#tashi’s search for intensity

[rurucreates]

Imagine loving tennis and being so fucking great at it at 17 and then injuring yourself while fighting some average girl after arguing with your boyfriend, ending up never professionally competing, but still having this deep desire and passion for tennis that you want to channel into something or someone, so you decide to coach and date and marry your ex’s best friend, who’s super in love with you, and he plays for you for a decade and a half, wins six slams but you still feel so fucking empty and can’t help but feel like you hate him because you know he’ll never be so crazy about tennis like you are and that he’s only and has ever really played for you, so you make him play in a challengers game, try to make him feel this intensity that you feel for the sport that you do, he tells you he wants to retire but you don't want it, so you ask his best friend, who is playing against him tomorrow, to lose on purpose then fuck him, who snitches on you mid-match and what do you know? he starts playing. and now you feel the intensity you once felt as a seventeen year old tennis junior us open champion.

[hyperballart]

artashi inviting you for a friendly movie night at their place and you innocently agree because tashi is someone you consider a friend and art is just her sweet doting boyfriend—totally harmless. you’re settled on the couch between the pair, which again you find a bit off, but don’t question. tashi sends art to make drinks and that’s when you become a bit dubious, how will you drive home? but then tashi reassures you they have a spare bedroom for you to sleep in. while her boyfriend moves around the kitchen she turns to face you. she starts fixating her pretty brown eyes on you while her hand lightly brushes against the side of your neck. you know it’s wrong—you can hear the clinking of glasses and sloshing of liquids merely feet away from you both—but her attention feels too good.

when art gets back you’re surprisingly disappointed and the sudden absence of affection but you quickly snap back into reality. she’s just a friend to you, they both are, stop being a pervert. you try to keep that thought in your head but after one drink turns to two and two turns to three, the couple starts crossing that friendly line the night had started with. kisses pressed to your neck on both sides—tashi licks and sucks under your jaw with raw hunger, her manicured hand gripping your thigh. art is more calculated, small nips and peppered kisses trailing down your neck.

the kissing morphs into something much more intense, clothes come off then you’re moved to their bed. tashi has you pinned down on the mattress, her long curls enveloping you while she starts grinding against your cunt. you’re both so wet, the sound of the creamy glide making its way to your ears and you whine her name so pretty she just wants to devour you. her hands play with your soft tits while she calls out, “see, i told you she’d be a good girl. such a sweet little thing, aren’t you baby?” and for a second you’re confused as to who she is speaking to but a reminder is slapped to your face when you suddenly feel a thick cock slide in between where you and tashi are tribbing each other. art lets out a moan of relief, “fuck me, yeah—you’re always right. it’s so wet, nghhh,” and suddenly you feel yourself gush more.

they’re speaking of you as if you weren’t even there, tashi humping erratically against your cunt and art’s cock all you can do is hang your mouth open and mewl. she spreads your pretty lips out so art’s tip bumps against your swollen clit and you scream, she giggles at you. then she speaks again, “don’t we feel good art, hm?” the man can’t even speak, his dick can feel everything. the small bumps of both of your clits have him reeling and drooling like a fucking idiot. he nods behind tashi as if she can’t see him, but she smiles knowingly. your hips start twitching upwards in search of release and she encourages you by starting to hump down harder.

in an abrupt moment, art’s head slides down and accidentally notches against your hole and that’s what does it. your legs are twitching and shaking while you drip down the bedding, tashi doesn’t stop her swiveling and you can tell art is almost at his end when his eyes start tearing up and his grip on his girlfriend’s waist tightens. he shoots his cum between both of you, most of it landing on your tits. tashi cums at the sight and rides out her high dropping down to kiss your mouth. once you’re all cleaned up, they tuck you in for bed and lazily take turns making out with your neck again until you fall asleep. you’ll have to hang out with them more often.

[spencer0o7]

pretty girls that do sports

tashi x fem!artist!reader

summary : after tashi's injury that ended her tennis career she meets y/n who changes how she views her life.

warnings : slight mention of homophobia

word count : 1.2k

notes : I’ve been wanting to write challengers fanfiction for ages now and unfortunately there aren’t lots of Tashi fics out there so I had to make one! I imagined y/n as black but they can be any race :)

btw english isn’t my first language

You first met after Tashi’s injury. After having no choice but to quit tennis professionally she started putting more time into studying.

One day when she was walking around campus to find her new tutor she got lost in a completely different building. She stumbled upon an isolated classroom, the light from it seeping out from the doorway. Her curiosity got the best of her so she stuck her head in to see what was in it.

There she saw you sitting in front of an easel sketching onto a canvas. The afternoon sun from the windows was illuminating your face. You were intensely focused on your work but looked incredibly at peace alone in the remote classroom. Something about your attention and focus on your work drew her to you.

Tashi had been so caught up in admiring you and your dedication she had missed when you finally looked up from your canvas to her.

You stared at her for a moment. Your brows slightly furrowed with confusion for why this pretty girl would be standing here in this small isolated classroom you occupy. “Looking for something?” You ask breaking the silence.

For the first time, Tashi doesn’t know what to say. Like her words got stuck in her throat. Leaving her mind absolutely blank. “I- no I’m just looking around campus,” She eventually stutters out.

She steps further into the room putting her hand on the open doorframe. The smell of paint permeated the room.

“Ah,” you exclaim. “Well, Mrs Donovan lets me use her classroom during off hours.” You turn in your chair slightly to face her better. “You’re free to join.” You add having a sense that the girl might’ve been in need of some peace and quiet.

Tashi smiled at that before introducing herself to you. Her name sounded familiar to you.

It was then it hit you that she’s the star tennis player who got injured. Her future of becoming a professional athlete disappearing with it. Maybe that’s why she was roaming around here in search of something. You grin back at her seeing her beautiful smile appear. “I’m Y/N.”

She moved into the classroom to stand next to you. “What are you making?” This was unlike herself, going after someone especially someone she doesn’t even know. But it was like she didn’t have complete control of her body, she was completely enamored by you and wanted to know more.

You turn back to the easel. “I’m not sure really, I thought of painting the view outside but it’s not really coming together.”

“Well I’m not much of an artist but I think to paint you need some color on your canvas?” Tashi teased looking at the blank canvas staring back at you.

A laugh escapes your mouth. “I don’t know I just- I just can’t seem to find it in me.” You sigh letting your arms rest limply on your thighs. You shrug while looking back at her, “I’ll probably just scrap it anyway. I need some new inspiration.”

“What kind of inspiration do you use usually then?” Tashi puts her hands on her waist with a curious look on her face. Her meeting with her tutor was long forgotten.

“Hmh,” You cock your head slightly in thought, “Views, music, nature, pretty girls that do sports, y’know…”

Tashi’s heartbeat picks up but she calmly masks her growing infatuation with a grin. “Oh really?”

You’ve never really been shy about your romantic feelings for girls. If there’s someone you like you’ll try testing the waters to see how they feel. But you can’t really say that’s always worked out well for you. Tashi though, she’s different.

It’s like the moment you saw her standing at the door of the classroom you knew she was special.

I mean you’d seen her before around Stanford. In fact, it was hard not to, with her whole fan club (and people way too obviously trying to get into her pants) surrounding her at almost any time.

But here, with you, it wasn’t like that. It’s almost as if without tennis looming over her at any time you could finally see her as herself. You wonder if she thought about her former tennis career in the same way.

Your tongue brushes over your bottom lip. “Sure,” You bashfully admit. Tashi chuckles at that. “Well.. if that description includes me I’d love to help you find your inspiration.” She suggests in a playful tone of voice.

You smirk at her, already knowing you’re about to create something beautiful.

Tashi’s been up for a few minutes now. Her stomach rumbles which makes her realize how hungry she is. She turns over in the bed to look at your sleeping body. “Y/N,” she whispers. You stir slightly in your sleep. “Wanna go get breakfast?”

You finally open your eyes. You look at her sleepily, with a smile creeping up on your face. She loves waking up alongside you, comfortably squished together in your tiny twin bed. You move over to lie on her arm

You wine softly, “I don’t wanna move. I’m so comfy.”

“While laying on me?”

“You’re my new pillow.”

“You have a silk pillowcase.” She laughs as she toys with one of your stray hair strands. These moments before the day has started mean a lot to her.

“Really? You’re gonna make me get food on my own?” She asks in a sickly sweet voice. You stare up at her. “Can we get bagels?”

“Bagels, muffins, croissants.. whatever you want.” She lists off. “Alright, I’m up,” You instantly sit up which makes her giggle. You crawl out of the bed searching for clothes to wear in your closet. You pick up a sweater quickly slipping it on. She stares at you from the bed. “C’mon baby let’s go.”

“I haven’t even gotten ready,” Tashi groans as she gets out of bed. “You don’t need to get ready, you’re beautiful in any state.”

You look at her with a big grin. Tashi just stares at you unconvinced. “You’re cute,” She chuckles. You turn around to grab one of your hoodies and hand it to her. She changes into the hoodie as you put on your socks and shoes.

“M’gonna use the bathroom real quick,” Tashi calls out from behind you. “Kay,” you yell back. You grab your little mirror on your desk to make sure your hair looks good before leaving. You busy yourself with it for a few minutes.

“You look great, you always do,” You suddenly hear from Tashi behind you. Tashi puts her hands on your shoulder “Did you know you’re exactly my type.”

She pulls the mirror from your hand, throwing it on your unmade bed. She puts her lips on your neck softly kissing you. “What’s your type then?” You ask with a grin.

