#and that i didn’t allow myself to feel the devastation then

[heavyhitterheaux]

Sink or Swim (NSFW)

AN: Joe girlies I have returned!

Synopsis: After the devastating loss to the Commanders, you knew that a bad mood would be evident with your boyfriend. So his idea of forgetting what happened at least for a few hours has to do with giving you his undivided attention

Requested by @a-moment-captured 💕

DO NOT ENGAGE IF UNDERAGE

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

There was a look of disbelief on your face as you watched the scene unfold in front of you and saw that the game was almost over when the two minute warning was indicated. The first two weeks in the season obviously had your boyfriend Joe upset and for good reason. But to see the high hopes that he had going into week three just get shot down hurt to watch.

On the sidelines you could see his helmet being thrown as he eventually sat down and the expression on his face was one that you couldn't quite read.

Pulling out your phone, you sent him a quick text knowing that he would read it when he got back to the locker room.

You- Still so proud of you bubs. You played amazing tonight and don't let anyone tell you otherwise 💕

Sighing to yourself, you stood up and began to make your exit out of the stadium to start making your way back to Joe’s condo. It was discussed earlier in the day when you had talked to Joe that you would come over right after the game in anticipation of celebrating with him, but now you weren't so sure if he would even want to be in the mood to have anyone around him right now. After he lost a game, he would understandably get into a mood but you had a feeling that tonight would be a lot worse and more than likely because of who he is, he would be blaming himself.

Climbing into your jeep, you had the radio on a low volume as you pulled out of the stadium parking lot and onto the highway. Joe didn't live very far from the stadium which you were thankful for and leaving before the game was over allowed you to beat some of the traffic that you knew would quickly come after.

Arriving in less than twenty minutes, you turned your car off before grabbing your bag and making your way inside. Your shoes got slipped off at the door as you made your way into the kitchen to find something to snack on since the mozzarella sticks you had at the game were only going to last you but so long.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed it wasn't too late to order a pizza seeing as Joe probably needed some comfort food. You opened up your DoorDash app and quickly ordered it while you waited for Joe to get there. Another 45 minutes had passed with the pizza being kept warm in the oven and you sitting on the couch re-watching Scandal when you heard his key in the door. Once it was opened, it was quickly slammed shut making you jump and the sound was quickly followed by him throwing his bag on the floor at his feet and hearing him sigh.

Still in your jersey from the game that had your boyfriend's name on the back of it, you got up to greet him by the door. His expression was still unreadable when you stood in front of him and slowly tried to take his hands into yours, but he moved away at the last second.

“Bubs….”

Joe didn’t even bother to respond to you as his eyes were closed and he was leaning back against the door.

“What do you need me to do?” You softly asked as you kissed the side of his mouth, trying to get an answer out of him.

When he finally opened his eyes and glanced down at you, his eyes had softened but only slightly as he saw the love of his life in front of him.

“Get upstairs and strip.”

“Mm, gladly. Your wish is my command.”

Nodding your head towards him, he then turned you around to face the stairs as you slowly walked over towards them. Your foot was on the first step when you heard his voice once more.

“You have two minutes to do what I told you, so I suggest you get a move on before I put you there myself.”

Hearing this made a river form in between your thighs and you loved how dominant he could get when the two of you were by yourselves. That happened to be the only good thing that would come out of him losing a game. If this is what he needed to help him get through it, the last thing that you were ever going to do was complain.

Reaching the last step, you still heard him moving around downstairs before you swung the door open to his bedroom which had been left ajar before he left for the game earlier.

Your clothes were then taken off slowly one by one in the hopes of Joe walking in and seeing you. Your shoes had already been thrown off at the door downstairs, the next thing to come off was your jeans that hugged your curves that he loved so much. Next was his jersey and the shirt that you were wearing underneath it in case you got cold. You had started to take off your bra next when you suddenly felt him behind you making you jump. You hadn’t heard him come in as he wrapped his arms around you before leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I thought I told you to strip? So, why are you still wearing clothes? You like disobeying me?” He asked you before placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“No, I was….”

“I don’t want to hear excuses. Do as you’re told the first time so I don’t have to punish you. Now get the rest of those clothes off.” He told you as a light smack was felt across your ass.

You nodded your head and your bra as well as your black thong were quickly removed from your body and discarded onto the floor all while Joe was standing behind you watching you intensely. Once you were finished, he leaned down to your ear once more before he reached around to put two of his fingers up to your mouth that you slowly started to suck on before reaching down and rubbing small circles along your clit making you gasp.

“Mmm, look how wet my baby is. This all for me?” You nodded your head to answer his question because you knew that words were going to fail to come out of your mouth.

“Get on the bed and you better not make a sound unless I fucking tell you to. Face down, ass up.”

Walking over to the bed once Joe moved his fingers away from your core, you slowly got on the bed with the help of him since the bed was so high and crawled to the top of it as you rested your head down on your arms with your ass sticking high up in the air on display for him.

You could hear Joe behind you doing away with his clothes and in a matter of seconds you felt him crawl onto the bed and roughly grab a hold of your hips before slowly entering you and bottoming out as he threw his head back in pleasure.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

It took everything in you not to let out a gasp and simply put your hand over your mouth as you felt him move out of you before he slammed back in.

His movements were intense and sloppy of course with him letting out his frustrations as you were doing your best to keep quiet. The more he pounded into you, the harder it was becoming and knew that being quiet would only last but so long.

You could feel yourself getting closer to reaching your peak and you soon felt Joe reach underneath of you to massage your clit as he continued to pound into you. This sent you over the edge and you couldn’t help but to let out a small moan but immediately put your hand back over your mouth. But the damage was already done and you tug knew that you would soon be in for it.

“Oooh fuck.”

Hearing this, Joe immediately flipped you over and a hand immediately went around your neck with him squeezing it.

“Did I tell you to fucking speak? I don’t think I did.”

You remained quiet as he let go of your neck as he trailed kisses along it and down your chest with him placing one of your nipples into his mouth as he was rolling the other one between his fingers. It was taking everything in you to stay quiet as your back arched up off of the mattress. His fingers moved on from playing with your nipple to insert two of them into you as he continued to suck on the other one.

Joe noticed that you were squirming and he took it as a sign that you were close and probably frustrated because he told you not to say anything.

“You close baby? I can tell.”

To answer him, you nodded your head as he added another finger making you gasp. His fingers were pumping in and out of you when he decided to replace his fingers with his tongue knowing that it was a matter of seconds before you would come undone in front of him.

“Shiiit!” You couldn’t help but to let out as your hands were directly to his hair to pull him closer to you.

At this point, your legs were wrapped around his neck as he began to suck on your clit making them shake the harder that he did.

“Baby…. I’m….” You started to say, but without warning a gush of liquid was now covering Joe’s face as he was still sucking on your clit making you squirm.

“That’s my good girl. Give me another one, baby. I know you can.”

You immediately shook your head no, but it was clear that Joe didn’t care since he went right back to sucking on your clit. After you squirted all over his face once more, he quickly crawled back up your body as he inserted himself into you.

His movements were more sloppy than before indicating that he was close as he put your legs onto his shoulders as you began to rub your clit.

You had reached your peak for the third time when you felt Joe slide out of you. Knowing what that meant, you immediately sat up and took him in your mouth as you tasted his cum hitting the back of your throat.

“That’s my pretty girl. You better swallow it and not waste a drop.”

Joe had now put your hair in a makeshift ponytail to get it out of the way since he remembered you one time promptly yelling at him when his cum had gotten in your hair after you had gotten it done just hours before.

Once you swallowed everything that didn’t leak out the side of your mouth, you promptly opened it to show Joe who then leaned down to place several kisses on your lips. Once you had laid back, Joe quickly followed suit with him laying on you as you held him tightly to your chest. It was quiet for a few minutes as both of you were trying to even your breathing when he finally spoke.

“We should have won.”

“I know.”

“And even though it wasn’t my fucking fault, I’m going to get the blame for it.”

“I know.”

“We’re 0 and 3 now and I don’t know what to fucking do.”

“The only thing you can do is to go out there and do your best. You played absolutely amazing tonight so this isn’t on you in the slightest even though people will put it on you anyway. I am still so proud of you and I’m always going to be proud of you.” You told him as you placed a kiss on top of his head.

“Proud of a loser boyfriend who can’t win an NFL game?”

“Joseph… talk about yourself like that again. I dare you. Just because you have a few setbacks doesn’t mean that it’s going to be like this forever. I will let you rant all you want tonight, but tomorrow I’m not having it. You are literally the highest paid quarterback in the NFL and you need to fucking act like it.”

“I... guess you’re right.”

“I know I'm right. It's only been three weeks. There's still time to turn this around for the better and I promise to be here through all of it. But did I perform my duties as your girlfriend to help you let your frustrations out?” You asked and he immediately smirked.

“You did more than help me through it, but I definitely didn't say that we were done.” He told you as he picked his head up off of your chest to look at you.

“Wait, what?”

“Switch places with me so you can ride me.”

Taglist

@a-moment-captured

@hoodharlow

@nattinatalia

@wickedfun9

@dandelionwrites8

@keiva1000

[ofstoriesandstardust]

one of the top five wrongs ever committed against me was being invited to the eras tour and then disinvited two weeks before. like this genuinely haunts me still months later. how did i forgive this person and how did i wind up being the villain in their story.

[dumplingsjinson]

List of random dialogue prompts (pt. 3)

“Truth be told? I miss the times — the me — before I fell in love with you.” 

“You know, I can see myself in, on top of, or under you. What do you say?” “I can see you buried six feet under my very feet if you don’t stop joking about this shit with me.” 

“Was there a point when you fell out of love with me?” “There was a point when I fell in love with you, but never out.”

“When did you fall out of love with me?” “That’s the thing: I never fell out of love with you. You’re the one who fell out of love with me.”

“Right person, wrong time… What if this is the right time? We’re just the wrong people for each other.”

“You have me wrapped around your fingers. Crazy part is, I don’t mind it.” 

“Don’t forget this: I made you. I can easily break you if I wanted to.” 

“I shared pieces of me, with so many people, and none of them kept those pieces safe, and I don’t know if I can risk that with you because it would devastate me if you turn out to be the same as them all. I would be completely destroyed.” 

“Don’t give me that look.”

“You okay?” “No. I need hugs. From you. I need you to hug me.” 

“I just wanna fucking get over you so I can be okay again.” 

“Stop trying to remind me that you’re still in my life. I’m trying to not think about you, for God’s sake.”

“I wanna kiss you so badly right now but we’re in public and I know you hate public display of affection—“ “I’ll allow you to do it this time.” “Wait… Really?” 

“I make shitty decisions and you’re a testament to that matter.”

“I have things to do, and most of them include me trying not to think about you.”

“I’ve never cried because of someone, you know? I didn’t have anyone to cry over. You’re the first, and you’ll also be the last, or so God help me through this embarrassment.” 

“Breaking up with me does not mean you had to kick me off your Spotify playlist, you know? Because damn. As much as I’m upset, your list had some bangers.” 

“You don’t get to do decide my feelings for you.” 

“I’m not bitchless, you fucking dickhead. Take that back!” 

“Every little thing reminds me of you, which sucks because you’re not in my life anymore.”

“It’s kinda weird not seeing your name on my phone when I wake up. It’s gonna take me some time to get used to this.”

“I think I knew this wasn’t going to last when I realised it’s not that I trust you. It’s that I don’t care what you do, and who you might be fucking around with.”

“One text from you has me happier than a child whose mother bought them their favourite candy. It’s not okay.” 

“I don’t share my Spotify playlist with just anyone. It’s like a secret love language of mine, reserved for those I want to let in. You’re one of them, yet you’re here thinking I don’t feel the same way about you?”

“I dunno, I just… Kinda fell for you.”

“You’re the reason why I fell in love with you. You, as a whole.” 

“There are some songs that I can’t listen to anymore, because they remind me of you; of all the times we’ve had together. And it sucks because some of them are great songs. And you fucking ruined them, you asshole.”

“I’m tired of acting like I don’t care, because I do. I fucking do, and that’s what makes this even worse.” 

“One thing you should know about me is that I suck at letting go.”

“So you’re telling me I’m supposed to sit here and give a fuck? You couldn’t pay me enough to do that. I have places to be and things to do.” 

“You need to stop being such a dramatic bitch.” “It’s the only way I can entertain myself, okay? Now piss off and leave me be.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“You deserve someone better than me—” “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“You ever think about how good we could have been together?” “Yeah. I think about it all the time, and then I remember how badly you fumbled. So yeah, good job.”

“You’re blushing.” “I’m not.” “…Then I guess I’ll have to give you something to blush over.”

“I lost myself while trying to find the good in you.”

“I think it’s comforting that they’re somewhere out there… Even if we never speak again, you know? They were a part of my life, even if it was only for a little while. They made me feel good, even if it was only for a short amount of time.” 

“Remember when you said you’d catch me when I fell? Well, you’re a fucking liar. Figuratively and literally. Now I’m hospitalised and also emotionally scarred. I hope you’re fucking happy about that.” 

“If we break up, I’d look for you in other people and be reminded that they are not you, and that I’d never find someone like you again. And… I don’t think I can bear the thought of that.”

“I give you permission to break my heart.” “And I give you permission to end me if I ever do break your heart.” 

“I have things to do—“ “And I’m one of them.”

“You’re only saying sorry because you want to make yourself feel better, so you can go shove that sweet apology up your ass because it doesn’t mean shit. I hope you continue to feel like shit over what you did, because I’m never forgiving you.”

“I had expectations for someone I knew couldn’t meet those expectations, so that’s my fault for expecting anything from you at all.”

“You? Breaking my heart? It’s funny how you think you even have that power over me.”

“You were like a routine that I loved and it felt… comfortable. But I guess that’s not the case anymore.” 

“You fell in love with the idea of someone that wasn’t even real. You fell in love with your own projections. How are you so foolish to think that it would have worked out?”

“I’m fine. Of course I’m fine.” “Everything about this interaction is telling me you’re not fine — not even close.”

“The idea of us was perfect. Blame me for thinking it would turn out into something good and as fantastical as what I made it out to be in my head.”

“Because no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s about to drive me to the very brink of insanity, so if you’ll excuse me for not wanting to be near you, that would great.”

“I would not be who I am today if not for you.” 

(pt 1.) | (pt. 2)

[fangirl-dot-com]

🐍 Track 2 - . . . Ready for It?

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

I'm sorry to the ones I couldn't tag. If you do want notifications for when I post, there's always that option as well!

Logan had a new phone. And for the first time in a while, it felt nice to just be disconnected from the world for a bit. The people who truly mattered had his phone number. His Instagram had been wiped, along with every other social media. The American had gone dark. 

And apparently you had done the same thing. 

His parents and brother knew where he would be, just in case for emergencies. However, he asked them to not text much. He needed time away, well, away from the current grid. It hurt him, seeing how supportive everyone was with Theo. No one had ever congratulated him when he first got signed. Hell, even Oscar hadn’t known right away, claiming he had forgotten. 

Of course, he had given you his new number because you’d be the only person he previously knew that he’d still be in contact with. You also gave Logan you’re new number, having similar ideas to your friend. 

Well, he had given George his new number. The Briton had texted his old number in a panic-like manner when Logan deactivated everything. Under a temporary contract, Logan wasn’t legally allowed to tell George anything except that he was safe and needed time away. 

The brunet was not happy with that, but he let Logan know that if he needed anything, he would come running. A bit of happiness let itself seep into Logan’s heart, thankful for the Mercedes driver’s friendship. 

When he had read the email after the social media posts went up, his mind blanked. 

What did Andretti want with him? A washed-out jobless nobody. He believes they should have been looking at someone like Carlos or even Ollie, who was making good times in F2 car. It had to be anyone but him. 

So why was it him? 

He had been about to call you when you had first facetimed him on his laptop. He couldn’t even get words about before you started screeching. Logan chuckled as you went on a rant, as this could be their big break. His silence had given you a look into how he was truly feeling. 

Your voice had quieted down on the device. 

“You’re going to take the offer right?” 

Logan winced at your tone, which gave you the information you needed. You rolled your eyes as you sat on your bed. 

“Logan, we were just dropped by two teams that didn’t even want us. They pushed us away like we were nothing. And now, there’s a team with top potential that truly wants us, and you don’t want to take the opportunity?” 

The American boy sighed. You had a point. 

“I’m just scared that I’m going to get there, and then make a fool out of myself. Then Michael is going to see how truly bad of a driver I am,” he hugged out. 

You could hear the fear in his voice, and it devastated you. Where did your confident and smiley boy go? Williams would pay for it, one way or another. 

You were hesitant to say something. 

“Logan, even if our times aren’t what we’re wanting at first, Michael said that we will get better. He’s sent my manager some data and it looks like we are scarily similar with our driving styles. Logan, the car is going to be made for us. Michael made sure that I knew that we’d have a chance, because I’m not driving if you’re not. Together or nothing, we come as a package.” 

Logan sat up quickly off his bed. He glared at you through his laptop.

“You did not just quote Charles Leclerc to me.” 

“And what if I did?”  

“No, you can’t give this offer up if I don’t drive.” 

You glared back at him, although you had a smile. 

“It’s either both of us, or none of us. I’m tired of never seeing you, and you need a friend you can count on. I’m sorry to say but Oscar has done a very shit job of being your friend. I’d say that George is a better friend than him.” 

Logan sighed. “No, you’re right. It’s just hard to accept that.” 

Your smile dropped a bit. 

“Logan, he was supposed to be your friend and then he dropped you. Everyone had dropped you so many times and you’ve been the one to pick yourself back up. But now, you’ve been dropped a final time, yet someone wants to be the first to help you back up, to clean your wounds, and to heal you. And now you don’t even want that?” 

You had a point. 

Like always. 

“Your words never seem to fail me woman.” 

“That’s because men are the inferior being.” 

Logan snorted. 

