’ll never be able to get it out of the treads.” 

“You would not.” 

“Would so!” Mal says brightly. “You’ve been getting too soft if you think I won’t.” 

Carlos rolls his eyes, but he’s already hefting the ladder up to move it to the next ceiling fan, so he can’t be too bothered.  “You won’t,” he says confidently. “Because we’re going to dump the leftovers through the slots on those lockers right by the second floor bathrooms.” 

Ooh, now there’s a thought Mal can get behind.

Next fan. Ladder down. Mal steps up. 

 “You’re thinking of the ones who won’t move their shit out of the hallway to let people by, right,” she asks, just to be sure. Details are essential, after all. “The same ones who clutch their little pink purses when we walk by? Not the ones by the stairs who won’t shut up about how we’re the downfall of proper society?” 

“Those’re the ones.” Carlos agrees. “The purse clutching feels worse somehow. Like, we’re not going to grab it out of their hands.” 

“Right.” 

“We’d totally steal their locker codes instead. Can’t fit a laptop in a purse, and I could use more scrap parts.” 

That’s it. 

“I’m rationing this so we can hit the ones on the third floor too,” Mal says, shaking the bottle of glitter with what she sincerely hopes is a menacing sort of look. She’s rusty. There’s not nearly enough chances for a proper wicked monologue at Auradon Prep. “You’re spared from the glittering for now, furball, but only because I’ve found a more deserving victim, not because you deserve better.” 

Carlos laughs. There’s glitter all over his face now, raining down from the handful that Mal threw into his hair, and he looks happier than… 

Happier than he’s been in a long time. 

Maybe there’s something to this whole valentine’s thing after all.

#my fic #descendants #descendants fic #mal bertha #carlos de vil #weirdly this came out as a gen fic??? I am as confused as everyone else about this #valentine fic

[memeteenz-main]

about me -> an intro to the meme that is phoebe

my svt blog -> @memeteenz

• i'm phoebe (as in buffay)

• born in the year 2000 but i don’t think this is my first run in life

• she/her but any pronouns are ok, i don’t take it as misgendering me (if anything your confusion will flatter me)

• i’m east asian in ethnicity

• english is my first language!

• i like anime, comics and webtoons, and any kind of novel in general

• i can’t play pvp games to save my life

• i like all the colors 🌈

• drawing fan/art that i don’t post online because it’s not good enough for public scrutiny yet

• i draw a lot of OCs and insert them in existing film and animation media (shamelessly)

• besides english i speak basic japanese and i can sing word for word several spanish and norsk songs (bc they’re bangers even if i barely know what they mean)

• i love emojis 🤩

• favorite food: 🍊🍌🍉🍇🍓🍑🥭🥝🍅🥐🥖🍜🥡🍣🥟🥮🍰

• favorite emojis: 👽👾🧚🏼‍♀️🦊🐻‍❄️🐮🦉🐝🦋🐞🪲🐙🦑🪼🦦🍄🌸🌼🪐🌈☂️🌊🎨🎧🏞️🌠🌌💎🧿🔭🧸🎀📚♻️🌀

• i also have flags that i find pretty but i’m stopping here lol

• i am aware that i may be on the spectrum but it isn’t clinically diagnosed so i don’t think too deeply about it

• i love olivia rodrigo’s songs 💜 i listen to her a lot and also lexi jayde, sundial, nessa barrett, umi 🎧 i like mellow rap and math rock too!

• i used to be wary of kpop before but when i found out about seventeen i slipped into it so smoothly they’re just super talented and can’t-breathe-funny 😆😮‍💨😂🤣😭 they’re the only kpop group i like tbh

• anyway back to me

• SCRABBLE IS MY FAVORITE BOARD GAME

• i like knowing about earthly creatures (so i can also know which ones i need to just leave the fuck alone bc knowing me i would have a hard time hesitating on getting my face all up on it to observe, especially tiny insects)

• i don’t really have any commonly-known fears besides running out of food and water that’s my biggest fear i think like i delve deep into learning about water management and wastewater treatment and growing my own food and whatnot in case something bad happens

• yes so moving on

• i have the deepest, most compulsive urges to be funny for myself i swear i crack the funniest jokes whenever i talk to myself

• my friends tell me i’m the most hyper introvert ever and that i talk a lot (i love them)

• i think that’s it I TALK TOO MUCH

bye

#🧡 : phoebe’s intro post