“Oh y’know, pretty girls that paint,” Tashi answers, her voice vibrating onto your skin.

Seeing Tashi so distracted, you giggled, “I thought you were hungry?”

“Oh yeah,” She wraps her arms around your waist, resting her head on your shoulder. “But this is good too.”

“It’ll be even better eating a stack of pancakes,” You spin around to see her. You take your hands in hers. Tashi grins at you. Seeing her smile makes you so happy you kiss her cheek.

You let go for a moment so Tashi can slip her shoes on and you grab your keys. She walks up to you and slips her hand back in yours.

You smile opening the door, letting her go out first. “I think this breakfast is gonna be great.” You step outside into the hallway. Tashi grins at you as you walk hand in hand.

[lokiiied]

thinking about autistic art and how he had a really hard time differentiating platonic from romantic because of him and patrick’s friendship being so intimate and patrick being part of his first sexual experience and patrick engraining that need to be touched and loved into him from such an early age how was he supposed to know what was romantic or not? and even though he loved patrick he never knew if they were just playing or if patrick really wanted him to cross that threshold. of course he had thought about it. but him and patrick were friends- his only friend. his best friend. what if he ruined everything?

patrick knowing art since they were 12 and that the both of them had always struggled socially. all they had was each other. he learned what art needed from him and when he needed space. art needing him like a shore needs a rock. patrick was his safe space. the two of them always fitting together like matching puzzle pieces. patrick never being sure if it was his own fault for always being so touchy and intimate with art that if he ever crossed that delicate line he would be ruining something sacred. that he might scare art off or worse than that hurt him. make him retreat and search for someone, anyone else to be what patrick was for him. even if no one could.

thinking about how as soon as tashi allowed them the opportunity to be physically intimate they gravitated to each other and immediately went to another planet as soon as their mouths were on each other. how it was both so desperate and also so so gentle - careful even. thinking about anxious yearner patrick holding art’s face because he didn’t want this to stop, everything finally really truly felt natural and art realising kissing patrick came just as easy to him as breathing and of course it did because he wanted patrick to do more than touch him. he wanted patrick to stimulate him and push him further and he wanted to make patrick feel really really good

art being with tashi in what was probably his first “official romantic relationship” and trying so so hard to be the thing that she needed him to be. sacrificing his body. his mental health. his love. thinking that this wasn’t romance should feel like. or was it? was this what married people sacrificed their friendships for? his only reference for intimacy had been patrick. him and tashi did things him and patrick never did - but he needed more from her. the scene where he bites her arm. how he starts to be touchy with her and she pulls away. they seem the most physically tense in their marriage, whereas they’re both more physically relaxed/open with patrick. she knew how to give him space and she knew how to take care of him physically and he lived for playing tennis for her. but he needed more. he needed more affection, more emotional support. and tashi being unable to provide that for him in the ways he needed it. thinking he knew he was getting into a non-amatonormative relationship when he asked her out. knowing in her heart that art was never going to succeed at tennis in the way she needed him to unless he had that. unless he had patrick.

thinking about how after patrick touches the ball to the centre of the racket art has this release of emotions. first the anger. he shouts and smashes his racket and throws away two serves. this is the most physically expressive we’ve seen him since college. this is when the match gets intense. for a few moments they were really playing tennis. like they were back when they won their team championship. when art leaps above him and when patrick catches him and the hug. art needed it so bad.

[artdcnaldson]

instead of pat teaching art how to masturbate… tash teaches you?

-💫

YEPPPPP YEPPPPPP <3

Idk what it was about early 2000s teen shows having random masturbation subplots, but I can totally see like, watching a tv show or a movie and there being like, a scene with a girl getting herself off and you’re just a little… confused.

“I don’t get it, what’s she doing?” You whisper, nudging Tashi’s arm.

Her brows furrow and she sits back to look at you, trying to puzzle together how you made it to college without ever touching yourself. “You’ve never…” She trails off, raises her brows and gestures broadly with her hand. The furrow in your brow is so cute, so innocent. “I thought you weren’t a virgin.”

You reel back, annoyance twisting your features. “I’m not.”

“So, how have you never masturbated before?”

Your eyes widen, you shake your head. “What? Only boys can do that.”

And it devolves from there. You’ve had sex before, but it was just about feeling turned on, right? That was the entire thing, wasn’t it? It feels good to want so badly. Besides, sex doesn’t even feel that good, and it’s more of a mental experience for girls. And when you admit that you’d gotten a permission slip signed by your parents to skip sex ed, she just about fucking dies.

“So your only sexual experience has been… what? Penetration?”

You think for a moment. “Yeah, but like, am I crazy? What else is there, Tash?”

So she shows you. Has you lay back on the bed beside her, lets you keep your clothes on, but strips so you can see exactly what she’s doing. You’re just going to mirror her, that’s all, just copy what she’s doing and tell her if it feels good.

She guides you to run your hand over your body, play with your tits. You swallow as you watch her rolling her nipples between lithe fingers, wonder if you’ll ever look as gorgeous as she does while you try to mimic her. It does feel good, you feel a stirring in your belly, a low roiling heat. And if it’s maybe more because of her than anything… well, that’s just between you and your stupid body.

You’re already worked up by the time you slip your hand between your thighs.

“Are you wet?” She asks, her voice all breathy and pretty. Your fingers slip down to your entrance, where you find yourself slick and hot, wetter than you’ve ever gotten for anyone before. But you try to be casual. You manage a soft, mhmm, and she smiles. “Yeah, good. I want you to touch yourself. Right here.”

You watch her hands, notice how her fingertips rub circles at the top of her slit. You let your fingers move, searching, hesitant. You moan softly when you fingers brush against the nub, swollen with need. She smiles. “Yeah, that’s it. Just find what you need, okay? Circles, rubbing back and forth, gentle, harder, whatever works. Just play with yourself, you’ll figure it out.”

So you do, you lay there, touching yourself with her doing the same right beside you. Thighs touching, arms rubbing against each other. She’s so warm, she smells so good, you’ve never felt so much want inside of your body before. You moan at how good it feels, you moan because her fingers are rubbing her clit and her back is arching and she sounds so beautiful and she looks so beautiful. Your desire is as much a part of you as it is because of her.

When you cum, it’s sudden— a rush of electric desire that washes over you. Your thighs tremble with it, your fingers struggling to meet your body’s intense need. You’ve never felt that before. You’ve never gotten off with any of your partners, you didn’t even know you were supposed to. You’re spent and panting, watching as tashi cums on her own fingers.

It makes sense, that the girl who gives you your first orgasm is also the first girl that makes you think you’re definitely not straight.

[poppy-metal]

Oof and Patrick finally confronts you one day. Demanding answers.

"Cmon, princess, we fucking live together. The least you can do is bitch me out to my face instead of with your eyes."

"You've always annoyed me, Patrick. You know that." Are you gaslighting him? Maybe. But you barely understand what you're feeling, what are you supposed to say?

"you want to know what I think?" And he doesn't wait for an answer. "I think you're angry at me because it's safe. Youre scared Tash will turn on you again if you ever express your anger at her. And Art has those puppy dog eyes that make him impossible to be mad at anyways."

"Oh yeah, and that night in the bar has nothing to do with it."

"There it is. You're pissed I was picked first." You want to slap him because it sounds so petty when he says it. "But do you really understand why? Because I do."

"Oh, you do?" You snap. "Please, enlighten me."

"Because I'm like a fucking lost dog and they know it. They could've said anything, done anything, and I still would've been there. And as much as you might think youre in the same boat, Tash has never seen you that way." A pregnant pause. "Tash never believed you would actually come back to her. Art always knew I'd come back."

toxic polycule has my heart im gonna bleat like a lamb

hating patrick because his leaving hurt the worst - you could reason why tashi and art did. it was in arts nature to run and repress and tashi had blocked everything out after her injury. it didn't make it okay but it made sense in your head. but patrick - you'd shared your pain with him. you'd shared your body. you thought you might be something someday maybe. later down the line because you were both so reckless and self destructive.

"its whatever, patrick. i get it - we were a distraction for eachother. and now that we're dating them there's really no need for us to interact. i don't give a shit who picked who first -"

"bullshit. it's always fucking stung that they chose eachother over you. and it fucking hurt when you thought they chose me over you too."

you dont want to talk about it. last choice. its what you were, no matter how you spun it. in this love square of four you were at the bottom. they'd be fine without you. you'd agreed to start dating art and tashi tentatively - but you still held yourself at a distance from all of them. you refused to move in. refused to let any of them call you their girlfriend. you had your heart to protect. a relationship of four? it wouldn't last. and you'd be the first on the chopping block.

"sure, patrick." you say. "okay."

its tiring to argue.

he searches your face. his eyes are annoyingly intense, and it feels like he's peeling back your head to look into your brain. unspooling your thoughts.

"i missed you." patrick has the ability to soften his voice in such a way that it makes your heart jerk in your chest. your bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. "i thought about you. i think about you. it fucking sucks you won't talk to me."

you close your eyes. you remember a night years ago when his lips had pressed against the back of your neck. holding you after sex - and it was the first time you'd slept together without talking about art or tashi at all. and it felt good. you thought you might be enough for someone, finally. that maybe he saw you and wanted you for you, and not because of the pain you shared.

stupid. he just wants you now because you're close and its convenient. it's more convenient if you're all sleeping together and there's no tension and you're all happy and its all sunshine and rainbows and no one is thinking about when this all will end.

well, you had to be that person. because you refused to be blindsided.