“Will I see you in Milan next week?” you asked with hopeful eyes. Logan could see the glimmer that shined in them. He didn’t want to be the person to damped that. 

“I will see you in Milan.” 

The first thing that popped into Logan’s mind when he got to the base was “Holy Shit.” 

The building was massive as he walked through the giant doors. He really thought that this was a movie set with how grand it was. Surely this couldn’t it? Maybe he had the wrong address. 

“Mr. Sargeant?” 

Or maybe he did. His body turned to the lady standing near the front desk. He showed a smile that was definitely a tad too wide and showed too many teeth. Thankfully the lady didn’t show any malice as she sweetly grinned at the blond. 

“Yes ma’am. That’s me.” 

Always the good southern-hospitality manners with him. 

“I’m glad you could make it. If you’d follow me, Michael is waiting in his office for you.” 

Logan breathed a sigh of relief when he finally knew that he didn’t have to circumnavigate the entirety of the building. 

The air was fresh as he walked behind the lady, who he now knew as Marissa Andretti, Michael’s sister and Head of Directors. Her own American accent was like a comforting blanket to Logan. Gosh, did he miss hearing a familiar voice to his own during 2023. 

The one voice he couldn’t wait to hear was your own. He knew he’d be safe once he heard the lisps of a Southern draw when you talked. The slurred vowels and the biting consonants would be music to his ears. 

“How have you liked the simulator and the data so far?” Marissa asked as she led Logan down yet another hallway. How big was this building and were they leading him to his death? 

Yet, despite his concerns, Logan was very happy with the results. 

“The car is already so fast. It’s like it’s just an extension of me instead of working against me. It feels so right.” 

Technically, Logan had been on the first plane to Milan to start testing, as his own anxiety wouldn’t let him wait until the week was up. You had your own simulator back in the States, so you did your testing there. Logan had been back in London when the email came, and his set up was not going to function with the high tech that Andretti needed. 

Marissa smiled over her shoulder. “Good, that is exactly what we are wanting to hear.” 

Finally, she stopped in front of a door that had a giant-ass A on the front. Logan wanted to laugh at the cinematics. Surely, this was a movie and he was going to be the main character. Marissa pushed a button and the door slowly swung open. 

Logan’s smile grew once he saw you in one of the very plush seats in front of the desk. You immediately stood up and jumped into his arms. He breathed deeply and all weight slowly melted from his body. It had been so long since he had gotten to hug you, hold you, feel you. 

When you pulled away, you had a blinding smile on your face. 

“Glad to see you here Logs.” 

His nose scrunched at the old nickname. 

“I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were 12, Y/n.” 

You huffed. 

“Fine, no nickname for you.” 

“I take it back. I ban you from calling me Logan.” 

“Isn’t that your name?” 

“No?” 

“Logs!” 

“Ah there it is!” 

A cough signaled to Logan that they weren’t actually alone. He sheepishly turned around to face the man who, hopefully after this meeting, would be his boss for a couple of years. Logan turned his full body towards the desk and stepped with his hand outstretched. 

Michael had a knowing smile as he shook Logan’s hand. 

“I am so sorry sir, I didn’t even realize that you were already here, and I haven’t seen her in a while, and it’s so good to just here the accents because the grid is entirely too European and Asian, sometimes I couldn’t even understand them, and…” 

Michael put his hands on Logan’s shoulders. 

“It’s just fine kid. I totally get you.” 

Logan visibly relaxed under Michael’s hands. 

“Now, why don’t you sit down and we can start talking contracts.” 

Logan lit up at the word. 

“Contracts?”

You gave him a smirk. 

“Yes Logs, contracts.” 

Logan felt as though he couldn’t breathe. But this time, it was with excitement and not dread. His butt quickly found the seat next to yours. Marissa left the room with promises of coming back with celebratory drinks. 

Michael pulled out two small stacks of paper before he started speaking. 

“So, I’ve talked with both of your managers and we’ve come up with a contract. You two can look over it as I read the big details. The finer print is stuff that you both have already previously gone over, but you are still encouraged to look over it one final time.”

You and Logan had the same exact papers. 

In the initial emailing process, the two of you had voiced that you were a packaged deal. Logan was surprised to see that Michael had said that he wouldn’t want it any other way and was glad to possibly not have to deal with drivers hating each other. Logan thought anything would be better than Brocedes 2016. 

You looked down at the words as Michael read them out loud. 

“Ok, so in the contract, the two of you will be signed until 2027. There is an exit clause in section C, but we are not allowed to terminate prior to 2027. The two of you will be granted ambassadorship with whatever sponsors we’ve received. The sponsorships are in section E and it gives a rundown of each one and what they will be contributing to the team. 

“Per secrecy of wanting to keep the identities secret until we reach the grid for testing, the two of you will go under pseudonyms.” 

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Like a call sign?” 

Marissa flashed a wicked grin. 

“Exactly like a call sign.” 

You continued, “Do we get to come up with them?” 

Michael clasped his hands. “So we thought that Y/n could go by Phoenix and then Logan would go Venus.” 

Your eyes widened as you took in the name. Wasn’t too bad, you thought. 

Logan let out a sigh of relief. “At least it’s not like Eagle or something. That would be super obvious.” 

The boss-man chuckled before he looked back down at the contract. 

“Since the two of you did not specify a salary, we took the liberty to come up with one ourselves. But please feel free to mention what you’d like and we can always raise it. We also liked to put in that for every point scored, the two of you get a bonus as a little incentive. The salary will not be dropped no matter if points are scored or not. Think of it as a baseline.” 

Michael chuckled as he watched yours and Logan’s eyes drastically widen at the sight of the eight digits before the decimal. Logan gulped at the sight. 

“Michael, I think you added too many zeros.” 

“I think I didn’t add enough.” 

Logan couldn’t respond. 

You looked up from the paper to Michael. “I think it’s high enough.” 

The goateed-man smiled back at you and continued. 

“I’ve seen the skills parts on your resumes and thankfully the two of you do not need to learn Italian from scratch. I don’t even know when the two of you had time to learn it, but thankfully it is not required in meetings or in the garage.” 

Logan smirked as he looked at the words. 

“What’s the fun in that? We can have secret conversations with ourselves.” 

You tapped his shoulder. 

“Except Ferrari will know and maybe Lewis.” 

“I’ll have my Duolingo account at the ready.” 

Michael watched as the two of you pored over the papers and bickered like an old married couple. He and Marissa already had a bet going to see when the two of you would get together. But, you didn’t need to know that.

“I digress. You can speak in Italian if you want to. The next couple of sections are just PR related. The two of you wanted to bring you own teams in, which is fine. I’ve sent emails and meeting times to each of them and have been replied to. All is in motion. Logan, you mentioned something to me once about your personal trainer leaving?” 

A sigh left his lips at the mention of Benny. He really didn’t want anyone else. He slowly nodded. 

“He had to leave to be with his family. Williams wasn’t the most accommodating and he was told that he had to be at every race. Normally I didn’t even need him until race day. He’d miss so much time with his family because of traveling and things like that.” 

“Well, I think we have you covered.” 

Logan looked back down at the paper. A small gasp left his lips. 

Ben Jacobs was written in black ink under “Personal Trainer.” 

“How?” 

Michael smiled. 

“It took some convincing, but he said he’d come back for you. Of course, Ben will be highly compensated to return after he said he wouldn’t. His family will also be accommodated for any race that they’d like to attend and Ben can show up however late he needs. His leave will also be paid time as well.” 

Logan could kiss the man if he could. Tears pooled in his eyes and he could only manage a small thank you. Your hand rested on his shoulder in comfort. He just couldn’t wait to see him again. 

“Looks like that is everything. Are you two ready to sign?” 

Yours and Logan’s heads nodded eagerly as pens were uncapped. There was light scratching for a few moments as you filled out the needed information on the multiple sheets of paper. Once everything was completed, you let out a sigh of relief. You and Logan could finally do this. 

Marissa showed up at the right moments with a few different beverages. You took one of the iced americanos, claiming that Italian espresso was, in fact, the best kind. Logan surprised you as he took a mimosa. 

He side-eyed you. 

“It’s freshly squeezed orange juice and you cannot go wrong with it. It’s a classic.”

You held you drink up and your other hand in mock surrender. 

Michael took a black coffee and sipped it. 

“Now, onto the fun stuff.” 

Your eyebrows pinched. “Fun stuff?” 

Michael smirked before pulling up a projector that was attached to his laptop. He started to click through the slides. 

“First, the car.” 

On the slide was a sleek yellow and black livery. The black really highlighted the tamer yellow. 

Michael pointed at it. 

“This is our 2024 livery. We designed it awhile back, but it’s finally going to be used.” 

You let out a whistle as a video played the engine noise. To you, it sounded fast. You had been able to do a few laps with an actual car to get the feel of it since IndyCar were so much different. Michael claimed though that you were a natural in the car, being able to command it to what you needed it to do. Logan was quite the same. 

The next slide showed multiple models of Lamborghinis. With it came a smirk from the sister and brother pair. 

Logan looked at them. 

“I don’t know whether to be excited about the smirks or nervous.” 

Marissa was the one to pull up something on her personal iPad. She showed the official Lamborghini website. 

“Because the two of you will now technically ambassadors for Lambo as well, you two need to pick out what models the two of you would like to own. For now, we can start with one, but Tonino wanted his drivers to start a small collection.” 

You made her pause. 

“Tonino, as in, Tonino Lamborghini?” 

Marissa sent a gentle smile to calm you down. 

“Yes. Mr. Tonino will be at quite a few races to watch. He has mentioned wanting to see Ferrari fail, but our data is saying that although we look promising, there’s not guarantee.” 

Logan exhaled sharply. 

“No pressure right?” 

Michael leaned forward over the desk. 

“Listen to me Logan. You have been with a team that has now destroyed every bit of self-confidence. Mr. Tonino is actually the one who put your name on my radar. If you’re good enough for him, you need to believe that you’re good enough for everyone else.” 

Logan was taken back. Mr. Tonino was the one to bring him up? He felt honored in a good way. A nod of his head let Michael and Marissa know that they could continue. Logan turned your way, only to find you already smiling at him. He hoped that he could always be on the receiving end of that smile. 

Marissa continued where she left off. 

“Just look over the models and customize it however you’d like. We’ll get it sent to the factory to be made in time for the first race in Bahrain. These cars will be shipped along with our supplies so you can always have them.” 

You smirked. “I’ve always wanted a black Lamborghini Aventador.” 

Logan turned to Marissa. “I’d love a black Lamborghini Huracan.” 

A smile grew on your face. “Aw, Logan. We’ll get matching Lambos.” 

Logan thought that if you had been an emoji, you’d be the one with the big teary eyes and a pout. Marissa looked pleased at the requests for the different models. 

You raised your hand. “Do we need to start looking for places to stay here in Milan?” 

Michael lifted his eyebrows. 

“You don’t actually. Between races, the two of you are more than welcome to either go home or adventure somewhere. We will let you know when it is crucial to come back here to do some testing. Housing is provided when you need to be here. There are multiple estates that can be used on bought property.” 

You and Logan definitely liked the sound of that. Maybe you could stay in close villas or something. Or maybe in the same place as you tended to get lonely. That’s what being pushed out of everything does to someone in a year. You can’t remember the last time that you were invited to do something with the team, always retreating to your small hotel room after a race. You feel as though Logan might feel the same. 

Michael moved to the next slide, showing the race suits. 

“These are the suits for the season. Black or white fireproofs will go well with them. Helmets are up to the two of you. You will need on standard for some races and then you can choose what races you want fun ones to be. Miami, Austin, Las Vegas, and Imola are going to be considered our home races.” 

“What about Monza?” Logan questioned. 

Michael had a glint in his eyes. 

“That will forever belong to the Tifosi I’m afraid.” 

You decided to pipe up. 

“Or Charles Leclerc. I feel like wherever he goes, the Tifosi goes with him. You make him trade teams, the Italians will follow him.” 

Logan shot you a teasing look. 

“You always have to bring him up in one way or another.” 

You shrugged. 

“He’s a good driver. Let’s not bring up that you’re such a fanboy for Max Verstappen of all people.” 

Logan’s torso shifted. 

“It’s not every day that one beats Sir Lewis Hamilton and take away his 8th championship!” 

Laughs erupted from Michael and Marissa, making you and Logan pause. You cleared your throat. 

“Sorry, please continue.” 

Michael went a bit further with the slides, going over compatible data to the car. He went over sponsors and things like that before he finally leaned back into his chair. 

“Are we able to drive the cars today?” 

Much like you were, Logan was itching to be back behind the wheel. And hopefully, the wheel belonged to a reliable car. 

Michael stood from where he sat, making you and Logan also rise to your feet. 

“I’d thought you’d never ask,” he said, making his way to the door. When the two of you didn’t follow, he turned back around. 

“Are you ready for it?” 

lamborghini_racing has posted

Lamborghini_racing Are you ready for it?

liked by y/n.nation, logang2, box_box_express, and 4,205,095 others

l4mbo.child a hello or how are you doing WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE

f1_fan I fear they have gagged the entire grid with this

ferrariforza damn, I thought we had the best livery - sorry kings 👑

lambo_drivers all I'm asking is who is going to be driving this beast?

lo-girlies do I even utter his name in fear that it might not happen?

y/nfan or even utter her name?

thepaddock_person who 🤨

childofF1 I'll say it - LOGAN AND Y/N FOR LAMBO 2024

box_box_express the paint, the yellow, the black, the lighting, THE EVERYTHING

taylorswiftxf1 I see the admin is a Taylor fan??

phoenix95 has posted

phoenix95 baby let the games begin

liked by venus2, Lamborghini_racing, y/n.nation, dior, and 2,195,086 others

4theF1_girlies EXCUSE MEEEEEEE

driver95 ayo - we got the Lightning McQueen number with a queen

lambo_duo oh gosh I hope I live to see the day that they reveal their drivers

venus2 looking snazzy 😎

phoenix95 no one ever says that anymore

venus2 🥺

phoenix95 fine...thank you

venus2 🥰

venusxphoenix WHOEVER THEY ARE - THEY HAVE MY HEART

rising_phoenix95 immediate fan

lambo_child the Aventador is such a slay 💅

lambof1 I wonder if they have like matching cars with their contracts

venus2 has posted

venus2 let the games begin now

liked by phoenix95, marissa_andretti, Lamborghini_racing, and 4,205,850 others

lambof1 I THINK I CALLED IT?? THE MATCHING BLACK CARS

pitstop_nightmare I'M SORRY FERRARI BUT THIS IS TOO SEXY

lamborghinivsferrari THE HURACAN 🥵😱

c16_leclerc I'm guessing they went to Charles's school of serving cunt

hamilton44lewis and graduated with a degree in slay

phoenix95 that's sexy baby

venus2 thanks 😚

phoenix95 ...I was talking about the car?

venus2 sure...sure you were 😈

box_box_express I feel like I have some sleuthing to do - hold please

logansarg2 I miss Logan so much - it's heartbreaking to see all of his accounts go dark, I guess I'll have to stan this dude instead

y/n.nation I miss our girl so much

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @disneyprincemuke @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

[charnelhouse]

I imagine Red telling Price she’s pregnant and his immediate reaction is “have you told Simon yet?” (He uses his real name because of it being a personal matter) and Red is confused as fuck cause he knew

But red breaks down and says yeah he’s freaked about it

And price tried his best to comfort her (I think Price is the male equivalent of the mom friend)

Price watches Red during the meeting. Her gaze is distant, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. He’s known her for ten years. He’s seen her at her absolute worst. He’s seen her holding her insides with her hands. He’s seen her after being held captive for weeks.

Never once had she resembled the broken thing she is at that very moment.

No - that’s not entirely true.

He’s only seen her this terrified once before, and it was during a mission. A civilian kid had been hit - blood spurting from his neck, and Red had lost her cool. She’d fallen to her knees, palms flying to the boy’s throat as she attempted to staunch the bleeding.

“Fuck-fuck,” she muttered, tears in her eyes, chest hitching. “You’re alright-you’re fine, honey.”

It had been Simon who pulled her away. “It’s over, duchess,” he murmured. “It’s over - you can’t do anything, love.”

It had rocked all of them. Cool, imperious Red Fox had cracked, splintering apart as she clutched the child’s hand. For Price, it felt like being privy to something he shouldn’t. Afterward, she'd hid in her room for a week. Simon had been the only one allowed in.

As he observes Red from afar, Price kneads his neck, disturbed by the number of knots he's accumulated from sleeping wrong.

Fuck - he's getting old.

Today, she looks just as scared as she did then, desperately tense and full of distress. When he ends the meeting, he walks over to her. She hasn’t left the table though the others have escaped to training. He pulls a chair out and takes a seat. It creaks under his weight, but she doesn’t appear to notice.

“What is it, Red?”

She blinks down at the table. There’s sweat beading her hairline, and he realizes that, up close, her pallor is sickly.

He gently places his knuckles against her brow to feel for fever. She doesn’t flinch.

“Red,” he says. “What-

“I’m pregnant,” she reveals flatly before dragging a hand through her hair.

“Have you told Simon?”

Her eyes dart to him, her expression surprised.

“You think I didn’t notice?” He chuckles quietly. “He follows you around…touches you whenever he assumes we aren’t lookin’. I’ve seen what he does to the people who’ve hurt you. I’ve seen what’s left of them.” Price sighs as he squeezes her shoulder. “You both can be bloody loud, too. The walls are thin.”

Her mouth drops open, but then her nose wrinkles in embarrassment. “I guess we can be.”

Price scratches his stubble thoughtfully before crossing his arms over his chest. “Never thought Simon would make noises like that to be quite honest.”

“I wouldn’t say-

“Yah know Johnny mimics him? Puts on whole shows at breakfast impersonating what Ghost sounded like the night before.”

“You’re lying!”

“I might be.”

He isn’t.