"it was just sex, patrick. we were scratching and itch. you dont need me to scratch it anymore, and i dont need you either. we can be civil, but its not deeper than that between us."

you can see the flash of anger in his eyes at being dismissed. you dont think to process it as pain. you doubt you have the power to hurt patrick zweig at all.

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter twelve

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.4k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, reader wears a dress, heels, and lipstick, alcohol consumption, mention of underage drinking, use of y/n (oof there’s a lot in this chapter, sorry guys) 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐇, 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐓 – 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟏𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟗. 𝟎𝟕:𝟎𝟎𝐏𝐌.

“Oh my God, you’re really rich,” you declared, gaping at the sight of Patrick’s childhood home. The two of you were invited to a party his parents were having. Patrick’s attendance was mandatory because they knew he had a break after you graduated. 

Even though you were used to ritzy and unnecessarily large houses, having grown up in Scarsdale, Patrick’s family estate was beyond what you were used to. As he led you up the walkway to the grand mansion he called home, you were overwhelmed by its imposing structure, made of elegant, pale limestone, and adorned with ivy-covered walls. It was surrounded by several acres of lush, meticulously manicured gardens, with perfectly trimmed hedges and majestic trees lining the cobblestone driveway. And that was just the exterior.

The interior was even more ornate, which you didn’t think was possible considering the intricately carved wooden door you entered through. Your breath caught in your chest when your heels clicked on the decadent marble floors, eyes dancing around the house to admire the crystal chandeliers, expansive windows, and large paintings hung on the walls. Unimpressed by his usual surroundings, Patrick led you through the house towards the reception room as you gasped.

“Is that a real Francis Bacon?” you exclaimed, staring at the famous painting as your boyfriend pulled you through his house. 

“Probably,” Patrick replied. “Otherwise my dad paid $86 million for a really good replica.”

“Your dad is the guy who bought the Francis Bacon painting last year? I learned about this in my art history class last quarter,” you realised, wide eyes greedily inspecting the renowned artwork. “I know I’m repeating myself, but you’re really fucking rich, Pat!”

“You’re rich too.”

You shook your head, laughter bubbling from your lips. “My mother made money in tennis and has some kind of a wealth manager who invests it so she can stay rich. We don’t have expensive paintings or crystal chandeliers. You’re old money rich,” you accused Patrick in a hushed whisper. “You’re so rich that your parents aren’t going to approve of me!” 

The musical sound of Patrick’s cackles echoed through the large hall. “Trust me, they’re going to approve of you more than they approve of me,” Patrick insisted, glancing back and smiling reassuringly at you. “Besides, my parents really aren’t that intense about who I date.”

“Your parents are going to think I used my wiles to seduce you and steal your family fortune,” you said, ignoring his encouragement. “Honestly, I’m kind of mad I didn’t think of it myself.”

“You’re overreacting,” Patrick accused you. “Your house is big.” 

“Yeah, my house is pretty big,” you admitted. “But not compared to this! You should provide headphones for a guided tour, like the ones they have in museums. It looks like Mr Darcy should be living here and fending women off,” you emphasised how beautiful and humongous his house was. “Is that an original Jeff Koons balloon dog sculpture?!”

“All right, Elizabeth Bennett, settle down,” Patrick teased, coming to a halt outside a set of deep brown wooden double doors. 

He was getting noticeably anxious. You noticed him shifting nervously from foot to foot, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. The hand that clasped yours shook, and you watched as Patrick swallowed hard, the nervous gulp audible in the quiet room. His forehead glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, and he kept wiping his free palm on his suit trousers. Patrick’s eyes – unusually dark and nervous – had a distant, unfocused look, as if he was lost in the maze of his anxious thoughts.

Worriedly, you asked, “Pat?”

“I always feel like I’m ten years old when I visit my parents,” Patrick confessed quietly. “I know they love me and I’m a lot luckier than most people, but I just know they think tennis is a waste of time. It’s like they’re rooting for me to fail so I can join the family business, get a cushy job, and continue the family tradition of being a rich asshole.”

“Don’t they know you can still be a rich asshole if you have a successful tennis career?” you teased, trying to cheer your boyfriend up. Patrick chuckled a little. “We can leave whenever you want to. We don’t even have to go in at all.”

“They’ve been helping me out and paying for my accommodation on tour,” Patrick admitted. “I haven’t been winning enough competitions to cover that, so I kind of owe them.”

“Fuck that,” you declared. “Fuck owing them. The Nike sponsorship more than covers accommodation costs, you can just stay with me from now on,” you offered. “I don’t want you to put yourself through this if it’s unnecessary.”

“I have to face the music eventually,” Patrick decided, sighing defeatedly. “It’s one small party. If we do this, I don’t have to show my face until this time next year, so it’s worth it.”

“If you’re sure.” You smiled encouragingly at your boyfriend. His deep blue eyes searched yours, looking for a semblance of comfort. When Patrick was anxious, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted, and his lips pursed worriedly. “You’re incredible, Patrick. If they don’t see it then it’s their loss,” you insisted. “Ready?”

Patrick nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you when you and Patrick opened the doors and stepped into the reception room of his parents’ mansion. You were immediately enveloped by the lavish party. Waiters in crisp white uniforms manoeuvred through the crowd of guests, holding silver platters with tiny food and flutes of champagne. A crystal chandelier cast an enchanting glow over the room. Freshly cut flowers adorned the room in crystal vases, and the guests at the party were dressed to the nines. In the corner, a pianist played a soft song on the grand piano, blending in with the quiet conversation and bursts of laughter. 

“What did you say your dad’s job was?” you wondered as a waiter stopped for you to take a champagne flute. 

“His company works in Financial Management,” Patrick replied, grabbing and downing his champagne in one go. You elbowed him in the ribs, a silent yet stern reminder that he had to pace himself, and he nearly spit out his drink in surprise. “I don’t know what the fuck it means, but he gets a boatload of money for dealing with other people’s money.”

“Right.” You nodded, sipping your champagne and nervously scanning the room. 

“Should we get introductions out of the way?” Patrick wondered, fiddling with the top button of his tuxedo jacket. You nodded, giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek before he led you to a small group of adults by the small of your back. “Mom, Dad,” he greeted two ornately dressed individuals.

“Darling,” Patrick’s mother greeted him with two air kisses, and his father nodded. “So good to see you.” She eyed you next, and you were grateful Patrick had warned you to wear your best dress and jewellery–and that your house was only a half hour away despite being in a different state. Mrs Zweig had looked at your dress with an approving smile, her eyes shining as she nodded slightly in appreciation. “You must be Y/N.”

“This is Y/N Y/L/N, my girlfriend,” Patrick introduced you. 

You reached out to shake his parents’ hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Zweig,” you said earnestly. “You have a beautiful home. I love your Francis Bacon in the foyer.”

“Thank you,” Mr Zweig replied. “It’s marvellous, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely exquisite,” you agreed.

“These are my cousins Jess and Alex,” Patrick added, motioning to the dark-haired man and woman beside his parents. They looked older than you and Patrick but still below thirty-five. 

“You look incredibly familiar,” Jess admitted as she shook your hand.

“Y/N just graduated from Stanford, she started playing tennis professionally at the start of the year,” Patrick added, knowing that was where his family recognised you from. It felt nice to brag about your accomplishments, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew your achievements would translate to his failures in his parents’ eyes. 

“Of course, I know you,” Alex exclaimed when you shook his hand, eyes lighting up in recognition. “I read about you in the New York Times last month! You’re the Stanford student who made it to the semi-finals of Indian Wells and the French Open! Apparently, they were the first professional tournaments you ever played in.”

You tried to smile, feeling awkward at the sudden bout of attention as heads turned in your direction and whispers broke out across the room. “That’s me,” you confirmed humbly. “I didn’t realise the Times wrote an article about me.”

“You’re a hometown favourite, they gushed about you for nearly an entire page,” Jess added, looking impressed. “I love that dress, by the way, who made that?”

You glanced down at your dress, a strapless pale yellow gown with pink and green beads arranged to look like floral vines, and said, “Elie Saab, a few years ago.”

“Couture, no doubt,” Jess mumbled, nodding in approval. “Gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“How on earth did you manage to become a semifinalist at two tournaments in your last semester at Stanford?” Mr Zweig wondered. His voice was void of emotion, but the raise of his eyebrows and the way his body inched closer to you betrayed his genuine interest. 

“Well, Indian Wells took place during the first two weeks of my last semester so I got permission to miss those classes,” you explained. “The Coachella Valley is just over an hour from Stanford by plane, so it worked out. The French Open was a little harder because it started two weeks before the last finals week of my college career,” you admitted. Everyone murmured amongst themselves at the dramatic turn of events. You chuckled quietly. “I was just as concerned when I found out. Luckily, my professors graciously gave me access to the lecture materials I missed, and I studied whenever I could find the time during the tournament. When I lost the semi-finals, I got straight on a plane back to school and sat an exam later that day.” 

“She did really well on them all,” Patrick bragged, knowing you weren’t trying to make a big deal out of it. “One professor said it was the best final paper he ever read and submitted it for a nationwide contest. He practically begged her to pursue academia instead of tennis, but she wouldn’t have it.”

“That’s really very impressive,” Mrs Zweig complimented you. She had liked you at first glance based on your attire alone, but hearing how hard you worked only solidified her initial impression of you. “Congratulations on your success so far.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledged, returning Mrs Zweig’s smile.

Mr Zweig, while impressed, didn’t look so happy. “I have to applaud your work ethic and success, but it does make me wonder why Patrick cannot see the same positive results.” You swallowed harshly as the group went quiet. Patrick’s hand curled into a fist as he lowered it from your back, trying to stifle his angry glare. “After all, you did all of that while juggling your final year at one of the most prestigious colleges in the country. Patrick has no such obligations to make arrangements for. Surely you should be doing just as well, if not even better, than your girlfriend. Especially since this is your fourth year on tour with no wins of significance, not even a quarter-final–” Mr Zweig turned to you– “Was it four years at Stanford that taught you to execute your plans for your life?” 

The condescending tone in Mr Zweig’s tone made you open your mouth to protest, but Patrick beat you to it. “Three.”

Mr Zweig frowned. “Pardon?”

“Three years at Stanford. She graduated early,” Patrick explained. 

Mr Zweig’s mouth pursed, and, for a moment, he looked just like Patrick. “Yes, well. Perhaps it has more to do with Miss Y/L/N’s character and persistence than her educational background.”

It both warmed and hurt your heart that Patrick was always proud of you, uplifting you and your hard work even while being berated by his father. Even though his mother seemed to care for Patrick, she never stepped in to defend her son, and you were beginning to understand why your boyfriend didn’t want to come in the first place.

Being there made you realise how lucky you were to have someone on your side in your family. Growing up, your mother put an incredible amount of pressure on you and only ever pointed out your flaws and deficits. Your father, on the other hand, was gracious and encouraging, never failing to remind you that all that mattered was your happiness and well-being. Standing in Patrick’s childhood home and understanding how isolated he was his whole life gave you a new outlook on how Patrick approached relationships. 

Mrs Zweig noted the mounting tension between her husband and only son, placing a hand on Mr Zweig’s arm to capture his attention. “Dear, the Caldwells are waving us over. They’ve been on the fence about that merger because of the financial implications, we ought to–”

“–Yes, of course,” Mr Zweig agreed, rushing off with his wife.

Once they were gone, Patrick finally relaxed. You watched as his clenched fists slackened, the tension draining from his knuckles as he exhaled slowly. The rigid set of his shoulders eased, his chest rising and falling in a steadier rhythm as he consciously slowed his breathing. Patrick’s jaw, previously tight with suppressed anger, gradually relaxed, and a faint, calm expression returned to his face. You stepped forward to comfort him, a hand resting against his cheek as you sent him a mixture of a consoling smile and a wince, sympathising with your boyfriend.

“That was brutal,” Alex mentioned bluntly, ruining the moment. Patrick shut his eyes, kissed your cheek appreciatively, and turned to his cousin. “Man, am I glad I joined the family business. Anyway-” Alex smirked, taking out a silver flask from his pocket– “I’ve got the hard stuff if you need it tonight, Patty. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Nice meeting you,” you said politely as Patrick’s cousins excused themselves to greet some of the other guests. Turning to face your boyfriend, you gently took his hands and smiled sympathetically. “So, those were your parents…”

When Patrick spoke, his voice was low and strained, lacking its usual energy, “Charming, aren’t they?” His normally bright blue eyes had dulled, and the corners of his mouth were turned down, betraying his disappointment. You squeezed Patrick’s hands reassuringly as he sighed heavily. “Believe it or not, that was one of the most civil conversations I’ve ever had with my father.”

“I think I know what you mean,” you admitted. “Ever since my parents divorced a couple years ago, I’ve been able to avoid my mother for the most part. Once in a while, she reaches out and says she wants to catch up, so I meet with her.” Patrick rubbed his thumbs along the back of your hands, nodding for you to continue. “Every single time, she criticises and belittles me instead of trying to find out what’s going on in my life. Eventually, I stopped replying to her texts.”

“Parents, huh?”

“Parents,” you agreed. “Now–” grinning and changing the subject, you put your hands on Patrick’s biceps and kissed him– “Which of these tiny little tarts that I keep seeing on trays is the least disgusting?”

Your efforts were rewarded with rambunctious laughter, and it was nice to see Patrick smile again. “Stay away from anything green, they’re probably spinach or broccoli tarts,” he advised. You grimaced simultaneously. “The best ones are the mushroom tarts, and I know for a fact that my mom keeps backup trays in the kitchen because they’re so popular.” Patrick raised an eyebrow suggestively. 

“To the kitchen,” you proposed, laughing when Patrick peppered kisses across your face before tugging you out the door. 

You wondered if Mr and Mrs Zweig would rescind their approval of you if they could see you sitting on a countertop in their maid’s pantry, hiding with their son as you both ate an entire tray of mushroom tarts by yourselves. You had kicked your heels off, and Patrick had removed his tuxedo jacket and tie, unbuttoning several buttons on his shirt to be more comfortable. The kitchen staff seemed to know Patrick well, and they didn’t bat an eye at him hiding in the pantry, so you assumed this wasn’t his first time escaping his parents’ events. 

“How much time do you spend in here?” you wondered, glancing around the maid’s pantry with an amused grin. “Nobody seems surprised that this is your hiding spot of choice.”

“When I was younger, this was always where I went during parties,” Patrick admitted, passing you another mushroom tart and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I used to be too short to sit on the counter, so one of the maids would bring me a stepping stool.”

You laughed, picturing a young Patrick needing help to climb onto the counter to hide from his parents’ obnoxious guests. “That sounds just like something you’d do.”

“One time, Art came home with me for Christmas break, freshman year, and the two of us spent the entire night here while my parents entertained some insufferable family friends and their horrendously irritating dog,” Patrick recalled, shuddering at the memory. “I think it was the first time we got really drunk because we stole something disgusting from the alcohol cabinet.” He chuckled, a fond smile gracing his face. “Art threw up all night long, and I had to pretend he had food poisoning from the brussel sprouts. I think my parents were more concerned about him than they ever were about me when I got sick.”

Your heart dropped at Patrick’s last comment. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

He shrugged noncommittally, trying to appear like his words didn’t affect him. You knew from Patrick’s furrowed brows and pensive expression that his childhood memories still plagued him. 

“The second I realised I had any talent for tennis, I knew it had to be my way out,” Patrick said, placing his hands on your thighs and glancing down as he swallowed harshly. “Turns out talent only gets you so far, though.”

You paused, biting your cheek as you tried to decide whether to speak up or not. While you and Patrick didn’t constantly argue, you did have one disagreement that came up frequently, especially since the ATP and WTA seasons started at the beginning of the year. 

You thought Patrick needed a coach. 

Thanks to your exclusive Nike endorsement, you hired a great coach—recommended by your favourite coach at Stanford—and you had nutritionists and trainers whom you saw almost every day. Without the same funds, Patrick was playing professionally without a coach or team to support him. Even though he was talented and hard-working, it was almost impossible. Patrick was going up against players more experienced than him every tournament, and they all had huge teams at their disposal to help them win. The only person he ever had in his player’s box was you, and sometimes you couldn’t make it because of your own matches. 

On those days, Patrick had nobody cheering him on in his box. 

“You don’t have to get by just on talent,” you said carefully. “I could give you the money for–”

“–No, absolutely not,” Patrick interrupted before you could even get the words out. “I love you, and I know you’re just offering because you want me to succeed, but I have to do this on my own,” he insisted. “Once I start making enough money, I’ll get a coach, trainer, physical therapist, and whatever else you think is necessary. But I want to earn it myself.”

“You would be earning it yourself,” you disagreed with Patrick’s viewpoint. “I don’t have the kind of money to throw at trainers and coaches that they would work with just anyone. If I helped you hire a coach, they would only sign on because they want to be on your team–because you’re an incredible player who has so much potential.”

“I know you’re just trying to help, but I’m sure this is how I want to do it, pretty girl,” Patrick declared. “I love you, and I love how annoyingly persistent you are, but you know I can’t accept that. Besides, you know I’m not the disciplined, stick-to-a-schedule guy. That’s just not me.”

In all honesty, the main reason Patrick kept denying your offers was that he agreed with his father to some extent. It was true that Patrick had never gone to college, had a part-time job, or done anything that would have hindered him from excelling in the professional tennis world. He should have been doing much better in his fourth year on tour. It was difficult to see other American tennis players rise in the rankings while he dwindled at the bottom, occasionally doing so poorly in a tournament that he wasn’t ranked highly enough to participate in the next one. 

Admittedly, things worsened when Art stopped being his friend, and Patrick started ignoring your emails. But the two of you had been dating for almost a year. Having you in his life – actually getting support at his matches and not spending every day feeling lonely and discouraged – should have been the fuel and motivation Patrick needed to get his shit together and start climbing the rankings. He didn’t want to be one of those players who won the Junior tournaments and then faded into oblivion once he went pro.

Most importantly, Patrick only had one more year until Art graduated from Stanford and joined him on the ATP tour. 

“So, what’s it like being a Kennedy?” you joked, changing the subject and emphasising Patrick’s lavish upbringing. 

Patrick chuckled, brushing the crumbs from your dress and placing his hands on the counter on either side of your legs. His lips had curved into a soft, affectionate smile. The kind of smile that lit up his entire face and made his eyes sparkle with fondness. Patrick’s smile had a way of making you feel cherished, the tenderness in his eyes and the slight tilt of his head conveying his deep affection. You mirrored Patrick, putting your hands on his shoulders and tilting your head while you grinned. 

“It wasn’t too bad for the first few years. Luckily when my dad started getting really intense about following his footsteps, they sent me off to boarding school and I had some semblance of freedom,” Patrick admitted. “I met Art, figured out that I was fucking great at tennis, and appreciated the fact that my parents rarely called to ruin my day. Being away from this house was a blessing. It’s all just a little much. The cooks, the maids, the servers, the Francis Bacon painting…”

“The painting is amazing, but it doesn’t really feel like your parents,” you said, squinting as you tried to express your thoughts eloquently.