She shakes her head before offering him a devastating smile. She’s beautiful; a fact he always thought would hinder her in this line of work, but she’s only shot through the ranks.

“So have you told him?”

Immediately, she shuts down, and Price curses himself for diverting too quickly. He’d done a fair job of distracting her.

“I did,” she admits after a beat.

“And he’s run off to go kill somethin, then?”

“First chance he got.” She blows out a breath before dropping her face into her hands. “He freaked in the Simon Riley way: stone-faced, guard up, escaped to the hills.” The words are muffled by her palms, but he still hears them.

He strokes her back, mindful of the small skull tattooed across her shoulder. “He’s not upset. I’d bet anything that he’s just confused. You know his past. He thinks he’s a homing beacon for tragedy.”

“He’s not,” she growls, stubborn and hot. “I can take care of myself. I chose him. He doesn’t need to be in this constant state of anxiety that he’s going to lose me.”

Easier said than done. She’s being deliberately obtuse and he’s unsure why. She knows Simon better than anyone. She knows the dark, insidious things that rot his past. Tragedy after tragedy. It’s so horrible that it could almost be funny. Almost, but never quite.

Price isn’t sure how Simon is even still standing.

Red exhales sharply as she stares off into the distance - focusing sightlessly on the direction that Simon has gone. Always. Constant. She’s grinding her teeth, but her longing is blatant.

Ah. Yes. She’s why Simon remains upright and alive.

Price clears his throat.

“Aye, but a baby makes shit complicated, Red. You were the only person Simon had to worry about. He had one thing in the world someone could take from him. Now he has two.”

She frowns. “I don’t think it’s like that.”

Price leans closer. “He’s in love with you.”

She glances at him suspiciously, and he suddenly understands that maybe neither of them comprehends this small fact: they’re both batshit insane over each other.

“I’ve known him a long time,” he reminds her. “He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”

The corner of her mouth lifts. “How can you tell?”

“His eyes say enough.”

After a moment, she grabs his hand. “Do you think he’ll be okay…” She vaguely gestures to her stomach. “…with this?”

Price thinks she may just burst into tears, and that is something he can’t have. He wants to punish Simon for leaving her like this - for being unable to stand his ground and reassure her. But he also knows that Riley has been through literal hell. He’s died in every way, but physically. He can’t blame the man for needing space to get his head on straight.

There’s a lot on the line - many decisions to be made. He squeezes Red’s hand, rubs a soothing circle with his thumb. He says what he believes: “He loves you, darling. That will be enough.”

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 9

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Words: 1,508

--------

Part 9 ∇

You were still sobbing, still apologising when the cold of the wooden floors felt solid beneath your knees. Azriel’s shadows began to thin, clearing around you to reveal your personal quarters. He kept his hold on you, his hands firm on both your sides. Azriel was cautious to not smother or confine you – instead he grounded you, allowing you to breath.

He was muttering something you were unable to hear over the roar of your hysteria, letting you rock in his arms as devastation continued to consume you. I hate myself, I hate what I’ve become – it was a chant that sounded in your mind over and over, one you’d never be able to forget it.

Feyre’s eyes had turned so cold when she took Nyx away – it was fear, but also a warning that she would do whatever it took to protect her child. You didn’t blame her, how could you? You had given her plenty of reason to not trust you these past months. And the rest of your family – the way they froze when Nyx approached you, not a breath shared amongst them. It was as if they were waiting, just waiting for you to do the worst.

The feeling that gnawed at your heart hurt so much that your stomach clenched while you cried, your arms snaking around your middle in comfort. It was pure, harrowing self loathing. You hated yourself for the monster you had become. How could you let Hybern change you so much that your own family were afraid of you? How could you be so weak?

Azriel’s silken voice cut through the noise then, floating above the chant in your mind, his words gentle and airy. “You have nothing to be sorry for, love. I know you, I love you.”

You felt a warmth moving to comfort you from within, Azriel sending an ocean of reassurance and understanding through the bond. But like waves crashing against a cliff, the water broke no matter how strong their current, and all you could feel was the faint spray that made it to the other side.

You pushed out of him arms, clambering to stand as you gripped your bed post, one hand pressed against the gnaw at your heart. “No, no, no Azriel! Get away!” You were unlovable – a hideous, violent thing. The dark chuckle in the depths of your mind confirmed it.

Azriel stood with you, but kept his distance. “Try to breath, Y/N.”

“Stay back,” you threw over your shoulder, your hand now clutching at your throat as you tried to steady your breaths. He was right, you needed to calm down. If that voice got any closer…

Azriel placed large hand on the centre of your back. It warmed you, grounded you, loved you even. It was something you didn't deserve, and would never deserve again. You hated it.

You spun, your teeth bared. “I said get away!”

Azriel visibly flinched, snatching his hand back as his shadows climbed his tall frame, sensing their master’s shock.

Your eyes darted across his, then down to your shaking hands that you held in front of you. Small crescent shaped wounds had reopened from where your nails pressed, your blood smeared across your palms.

You see Y/N, you won’t ever heal. Not fully, that dark voice said.

“Shut up!” you spat, closing your eyes and trying to find the dark figure that began a lethal stroll across your mind. It was far too close, closer than it had been in weeks.

You are what I made you. A mere weapon.

“Y/N, I’m here. Stay with me.” Azriel’s voice cut through from the outside. Your mind reeled as you struggled to balance realities.

Clutching at the roots of your hair, you allowed yourself to slip further into the depths of your mind, facing the shadowy figure, it’s red eyes gleaming through the darkness.

That’s it Y/N, give in to what you truly are and join me.

“I am nothing like you,” you spat, the figure circling you as he laughed.

Then why do you choke the life from your mate as we speak?

Gasping, your eyes flew open to find your bloodied hands holding Azriel’s neck. You weren't choking him, not yet – instead your fingers gingerly curled around his throat, ready to attack, to kill. You spluttered, your eyes wide as you tried to pry your hands off of him, but there was something in you, an insidious calling, that kept them there. You gritted your teeth, fighting to reclaim control of your body and mind.

Azriel’s eyes bored into yours, yet he showed no fear. Instead those golden brown eyes swirled with earnest and a stupid amount of faith. “I trust you.” was all he said.

You blinked at him, trembling hands still around his neck. Grunting, you fought the urge to close them tighter, begging yourself to pull away.

Scarred hands rested on your forearms then. Azriel didn’t pry yours from his neck, but instead he just touched you.

“I love you, Y/N. I know you won’t hurt me.”

Tears poured down your face. Azriel’s love was unconditional, even when you couldn’t love yourself. He trusted you, and would die trying to prove it to you over and over again.

With a disgruntled scream, you forced your hands off Azriel’s neck, clutching them to your chest as you panted, exhausted from the sheer will it took to pull away. Racked with sobs, you turned away from your mate, ashamed to have repeated the same moment when you had first been freed. Months of hard work had been unravelled in seconds, proving you were not any better. You had let everyone down.

“Shhh, shh,” Azriel pulling you to him. You stuck your arm out, stopping him from encompassing you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop that,” he said, levelling a look at you. “You didn't hurt me.”

“I wanted to kill you Azriel! Don't you understand that?”

“But you didn’t Y/N! You didn’t! And that’s the only part that matters.”

You clenched your eyes shut, trying to shut everything out. The room spun, and the throbbing behind your eyes was as painful as ever. You were nauseous, sick of yourself, sick of the how much you had to give just to stop hurting the people you loved. You were better off alone, and they were better off without you.

“I-I can’t breathe.” Azriel watched helplessly.

You needed to get away. Away from your mate and your family, where you could hurt no one and they could live in peace.

Beyond your bedroom window, away from the sparkling city of Velaris, lay the thick of the woods. It was dark, cold, and beckoned almost as strongly as the bond between you and Azriel.

You looked back at the Shadowsinger, your own winnowing powers beginning to activate for the first time in months. “I need you to let me go,” you said, your voice broken at the decision you had already made.

Azriel’s eyes shone with fresh tears, his shadows scouting for you straight away. But with a tight swallow, he nodded, silently calling them back to curl around his fists.

“I understand,” was all he said. But by then you had already winnowed from the room.

————

Moments later, Rhys burst into your quarters, behind him Feyre and Mor. They entered to find Azriel facing the window, watching the dark of the woods, wings tight and shadows pressed against the glass.

“We heard yelling,” Rhys said. Azriel didn't answer, didn't even turn.

“Az? Where is Y/N?” Feyre asked, placing a gentle hand on the his shoulder.

Azriel sighed. “She left.”

“Left for where?” Mor’s question was frantic, readying herself to find you immediately.

“To the woods.”

“The woods?” Rhys questioned, his face wracked with confusion.

“She couldn't breath here, she was… panicked, trapped. She said I needed to let her go, so I did.”

There was silence amongst them.

“I’m sorry for how today unfolded,” Feyre apologised. “Elain is so upset.”

Azriel shook his head softly, finally turning to his family. “It’s alright. No one is to blame.”

“I’ll track Y/N mind to mind while she’s out there,” Rhys offered, to which Azriel nodded.

“I’ll send my shadows too, in time.”

“Will you retrieve her?” Mor asked, chewing on her lip.

“Only if she needs me to,” Azriel said with a frown.

“And how will you know?”

“I’m her mate. I’ll know.”

Mor nodded before she ran a comforting hand along Azriel’s arm, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

“Is Cass still here?” the Shadowsinger asked.

“He’s back at the House of Wind with Nesta,” Feyre answered. “He didn't want to provoke you any further.”

Nodding, Azriel winced at the twinge of guilt in his stomach, remembering how he badly he had hurt his brother earlier that day. “I owe him an apology,” was all he said as he prepared to winnow himself, his shadows looping closely for their departure.

————

Part 10 >>>

AN: I hope you liked this chapter, and thank you for your patience while I finessed this part! 💌 The support for this series has been overwhelming – so just another thank you for following along the journey, it means so much to me ❤️❤️❤️ 

I’ll put tags in a reblog from here on, but drop a comment to join the list!

[precious-little-scoundrel]

IM SORRY DID U SAY YOURE WORKING ON A FIC ABOUT “COP BIG DADDY ELVIS”?!?- please tell us more because this sounds like the greatest thing ever 😭

I did, Mon ami, I did indeed…welcome to the demented 2009, sweaty and non famous cop AU that @eliseinmemphis and myself cooked up in our feral yearnings one night.

Edit: it’s here

Allow me to lay a bit of the setting for us all, and maybe even throw in a few lines from the draft below.

Life is insular when you’ve been born and raised in a trailer park. A little El Paso suburb was never a thriving metropolis, what with its gas stations and dollar stores on the way to nothingness in the desert, but the recession didn’t help none. Your dreams of buying a car that might actually make it above 120 mph and not guzzle your wages in gas is a far off dream when you learn from officer Presley that your entrepreneuring father has been incarnated for racketeering across in Juarez. It’s a shame, a damn shame but it hardly throws a wrench in your life, you were already used to making it however you could. When workin’ at the trucker’s club turns into something a lil more illegal and Elvis has his morning waffle ruined by Joe Esposito yacking about the powers of your pink tongue…he feels a little responsible for leaving you without a father figure. He’s got top notch swamp coolers in his trailer, plenty of food and tiger figurines out front -and he’s got an interest in fast things, just like you.

You could do worse than shack up with such a fella; not that he’s offerin’ but you can tell by the flicker in his eye and the smirk of his lips that he’s as susceptible as the next guy watching you on the pole. Except this sweet, world weary cynic just might screw your gooey insides up worse than any threat or ogle from another man.

Snippet:

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been a year or two since you saw him last. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he keeps in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms had massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Sweet Cheeks,” he greets, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to this slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me flyby on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

[hier--soir]

under the night | two

summary: your nightmares won't quit, and joel is persistent pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ only, minors dni] language, slow-ish burn, angst, nightmares, discussion of attempted SA, discussion of murder, injury, blood, soft!joel, age gap [20ish years] word count: 4.3k part one | series masterlist | main masterlist

Get off me, get off me, get off me, get off me, ge-

You woke with a gasp, still feeling the intense pressure of someone sitting on top of you, sitting on your chest, holding your hands down beside your head, pushing you into the dirt, endless pressure – no escape. Get off me, you wanted to scream, but your lips were sealed shut in terror, and you weren’t sure if it was sweat or tears rolling down your face. A stifled moan of fear wormed out of your mouth, and you stared up at the shadowy cracked roof of your bedroom in Jackson, trying to figure out if you had truly woken up.

It was the same dream. Always the same one. It would shift and change, sometimes to include more aggravating factors, to be worse than it actually was all those years ago. And sometimes, rarely, your brain would let you win. You would overpower him, you would be strong enough to push him off of you, and end his life yourself. Only to wake, and shamefully remember that was not how it had happened.

It was the kind of waking nightmare, where even when consciousness came, your fear remained. You leapt out of bed frantically, slipping and hitting the ground with a thud. Your ankle twinged painfully, but you stood and made to escape the room. You were a few steps from the door when your foot stepped on a loose sock, and your momentum threw you forward, tumbling until your face smacked painfully against the knob of the bedroom door. A guttural cry ripped out of your throat, as intense pain soared through your cheekbone.

You exhaled in shock, a film of tears blurring your eyesight.

“Cal,” you called feebly, feeling as though your heart was beating out of your chest. “Fuck.” Your throat was tight, air struggling to make it in and out of your windpipe in your panicked state. Aware of hot blood trickling down your neck, you reached up and wrenched the bedroom door open before stumbling into the hall.

Cal mumbled your name out groggily, standing in the open doorway of his bedroom. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he saw you more clearly and rushed forward, hovering his hands nervously over your biceps. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened?”

“I’m an idiot,” you cried in frustration. He took you in his arms then, rubbing your back in small circles. The sensation of his arms around you didn’t calm you in the slightest, still feeling as if the danger from your dream was real. Oftentimes when you woke, you longed to live with a woman, just so you wouldn’t have to be near a man while you felt that way. “I fell,” you flinched as your cut brushed against the dry fabric of his shirt. “It was another nightmare, and I…I hit myself on the doorknob, I- fuck.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, pushing your sweaty hair out of your face and assessing the damage. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you look like something out of a horror movie.” A begrudging laugh sputtered out of your mouth, and you allowed him to lead you into the bathroom. Cal patched you up quietly, without saying much. He knew nothing would help.

The gash on your cheekbone wasn’t huge, maybe the size of a fingernail, but it took a while to stem the blood flow. By the next morning, plumes of bright blue and purple had appeared over your cheek. You were devastated, insistent to Cal that no one could see you, no one could know.

You ate breakfast in stiff silence, only the sounds of chewing filling the thick air between the pair of you. He formulated a plan to tell people in town that you were sick, out of commission with some type of flu, and couldn’t get out of bed. It settled your nerves somewhat, but what you didn’t expect, was how hard it would be to simply stay home.

Cal eventually left for work with a promise to pass the story on to Maria and get you out of your shift at the stables. The boredom crept in quickly, and by late afternoon you were lazing in bed, staring longingly out the foggy window, willing the pulsating bruise to miraculously clear up. You longed to feel the cool air on your skin, but couldn’t risk the embarrassment of anyone in town seeing the defeated look on your face. You looked awful. Through the course of that first day, the swelling crept around your eye, the pressure keeping it almost entirely closed.   

When Cal returned home around sunset, you’d been drifting in and out of a light sleep and rose happily to greet him. He assured you through ravenous mouthfuls of dinner that Maria was okay with you missing work for a week, and that no one was suspicious, because why would they think you were lying about being sick? You hummed in response, knowing he was right, yet still feeling bad about skirting your responsibilities just because you’d been so clumsy.

“Joel was asking about you today,” he mumbled past the fork in his mouth, as a sort of afterthought. 

“Joel Miller?”

“No, Joel Schmoel from down the corner shop. Yes, Joel Miller, you dolt.”

You glared at him churlishly, waiting for him to finish laughing and start speaking again. Your hands had quickly clammed up, and you found yourself on the edge of your seat waiting to hear what Cal and Joel’s interaction was like.

“Badgered the fuck outta me. Asked all these questions about you being sick, and how bad it was, and if you needed anything to be brought to the house.” Cal watched your face as he spoke, trying to gage your reaction. “He seemed pretty concerned honestly. Looked like he was gonna bite his own tongue off when I said you probably wouldn’t appreciate a house call.”

You stared at your plate dumbly, mind whirring as you took in his words. The idea fascinated you, to think that Joel ever thought about you; that you still existed in his world, when you weren’t standing directly in front of him.

Suddenly, Cal’s fork splattered onto the table with a dull clang, and he blurted out, “Wait, is something goin’ on between you two?”

“What?” you groused. “Cal, give me a fucking break. No, there’s nothing going on between me and Joel Miller.” He regarded you suspiciously, but backed off when you rolled your eyes and insisted.

You shrugged off the odd feeling of disappointment that rolled in your stomach. Of course there was nothing going on between you and Joel. That didn’t mean that you hadn’t thought about it, just once or twice. What it might have been like to touch his skin. Innocently, of course – his hand, or his short beard where the streaks of grey sat. To touch his neck, maybe… his mouth… No. You were just intrigued by him; wanted to know more – more than he’d want to share, you were willing to bet.

On day two of your self-imposed isolation, staying home proved impossible. The winter weather was merciless, and you lay tucked in bed, wearing your thickest clothing, but were still left shivering. It was almost evening, but you knew Cal wasn’t coming home anytime soon. He’d offered to change his plans with Luisa and come home after work instead to spend time with you, but you insisted he do nothing of the sort. “I’ll be fine,” you’d asserted firmly. “Have fun with your girlfriend.”

But now that you were there, alone, slowly freezing and with no firewood in the house, you found yourself desperate. You had no way of contacting Cal without marching straight to Luisa’s house, so you decided to buck up, get out there and sort some wood yourself. If you didn’t get warm soon, the shiner on your face would be the least of your issues.