“It’s not so much that they actually like the painting, they just like telling people they have a Francis Bacon,” Patrick agreed, rolling his eyes. “The night we met, you said something about your mom having a grand piano that’s so precious and historical that she won’t let anyone play it,” he recalled. “It feels like everything in my house exists to be seen by other people–to make them jealous. Even me, growing up. Not so much these days, but I actually prefer it that way.”

You nodded. “It’s a really big house for three people,” you added, wondering how Patrick felt growing up as an only child with an entire floor between him and his parents. “It’s gorgeous, but it doesn’t really feel like anyone lives here.”

“I would never do that for our kids,” Patrick declared. He sounded so sure, so fed up with the house he grew up in, that it startled you. You had no idea that he thought about having kids, nonetheless having them with you. “I want our house to be smaller. Not so small that they don’t get a room to themselves, but something with one dining room and one living room. I always hated not knowing where my parents were because of how huge the house was. When our kids call for us, I want us to be able to hear them,” he explained. 

You could feel your face heating up, suddenly dizzy. It made you flustered to hear that Patrick had such a concrete plan for your future. Not in a bad way; you were happy that when he pictured his life in ten or fifteen years, you were a part of it. You felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach, the familiar feeling of butterflies making you giddy with anticipation of your future with Patrick. Your mind raced with thoughts of him, a constant barrage of images of Patrick cooking dinner with you and driving your kids to school. It made it hard to focus on anything else, and your boyfriend noticed your lack of attention on him. 

“I haven’t freaked you out, have I?” Patrick wondered. 

Your hands, already on his shoulders, pulled Patrick closer as you kissed him. Eyes shutting in bliss, your fingers pressed into the fabric of his button-up shirt as he dragged his hands from the countertop to the small of your back. Patrick whispered your name against your lips, his weight pressing into yours as you both tried to fill an uncontrollable ache. You yearned to be close to him, always yearned to be with him and feel him against you. Hearing him discuss your future, one you wanted just as much as Patrick did, ignited a flame of want that was more desperate than anything either of you had felt before.

“I’m going to marry the fuck out of you one day,” Patrick declared, all tongue and teeth as he kissed you. 

You laughed at his enthusiasm. “Sounds good to me.”

You weren’t sure how it was possible, but it had been almost a year since you started dating Patrick, and you were still in the honeymoon phase. Every day felt like a new adventure, and Patrick brought you so much joy and excitement that you never wanted to be without him. You had graduated less than a week ago and were temporarily living at your dad’s place – your childhood home, which he got in the divorce while your mother moved abroad – with Patrick. It didn’t make sense to get your own place when you would be travelling for the rest of the year, and it was nice to spend time with Patrick and your dad.

The two of them clicked instantly, and your heart warned as you watched their growing friendship. You were so pleased that Patrick finally had a positive male role model, someone who encouraged him, gave him tips to improve his tennis game without judgement and learned the recipes to his favourite meals so Patrick could have a taste of home.

For your whole life, you were grateful for your father. Now, Patrick got to see why. 

The initial spark of your relationship hadn’t dimmed but grew into a steady, glowing flame. When you first started dating, you were worried that everything was intense and explosive because you and Patrick waited for so long before getting together. Maybe it was the anticipation that made your first night together so great, and you didn’t know how to keep chasing that suspense. You were scared that the butterflies and racing heartbeats would go away when the novelty of your relationship wore off, but they were still going strong. 

Patrick just understood you.

He knew you and saw you, and he loved you. It was almost otherworldly, like he could peer into the essence of your being and recognise all your intricacies and quirks. Patrick always wanted you close, keeping a hand on the small of your back, your leg, or holding your hand to maintain contact with you. The two of you were connected in every sense of the word. 

Sometimes, you slipped back into the mask you created for yourself growing up – the one you used in tennis and to please your mother – but Patrick always saw beyond the surface, recognising your true self and making you feel accepted. He understood your silence and laughter, the moments of vulnerability you guarded so fiercely and the dreams you spoke of in hushed tones. You trusted him with your every thought and fear, and he soothed every wound and made them better. 

You fought, especially when you drew back because you were scared of how much you loved him, but Patrick always came back and made the first apology, even when it wasn’t his fault. You hated the word perfect and everything it entailed, but there was no other word to describe him. Patrick was perfect. He was fiery and passionate, and you needed him.

It was as if Patrick had a superhuman assurance that you belonged together. While you had loved Art and thought he could be the one you ended up with, Patrick waited and was never deterred. He always knew you would return to him, so he didn’t worry about it now that he was your boyfriend. Amid the chaos of your breakup with Art and the end of your friendship with Tashi, your mind always drifted back to Patrick, the one person who had always been there for you to talk to in your emails. The night in the hotel a year ago when you ran into Patrick again was like running back home. 

He was your guiding light, and reuniting with him was the only thing that made your life feel like it had purpose, love, and warmth again.

After kissing your lips three more times, Patrick pulled away. His cheeks and ears were flushed a deep pink, and his lips were slightly stained with your lipstick. You reached up to wipe the colour away as Patrick watched you carefully. 

“Would you really want to have kids with me? Me?” His voice was filled with awe and desperation, longing for a future with you that he truly believed in. “You can see us having a family?”

You nodded, your heart racing like it always did when Patrick was nearby. “You’re the only one I see it with,” you promised. 

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐙-𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍. 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑𝟏, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟎𝟑:𝟏𝟓𝐏𝐌.

“What if she hates me?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you stared at the closed door of the Donaldson family suite. You were too worried about impressing Lily to think about how you had just yelled at the man beside you a couple nights ago. 

“She won’t.”

You gasped as your thoughts spiralled. “What if she thinks I’m boring? Like, what if she looks at me and thinks I’m the least cool person she’s ever seen?! I genuinely don’t think I could live with the shame.” Art let out a hearty laugh, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his amusement. “I’m not kidding, Arthur!” 

Art felt a little jump in his heartbeat when you called him by his full name, just as you used to affectionately do in college. “She’s six. If she thinks you’re uncool, she’ll probably forget about it in an hour,” he retorted. His pale blue eyes sparkled as he scanned your nervous expression. “Besides, Lily already loves you. She’s incredibly bored by anything to do with tennis, but she watches your matches sometimes.”

You frowned, nodding reluctantly. “Is it weird that I’m intimidated by a six-year-old?” you wondered. 

“Not at all. Six-year-olds are terrifying,” Art confirmed. “But Lily’s great and she’s going to love you. She already does, remember?”

“I have to point out that you’re incredibly biassed when you say your kid is great,” you interjected. “But I see your point.”

“Ready?” 

When you nodded, Art opened the door and let you in the suite first. “Y/N!” Tashi’s mother greeted you.

“Mrs Duncan,” you said, gasping at the sight of her. “It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

When she pulled you into a warm hug, you let her. Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt a second of bliss in the motherly love Mrs Duncan always provided you with. She had been like a second mother to you in your teenage years, and you were relieved to see that she was healthy and happily taking care of Lily. 

“Lily, there’s someone who wants to meet you,” Art declared when you and Mrs Duncan finished catching up.

You felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach, the familiar feeling of nervous butterflies. Mrs Duncan squeezed your hand and nodded encouragingly before excusing herself. Your heart pounded with nerves and excitement as you turned around and saw Art sitting on the sofa beside his daughter. Lily Donaldson, a small figure with curly brown hair that looked just like Tashi’s in childhood pictures, had an inquisitive expression and was the picture of your former best friend.

Your breath caught at the sight of her curious eyes. There was so much Tashi in her, and you felt like crying as you realised you never saw her grow up. 

You and Tashi never spoke sentimentally about much other than your future careers and goals growing up, but you always said you wanted to be like aunts to each other’s children.

“Hi Lily,” you greeted her, forcing a warm smile to mask the melancholic nostalgia in your voice. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. You look just like your mom.”

Lily’s brown eyes widened when she recognised you. “You’re Y/N,” she said, her voice high and clear as she grinned excitedly. Her voice was so sweet that your heart immediately softened at the sound of it. 

You laughed, kneeling down to her level in front of the sofa. “That’s me!”

“You’re the lady from the TV and the pictures,” Lily added.

You paused. “Pictures?”

Lily nodded enthusiastically, glancing up at her father for confirmation. “Mommy and Daddy have pictures of you at home. You have the same smile but your hair’s different,” she recalled.

Your eyes shot to Art in surprise. He avoided your gaze, cheeks turning pink as his daughter exposed him and Tashi for having pictures of you. A wave of relief washed over you at the thought that your former best friend and college boyfriend kept your memory alive in their house, regardless of how much time had passed. 

“I know she’s your favourite tennis player, but she’s also my friend,” Art introduced you, smiling encouragingly at Lily from his place beside her. “She’s the one who taught me to make all those bracelets we make together, remember?”

“That's right,” you agreed, smiling softly at Lily. “I used to know your parents a long time ago. I was your mommy’s best friend for five years. That’s a long time, right?”

Lily seemed to consider this. You held your breath as she looked at you. You weren’t sure what she was looking for, but you hoped she would like you. You had no idea why you needed a six-year-old’s approval, but it meant a lot to you. Her eyebrows pulled together, and nose scrunched, and your heart warmed at the familiar expression. In college, you had spent countless hours studying with Tashi, and she had an identical look of intense focus on her face that mirrored Lily’s.

Lily had obviously inherited her mother’s features and mannerisms.

“You don’t have any friends,” Lily accused her father, turning her head and frowning at him. You chuckled shortly, not having expected her response. 

Art frowned, scoffing. “Of course I have friends,” he replied, playfully offended. 

Lily giggled. “I’ve never seen them,” she disagreed. Art joined in with his daughter’s laughter, amused and pleased that she felt like she could be herself around you. 

As the initial nerves began to melt away, you found yourself sitting on the sofa with your ex-boyfriend’s daughter between the two of you, engrossed in conversation. Art sat on Lily’s other side, watching you interact with a contented smile. As he watched the two of you speak, his heart swelled with relief and joy. Art and Tashi always knew that you and Lily would get along, imagining moments like this where laughter and genuine connection bridged the gap between past and present. Seeing Lily’s eyes light up as she talked was a dream realised. The ease with which you both fell into conversation and how she nestled comfortably beside you on the sofa made Art realise just how much he had wanted this introduction to happen. 

“Do you like movies?” Lily questioned suddenly, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“I love movies,” you emphasised, matching her vivacious energy. “What’s your favourite movie?”

“Spiderverse,” she declared immediately. “I’ve watched it a hundred times!”

“Me too! I love the colours,” you said, smiling at how Lily seemed to light up at the mention of her favourite movie. “I like Spider-Ham best, he’s really funny.” Lily laughed in agreement, nearly bouncing in her seat with excitement. “Would you like to watch it together?” 

“Yes!” Lily nearly shouted. “Can we, Daddy?”

Art smiled and nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s all watch it together,” he agreed readily. 

As Art set up the film on the hotel TV, Lily leaned close to you. “Thank you for watching with me. Daddy’s always busy with tennis so I usually watch it with Mommy.”

Her sweet, cherubic smile caused your heart to swell with affection. You had felt yourself melting at the sight of Lily’s tiny hands clapping in glee, her laughter filling the room with happiness.

“Thank you for letting me join,” you replied, raising your hand for a high-five, which Lily happily obliged. “I’m usually too busy with tennis for movie nights too. I’m really happy to be here with you guys.”

“It’s good to have you here,” Art added. His tone was soft and fond as he admired the picture of you and Lily on the sofa together. 

Less than an hour into the movie, Lily’s head lolled onto your shoulder as she fell asleep. Chuckling quietly, you glanced sideways at Art, who grinned widely.

“I would definitely have kids if I could guarantee they’d be as adorable as her,” you declared, shaking your head in disbelief. “She’s such a sweet kid, Art. You and Tashi did a great job.”

“It’s easy with Lily,” Art waved off your compliment. “I know you think I’m biassed, but she’s the greatest kid in the world.”

“Definitely. She’s got a halo and fluffy wings,” you agreed.

It felt really good to talk to Art like this again. You had broken up over ten years ago but never managed to return to being friends, so this was nice. When you were together in college, it was easy to talk to Art about anything that was on your mind, and this was the closest thing you felt to that comfortable flow of conversation in years.

The decade between that moment and your break up had created a comfortable distance, allowing you both to speak more freely without the weight of past emotions. Art reached for the remote and turned down the volume, letting the movie play in the background as you chatted quietly.

“Did you ever think you were going to have kids with Patrick?” he wondered, putting his shoulder on the backrest and leaning his head onto his hand. “You definitely don’t have to answer that if it’s too personal.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “Of course, I thought I was going to have kids with Patrick. I thought about it all the time. Someone with his curly brown hair, or his eyes, or his smirk.” 

Art sucked in a breath. He wasn’t surprised to hear it, but it was a little painful nonetheless. Even though the two of you never talked about kids or marriage when you were together – aside from him and Tashi jokingly calling you Mrs Donaldson during your freshman year of college – Art always assumed you were the woman he would have a family with. 

“Really?” Art replied, trying to keep his tone conversational. “I never knew Patrick thought about that kind of stuff.”

“He thought about it a lot,” you insisted, smiling sadly. When you were together, Patrick would bring up the topic of your kids and home at least once a week, if not more. Regardless of the hardships in your lives and careers, his dream for your future together persisted. “He always said he wanted our family to be different from his. Smaller house, more people, more warmth, a rescue dog. I think it was almost therapeutic to imagine a future where he could raise happy kids.”

Art nodded, mumbling, “Fair enough.”

Throughout his friendship with Patrick, Art only met his parents a handful of times, and they were always much kinder to him than their own son. 

“The day I moved into my house, I looked around and went inside all the bedrooms, and I realised I bought the exact kind of house Patrick used to say he dreamed of raising kids in with me,” you revealed quietly. You had never confessed those words aloud to anyone, not even your father or Elora, your roommate from Stanford and one of your best friends to that day. “Then I got really drunk and tried to forget about it,” you added, chuckling lightly with Art. “But it’s one of those things I remember once in a while when I’m at home. I wasn’t even with him when I bought the house, but his ghost still haunts it.”

Art was surprised that hearing you talk about Patrick didn’t hurt his feelings. He had expected to feel jealous and insecure, but Art was oddly calm. The fact that you were willing to share the intricate details of your life with Patrick made Art feel like he had a chance to reconnect with you. He refused to live another ten years without having you in his life. 

What caught Art’s attention was how your eyes still sparkled with warmth and affection as you spoke about his former best friend. Regardless of how much pain Patrick put you through, especially the night of your breakup, it did very little to injure the memories of your happiness with him. It was clear that these moments of joy and laughter had a permanent place in your heart, untouched by the hurt that followed. 

Art admired your ability to cherish the good times alongside the bad ones, and he wondered if Patrick still had a chance with you. 

It was true that Patrick effectively ended your relationship by giving you the ultimatum to marry him, but you were the one who walked out in the end. Art knew with certainty that things would be different if you had agreed to Patrick’s proposal before he gave you the ultimatum. There was no question in his mind that you would be living in your house together, with kids of your own and the rescue dog you mentioned. It was a bittersweet notion. Art wanted you to be happy, but he wanted to be the guy you lived out this fantasy with.

“Are you sorry you rejected his proposal?” Art inquired. He would never have asked you such a personal question three days ago. Now, as an animated movie played in the background and his daughter lay asleep between the two of you, it felt like you could be open with each other again. 

“Sometimes,” you confessed, biting your lower lip contemplatively. “I really believe it was the right decision at the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. If he had waited, say, six months or a year to ask me, I probably would have agreed. But the timing was off, and he was struggling with other shit, and I didn’t want him to see marrying me as the solution to his problems.” You turned your head and met Art’s gaze. “Are you sorry you proposed to Tashi?”

Art gave you a wistful smile. “Sometimes,” he echoed.

[fanfics4all]

Best Friend's Help

Request: Yes / No  Can you do a Dinah drake x fem reader smut please @alejandralovebug13​

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Dinah Drake x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1114

Warnings: Smut!

Y/N: Your Name 

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

My adoptive family was having a family reunion and I was really dreading having to go. I sat on my best friend/crush’s couch as I ranted about having to go. 

“And they’re just gonna ask me the same questions they did last year! Are you seeing anyone? Meet anyone special? Any lucky girl?” I groaned. 

“But isn’t it good that they care so much? They seem to finally be accepting you for you.” Dinah said, attempting to make me see the light of the situation. 

“Yeah I guess so, but it all seems forced. If my Mom wasn’t so supportive I would be getting kicked out of the family. She’s the only reason I was invited to the first one.” I sighed. 

“Yeah, the reason you were invited to the first one is because of your mom, but they wouldn’t put an effort into trying to get to know you.” She said and moved closer to me, curling her feet underneath her. 

“Look, they mean well and you don’t see them often, You’ll be fine.” She said and squeezed my hand. 

“Thanks D, sorry to keep ranting about this.” I said with a small smile. 

“It’s fine I was bored anyway, gotta keep you around for entertainment.” She smirked and I playfully shoved her. 

*Few Days Later*

“Dinah!” I called annoyed. 

“Y/N, hey, what’s up?” She asked with a smile. 

“What did you do?” I asked. 

“You’ll have to be more specific, I’ve done a lot of things.” She said pretending to not know what I was talking about. 

“My Mother just called me about a time change and at the end of the call she mentioned how she’s excited to see me and Dianah?” I said. 

“Right…that…” She said and I crossed my arms, staring at her. 

“Did you tell my Mother that we’re together?” I asked. 

“No! Well, yes in a sense. I was going to tell you tonight. I figured that I could get your family off your back if I pretended to be your girlfriend for the day. Your Mom called me asking me how you were doing and I just ended up telling her we were dating. She was very excited by the way.” She said. 

“You would really do that to me?” I asked with a shock. 

“Of course Y/N/N! You’re not mad?” She asked and I shrugged. 

“I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.” I said and walked off. 

Dinah and I went to the bar that night to relax. I couldn’t stop thinking about how she actually told my Mother that she was my girlfriend.  

“Are you sure you wanna do this D? It’s not too late to back out.” I said. 

“It’ll be fine, it might even be fun.” She said with a smile while leaning on the bar. 

“My Mother isn’t going to let this go so soon, you might have to do this for all of my future family endeavors.” I said. 

“I’m alright with pretending to be your girlfriend for more family things.” She said. 

“Yeah, maybe we should just actually go out, make things easier.” I said taking a drink then actually realized what I said. Dinah’s playful smile disappeared. 

“I’m totally kidding, sorry.” I laughed. 

“Would it really be that bad? She said and I stared at her. She smirked at me, downed her drink and placed some money on the bar. 