After dragging your boots on, you set out into the cold. The sun was long gone, and a harsh wind was whipping through the streets of Jackson. Your bare face and hands ached soon enough, as you marched through the oncoming gales, feeling like your skin was being sliced with a thousand tiny cuts. There was a pile of firewood near the stables, you knew for sure, and you just prayed as you walked that some of it was under cover and had been protected from rain the night before.

You didn’t spot anyone else out on the streets as you walked, no one else stupid enough to brave the cold weather when it was getting so late in the evening. It wasn’t until you were a hundred metres or so from the stables that you noticed him. Joel was headed the same way as you, but was coming from the centre of town, and that put you directly in his line of sight.

“Fuck,” you whispered, tugging the collar of your jacket up, in hopes that he wouldn’t recognise you in the dark. You stared at the ground and marched on, watching the plumes of your icy breath floating in front of your face. Predictably, your attempts to go unnoticed went unsuccessfully.

“Hey!” that deep, Texan voice yelled out from down the street. Heart racing, you tried not to react and kept walking at a steady pace, hoping he would believe you hadn’t heard him. The wind was loud, and whipped past your ears like crazy, which you hoped would help your case.

He called out your name, his voice increasing in volume as he tried hastily to catch up to you. Hearing him say your name was like entering some kind of trance state, and you focused so not to lose your footing because of the way your insides went all warm.

“Hey, hey, stop.” Joel’s large hand was on your bicep, squeezing just enough to pull you to a halt. You cringed, keeping your head turned in the other direction. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Your friend said you were sick,” he was talking to your back, and your arm went cold again when his hand dropped away.

“Yeah, I don’t feel too good,” you tried, feigning a cough into your elbow. “I don’t want to get you sick; you should step back.” You could hear his heavy breathing though, and knew he wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you heard him say, his voice almost too quiet now to hear over the thrashing wind. And then he was in front of you, and there was no way you could hide it from him anymore.

The silence between you was deafening, except for a sudden roar in your ears, which you vaguely understood to be the pounding of your own heart.

Joel said your name quietly, mouth hung open in shock. It didn’t last long though, before his face twisted into a violent grimace, his upper lip pulled tightly up to reveal a gritted set of straight teeth. You tucked your chin further into the collar of your jacket, not making eye contact and hoping he would let it go.

“Who the fuck did this to you?” His voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, and goosebumps broke out across your arms underneath all your layers. His chest rose and fell quickly with his deep breaths, clearly trying (and failing) to keep himself calm.

“It’s nothing, Joel,” you attempted feebly. “Don’t worry about it, reall-“

His voice cracked as he repeated your name, and he stopped, sealing his lips together. Your heart fell at hearing how anguished his tone sounded. He tried again, “Darlin’, you need to tell me what happened.” The pet name flew by, and you didn’t have a chance to really take it in, as he gripped your chin gently and tilted your face upwards, giving himself a clearer view of your dark purple cheek, and the small scabbed gash in the middle of it.

“This wasn’t...” he trailed off, eyes shining in disbelief. You kept quiet. “Cal wouldn’t…”

“God, Joel, no!” you exclaimed quickly, a strand of hair falling loose from your bun as you shook your head vehemently. “Fuck, no, no one hit me, it’s really not what you think. It’s fine, I promise.”

He didn’t believe you; you could see it in his solemn expression. But he didn’t press the matter further, not yet.

“I need,” you took a deep breath, trying to calm your scattered nerves. “I’ve been staying home because I know how it looks. But it’s f-fucking freezing and I need more firewood and Cal’s with Luisa and I-“

“Sh, shh,” he interrupted quietly, placing that hand on your shoulder and squeezing it, just once. “Let’s get your firewood and get you back home so you can warm up.”

“I don’t need your help, Joel,” you bit out defensively. “I’m not a damsel in distress, I can carry some wood on my own.”

He sighed your name out desperately. “I know you don’t need my help, just let me…” You didn’t hear the end of his sentence through the rushing wind. His angry expression calmed down, as if he realised it wouldn’t help anything in that moment. “C’mon,” he finally spoke again, nodding his head toward the stables. 

The walk back to your house was much the same. Both holding an armful of chopped wood, the only sound between you was of chattering teeth and harsh exhales. When you got inside, Joel ordered you to sit down on the tattered sofa, and then promptly put together a small fire in the hearth. Once it was blazing, you wiggled off your perch and sat directly in front of it on the hardwood floor, holding your hands out desperately towards the flames, longing for feeling to return to your frozen fingers.

After a moment of contemplation, Joel settled onto the floor beside you with a grunt. You heard the way his knees cracked as they bent, but you kept quiet about it. You didn’t know what to say to him – how to explain. The idea of him, or Maria and Tommy, thinking you were a liar made your chest hurt. But you didn’t want to seem weak, and you definitely didn’t want their pity. Eventually, with the newfound warmth, the silence became comfortable, and the sounds of Joel’s slow, steady breaths beside you made you feel sleepy enough to close your eyes.

“Do you want me to go so you can sleep?” he asked quietly, shaking you from your drowsiness.

The idea of being alone in the house overnight suddenly struck you as terrifying. It was the first night Cal was spending at Luisa’s, and you hadn’t truly thought about it until that moment. It was pitch dark outside, and if Joel left, there would be silence in the house. Nothing but time to think… time to sleep, and with sleep came…

“You could stay a bit longer,” you whispered tentatively, trying not to give yourself away. “If you want to.”

You glanced over to find that him already watching you with serious eyes. Your eyebrow raised in question, and he sighed softly from his nose, lips parting ever so slightly to speak. “I’m sorry to stare,” he shook his head a little.  “It just looks worse than I thought, now that we’re in the light.”

The confession made you cringe, and you shut your eyes tightly with a frown, wishing he hadn’t seen you like this.

“I know it’s awful.” 

“Please talk to me,” Joel urged, and his face seemed to plead with you, desperate to understand. “Who did this? I can help you.”

You laughed in a humourless, defeated way. “I did this,” you confessed miserably. “It was my fault.”

Joel’s expression twisted in frustration and then relaxed again so quickly you thought you’d imagined it. He was trying to stay calm, for your benefit.

“I don’t know if you’d remember, but I… I have these dreams…” He watched you speak and you noticed his hands gripping were tightly holding onto one another in his lap. “Nightmares,” you clarified.

“I remember,” he said resolutely, eyes never straying from your face.

“It’s usually the same, and it’s not just a dream, it… it’s a memory.” The fire gave a loud pop in between you, and you appreciated a chance to try to catch your breath and keep your cool. 

“Years ago, Cal and I were somewhere in Montana, real close to the Canadian border. We’d been thinking about heading over, trying to see if there was any settlements in the major cities. We wanted to try out somewhere new and we’d been drifting around for so long, we were exhausted. And somewhere along the way, we run into these two guys.”

You tried to discreetly wipe the sweat from your hands onto your jeans. Sitting so close to the fire had made you really heat up, so you slowly peeled your jacket off and discarded it behind you.

“They were young, younger than us. Maybe early twenties. Seemed so kind, and they were lost. Asked us if we had any food to share, if we knew how to get to Missoula … we trusted them.” You shuddered softly. It was the first time you’d ever retold the story to anyone. Cal had been there, so there was never a need to rehash it until that moment. It was unspoken between you; you didn’t like to discuss what had happened that night. “They travelled with us for a few days. We were all going in the same direction, plus Cal and I figured the extra numbers gave us more safety.”

You realised too late that a tear had escaped your eye and rolled down your cheek. You wiped it hastily, but Joel noticed, and he put his hand on your knee.

"They weren’t good, Joel. I shouldn’t have trusted them, I was too trusting,” you gasped out, eyes blurring. “I woke up and he was just, there. It was all I could feel, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. He was so heavy and he was holding my arms down and he had looked small but he was so strong, Joel. He saw me wake up, and he laughed at me.”

The words hung painfully in the air for a moment.

“Nothing happened, he couldn’t… he didn’t get the chance to actually…” you sucked in a breath, unable to say the word. Rape. He didn’t get the chance to rape me. “Cal woke up and killed him, and his friend too, for good measure.” 

After a few moments of silence, you risked a glance at Joel, to find him glaring into the fire. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, and his shoulders seemed to shake as deep breaths rattled out of him. His large hand gripped your knee tightly.

“And it won’t go away, no matter how much time passes,” you sniffled. “He’s dead, but when I fall asleep, he is so alive, and he’s holding me down again, and I feel powerless.”

“And your face?” he finally rasped out in a chilled tone.

Your cheekbone ached at the mention, and you scowled retelling it. “I woke up yesterday morning after the nightmare and I panicked, it had felt so real, and I slipped trying to run to get out of the room. My face smacked off the fucking doorknob. So fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

Sucking your lips into your mouth, you watched him and waited. You didn’t know what he could possibly say in response to your story, but you knew you were done talking for a minute.

He spoke your name for the umpteenth time that night. “I want you to know that as long as you’re here, in Jackson, no man is ever going to lay a hand on you that you don’t want there. You’re safe here, I’ll make god damn sure of it myself.”

Your stomach went warm, and you allowed yourself to smile sadly. “Safe is a relative term.”

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it, but I’ll repeat it as many times as I need to. You’re safe here, with-“ he stopped suddenly, his eyes boring into yours. “With us.” For a second, you’d thought he was going to say you were safe with him. And you knew without him verbalising it, that it was true. Those thoughts of touching him raced across your mind once more. You could so easily reach out, and put your hand on his knee, the way he had done to you. But it didn’t feel that simple, when you tried to will your arm to move.

“Let’s sit on the sofa,” you suggested, standing up to stretch out your aching legs, before settling down a metre away.

“Thank god,” he cracked with a small huff. “My ass is killing me.” He slumped down on the sofa directly beside you, so that the sides of your bodies were pressed firmly against one another. You tried not to overthink it, reminding yourself that the space was small, and it was cold, and he probably didn’t mean anything by it. But God, it had been a long time since a man other than Cal was so close to you.

“I’m sorry about the lie,” you relented, letting your eyes fall closed once again. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak… I felt ashamed. I… I want to be strong, Joel.”

“You are strong.”

You twisted your neck to look up at him, and it was as if time stopped between the two of you, as you realised how close your faces had become. His warm breaths were coming out in short puffs, and you could feel the air shifting at they hit your face. Your eyes traced over the scar on the bridge of his nose, his tan skin, his chapped lips. When you made eye contact again, you knew he’d caught you staring at his mouth, but you didn’t look away from him.

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and your stomach twisted with a strange feeling of excitement. He sighed out your name, so quietly you could’ve missed it if you hadn’t seen his mouth form the word up close. Joel moved his face forward ever so slightly, and the tip of his nose brushed against your cheek. You realised in that second, that he might have been feeling the same way as you. Longing to touch, to be close. Up close he smelt like mint, and soap, and smoke from the burning fire.

But when he turned his face so that your lips would be close enough to touch, you turned your face away ever so slightly.

Not like this, you thought sadly. Not when you looked battered and bruised. Not with the story of awful memories so fresh on your tongue.

You felt him freeze, his face still beside yours. Chest tight, you summoned every ounce of courage in your body to press your lips gently against his cheek.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” you whispered in his ear, hating how small the request made you feel. You remembered the words you’d said to him at the bonfire, about wanting things; nothing good comes from it.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered back, just as faintly, his body relaxing a touch. Even though you still believed the words you’d said, you felt relief.

With that confirmation, you lowered your head to rest on his shoulder. It didn’t take long for you to drift into sleep’s open arms, as your head moved with the rise and fall of his chest, and the fire crackled slowly in your ears.

While you slept, your nightmares were replaced with visions of Joel.

And when you woke, he was gone. You’d expected it to be that way, and pushed down the part of your brain that had longed to wake up still pressed against his warm body. Your neck creaked painfully as you sat up on the sofa and looked around your home. You found a fresh pile of firewood left on your doorstep, along with a bag of apples.

You stayed home for the rest week, and the bruise slowly settled to a mere yellow tinge over your skin. Every morning, you would find that something new had been left on your doorstep by Joel. Teabags, fruit, more firewood, one of Ellie’s comic books with a note that said “Just in case you get really bored” in a messy scrawl. You felt like the Grinch from that old children’s book your parents read to you when you were young; born with a heart too small, and yet over that week, you felt it grow three sizes.

And finally, after so much time inside, the day came when you returned to the streets of Jackson. You walked down the street with Cal by your side, and a pep in your step. In the centre of town, the pair of you ran into a woman from the stables, Claire.

“Oh,” she gushed, her eyes darting around distractedly. “So glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks Claire,” you said. “Sorry for being out for so long….” You trailed off slowly, sensing that you didn’t have the woman’s full attention. Claire looked back at you sheepishly.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m distracted, I’m just so curious! I heard Tommy’s showing him around right now.” 

“Showing who around?” Cal questioned, tucking a stray lock of sandy hair behind his ear.

“You guys didn’t hear?” Claire gasped dramatically. “A man arrived this morning at the gates, alone if you can believe it, and almost knocked it down with his own two hands, begging to be let inside. Josie told me he was asking Tommy and Maria if he could live here! Apparently he heard about the settlement here in Jackson, and came all the way from Cana-“

You stopped listening to Claire then, looking over to Cal with curious eyes. He shrugged at you, and continued the conversation with Claire, but you stay zoned out, taking a moment to look around the centre of the settlement you called home, and felt immense peace wash over you. It felt so good to be back. And maybe, the thought came from deep inside you. Maybe it’ll be nice not to be a newbie anymore.

part three

[eddiediazismyhusband]

hey everyone

just getting on here to have a conversation about some things that i need to clear up.

so for starters, i’m going to come right out and say that i’m taking a break from tumblr… lately i have been subjected to seeing multiple thinly veiled posts about me floating around and i cannot sit by and allow myself to be treated like that

that being said, i am taking this break to focus on my mental health; 911 used to be a comfort show to me- somewhere i could just go to and watch whenever i needed to be picked up, because even if the show was still forcing certain storylines/arcs, they at least made some sense for the characters and didn’t rely on completely rewriting and ignoring their history within the narrative.

911 is no longer that for me anymore. tim minear and the writing team have ruined any and all enjoyment i got from earlier seasons due to continuing KR’s trend of completely retconning the narrative while simultaneously blatantly dragging us along by dangling buddie canon over our heads with a stick only to immediately snatch it away at the last second.

today’s “first look” article only further confirmed my suspicions that tim had no intentions of leading to buddie canon.

i see the takes/theories about what the article could mean, but we have made theories such as this every year only for it to not go anywhere; nothing had indicated that s8 will be any different.

for starters, tim is bringing back a known problematic actor to play a problematic character that tim continues to retcon, despite the fandom being outspoken about how insane this is. instead of listening to the fandom, instead he has them continuing to develop their chemistry-less relationship saying that they are going strong.

secondarily, tim wrote out a beloved poc character in order to keep this problematic character around- something that i think the fandom has moved on from a little too quickly

thirdly, we continue to be told that eddie will be making progress each season, yet we never actually see that progress happen, and if we do, never in a way that is actually in character; on top of that, we have fans begging for his character to be ruined simply so that his character arc will be sexualized due to it involving two conventionally attractive men.

this fandom no longer feels like a safe space for me mentally and i hate that… i am devastated at the thought of no longer interacting with my mutuals, but i cannot engage with content that showcases the real-time decline of a show i used to adore before the creators decided to ruin that enjoyment.

so i am taking a bit of my break; i dont know how long nor how permanent of a break this is, but i need to put my mental health first.

until next time (whenever that may be)

[gatheringbones]

[“There is this idea that turning points are clean and complete, but while my body seemed to want more of these experiences with Jane, my mind remained wary and confused. It was like a tug of war: one minute, I would buck against the dildo Jane held in her hand and the next I would push it out of me. I’d hover above Jane, careful to keep from resting even an ounce of my weight on her and then I’d suddenly plop down on her lap and grind down on her like a pestle. I’d thrill as Jane’s eyes roamed across my body and then I’d hear myself say, “Stop looking at me.”

For so long, I had dismissed the parts of me that wanted to be an object of desire, telling myself that my worth lay in the pleasure I gave to other women. And while I had squirmed against the butch label, that was perhaps because I also saw how I much I hid behind the swaggery, masculine aspects of it to keep myself safe from rejection. When I was suddenly faced with a person who actually wanted the soft, vulnerable—dare I say feminine—parts of me, who made me feel fuckable, it took time for the old stories to sieve their way out of me. And they never did completely. But as we kept having sex I began to feel relief instead of fear in giving up control. I began to appreciate the space it afforded me to start paying attention to what made my body feel good and not just my partner’s. I also began to see how femininity and objectification held their own power. There is something so emboldening about holding a lover’s gaze, about allowing them inside the deepest parts of you. And even when you are “the bottom” there is a constant dance of consent and choice being navigated between you and your partner. Understanding this made me a better lover when I was topping too.

It is not as if being fucked with one big dick a few times made me comfortable with the fluidity of my gender and of my sexual desires, but as Jane and I continued to stretch each other’s boundaries inside of a monogamous, trusting relationship, and my adult friends embraced the sex we were having, I started to experiment with my body in other ways. I asked Jane to show me how to apply my own lipstick and eyeliner. I started wearing dresses and heels, first to fancy occasions and then, sometimes, just because. I stopped pretending I always knew what people were talking about and discovered the joy of learning what was on the other side of an admission of not knowing. Jane changed too. She bought ripped jeans and T-shirts. She cut her hair short. She became more assertive and direct, eventually coming out to her parents. Once Jane and I realized we could actually inhabit the things we were attracted to in the other person, that it wouldn’t compromise what was already there, we also became kinder to each other because we stopped needing the other person to be a certain way in order to feel complete.