“Come on babe, let's go home.” She said grabbing my hand. The two of us wordlessly left the bar and quickly went back to her apartment. She kissed me as soon as we got inside and pulled me to the bedroom. We pulled our clothes off each other and returned our lips to one another. My tongue danced in her mouth, exploring every crevice. I put my hand on her waist and slowly pushed her onto the bed. Soft moans filled the room and I smiled slightly. I broke the kiss and moved down to her breasts. She moaned as my tongue swirled around her left nipple. I cupped her breast and kissed all over every inch of it. Once I was satisfied with the attention I gave that tit I moved to the other. By the time I was finished with her right breast she was breathing very heavily. I kissed her stomach and slowly moved down to her wet pussy. I slowly extended my tongue and took one long extended lock from the bottom of her lips to the top, before flicking her swollen clit. The taste was incredible, sweet almost. She let out a loud moan and screamed when I flicked her clit. 

“Fuck Y/N!” She moaned. I waited, wanting her to beg for more. After a few seconds she looked me directly onto my eyes. 

“Why’d you stop?” She asked. 

“I wanted to savor this moment, I’ve been dreaming about it for years.” I admitted. 

“You have?” She asked in shock. 

“Dinah, I fell in love with you years ago.” I said, my head still between her legs. 

“Oh my God.” She said. She reached down and pulled me to be on top of her. 

“I love you too, I always have.” She said and kissed me. This kiss was different from earlier, this one sent fireworks throughout my whole body. Finally I broke the kiss and smiled at her. 

“I think I need to finish what I started.” I said and she smiled back. 

“Yes, yes you do.” He said and I crawled back down her body. I started licking her sweet pussy. I slowly parted her lips, getting better access to her clit. Her moans of pleasure encouraged me to keep up my attack, it gave me a sense of power. As her moans increased I moved my fave closer, putting more pleasure on her wetness. Finally, after I’m not sure how long I pulled her clit into my mouth and slit two fingers inside her, searching for her G-spot.

“Oh fuck Y/N! Don’t stop! I’m so close.” She screamed. Seconds later I found it and she instantly exploded. 

“Oh yes!” She moaned. Her cum squirted out like a broken fountain all over my face as her body endlessly shivered. I eagerly lapped up her orgasm and it tasted amazing. Finally Dinah calmed down, her twitching subsiding and she was catching her breath. 

“Oh my God Y/N, that was the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.” She said and I smirked, moving up to lay next to her. 

“Take it as a thank you for helping me with the upcoming family party and any future ones.” I said and cuddled into her. 

Tag list: @les-bio-lie​ @tashy-bear​ @ashwarren32​ @hollie-blogs​ @schisbro87​ @lover-of-books-and-teas​ @nerdygaloresposts​ @teenwolfbitches2​ @genius2050​ @drw0301bieber​ @lady-of-lies​ @ravenmoore14​ @ravenempress101​ @cillianchamp​ @rowanthomasknapp​ @rachelxwayne​ @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @chonisbestmistake​

[dustedmagazine]

Jennifer Kelly 2020: I’m done expecting next year to be better

Not to belabor the point, which has been covered everywhere, but 2020 sucked. My last live concert was on March 7th. It was 75 Dollar Bill in a beautiful reconfigured industrial space on the Amherst College campus, and I already had questions about whether I should be there or not. The show was worth it, absolutely riveting, and no one I know got sick from it, but a couple of weeks later, Amherst College shut down and then, basically, the world.

When I think about 2020, I think about bands that don’t fully make sense unless you see them live, and how, this year, no one got to see them live. I think about musicians who were barely making it before, now cut off from concert revenues and, in a lot of cases, day jobs at restaurants, coffee shops and bars. I think about six-digit medical bills from multi-week COVID-19 treatments, and how my insurance will only cut that to low five figures. I think about the constant spew of bile and nonsense, the willful destruction of American institutions and the persistent sense that we will never recover from any of this, and I look for refuge.

Most of the time in music. Because the music kept coming even when everything else shut down. Even the artists who were holding back for better conditions ended up releasing EVERY ALBUM ON EARTH starting about September 18th. There was always music, good music, interesting music, beautiful music, and while that doesn’t compensate for a terrible year, it was something.

Here are 10 albums I loved best from 2020, with links to reviews or other articles I’ve written about them.

1. Gunn-Truscinski — Soundkeeper (Three Lobed)

Soundkeeper by Gunn-Truscinski Duo

A gorgeous exploration of mood and tone, this double CD set includes two extended live cuts and ten more recorded just down the road in Easthampton, Massachusetts. (And I thought nothing ever happened up here.) “Pyramid Merchandise” punches the hardest, John Truscinski balancing rock solid beat keeping with abstracted sculptures of percussive experiment, while Gunn finds the sweetness and the growl in his blues-touched guitar sound. But “Ocean City” is pure lovely respite, with big rounded notes dropping slowly and with grace through wavering transparencies of sustained tone. Long, searching, “Soundkeeper” will rekindle your longing for live improvised music, while the closer “For Eddie Hazel” vibrates with supercharged intensity, the notes and the steady rhythm too bright and beautiful to look at straight on.

2. Six Organs of Admittance — Companion Rises (Drag City)

Companion Rises by Six Organs of Admittance

Chasny imbues the down-home with wonder and the inexplicable with natural grace in this album inspired by stargazing. The album’s name references the way Sirius appears close to Orion, and the rollicking “The Scout Is Here,” commemorates the appearance of the Oumuamua asteroid, but this is no squiggle-y space opera. The music is mainly made of clean, all-natural picking, blues bends, and rambling jangle, though ruptured, periodically, by rushing, whooshing, amplified electronic sounds. Warm, simple clarity is tipped with awe in finger-picked “Black Tea,” while mists and mysteries predominate in evanescent “Worn Down to the Light,” but the joy comes in the balance between the ordinary and the unknowable shimmering like stars in a black sky.

3. Gil Scott-Heron and Makaya McCraven — We’re New Again (XL Recordings)

When the estate of Gil Scott-Heron asked Chicago composer, percussionist and hip hop chopper Makaya McCraven to reimagine the artist’s last, most personal album, McCraven jumped at the chance to tackle its themes of black struggle, black family and perseverance. McCraven surrounded Scott-Heron’s words with shimmering, post-jazz arrangements that incorporated some of his father’s recordings (his dad is jazz drummer Stephen McCraven) in an ongoing tribute to the blood relatives who shape and equip young black men for a challenging world. The music is wonderful, very different from the original, spare, blues-based arrangements, but they open out the master’s words in an illuminating way. I like, especially, the hustling, shuffling movement of “New York Is Killing Me,” which summons the city’s energy as clearly as the feel of heat rising out of a subway grate in August.

4. Obnox — Savage Raygun (Ever/Never)

Savage Raygun by Obnox

Obnox’s psychedelic mayhem roars like a California wildfire, setting a torch to rock, soul, hip hop, jazz and punk with fuzz-crusted abandon. Icons like Hawkwind flare out and curl into white-hot ash, while even Neil Young’s lick from “Southern Man,” is consumed in the all-encompassing heat of Lamont Thomas’ onslaught (“Young Neezy”). A double album, Savage Raygun covers a lot of ground, but in such a kinetic rush that it seems like one entity that stretched from end to end.

5. Anjimile — Giver Taker (Father/Daughter)

Giver Taker by Anjimile

Anjimile sounds beautifully comfortable with their new vocal range in this second full-length, which follows a gender transition. Pitched low and warm, their voice effortlessly navigates subtle melodies, integrating complex, African-leaning rhythms into songs about love, identify, family friction and the possibility of redemption through embracing one’s authentic self.

6. Osees — Protean Threat (Castleface)

Protean Threat by Oh Sees

John Dwyer has fronted bands called The O.Cs., The Ohsees, Thee Ohsees and now just Osees, evolving from a one-man bedroom pop outfit to a gleefully slopping garage pop project to a droning, krautrocking motoric monster along the way. This newest iteration takes a little of this, a little of that, from the repertoire, putting Dwyer’s best Bo Diddley-esque stomper in years (“If I Had My Way”) next to a wiggy psychedelic freak bomb called “Toadstool” which is adjacent to the dub-scented, narcotic head trip called “Gong of Catastrophe.” The mix works because Dwyer and his band commit to all of it, sequentially and within tracks. It’s the best Osees in years, all the good things in one package.

7. Sam Amidon — S-T (Nonesuch)

As always, Amidon starts with traditional, mostly folk and blues material and, as always, he transforms it into something more adventurous, spiritual and faintly otherworldly. With Shahzad Ismaily and Antibalas’ Chris Vatalaro to back him up, he breaks down the unyielding contours of pre-modern banjo tunes and porch blues, finding steady drones and complex afro-beat syncopations in their steady melodies. You can hear “Cuckoo Bird” a million times in a million different voices and never hear it as luminous and open-ended as here.

8. James Elkington — Ever Roving Eye (Paradise of Bachelors)

James Elkington is always pressed for time, maybe because he works regularly for so many other people’s bands (Richard Thompson, Jeff Tweedy, Spencer Tweedy) and collaborates with others (Steve Gunn). And yet his second solo album brims with balm and solace; he finds time in the interstices between warm, jazz-scented, Pentangle-esque verses and intricate flurries of picked and strummed and electric guitar. Even “Nowhere Time,” which exhorts “It is time for you to move,” has an ease and calm to it, while “Moon Tempering” is as still and lovely as winter starlight. Ever-Roving Eye is an album that assures us we’ll get it all done somehow, but just stop for a minute and listen.