After two years, Jane and I broke up. It was painful, not devastating. We hadn’t hidden or twisted our desires with each other, so when we couldn’t meet them, it didn’t feel like a rejection of who I was but rather an indication that we had simply changed as much as we could together, and whatever else we were changing into, we had to change with other people, and perhaps, more importantly, on our own.”]

amy gall, from my dick, your dick, our dick, from wanting: women writing about desire, 2023

[crazylittlejester]

A warriors…meets…cia again fic???

hold up lemme just—-

😎

😳🕶️🤏

he is only ten years old jes. Devastating. (*adds it to my future a03 bedtime stories to-read later*)

it was like a four word prompt sent in by an anon that’s grown into a huge multi chapter thing because I didn’t expect it to get as long as it has and now I’m realizing I have to break it up into chapters 😭 I’ve literally been working on it for like… five months, poor Mandarin Wars Anon has had to deal with my dumb ass getting too carried away with things and I’m so grateful for their patience 😭 It’s been scrapped and completely rewritten at MINIMUM like six times now, the plot has been COMPLETELY changed, it’s been a wild ride 😭 I’m sticking it in my ‘You’re A Part Of Me’ series which has been a bit fun because i get to drag little elements from past fics in that series into this one. small enough things that someone who hasn’t read the series won’t feel like theyre missing something but people who HAVE might recognize the reference

the plot has sort of turned into a murder mystery almost… im losing my mind, genuinely, i’ve put so much time into this fic

it’s also something i’ve been struggling with the rating on for months, because while I do not write explicit things (because that is my personal preference), the themes are a bit heavy, and because of that I decided I’ll be raising the rating to M. Which has also just allowed me to add in other things unrelated to the initial reason I was worrying over the rating and not worry about thinking “is this too violent-“. A while ago I considered writing two versions of the fic because I know a lot of people who’d been following me back when I got that prompt in the first place were really really excited about it, but that’s a lot of editing and I’m not sure how many people are still that into it 😭 So i’ll probably do a poll or make a post or SOMETHING to see if people would want a T rated version, if enough people do I’ll edit the fic

to be so so clear tho: the main reason this fic is going to be rated M is because of heavy themes, heavy discussions, and trauma related to a past event, i just wanted to play it safe. since deciding i was going to rate it higher, ive allowed myself to throw in more detailed descriptions of violence and nightmares and shit like that. and the main part of the fic that made me first think i should bump the rating up is going to have like *** in the text before and after it so people can just skip that if they want, cos if I’m gonna write a fic about trauma, then i’m gonna write a fic about trauma. and this is my free therapy so 🕺🕺🕺

anyways, i don’t wanna say it because i feel like then it’s just not gonna happen, but I’m hoping and PRAYING i can post the first chapter when Mandarin Wars Anon gets back 😭 fingers fuckin crossed. AND THE FIC ACTUALLY HAS A NAME NOW, WHICH IS FUCKING CRAZY AFTER FIVE MONTHS OF JUST CALLING IT “Mandarin Wars Anon’s Fic”

also i’ve been debating letting Time just go absolutely batshit towards the end of this fic because he kinda deserves it, as a little treat, yknow?

i really hope it lives up to the expectations🧍‍♂️ ive felt a lot of pressure while working on this cos so many people have gotten excited for it and im a BIT worried its just going to absolutely suck, so if i drop it and disappear off the face of the earth for a bit its because the anxiety ate me alive

[appleturnoverseason]

og x-men!wolverine x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: family issues, swearing, drinking(+mention of underage drinking), domestic abuse?, mentions of blood, smoking, use of y/n.

I had been sitting in my room for the last few hours now, feeling frozen in time as the echoed anger arises from downstairs into my ears. Everything was uneasy; I was clueless on where to stand within the argument between my parents. I didn’t think it would be this hard: it happens every now and then, but everyone forgives and forgets. right?

I look to my desk

1:46 am.

I could slowly feel the suspense starting to rise within the house and felt a knot begin to tie in my abdomen; I couldn’t see an end to the constant conflict I had to be around. I decided to peak my head around the stairs to see if anything was escalating, just to hear a deafening slap that echoed from where the argument was. Everyone freezes in the heat of the moment. I pause, anticipated, and hear a muttered appology followed by a heart-shattering cry. The sound made my head throb with devastation and disbelief, I needed to get some air or I would faint.

I grab a jacket, sprint downstairs and leap through the front door. As it slams behind me, I hear the crying being replaced by a scream of my name.

“Y/N? Y/N NO!”- my mother couldn’t do this without me.

Despite the guilt I felt I kept running further and further away, being engulfed by the darkness of the night.

The night was peaceful. I allowed myself to stop and catch my breath to take in the fresh air. Why did I do that? Why did I run away? What is my mother going to do without me there to protect her?

I decide to walk towards an old-looking bar, hoping for some stress relief. I legally was under the drinking age, but I assumed that they might take pity on me when they saw how dishevelled I look and hopefully serve me.

I quickly wipe my tears and walk inside, trying to look as confident as possible. I see a space for myself on the right hand side of the bar and I go to take a seat. On the other side, there is a group of men drunkenly watching the sports on the tv that was in there. In the middle of the bar, sat slightly more towards me, there is a lonely looking man with dark brown hair. He looks me up and down with his curious eyes, and then continues to stare into space whilst gripping his drink.

I brush off the look he gave me and mustered up the courage to ask the bartender for a drink.

“H-hi uh excuse me?”

“What can i do for you, little lady” he responds.

I didn’t actually know what I was going to order.

“I-uh”

Before I could finish my sentence I felt a hand on my shoulder. I hesitantly looked behind me to see one of the drunk men who had been watching the sports.

“Hello gorgeous, didn’t know this was the strip club” He says suggestively when he spies the lacy pyjamas I was still wearing from home under my jacket.

“It’s not.” I hear a deep voice speak aggressively beside him.

I look up to see the man that was sitting in the middle of the bar- the one that gave me the strange look. Instead of getting the hint, the drunk man only tightened his grip on my shoulder which made me wince slightly. The other saw that he was hurting me and decided to step in further.

“Hey, you wanna leave her alone bub?” He says whilst grabbing the mans arm and assertively yanking him away from me.

“who do you think you are, pretty boy. she aint yours”

The man trying to protect me is clearly aggravated by this. I look away trying to avoid the situation, when I hear the drunk man shouting in pain. I look back thinking that he had been punched, and i can see a scratch on his neck that is drawing blood. He goes back over to his friends, trying to stop the bleeding and gives me a filthy look.

I look back at the man now heavily breathing next to me. What could have happened?

And then i looked down. By his fists. I had to catch my breath.

I had never seen a human with claws before.

“Get the fuck out of my bar” the bartender shouts after he had seen the same monstrosity as i had.

The man storms outside, and I am quick to follow him out- I felt like I owed him a thankyou for saving me from that man, even though i never got my drink.

I step outside to see him lighting a cigar, feeling peaceful after what just happened in there.

“hey” I start

As soon as he sees me his claws retract.

“wasn’t looking for company”

“Whats your name?” I ask inquiringly

He sighs, wishing he could be left alone

“Logan” he takes another puff of his cigar.

“I just wanted to say thankyou for dealing with that guy in there”

“Its nothin’- he deserved it”

I smile, starting to feel a little awkward

“what are you doing here at this time o’ night anyway?” logan asks.

we sit in silence for a second.

“i needed to get out. my parents were fighting and i just felt trapped so i wanted to come out and get some air” i said, feeling sorry for myself.

“oh, im sorry kid. hey, I know its not easy but you should really go back home. at the end of the day they’re your parents and its not doing them any good being worried about you”

“I am not going home, i will eventually but i just dont think i can sleep there tonight. Not after what happened tonight before i left” I feel a tear begin to form in my eye.

He looks over to me, notices im feeling overwhelmed and puts out his cigar so he can embrace me in a tight hug.

“Look” he starts, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing you’re just wandering round the streets at night instead of sleepin’ at home in your bed. And if your gonna refuse to go back home, then i guess this will be the better option if u cant go anywhere else”

I look up at him and step back, curious of what he is going to say.

“would u consider stayin’ with me? I got a hotel room a couple blocks from here and you’re welcome to come with me. but i mean only if you feel safe with me” he says, trying to not make himself sound like a danger to me.

I hesitate for a moment, weighing up my options. I think it’s safer to spend the night with one stranger in a hotel rather than be on the streets with thousands of creepy men.

“sure, i feel safe with you” i smile, and he shoots me a smile back.

we start to walk back towards the hotel, but i still cant get my mind off of his hands. I was stunned.

“i don’t want to sound rude, i mean like i don’t know if this is a touchy subject for you” i start “but, how do you have those cl-“ i wasn’t even sure what to call them.

He smirks, “these?” and reveals the bones once again.

“uh. yeah those”

“had them all my life. They’re a part of me”

My jaw dropped once again at the sight. “ they just look like bones”

“well thats cos they are. they’re a part of my skeleton,and they come out in between my knuckles” he says, almost proud.

“doesn’t it hurt?” I question

He pauses. “Every time”

Shortly after we arrived at the hotel and he opened his room. I walked in behind him to see a double bed.

“so uhh sleeping arrangements” he says “you have the bed ill take the floor”

“what? no thats so unfair i would feel awful. please sleep in your bed and i will be on the floor i didn’t even expect you to give me somewhere to sleep in the first place” i exclaimed.

“sleep in the fuckin’ bed” he said promptly before he went to the bathroom.

Defeated, i took off my shoes and jacket to reveal my black lacy pyjamas- i didn’t feel super comfortable in them, but it would have to do. I began to crawl into the double bed and laid on top of the covers since I didn’t actually want to sleep yet. Logan came back from the bathroom and instantly looked away as he saw my revealing clothes, out of respect.

“Please get under the sheets” he said, still avoiding me in his eye line. I huff and reluctantly get under the covers. I then look over and see him setting up his bed on the floor, using a hoodie as a pillow- I felt so guilty. He looked freezing: he only wore shorts lowly hanging over his boxers, revealing his muscular abdomen. To say i was shocked at his physique is an understatement, he was ripped.

“you work out much?” i say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

“sometimes” he says, chuckling. He then leans over to turn off the light. “night- uhh i never actually got your name”

“its y/n” i state, smiling.

“well, night y/n”

It’s been about 30 minutes, I cannot sleep and I can also hear Logan tossing and turning on the floor. I can hear the breeze coming in from the window and I think about how cold and uncomfortable he must be on the floor.

“Okay no im not doing this” i say abruptly.

“sorry?”

“i can’t sleep, you clearly cant either, were both cold, and your literally sleeping on the fucking floor when there is a double bed right here”

“Kid I am not sleeping in the same bed as you, I don’t wanna be weird like that” he says.

“I don’t care, im not gonna sleep knowing I’ve just stolen your bed that you probably paid a fortune for at this rich ass hotel. And im not a kid”

No words, I just hear him get up from the floor and lay down next to me, making himself comfortable.

“Cold?” he says

“a little”

At that he moves closer to me and pulls me towards him, so that i am laid on my side with my head laid on his chest and my leg rested on top of his.

“better?”

“yeah thanks” I reply

We start to relax, and he wraps his strong arms around my frame to hold me close, making me feel safe. He lightly rubs my back and i get goosebumps covering my skin as a result of his gentle touch. Feeling safe in his arms, i manoeuvre myself so that i am now lying on top of him, still being held in a warm bear hug. I melt into his body, holding him closely and feeling protected from all the dangers in the world.

No one has spoken in minutes, all i can hear is his heart steadily beating under where my head was laid. I wasn’t sure if he was still awake or not.

“Thank you, Logan.” I whisper.

I sense the muscles in his face move, feeling him smile at my gratitude. He gripped me tighter; no other words were spoken before we were both asleep in each other’s arms.

[songforeddiemunson]

Dear Tinseldick

For the @stcreators event 03: comfort

Dear Tinseldick

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Actor!Fem!Reader (description vague apart from use of she/her pronouns)

Summary: Reader had a rough day at work and Eddie helps to cheer her up

Warnings/Tropes: Established relationship, pure comfort and fluff but content warning for body talk, body image issues and fatphobia, language, people being awful shits. Blink-and-you'll-miss-it naughty talk.

Note: One day I was daydreaming about what couples "in the industry" must vent about and I imagined this is something most actors would have to deal with at least at some point, if not all the time. I tried to treat the issue with the sensitivity and nuance that it deserves.

Word Count: 1500

Eddie stepped into your rented condo in LA, tossing his keys on the table by the door.  "Babe, are you home?“ he called.

“Out here,” you responded.  Eddie followed your voice and found you out on the balcony deck.  The house stood with its back deck facing the Pacific Ocean, on the edge of a small cliff.  There was a large porch suspended over the precipice, with a set of wooden stairs leading the 20 feet or so down to the beach.  You stood leaning against the balcony railing with your back to him as he stepped onto the porch; you held a glass of wine in one hand and a wadded-up ball of tissues in the other.

“There you are,” he smiled, and walked over to you, putting his arms around your waist.  You sniffled.  Eddie leaned back a bit to try to get a better look at you.  "Hey– is everything alright?  Did your audition not go well?"

“No,” you murmured. “No it did not.” You turned to face him, and only then could he see your red-rimmed eyes and the tracks of tears upon your cheeks.

“Oh babe,” he soothed, hugging you to his chest.  "I’m sorry. What happened?“

You sniffled against his shirt for a moment before pulling away, wiping your eyes hastily with the tissue in your hand. 

"It was going wonderfully.  And I’m not just saying that– I know I fucking nailed it.  And then the casting director had the gall to look me in the face and tell me…” you broke off as you fought tears.

Eddie ran his hands along your arms, making soothing noises.  "Oh honey, don’t cry.” The idea of you being upset was just too devastating for your man.  “What did he say to you?“

You took an angry swig of your wine before you continued.  "He told me I’d be perfect– if I lost weight.”  You took yet another gulp of wine as Eddie’s mouth fell open with shock.

“But–” he stammered.  "But that’s insane!  There’s nothing wrong with the way you look!“

You laughed bitterly.  "I mean, I’ve always been comfortable with my body, but apparently there’s a casting director who feels differently.“

Eddie seemed, for once, to be at a total loss for words. He sputtered in indignation for a moment before he shook his head and gathered himself.  "I want to beat his ass right now. Where’s this guy’s office?”

You laughed, somewhat touched. “As much as I’d love to have you throttle the bastard, he’s not worth it.”

Eddie scowled. “Fine, fine, but that loser is going to get a nice Christmas card in the mail from me, with a lovely little ‘go fuck yourself’ message. Nobody upsets my girl and gets away with it.”  He sighed, allowing his frustration to show. “You know you can’t listen to that idiot. You’re perfect, honey.”

“Please, Eddie. Nobody’s perfect,” you shook your head.

“Don’t argue!” he grinned. “You are perfect to me! Everyone else can shove it; what they think doesn’t matter.”

"But it does matter," you cried, your voice breaking.  "Things have been going so well with my career. I know that there can be real assholes in the industry, but I just thought I had established myself enough that I didn’t have to jump through these ridiculous hoops!"  You finished the last bit of wine in your glass and had to fight the urge to throw it off the balcony.  "Pardon the cliche, but I feel so…objectified!”

Eddie shook his head sadly. “It’s not a cliche if it’s true. I know, love. Believe me, I do.  I had a terrible time in the beginning– I’ve told you some of the stories… the shit that people expected me to do; the things that people said about me. But I kept going, and you will too.”  He grasped your arms and bent to look directly into your eyes.  "That casting director is a fool. Don’t let tinseldicks like him get you down.“

You managed a small smile.  "Tinseldick?”

He nodded. “Yes babe. The shiny skinny things you put all over the Christmas tree. It’s skinny like his dick.”

You burst out laughing. “I know what tinsel is! I just don’t think I’ve heard that particular turn of phrase before.”

“He deserves a special one,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.  It faded quickly as his expression turned serious, however.  "I love you, you know. With all of my heart, body and soul.  I’d be lost without you. Do you believe that?"

You chuckled softly, without humor.  "Sometimes I actually do have trouble believing it; that you’re all mine, especially when total strangers force me to second-guess everything."

"You think I don’t feel that way too sometimes? My career might be booming, but I still feel scared. I doubt myself, get self-conscious. Sometimes right before I walk out on stage I have to talk myself out of a full-blown panic attack because I’m like, 'what am I doing here? Who do you think you are'?"

Eddie placed a soft kiss on your forehead and smoothed your hair away from your face.  "You must not let this industry change you. You are beautiful and amazing, and you should always remember that."

You felt that you could melt away into a puddle at his words.  "You are amazing, and you deserve all the success in the world. Your anxiety is lying to you." You pressed a firm kiss to his soft lips to show him you meant every word.  “I love you, Eddie,” you added. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Darling, you bewitched me just by being you.”  

He pulled you tightly to him again, and held you for a moment.  You sighed against his chest, drinking in the scent of him, and realized that the majority of your anguish had been dispelled.  It was nearly impossible to remain upset in Eddie’s presence; the man was quite literally a walking ray of sunshine.

You looked up into his chocolate eyes and smiled.  

Eddie smiled back.  "Feel better?"

"Yes, actually.  You always know how to cheer me up; thank you. I just wish dealing with jerks wasn’t part of my job."

He sighed in acknowledgement.  "I know babe.  This whole industry is so pretentious and fake, and everyone is either a kiss-ass or a megalomaniac.  But we soldier on. By the way, thank you for not throwing your wine glass off the balcony."

That surprised you. "How did you know I was thinking of doing that?”

“I know you better than you realize, babe.  Also, you looked at the sand and raised your arm ever so slightly–”

“Shut your mouth,” you said with an impish grin, and tickled his waist. He darted away, laughing.  "I ought to throw YOU off the balcony!"

He grinned.  "Would you settle for throwing me into bed instead? I’ve had a long day, and I haven’t seen you naked in…oh, nine hours."

"It’s a deal," you said, and he put his arm over your shoulder.  You walked to the house together, but you had to separate to walk through the doorway in single-file.  As you stepped in front of him, he gave your butt a light smack.

"Hey, nice ass," he said.  "Don’t ever change it."

"You’re going to get it," you taunted, and tickled him again.

"Promise?" he replied, laughing, and you gave chase through the house.

A couple taking a nighttime stroll below on the beach looked up, startled, at the sounds of giggling and bellowing laughter that drifted down upon them from above. "Someone up there is having a good night," one said to the other.

It turned out to be true.

Thank you for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of all fic writers. Please show us some love! :)

MASTERLIST

[aleksa-sims]

RL Story

CW: depression, babies

After 11 days, I was allowed to leave the hospital with my son. I was so relieved to be home again, but our first night here was no different than the nights before in the hospital. My Baby was just crying!! He cried for 16 hours that day! 😭🤯

My parents have now also seen, how devastating it feels...... not to be able to calm down a crying Baby. They were worried. This whole subject of withdrawal symptoms has constantly unsettled us. Anyway, I sat down at my computer looking for a pediatrician, who was familiar with NAS. There were not many pediatricians who had experience with withdrawal symptoms in newborns. Nevertheless, I found a doctor! I wrote him a detailed Mail, about my situation. It was not easy to get an appointment. This pediatrician was totally busy, but due to my son’s medical records that I got from the hospital, this doc wanted to see us. I got an appointment for next week, and was supposed to keep a.... screaming-diary about my Baby's crying.

About 3 days later, my little one seemed to be better. He still cried a lot, but not continuously for hours. I think my Baby slowly felt at home.

My Mom took two weeks off, to help me with my son at home, until we settled in. Every day after work, my Dad took a nap on the couch with my Baby. My little one totally enjoyed those naps with my Dad. Actually, you could think, that my parent's support has made a lot easier for me. Which was also the case! But I felt like a total failure in my role as a mother. Second, I felt guilty about my addiction.

I only harmed my son. These thoughts went through my mind. I had the feeling, that my Baby is much better with my parents, than with me alone. I began to doubt myself as a Mom. I was really unhappy. I cried all the time, but didn’t talk to anyone about it. Well, maybe I just have to see Nico again to feel better? Because rn, my life didn’t feel...... real to me. I was just constantly tired and scared.

Previous/Next

[staar5384]

When All He Had Was You

kaveh x gn!reader; angst, hurt/no comfort, brief mentions of sex

an~ it’s more of a one sided x reader, but i still called it an x reader to make it easier for myself. my b

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaveh had lost just about everything in his life; his parents, the original Palace of Alcazarzaray, his home, everything. Yet there was always one constant in his life; you.

You had found Kaveh sobbing by the decayed wreckage of his magnum opus.

Having lived nearby, and having to deal with the aftermath of the Withering’s devastating affects, you found the blond curled up at what used to be the front steps of his most prized creation.

You approached him, and thought at first he was incredibly embarrassed to be seen as such a mess, you offered him such comfort. You soothed him with reassurances, held him in your arms as he just let his sorrows wash away in the flood of tears pouring from his eyes.

After that day, you two became inseparable. You did everything. You supported him through his stupid decision to put himself in debt to rebuild the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Why? Because he was your best friend, and the joy that crossed his face after seeing the gorgeous mansion in all its glory was all you needed.

Of course, with all the debt, and having no home, he needed to move. You didn’t live close enough to the Akademiya, which meant he had to accept the offer given to him by an old friend, Alhaitham.

The first few months of him living there you weren’t allowed over. You never understood why, but you assumed it had to do with his new roommate. Whenever Alhaitham was brought up, all Kaveh did was complain. He complained about his bad attitude, his lack of letting him inside his own house when the poor boy left his keys at home, the unnecessary and cruel comments he made against Kaveh.

When the blond finally did allow you over, you got to meet Alhathiam and it was almost an instant connection. Even though Kaveh seemed to hate the guy, you found yourself enthralled by him, and him with you.

When Kaveh wasn’t around, you’d sneak over to visit Alhaitham privately, though his cold and reserved demeanor never broke. It was originally disheartening until the day he confessed his feelings for you in his own special way.

“Why was Kaveh the one who stumbled across you?” Alhaitham grumbled one evening. You were both curled up on the couch while Alhaitham read and you drew.

“I’m sorry?” You asked him in confusion.

“I mean, why didn’t I find you first? I would have made you mine already,” He flipped to the next page in his book. He spoke so nonchalantly for someone making such bold claims.

Your heart missed a beat as he spoke. You reached a hand up to clutch your heart, “You mean that?”

He nodded, still not looking up from the piece of literature in front of him.

“So what’s stopping me from being yours?” You asked.

“Nothing I suppose.”

“So then I’m yours.”

Alhaitham nodded, moving his arm from his side to wrap around you, “I like the sound of them,” Finally, he placed the book down on the coffee table. He leaned forward, kissing you softly.

You melted, the kiss softer and more gentle than you imagined. You kissed him back, and things quickly escalated from there.

That night you had fucked on that couch, and that night you became an official couple. However, you decided to keep it a secret from Kaveh, as to not upset him.

More months went by where you two secretly met, but the secret was harder and harder to keep. You spent less time with Kaveh, disappearing for days at a time, then returning with whatever lame excuse you could come up with.

It wasn’t until one day Kaveh came home early from work. He was ready to sleep, push aside his worries and rest his fried brain. Then he heard your voice from the kitchen.

At first he thought the exhaustion was driving him crazy, but then your laughter rang through the rest of the house and he instantly recognized it.

Quietly, the blond approached the kitchen. Why hadn’t you told him you’d be here?

When he turned the corner, he found you tucked safely in Alhaitham’s arms as you two whispered and giggled amongst yourselves.

“What the fuck?” Kaveh said in disbelief.

It was almost like he was in some sick and twisted nightmare. You, his best friend, his confidant, the person he loved was cradled in the arms of his shit ass roommate.

You were startled by the voice, immediately pushing yourself away from Alhaitham, “K-Kaveh..!”

“What is going on here?”

“W-We were just…”

“We were trying to enjoy a moment alone,” Alhaitham crossed his arms. “But of course the noisy roommate returned.”

Kaveh felt his heart pounding in his chest, the throbbing almost too painful for him to handle. Tears formed in his amber eyes, “Why?” His voice cracked.

“Kaveh, listen I-” You tried to speak, but the blond cut you off.

“Out of everyone, my roommate!? The person who has done nothing, but berate me!”

“I know it looks bad, but Kaveh I never meant to hurt you!” All the guilt that had been festering these few months was bubbling in your stomach, making you nauseous as bile rised in your throat.

“The one thing I had was you. You were my friend, my companion. Alhaitham has everything! The money, the looks, the friends, the career. He has everything I don’t!” He was crying, hot tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. “But I had you,” His voice was nothing more than a whisper.

You were stunned. Kaveh had never confessed this insecurity of his to you. You never realized he was jealous of what Alhaitham had; and now the man had you.

Kaveh turned and left without another word to you. He ignored your pleads and calls for him to come back, to let you explain yourself. Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

He made sure to grab his house key as his slipped out the front door, and went down to the tavern to hopefully drink himself dead.

[cloveroctobers]

THE STRANGERS: SINNERS ON COURT

A/N: the point? I’m highly disappointed with the new release of the strangers and the summer is the perfect time for the horrors and THAT was just not it for me. I’ve also been strongly debating if I even want to dip into writing for challengers since it’s very layered but also MESSY and who wants to flop if you drop something but you don’t know unless you try right? So here’s me serving something since chapter 1 gave us…not much? I’m blaming the writers and not the actors ofc so they need to hire me for chapter 2 ASAP. So this is for my horror and challengers lovers I guess! I might have to do a trilogy myself depending how this turns out.

In short: Challengers meet The Strangers.

WARNINGS: mostly oc x art pairing with a hint of Tashi x oc! Language, slow burn/slow start? Slight graphic violence + animal brutality?—Not overly described but hinted + a LENGTHY read!

SYNOPSIS: Andromeda, “Andra,” Cove has always been the secret double to Tashi’s game even when Andra claims that is far from true. Although their friendship has been on and off since Andra transferred out of Stanford…everything always comes back to the court. Andra seeks out Art’s company to attend her grandfather’s birthday party back in her hometown in Virginia Beach not expecting Tashi and Patrick to show up as well considering the confirmed secrets the three have recently spilled. After the events at Andra’s grandfather’s birthday party, the four decide to take a trip up to Andra’s cottage to get reacquainted but soon find three more guests at the door who release nothing but terror that surely ruins the weekend.

.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *

“I just remember the knife plunging into him and the amount of blood that spluttered from his mouth as they flung his body to the floor…” Andra hears the intake of her breath before she continued, “his eyes still locked on me as if—as if he was imagining during his last moments what our life as a married couple could be like and I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t stop them from hurting the man I wanted forever with. They took that from me and I still feel that knife, shoving its way through my body every time I think of him. My forever husband.”

The host of the podcast speaks now, “Not long after Maya honored us with this virtual interview, she was found brutally murdered in her shared home with her late fiancé, Ryan. The case of the road-trip lovers still remains unsolved till this day.”

A nudge to Andra’s bare upper arm makes her flinch, bringing her back to reality as she glances to her right to see her good friend, Art Donaldson staring at her, freshly awakened from his nap. Andra allowed him to be her passenger princess since he had to take two flights to get here, which she was thankful for.

After he received more frustrating than devastating news: that Lily was biologically Patrick’s, Art fled to London to take a much needed break from his two opponents. Art held Lily so tight and even thought of taking her with him but had no energy to fight Tashi who made little noise at his departure. She knew he would be back. Andra received a text from Tashi before Art ended up calling her and it was so laughable that Tashi acted like she had everything so figured out.

[~From: Tashi Duncan.

I fucked up and it’s finally caught up…you’ll probably be hearing from Art soon. I know you’ll do me a solid and watch over him for me, won’t you Meda?

Purposely leaving Tashi on read, Andra didn’t engage in a conversation because not even three minutes later, Art was in fact calling her phone—which led to a two hour call.

“What the hell are you listening to?” Art stretched his arms back around the headrest, a frown in between his brows.

Andra glances at him while rolling her stiff neck around in the driver’s seat, “A true crime podcast…about this couple that ends up having to stay in an airbnb and they basically get slaughtered by three sociopaths in creepy masks.”

Art squints, “and you feel that’s appropriate for us who are currently on the road alone surrounded by nothing but trees in this hillbilly state?”

“Hey! You wanted to see the cottage. I was—

Art interrupts his old friend, “Don’t say perfectly fine staying with your mom and step-dad because you and I both know you can’t stand those bastards.”

Which was not untrue…

Andra’s mother was big on living up to “the Cove,” name and felt that her daughter was the biggest disappointment (compared to her older brother Ahmed) although she kept a tight smile on her cheeks when speaking about Andra to family members. Andra’s mother’s side of the family came from a lineage of historians and archaeologists and Andra’s grandfather was also a well known tennis player in Ethiopia. Half of Andra’s mother’s siblings were also in the athletic field, her mother was once a gymnast and even made it to the Olympics multiple times until she suffered a severe neck injury on her third attendance ultimately ending her career—you can just guess how well she bonded with Tashi more than she ever did with her own daughter—later becoming a athletic sponsorship director.

Andra laughs with a nod of her head, “yeah, you’re right.”

Art hums already being aware, reaching for Andra’s phone pausing the podcast to search for a playlist for this late night morning drive. “This is a mood killer…no pun intended so I’m switching this but rest in peace to Maya and Ryan.”

You’re resting your head back against the headrest, eyes focused on the road, “You’re lucky I’m getting tired and don’t want to argue with you since there are rules such as: Driver always gets to pick the soundtrack.”

“So you were listening to this to scare the shit out of you and keep you awake?” Art states with a curious glance at the braided haired woman, “pull over and let me drive the rest of the way then.”

Andra twists her lips around, ready to debate on that since she loved her “little,” coupe and actually loved being the designated driver. When she transferred out of Stanford, she may or may not have gotten into illegally racing a few cars for extra cash, after her mother put a hold on her card until she declared a new major that was satisfactory enough to her. If anybody needed a ride and fast then Andra was your girl…just try to keep that on the low, although it was public record.

A yawn ripped through her lips before she can even stop it. She didn’t even want to dare a glimpse at Art who now sat up with a fold of his arms. He was being such a dad and Andra found this funny, laughing to herself while Art patiently waited for her to say something.

“You’re too cute, Art.” Andra tells him, lolling her head to peek over at the now dark haired blond, “looking like a scolding parent as if I didn’t get enough of that at the beach.”

Art sighs at that.

For as long as Art’s known Andra, she’s always been this humorous vibrant personality but it only ever shined when she stood on her own. It dimmed a bit whenever Tashi took over and Andra made herself small enough so her own mother wouldn’t find something to pick at but that never did her any good. Andra only came out here to celebrate her grandfather, since she was never sure how many more years the old man had left in him and he was much softer on her than the way he treated her mother, which was a cycle for what Andra endured. Her step-father refused to see it, comfortable in his rose colored lenses while she also often had a bickering relationship with her brother, Ahmed who claimed she played the victim game whenever their mother said something that basically teared her down.

It was a tale as old as time.

Andra thought inviting Art out here was to mainly help him wrap his head around what he was going to do and it would be good to see each other face to face after all this time but turns out it was him being by her side that made things a little easier.

“What do you need?” Art decided to ask, keeping his eyes trained only on her.

Andra chewed down on her bottom lip as she whispered, “…for you to drive.”

Art dipped his head at this, waiting for Andra to pull over to the side. They unbuckled their seatbelts and Art was out into the night while Andra climbed over to the passenger side with her fallen over zip up hoodie. Shutting the door behind him, Art adjusted the seat with a small teasing smile at the bronze skinned woman who scoffed at him in return.

Before he switched gears he says, “for what it’s worth…I think you’re brilliant at whatever you do and the only thing that matters is what you’re comfortable with when you look in the mirror. Be proud of that.”

A watery smile goes his way and Andra lightly reaches over to shove his shoulder, “you’re disgustingly sweet and I’m glad you’re in my life.”

“I love you, you know that?” Art sends a lopsided grin back.

Andra breathes, “I love you too.”

And that keeps Art warm in the sixty-five degree summer night. He runs his fingers over the door and cracks the window open, allowing the air to brush against the side of his new do, loving to hear the sound of that. It felt good to hear sentiments being reciprocated verbally and Andra never had a problem letting it be known. The pair connected in that kind of way, the whole words of affirmation was huge in the way they wanted to be loved and can always count on each other to be so reassuring.

“Now how many more hours do we have to go?”

Andra who’s balled up on her side, peeks at her glowing phone that was plugged into her car informs, “just a hour and nine minutes.”

Art puffed out some air as he switched gears, then checked over his shoulder before pulling back onto the road, “It’ll be sunrise by then so…hopefully a gas station will grant us with it’s presence and we can fill up, grab some shitty coffee or energy drinks and be on our way to your fancy cottage.”

Andra rolled her eyes, “it’s nothing compared to your California barbie dream house.”

“Please,” Art snorted, “it’s far from that and just a place to lay our heads and raise Lily in…” He clears his throat, “it’s just a house.”

Andra knew Art was still coming to terms with it all. He already went off about it and what he thought marriage should be despite spending years in one. Art claimed he wanted a divorce but the next thing Andra knew, Tashi and Patrick were showing up without her invite. Art didn’t invite them necessarily but he did let it slip to Patrick where he was over texts and that he didn’t know when he was coming back. Art needed some time and he always felt like there was never enough in this world.

The next few moments consisted of Andra dozing off, her phone buzzing with notifications as Art got off the next exit after driving nine miles and headed to the gas station. Art grabbed his own phone, tempted to wake Andra but she looked so at peace with some much needed sleep. He quietly exits the car and makes his way to the dingy gas station, greeting the grunting old man with the Santa Claus beard at the counter before searching their inventory. Art decides against the coffee that has a few dead flies floating at the top and circled back to the fridges.

Once he finds the little that he wanted, he slides the objects onto the counter at the man with the unkept beard. A small smile graces Art’s lips in a attempt to be friendly but the man doesn’t budge.

“That’ll be it, thanks.” Art urges as he holds open his wallet, also hoping to get the strange man to get a move on so he can get out of here quickly.

The man grunts, reaching forward from his spot on the stool to bring the few items closer to his view before he slowly starts punching them into the register. Art’s patient as the man takes his time and before he can start looking around his gruff tone comes out, “that’s a pretty one you got out there, don’t ya?”

Art blinks, easily picking up at what the man is hinting at and chooses to ignore him, “I’ll need some gas too. $25 on pump three.”

The man hums to himself, reaching over some more to punch his dirt stained fingers into the buttons although his eyes keep darting out the window. This time Art follows the old man’s stare but only to check on Andra to see that she is still in fact asleep on the passenger side.

“Y’all not from around these parts are ya? Headin’ north might not be the best choice ‘round this time of year.” The man tells Art who feels his brows coming together in a frown.

He wasn’t concerned about how the man can figure out if he was from here or not. It was the same as visiting any place and Art’s been to many considering his status. It was what the man, Walter (according to his also grimy looking name tag) said afterwards.

“It’s a week before the holiday, I think we’ll be okay but thanks for caring.” Art keeps his calm, small smile still on his lips as he pulls out two twenty bills, noticing the: CASH ONLY sign, “keep the change and you have a nice upcoming morning.”

Art doesn’t bother engaging in more conversation, shoving his wallet back into his jogger pocket, and scoops the items into his arms; not asking for a bag either. Art half expected the man to latch onto his wrist and deliver another unsettling line. This time Walter just goes back to being silent and Art’s not sure which one was worse, as he steps away and exits the store.

The pinging of his own phone, doesn’t stop Art in his tracks as he continues back to the coupe. Opening the door, he dumps everything into the driver’s seat for now before moving quickly to the nozzle. The minutes feel long as Art darts his gaze from the changing numbers on the pump, to Walter’s stare from the store, and back to Andra whose body gently rises and falls with each breath.

With a click, Art brings his attention to the nozzle to place in its original space, then moves the drinks into the holders and tossing the few snacks onto the floor by Andra’s sneakers on the floor. He searches the glove box for some sanitizer, but no amount of alcohol can erase the internal feeling of something going wrong.

Art laughs to himself as Walter holds up a hand in their departure, feeling that he was just being paranoid since his nerves were already out of whack way before he got to this state. Art shrugs it off once the gas station is no longer in sight and feels his phone ping some more.

“Not now, Patrick.” Art bites with a scratch to the back of his head.

He doesn’t have to look at his phone to know that it’s Patrick. He’s been the main one sending texts at all sorts of times since Art left the country. Art was already irked before but now that he brought Tashi to impose on his time with Andra was just another thing to tick off the list. Andra was great at distancing herself from the two and was always vocal on her distaste for Patrick but this was still a process for Art.

You can only be on the court by yourself for so long according to Art Donaldson.

Andra Cove strongly felt different.

“Hey,” Andra’s raspy voice is followed with a grasp to Art’s shoulder, catching him off guard which makes her widen her half lidded eyes at his flinching, “…everything good?”

Art scoffs, “what? Oh yeah! I just thought southern people would have the best manners.”

Andra clenches the tiredness from her eyes, trying to comprehend what the blond was saying to her, “…what happened?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Art says, “take a look in the holder, I got your favorite.”

Peeking at him with one eye, Andra glances down at the yellow bottle and reaches for it with a smile that splits over her lips. “Pina colada Fanta? I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How can I forget? You talked about it all the damn time back at Stanford and would throw a fit every time the campus never had it.” Art briefly looks at the woman from the driver’s side.

Andra laughs as she squeezes it to her chest before placing it back in the holder, “appreciate you, bub.”

“Sure,” art replies, “try not to chug it all down for breakfast later and then complain about a tummy ache afterwards.”

“Are you this bossy with Lily?” Andra questions while getting ready to roll her body to face away from Art again.

She freezes a bit, wondering if it’s a sore subject to even mention the child’s name but Art just shakes his head with a snort, “I’m actually the fun parent, believe it or not.”

“Oh I do.” Andra’s turned back to the window again, reaching a hand back to squeeze Art’s thigh in comfort.

He watches Andra’s hand: her gel nails a combination of a summer orange sunset and magenta. Her pretty fingers are inked with delicate designs and Art finds that her touch radiates a warmth that he’s not used to. A touch that is gentle but firm enough that lets him know that perhaps this gloom season doesn’t have to last forever.

There’s some instrumentals playing throughout the car now but Art doesn’t seem to mind it. Andra’s hand is now back to her own lap as she catches up on another round of a nap and Art is left to his own thoughts and this horrible energy drink that tastes like battery acid.

“Jesus,” Art mutters to himself as he feels himself gag balling a fist up to his mouth, in hopes of settling his stomach on his own.

He glares down at the drink momentarily before his eyes connect with something in the road, which makes him tap on the brakes. They squeal some, which makes Andra pop up in bewilderment, hood to her hoodie sliding right off.

“Damn,” Art comments as Andra grips onto the dash, leaning forward to get a good look at what’s in the road.

Andra sighs, “it’s a deer.”

“Yeah but…it doesn’t just look like roadkill.”

The way its head is bent back is unnatural along with the amount of blood that stains the gravel. There’s traces of glass the decorate the ground which indicates it could have been hit, which was not uncommon. It was the way that both sets of eyes locked on the deer with squints in their eyes that they noticed multiple wounds on its backside that appeared blunt and not accidental.

Andra exhales, her side eye going to the sides of the car before her hands went to check that the doors were locked, “nope. Art, if you don’t float this shit, then I will.”

The glance Art shoots Andra’s way, confirms that twisting feeling he felt back at the gas station. He crosses his hands over the steering wheel, turning the car to go around the deer and picks up the speed just as the navigation system speaks telling the two which direction to continue in.

That was enough to keep Andra awake for the rest of the drive.

6:46AM

The old friends are pulling up to the Olive green and white cottage. Equally they both rest their heads against the seats, just measuring the amount of energy it was going to take to collect their things and bring them into the home.

“It’s nice.” Art compliments while Andra who rolls her head to meet his tired stare with her blank one, “what? I’m not bullshitting you, honest.”

“Uh huh,” Andra answers as she grabs her Fanta staring at it a bit with a smile, “c’mon Ken, let’s get inside before the bugs start chomping.”

Art teases with his own nickname, “can we check our surroundings first, Belle? I’m getting some red flags?”

It was the way he actually had a rose by one of his own personalized nicknames for Andra in his phone—the only one with a emoji by her name truly—that reminded Art of how much he missed their friendship.

“Is this more about the Santa Claus cashier or the stabbed up deer?” Andra asks with her hand on the door.

Art scratches at his brow as Andra’s phone dings, “uh…both?” He muttered while she deeply inhales, eyes going to the phone she was about to leave behind in the holder. Pulling it free, she unlocks the phone and reads the message with a scowl.

Holding the mic on the bottom right of the device, she speaks into it, “thanks for letting me know last minute, dumbass. Send.”

Shoving the phone into her hoodie pocket, she meets Art’s eyes, “Ahmed gladly let me know that the front porch light is still broken from the last time he snuck up here to use my place for who knows what.”

“I’ll take a look at it, just set a reminder.”

Andra nods, quickly doing so before pushing the door open followed by Art. He breathes in the fresh air which smells of pine and salt from near by water. It’s quiet besides the light chirping from some birds and there’s not many cars near by at Andra’s neighbor to their left.

“The Triplett’s come here in the winter months, they’re Minnesota natives if you can believe it.” Andra informs as she swings the strap of her duffle bag against her shoulder and moves the seat back into place.

Art nods, “so what you’re saying is…we’re actually alone?”

Andra shrugs, “that’s kinda what the cottage life is all about, babe. Don’t worry though, that’ll be ruined once your two favs decides to grant us with their presence.”

Art watches as Andra slams the door, leaving Art behind as she crosses the pathway towards the front porch. He’s scrambling a bit now, grabbing his own bag and locking the car. He jogs up the steps just as Andra is unlocking the door. “Did I mention that I’m sorry about that?”

Andra fans her hand as Art steps into the home, being met with the grand view of the water out back. She’s locking the door behind him and then responds, “you sure did but nothings changed.”

She hoist the bag on her shoulder as she breezes by that, “alright little house tour since it’s still early and we could both use some more sleep. Dining table is here, kitchen in the corner, sitting area to a pretty great view is up ahead with the best deck in this sleepy town right beyond those doors, bathroom is right by the last set of sliding doors leading out to the deck, and your room is right around that wall. Around from there is the actual living room and my room is upstairs. Please keep your shoes by the door.”

Art breathes out a laugh, “if I didn’t know that you were once a careless tennis athlete who chose cross country instead—out of all things—then went on to sports journalism later turned kinesiologist, I’d say real estate might be your true calling.”

Andra rolls her eyes with a laugh, “thanks for the whole run down of my résumé, you’re a great guest so far.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He winks as he moves to start unlacing his sneakers while Andra shakes her head, moving towards the couch with her back to the sliding doors.

She jokes, “I’m not on your salary so I don’t have a personalized chef or anything—

“Shut up, Andie.” Art playfully aims his shoe at the braided woman who grins at him with a wink, “I don’t need that special treatment shit, especially when it’s going to be over by next year anyway. I already know I’m gonna be taken care of by you.”

Since Art got his friendship with Patrick back, he seems to believe that he’ll be retiring soon and he wasn’t anywhere near forty just yet.

She shrugs her shoulders, “…all depends on how good of a guest you are.”

“I think I’m the best you’re gonna get…compared to your brother anyway.”

“Don’t even get me started on his bobble head!” Andra yells before continuing, “Now I have to check the house to make sure he didn’t ruin anything and try to hide it but at least he was honest about the light. The bare minimum! Please let me know if anything seems off in your room?”

Art laughs a little, knowing just how much Andra went at it with the older guy. Art never had any issues with Ahmed, he had an award winning smile and was definitely a charmer. The only thing Art didn’t get was why he didn’t have his sister’s back when it came to their mother? Probably because he got all the credit of being the “good” kid and didn’t want to ruin that but that was selfish. Art didn’t know what it meant to be a sibling but he figured it should be some sort of union, even if you had to Duke it out from time to time.

Blood was supposed to be thicker than water is what they say.

Art was an only child so he’s always been on his own but he felt like his late nana was the closest thing he’s had as true family.

Art zones back in on Andra stepping back into his view, “…what I was meaning to say before my mind goes all over the place is the kitchen should be pretty stacked although we’re only going to be here for a day or two. I had someone make sure of it so we don’t have to make any special trips but if you want to later—

“Andie,” art calls out to her making her blink and realize that she’s talking a lot, something she does when she’s stressing or needing some rest, “we’re good, get out of here.”

Her hands are on her hips now, “Are you trying to bully me, Donaldson?”

“No?” Art blinks.

“That’s what I thought. See you in a few hours and holler if you need anything.” She starts to walk off but Art follows her.

“…you do have weapons here right?”

She glances at him over her shoulder, “duh, who the hell do you think I am? Oblivious?”

“…what’s your middle name again?”

“Good night, art!” She waved her fingers in the air while Art is smirking.

“It’s morning!”

“Then tweet, tweet, bitch!” She calls back over the wall before she disappears and heads up the stairs.

Art can’t help but to let the bubbled laughter fly past his lips, heading to the right where the bedroom is waiting behind the sliding barn doors. Dumping his bags on a near by chair, he plops down on the side of the bed, resting his hands on his knees as he soaks in the stillness.

Flinging his body sideways to lay down, after staring out at the view for some time, he pulls out his phone to see a few texts from no other than Patrick.

The most recent says that Art’ll be seeing him and Tashi by the early or mid-afternoon at the latest, depending on when Tashi was ready to go. All Art did was like the message, placing his phone back on his belly before he closed his eyes.

Art is awakened by the stench of food and the goosebumps that decorate his skin. Rubbing at the new texture on his skin, he pushes himself up into a sitting position and peeks through his slumber eyes to get a sense for what time it is.

11:52AM

He gets to his feet, rubbing at his eyes and leaves his phone behind face down on the bed. Leaning in the doorway he looks both ways before stepping out onto the dark wood floor and heads back towards the front of the cottage. He spots Andra immediately facing his direction in the kitchen, leftovers of a sandwich in her hand while she’s sipping at some sort of smoothie.

“Morning sunshine, how did you sleep?”

Art leans against the counter from the opposite side and grins, “like a baby.”

“See the magic of this place yet?”

“I still need some convincing…maybe the last bite of that sandwich will help?”

“Oh you mean this one? That’s full of grease and has the potential to clog arteries? Aren’t you an athlete?”

Art gives a straight face, “doesn’t mean I can’t have cheat days and when did you become my trainer exactly?”

Andra pops her lips at the taste, leaning forward to mockingly toss the rest of the sandwich into her mouth.

Art leans away from the counter, “alright, okay. Your hospitality actually sucks and I rate this establishment zero stars.”

“You can’t chop me.”

“I just did.” Art states matter of factly as he starts making his way into the kitchen.

Andra scrunches up her nose, “always such a little baby! There’s one waiting for you in the toaster oven and I’ll be reporting this to the blogs.”

Art argues, “And you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Classic answer,” Andra circles around Art now in her flowy white skirt to plop on the couch dramatically with a hand tossed against her forehead, “I thought you said you loved me, Arthur?”

“Oh c’mon, not the whole government name drop, Andromeda!” Art drags out her name around stuffing his face while Andra laughs laid out on the couch.

He preferred “Art,” over his full name any day and that’s what everyone’s known him as before he even made it big. That of course didn’t apply to his own parents who felt it was foolish to call their son by a nickname rather than what they gave to him at birth. They were less hard asses than Patrick’s parents but when it came to titles that’s where he and Andromeda related.

“I’ve been added to the group chat thanks to your side piece.” Andromeda waves her phone in the air.

Art takes her leftover smoothie and plops down beside her, sipping at and ignoring her raised brows, “what side piece?”

“Mickey mouse.” Andromeda tells as she shows the dark blond her phone, “Patrick says him and Tashi are now on the road so we should see them around 2 at the latest.”

Art slowly finishes chewing, elbows on his knees as he’s in thought, nodding at this information. He can’t exactly say he’s thrilled to have them here—as bad as it sounds considering 1/2 of the pair consists of his wife but he’ll keep that to himself.

Andra sits up then, shuffling to sit thigh to thigh with Art as she nudged his shoulder, “Take a minute and get ready, I’ll be outside enjoying the sun until I give you the rest of the tour.”

He questions with a lopsided grin, “there’s more?”

“Always.” She flashes her teeth at him, leaving Art to peer down at her lips briefly before she turns her head to look at the waterfront for a bit, leaving Art to analyze the profile of Andra’s face. The little chocolate chip mole by her hairline of her straight backs is something he always found cute no matter which way she wore her hair. Just like her finding the spec of honey brown on the side of his dark blue hues in his right eye.

She gets up, using his shoulder for leverage before she breezes by him smelling like caramel, peonies, and pink pepper—a mixture of many scents that matched her body chemistry quite well. Art lets out a long sigh, leaning back against the couch after she slides the door closed but that doesn’t stop him from watching her walk across the deck to sit pretty on the wicker egg chair.

Some time later Art makes his way out to the deck, freshly changed and dressed for the remainder of the day. He meets Andra out on the deck, leaning over it just as she’s getting off the phone.

“I don’t care when you bring it, Ahmed. All I know is that it better be back here by the time I come out here again. Yeah, yeah. Bye!” Andra ends the call while there’s amusement on Art’s face while he takes a spot right next to her.

He glances at her before looking back at the view, “are you out here tearing your big brother a new one?”

“Nooo, what gave you that idea?” She’s sarcastic although her smile is as sweet as can be.

She spins to rest her elbows on the banister, eyeing Art’s appearance. He meets her stare, raising his brows in question as she says, “The facial hair is a good look on you. What’s next? Growing your hair back out?”

Art snorts, “nah, I think that’s over for me. Too much maintenance.”

Andra hums as she waves him along, “let’s see the dock…wait did you put your sunscreen or bug spray on?”

“Uh no?”

“Not on my watch, Donaldson.” She charges right by him to the egg chair, coming back with a dropper, “hold out your wrists.”

“What is it?” He asks but complies as the oil is dropped right on his skin.

“Now pat it against your neck and ankles then finish with your wrists.” She instructs, “the mosquitoes are devils by the water and hate lemongrass.”

Art shakes his head with a smile, “whatever you say, mom.”

“That’s okay, clown me all you want but you’ll be thanking me by the time we’re inside for the night, free from bites.” She pats his waist on her way by to put the dropper back.

Together the friends make their way down the set of stairs to the lower level. They walk across the grass where Andra points to their left, showing where the shed is full of equipment for water activities.

“Paddle boarding?” Art quizzes as he caressed his facial hair, “I can’t picture it.”

“What? I can’t have other hobbies?” Andra asked, hands on her hips while staring at the man underneath her eyelashes.

Art shrugged, “course you can. I just remember a certain lake party where you were lounging by the lake instead of being in it.”

Andra shields her eyes from the sun as she turns up her glossed lips at the memory, “I’m surprised you remember that when you had your tongue down Divinia Alonto’s throat.”

“Did I?” Art inquires, “I was honestly so worried about my new friend not having a good time.”

“And keeping Patrick from getting his ass beat by one of those guys that’s probably a linebacker now.” Andra chuckles as she leads the way up the small hill towards the dock.

The air is warm just as the light breeze while the two travel some more together. It was funny thinking about it all, how Andra became acquainted with the pair, first watching them at the US open since she was visiting Ahmed who recently moved out to Queens, New York. She would later end up at Tashi’s match a week later, sitting on the bleachers not far from Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. She ended up introducing herself to the two prior and congratulated them on their win just for Patrick to invite her to a lake party they were attending that night.

Andra said she would think about it just as her pink LG chocolate phone was ringing. It was Tashi. Art even took it further to round off a number Andra can reach them at, leaving her to just stare at them in amusement.

“Aren’t you gonna type that in? Or do you need me to do it for you?” Patrick attempts to flirt but Andra just peers at him from underneath her oval purple and black glasses.

Andra laughs, “I’ve got it but if I need someone to lift a finger for me, I know just who to call. Later.”

“Later.” The boys echo as they watch her walk away.

“She wants me, dude.” Patrick leans back into Art’s shoulder as they both watch her hips sway, doing a signature spin while answering the phone.

“Yeah right, in your dreams!

“Hey,” Art speaks, his eyes were off to the right, “you never mentioned a court.”

Andra deeply exhaled as they both face it now, “that’s because I try to forget it every time I’m out here. After I purchased this property, my mom made it her mission to have one put out here as some sort of gift to me? Honestly it feels like torture porn to me but I shut my mouth and never use it.”

Art turned his eyes into slits, “if you don’t use it then somebody definitely does. What do you get up to out there in Alaska?”

It still shocked Art to hear that Andra settled out in Alaska these past few years. Of course she still traveled all over working with the most popular athletes, this he knew because he seemed to get the runaround whenever he mentioned her but Tashi deemed it as Andra still holding a grudge with her cutting Andra off after she transferred.

Art believed it was possible but eventually they reconnected instead.

“Lots of things,” Andra answers, “but you’d have to come out there and see.”

Art hums, “that another invitation?”

“As if you need anymore.” Andra looks at him and he holds her stare.

“…I think,” he starts as he leans towards her a bit, “I’d like to see if you still got it.”

Andra scoffs, “I don’t need to prove a damn thing.”

A smile twitches onto his lips, “sure you don’t but we’ve got nothing but time?”

“And we can enjoy that time by the dock underneath the sun. I know you like to get a little tan for the summer.” Andra argues with a cross of her arms.

Art rolls his eyes, “if you’re a chicken shit just say that.”

“If you wanna see me in a skort just say that.” Andra fired back, standing on her toes a bit to match his height.

Art presses his tongue into his cheek, looking off to think about it, “fine, you caught me! I’d love to.”

And the way he’s speaking to her makes Andra bite her bottom lip and Art knows he’s got her. He’s smirking as he tries to reach for her folded arms in attempt to hug her but she playfully slaps his hands away and points at him in warning.

They’ve worked up a good enough sweat on the indigo blue court. Art’s serving with the ball at the neck of the racket before he sends the ball over. Andra has no issue matching Art’s rhythm, he’s found his spark again but Andra knows he’s been tired of professional tennis. It just took him much longer than it did Andra. She knew right from the beginning that it wasn’t her sport although she was phenomenal at it.

It was a shame really because it seemed effortless. So causal she swung but it was always fast, her brows remained turned inward while the rest of her face remained calm despite the usual routine of pulling her bottom lip underneath her teeth. Art is so lost in the swing of things, picking up on Andra’s own tics that he tries to go for the ball at the last minute. Andra pulled another one of her moves, almost like a ballet twirl spinning just as she smacks the ball back to Art.

Stretching his arm just too far, Art hisses as he feels his shoulder sting almost like static radiating down his arm followed by a burning sensation. Andra sharply inhaled, eyes widening as she tosses the racket to the side. Moving around the net she’s down on her knees as Art lays on his back panting.

“Hey,” she speaks touching his shoulder which he lightly grips, “Let me.”

Carefully he moves his fingertips out the way, choosing to stare up at the sky for a while as Andra feels around. Art groans as she touches just at the crease of his armpit, surrounding by his old wounds.

“It’s a muscle spasm,” Andra informs as she digs her fingers along his skin, “breathe through it, Art.”

He pinches at the bridge of his nose, doing as instructed and croaks out, “my shoulder stood no chance, I should have known, you still got it and do that famous spin of yours.”

“Whatever,” Andra dismisses, “now look at you, all messed up, old man.”

Art huffs, “well I wouldn’t pick anybody else to look after me.”

Andra shakes her head with a small smile as she raises Art’s shoulder while still pushing back at the stubborn spasm. When Andra shakes his shoulder out to help relax it, she goes to raise it again but he’s sitting up now with a wince. With one hand he slips against the small of Andra’s back, making her inhale as she looks over at him.

“Am I hurting you?” She softly inquired, quickly checking in but Art shakes his head.

He’s pushing her to his lap and whispers into the summer air, “Never that.”

Before his lips are placed right on her’s.

Their noses are smashed together as their lips work together. Andra makes the move to grip Art’s jaw, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He rubs at her back and squeezes her hips, matching her speed as if time is all they had.

Abruptly she pulls back, holding her lips while Art peers at her in alert. His eyes are even darker now but the spec of gold in that one eye is bright.

It’s such a pretty sight with his lips pink and panting.

“Art…what was that?” She questions behind her hands.

His hands don’t leave her frame as he breathes, “that was something I wanted to do since I hugged you for the first time in years at your grandpop’s party.”

She tilts her head at this news and moves to sit beside him against the hot court, “You’re married, Art.”

“I don’t think Tashi knows that.” Art mutters while Andra sighs.

“So this is about revenge?”

Art shakes his head, “no. It’s about finding what’s missing and you’re it.”

They both lock eyes and Andra doesn’t realize she’s leaning in until Art is kissing her again, pushing her back onto the court which burns her bare back in more ways than one. She hisses and Art pulls away and sits her up immediately as he cups her face, “…can we go inside?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Their grins are wide as they scramble to their feet like two old friends secretly up to no good. The excitement was real, doing something that most would frown upon but the pair were not the only two that moved to their own drums.

Andra’s helping Art remove his shirt, he playfully whines more than needed as she pulls it over his aching shoulder but reveals he’s just messing with her and it’s not anything he can’t handle. His hands find comfort right on her ass, pulling her lips right back to his as he lays back against the couch. It’s when he starts bucking his hips against her’s after she slips her tongue into his mouth that Art knows he’s in trouble.

“I’ve missed you, Andie.” He tells her as she presses kisses down his neck.

She pulls back, “how much?”

He managed to flip the two over, sliding his hand up her leg brushing her white skirt all the way up as he presses his front against the only cloth that’s left covering her. “That much.”

“Then I think we need to fix that, don’t you?” She quizzes, holding his face in her hands again.

His lips are pressed to her’s and she nips at his bottom one and just as he’s reaching to shove down his own pants, there’s knocks at the door.

Both of their gazes turn to the door and Art sits up.

“Special delivery!” A familiar voice screams behind the door.

Art clenched his eyes shut while Andra sits up on her elbows to pull her skirt back down.

“Sorry,” Art kisses her cheek while Andra just secured the satin pearl colored tie around her braids before handing him his shirt back.

Art can already see Andra closing up and he hates to see it. She waits for him to fix his shirt again, this time with the tag in the right place, and wipes the gloss from his lips before making her way to the front door.

Yanking the door open to stop the pounding at it, she spots a grinning Patrick with shades on leaning against the door. “Mickey! You don’t have to kick my door in to announce your arrival, we can hear you from up the street.”

“You sure? Didn’t want to startle your quality time, sweetheart.” Patrick clicks his teeth with a wink as he leans forward to smack a kiss to her cheek before squeezing his way by.

Andra yanks Patrick by his backpack and scowls at the back of his neck, “Take your shoes off in my house, asswipe.”

“Yeah, whatever you want. Got it.”

Andra steps onto the porch now, spotting Tashi with her phone pressed to her ear pacing back and forth. Patrick snickers as he makes his way over to Art, arms held out ready for an embrace but Art just gives him a side eye before choosing to move into the kitchen.

Tashi lifts her head just to meet Andra’s eyes on the porch. They watch each other, Tashi half expecting Andra to send her a Princess wave like old times but she doesn’t. Once Tashi starts crossing the lawn towards the steps is when Andra turns her body to lean her back against the front door. She sees Tashi’s mountain of bags resting on the porch and raises her brow at them.

“Hey,” Tashi greets shortly as her heels click against the porch.

Andra dips her head, “Hi, Tash. Have a nice ride up here?”

“I never would have picked this hick town for you even if it’s part time, what were you thinking?” Tash asked as she begins moving her bags into Andra’s home herself.

Once Art comes over, he silently grabs the last bag to bring in before putting space between him, Tashi and Patrick.

“I was thinking, my money, my choice.” Andra replies as she closes the door.

Patrick lets out a low whistle, arm stretched along the back of the couch, “easy with the claws ladies.”

Tashi glares, “Shut the fuck up, will you?”

“Don’t start.” Andra warns the dark haired man who just shrugs, peeking over at Art with his tongue out in silent laughter who’s shaking his head at him.

Tashi surveys the cottage, heading to the waterfront view while looking left and right. “So what’s the sleeping arrangements?”

“Art’s on this level, I’m upstairs, Pat and you can have the couches.”

Patrick bounces on the one he’s sitting on now, “cool.”

“Right,” Tashi snorts, “So the room with the barn doors? Got it.”

Andra sends a look to Art who just moves the tension from his jaw. Tashi picks up on this and says, “what have you two been up to?”

“Yeah! It’s a nice set up you got here, Andra! I’m sure there’s plenty and nothing to do.” Patrick’s fishing but they’re not taking the bait.

Art decides to change the subject, “have you two eaten?”

“We stopped at that one place for breakfast before we left but I’m always down to decide what’s for dinner.” Patrick admits while Tashi rolls her eyes.

The now blonde haired woman brushes by Andra, “I’m going to bring my things into the room while you guys figure out how to entertain yourselves.”

Andra follows after Tashi as she’s going back and forth, bringing her things and arranging them and Art’s things. Andra sits on the edge of the bed waiting for Tashi who raises a brow at her. Art lets out a long exhale as he listens to the door slide closed and Patrick gets to his feet to place his backpack on the floor. Stretching his arms above his head, he moves towards the wall where the front door is to mess with the record player.

“Just make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Art mutters to Patrick as he flicks through some records and picks a random one to place down.

Patrick shrugs, “what am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait for you to talk to me?”

“You’re lucky that Andra even opened the door.”

“What is this? You finding a new team member to replace me? Don’t forget that I’m always your number one.” Patrick leaves the needle off as he burns his stare into Art who’s resting his hands on the counter.

“Are you fucken serious right now? No way are you saying that to me when you did what did behind my back, again.”

Patrick rests his hand on his chest, “you’re acting as if I knew, which I didn’t, and what we’ve been over already! I would never try to take Lily away in the first place, I’m fine being uncle Patrick and I’ll still love her regardless.”

“Well shit, thanks for your permission!”

In the room, Tashi has now taken a space on the bed, arms crossed while Andra stands in front of her. “…Do you really think being here smothering him is the best choice?”

“Smothering?” Tashi scoffs, “Art fucked off for two weeks and he folded right into your arms. Whether you like it or not, I’m his wife and he’ll always need me.”

“Tashi…you had him believing that lily was his—

“She is!” Tashi exclaimed, “you honestly think Patrick would be a good father and god forbid a husband? They’re not children, they’re men and should start acting like it. Those white boys wouldn’t be shit without me and you know it, which is why you walked away.”

Andra frowned, “I don’t have anything to do with your relationships with Pat and Art so I don’t appreciate you trying to wrap me into your bullshit. I’ve been out the mix, sis. You’re already in my house, which takes a lot of balls from the both of you after you did Art dirty.”

“Art, art, art, art, art! Jesus! Did you fuck him already? Was it even better now than back when you were nineteen?”

One thing about Tashi, she knew how to be so disrespectful. However it had no effect on Andra as a smile split over her lips at the blunt short haired woman. It wasn’t a secret that Art was Andra’s first before he decided to start going after Tashi. They were each other’s flings and that was good enough for Andra as long as he wasn’t screwing anybody else that didn’t deserve him. It was her mistake then and maybe it would have been her mistake now if they had more time on that couch.

She didn’t need Tashi picking at scabs.

“Would that make you feel better?” Andra asked with a tilt of her head, “voluntarily giving us a pass for what exactly? To even the score?”

Tashi smirks, “You were always my greatest weapon and I don’t get even, I win.”

Patrick stands on the other side of the counter, taking Art’s glare, “I don’t know what you want from me, man. We were back to normal, great even! I’m at my best and you’re going out with a bang, don’t let this ruin how far we’ve come.”

Art huffs, “I’ll decide.”

“Fine, whatever you want but don’t make it another thirteen years.” Patrick snaps, “…where’s the booze?”

Andra pats at her scalp in frustration, “if you have any respect for me as a past friend, you’ll do right.”

“What’s your definition of right?” Tashi rolls her hands around trying to understand, “Leaving when it gets tough and having unrequited love?”

“What’s yours?” Andra debates stepping to Tashi who gets up in her face, “Cheating on your husband, having a baby on him, lying to him for years, and still walking around like the mean girl you are? Let me tell you something Ms. bob, we’re grown now and it’s tired.”

Tashi sizes Andra up, “it’s cute that you think you have a back bone now. Took you long enough.”

“Keep trying me and you’ll see just how that back bone works.”

Tashi kisses her lips at Andra who steps back, “great talk.”

“You haven’t changed and I don’t think you ever will. I’m glad I walked away from this friendship years ago, you make me sick.” Andra snips over her shoulder as she reaches for the handles.

Tashi fans her hand, “oh fuck you and your excuses. You’re just looking to point the finger at every bad guy to make yourself feel better about your lack of drive for anything.”

“What?” Andra whips around, “You’re the only miserable one I see here. At first I thought it was ambition but that turned into greed and then control. You’re just mad that I would no longer let you diminish my voice. I’ve had enough of that with my own mother! I’m not tennis, I’m more than that, which you’re not and that bothers you so maybe you’re the one that’s really sick.”

Tashi claps it up while Andra stares up at the ceiling, “glad you finally found your voice and told me how you really feel in person, instead of laying it out to the public like you should have. Only took you forever.”

Andra shrugs her shoulders, “if I have something to say, I’ll say it to your face.”

Tashi hums as she steps to Andra this time, brown eyes scanning over her features,“Tell me more.”

“I don’t want to do this with you anymore, Tash.” Andra’s hands are up in the air, “I removed myself from the situation long ago and after this weekend here, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We just don’t mesh and that’s okay, I have boundaries and you have crazy standards that you expect everybody to follow. Art and I were cool before you came into the picture—

“Aht, don’t do that. We were high school friends before Art. Why should some man come between us?”

This was true, Andra and Tashi were the best of friends anyone can have as teenagers starting from their junior year. This wasn’t their first fight and wouldn’t be their last. They were in different groups by the time Andra came along since she was from Virginia but her family moved out to California when she was fourteen. They knew of each other since they had gym class together but didn’t get the chance to form a friendship until they were sixteen.

“You don’t get it,” Andra sighs, “it wasn’t just Art. It was everything for me and it would have killed me so I chose a different path. If you wanna be mad at me still over that, fine. We can’t change each other.”

“You honestly think that’s what our relationship was?” Tashi pries, “it was about challenging each other and shaping each other into the best of the best.”

Andra tightens her stare, “So tell me Tash, do you like the result?”

Tashi inhales, thoughts wandering as there’s more harsh knocks at the door. Andra deeply frowns figuring it’s Patrick who locked himself out as she looks away from Tashi, sliding the doors back to peek out. She can’t see from the doorway but she also doesn’t hear Patrick or Art talking.

The knocking sounds again and Andra steps out, followed by Tashi. Andra sees Art walking over to the door while Patrick brings his attention away from tinder on his phone.

“I thought it was you,” Andra tells Patrick, shoving his shoulder, making him lift his head to peek up at her.

Patrick snorts, “nah. My serve is more baseline.”

Tashi walks along the path between the couch and sliding doors, peering at the view of the afternoon sky turning lightly yellow against the blue. There’s birds in the sky but they’re flying further away. All of their heads turn back to the knocking, leaving Art to unlock it before Andra tells him to ask who it is.

Her attention is pulled away as Patrick starts carrying a conversation about dinner but she’s curious to who’s at the door. She see’s Art standing up straight before closing the door, locking it while holding a piece of paper.

“Who was it?” Patrick examines as Art makes his way over to the three still holding onto a fallen paper.

The blond shrugs, “some girl looking for some other girl.”

“God, I hope it didn’t slip to the paps that we’re out here.” Tashi actually seems uneasy about that, perhaps this news was more damaging than she was letting on.

Art replies, “Yeah that would not be great.”

“I mean…would it be the worst?” Patrick sits up on his elbows, “The press is hot right now and I’m the hottest topic—which I should be.”

“Yeah mainly for having a kid with your coach, who happens to be my wife.” Art retorts, “You should be so proud.” He flicks the paper into the air, leaving Patrick to reach up and snatch it.

Patrick turns his attention to Andra who’s sitting on the other side of the lounging shaven man, “…you never told us this was some religious town.”

“What?” Andra frowns, trying to not dissociate.

Patrick holds the paper up in the air as if it’s show and tell, “Latter-day saints? Don’t tell us you invited us here to join a cult?”

“I didn’t invite you!” Andra declared while Patrick flicks the paper to the ground and raised his hands in surrender.

Tashi asks Art, “what’s the name of the girl she said she was looking for?”

“It wasn’t Tashi.” Art notifies, “don’t worry.”

Tashi breathed out a laugh, “me? Never.”

Art moves to sit at the dining table glancing at the three in the room. Andra’s gone quiet, Patrick’s humming a tune while he’s messing around with his phone again, and Tashi is burning her stare into him. He knows they’re going to have to talk at some point during this trip but for now?

“Andie and I ate not too long ago but nows a good as time as any to decide what to eat for dinner. So…any suggestions?” Art questions, eyes moving around the sitting room.

Tashi mumbles that it doesn’t matter, arms crossed as she also seems to have a lot on her mind. Patrick is sitting up against the arm of the couch now, blabbing about many options that most likely wasn’t in the fridge or freezer. Art’s eyes are on Andra as she moves to pull the large curtain over the sliding doors, which makes Tashi eye Art watching her as well.

Andra moves back to the kitchen, pulling out some already prepared items from her assistant to rest on the counter. Patrick’s back at the record player and Tashi has now taken Patrick’s spot on the couch.

The braided woman flinches as she feels hands lightly grip her hips. “Hey, are you okay?”

Andra nods, “yeah…I think so. You?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Art whispers into her ear.

Andra utters, “just need to get through tonight.”

“Yup. Perhaps slow and steady wins this race?” Art guesses as he swiftly presses a kiss to Andra’s hairline by her personalized chocolate chip.

When he leaves her side, Art catches Patrick’s eyes who has his brows raised at that exchange, waiting for Art to tell him something with Art’s own eyes. Art just shifts his blues, leaving the main area to take a minute to himself. That doesn’t last as Patrick shortly follows after Art, seeking answers about what his plan was with Andromeda.

Tashi turns to Andra as Patrick disappears into her shared room with her husband.

“Guess it’s our turn to be fucking housewives, huh?”

Andra leans her elbows along the counter, feeling a cramp in her stomach while she breathed through it, “the real ones just exited the scene.”

Tashi laughs at this as she pushes to her feet looking for a drink. She wouldn’t exactly call this, “happy hour,” but it’ll do for now. Andra knows it’s bad luck not to cheers and Tashi Duncan was one of the last people she wanted to do so with but Andra had a feeling that she didn’t want anymore bad luck.

So the glasses clinked while Patrick and Art hashed it out behind the barn doors. Outside of the cottage by the water, stands a darkened silhouette underneath the slight shade of a dogwood tree, just lurking and waiting for the right time to rally.

Dollface would soon be ready for the next task once the hours passed with some friends to bring to the match.

.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.