9. Jehnny Beth — To Love Is To Live (Arts & Crafts)

This riveting solo debut from the Savages frontperson is both quieter and more intense than her full-band compositions, juxtaposing incendiary spoken word with the hedonistic thump of the dance floor. Guests are varied—Joe Talbot of IDLES at one pole, the actor Cillian Murphy at the other—but the music never drifts from Jehnny Beth’s singular viewpoint. Compare her to PJ Harvey or Beth Gibbons or Bobby Gillespie as you will (I did), but this is her 100%, and there’s nothing else like it.

10. Cable Ties — Far Enough (Merge)

Far Enough by Cable Ties

Australia churns out quality punk bands like the Hershey factory makes kisses, and Cable Ties, formed in Melbourne by four young rebels, ranks as one of the best to surface here in America this year. “Tell Them Where to Go” is the money track here, all rust-crusted bass crunch and ragged estrogenated vocal energy. But let’s not put them in the “girl band” ghetto. As I said in my review, “The easy thing would be to compare McKechnie’s vibrato-zinging vocals with those of Sleater-Kinney’s Corin Tucker or her verbal agility to Courtney Barnett, but the blunt force and agile violence of the music, brings to mind post-punk bands like the Wipers, Protomartyr and Eddy Current.”

Honorable mention

I also really enjoyed these albums in 2020.

Lewsberg — In this House (12XU)

Damien Jurado — What’s New Tomboy (Mamabird)

Bill Callahan — Gold Record (Drag City)

Mike Polizze — Long Lost Solace Find (Paradise of Bachelors)

Destroyer — Have We Met (Merge)

Decoy w/ Joe McPhee — AC/DC (otoROKU)

Thurston Moore — By the Fire (Daydream Library)

Tobin Sprout — Empty Horse (Fire)

FACS — Void Moments (Trouble in Mind)

Elkhorn — The Storm Sessions (Beyond Beyond Is Beyond)  

Howling Hex — Knuckleball Express (Fat Possum)

Wendy Eisenberg — Auto (BaDaBing)

Xetas — The Cypher (12XU)

Califone — Echo Mine (Jealous Butcher)

Chouk Bwa & The Ångströmers — Vodou Alé (Bongo Joe)

Shopping — All or Nothing (Fat Cat)

Bonny Light Horseman — S-T (37d03d)

Tashi Dorji — Stateless (Drag City)

The Slugs — Don’t Touch Me I’m Too Slimy (2214099 Records DK)

Dr. Pete Larson and his Cytotoxic Nyatiti Band — S-T (Dagonetti)

[mytentaclestash]

Wanderlust Vol.2

Volume one

(Volume two! This one is a bit more intense then the last one and includes, oviposition, reader as monster bait, hypnotism, altered mind state that the self-insert is prepared for, light stomach bulging and laying! I hope you enjoy!)

The road was good to you, the weather was clear and you made good time. Within a few days of your meeting with the satyrs you had made it to the Tangled Narrow, a strip of enchanted land where a densely grown jungle stood. According to legend it had defended a long lost border.

At the border where oaks and pines abruptly gave way to vines and a towering canopy was a guildhouse. It was large and well kept, teams of adventurers walked in and out from the path. You entered with them to find a large crowd was gathered around a board, it was elevated and a man stood on a thin platform nailing a piece of paper to it.

“Fifty gold for every Shortneck egg brought in!” The man called out. The crowd cheered buzzing with excitement as the teams broke off

You bumped into a woman. She wore heavy furs with a wooden mask, carved and painted to look like a gray wolf, propped up on her forehead. Her hazel eyes were piercing and intense.

“H-hi, sorry, but what's going on?” You inquired, a blush lightly dusting your cheeks.

“Shortnecks are laying, the crown is paying for the eggs.” She answered. After a beat she seemed to realize her answer wasn’t very helpful.

“Uh, Shortnecks are drakes that hypnotize prey, they’re dangerous to travelers.” She added.

You nodded. It would be nice to have all that extra coin for your travels but you weren’t sure if you were ready for the dangers of the adventuring.

“Tashi!” Two men weaseled through the crowd to join you. They also wore thick pelts and wooden masks as well, a sabertooth and stag. The masks were beautiful and ornate; the stag even had blue dyes in his pelts.

“Whose this?” The sabertooth asked. Tashi shrugged and looked to you.

You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, nervous to be the center of so much attention again, and told them your name.

“I’m Quinn.” The sabertooth, reached out to shake your hand.

“And I’m Fausto!” The stag offered a small wave instead.

“It’s nice to meet you,” They weren’t nearly as intense looking as Tashi. “So how do you get Shortneck eggs?”

Quinn and Fausto glanced between one another sheepishly while Tashi launched into an explanation.

                                                       ⇿

The jungle was humid, smothering you with heat. You trusted your pack and coat to your new companions, the charm hanging around her neck was heavy and gently glowing in the dark. Even though Tashi had assured you she wouldn’t be far, you felt incredibly vulnerable.

It made your heart hammer in your chest.

A groaning rumble sounded in the distance. It reverberated through the trees and rumbled across your bones making your fingertips tingle. As instructed you walked toward the sound, pressing aside foliage to clear your path.

The sound repeated and got louder the further you traveled. It was numbing, making your limbs feel heavy and you started to stumble through the jungle. The glide of leaves against your skin suddenly felt cool and sweet. A strange relief from the mounting heat.

The flowers started to glow as you went deeper becoming incredibly vibrant against the dark green of the ferns. Leaves were folding in around you, carrying your heavy limbs.

A line of faint blue dots crossed in front of your vision. They circled around you drawing closer and closer until a pair of bright blue orbs were floating before you. A pink, split tongue slithered out somewhere beneath them.

You were suddenly shoved, falling on your back and the fog over your senses lifted enough for you to see clearly.

The beast above you had a scaleless, glowing hide. Blue dots lined down either side of the creature from her neck to her thick, gecko-like tail. Fainter markings, in reds and greens, were painted across her back.

She was on top of you before you could even think to move.

Claws, sharp as thorns, scraped your skin as your pants were stripped away. You didn’t realise how wet you were until you were exposed to the air, it was strangely chill between your thighs.

She crooned softly, the sound soothing you. Your limbs felt they were melding in the ground beneath your back. So heavy yet your mind was floating.

The beast’s ovipositor dropped from between her legs, a light pink slick dripping from it. Heat radiated off her flesh nearly scorching you as she settled on top of you. Your legs fell open to accommodate.

Your body was a little more experienced to the push now and welcomed the warm, wet visitor. The rim of it was so soft, gliding inside of you with barely any stretch. A soft whimper left your lips and you attempted to writhe. It was too little, you needed more.

The beast purred and the world became nothing but a flurry of color. The feeling of the ovipositor inside you becoming more clear as it entered inch by inch. It started to excrete a tacky slime, attaching itself to your walls. Your hips squirmed as it solidified making you feel tight and uncomfortable.

Another coo and you were perfectly relaxed again. The connection between the both of you even started to feel pleasant. Teeth, sharp as thorns, prickled against the sides of your throat as she pinned you more firmly to the ground.

The first egg came down. Even with the ovipositor in place it felt electric, the semi-hard shell pressing against your opening. The tip entered easily enough but soon you were stretched around its thickest part. The drake on top of you purred around your throat keeping you still.

The ovipositor pulsed as it shoved the egg deeper inside you, dropping it into your deepest hull. It was heavy, settling strangely against your back.

Another egg dropped. Then another. They kept coming until your stomach started to bulge. 

A clawed paw gently pressed on your taut flesh, the eggs shifted around in your belly. You whimpered pathetically, almost afraid the eggs would fall out. And you had been such a good little host and the thought alone choked you up.

The beast cooed appreciatively before removing her claws and teeth. She sat over you for a moment before her ovipositor slipped out of you.

Your fingers buzzed with returning feeling as the beast wandered away and your companions swept in to gentle you. Tashi’s strong arms pulled your head up into her lap while one of the other’s put a blanket over you.

“You did great!” Fausto praised and it made you feel better about the forming ache in your back. You couldn’t lie, without the effect of the Shortneck on you you now felt  rattled but the gentle hands on your skin kept you floating.

“Do you want us to take the eggs out or would you rather try yourself?” Quinn inquired, his sabertooth mask pulled down over his face. You whined softly.

“Please take them out.” You requested instinctually reaching up to grab Tashi’s upper arms.

He gave you a brisk nod before moving to kneel between your legs and Fausto brought him a waterproof bag. His palm, warm and soft, gently rubbed the top of your waist while his other hand held your knee.

Fausto’s hands went to your stomach, carefully probing the eggs. The eggs sliding around inside your belly was such a strange, intimate, feeling. His deft fingers moving the eggs into position for Quinn.

A smooth callous rubbed over your clit. With a gasp you ground your hips up against it, his fingers sliding easily into your cunt. You could feel his digits searching inside of you, dragging against your walls while Fausto pressed on your belly.

A tip of an egg touched Quinn’s fingers. Its smooth surface was difficult to gasp but Quinn managed, helping to drag it out of your body.

The egg felt different coming out then it had going in. Your cleared mind could feel the unpleasant drag of the shell on your swollen pussy. Quinn said something that you didn’t hear and Fausto brought him a small glass jar. The cream inside was pearlescent white and you caught a whiff of the clean flowery scent as Quinn dipped his fingers into it.

A moan ripped itself from your throat when he smeared his fingers around inside you, the cream immediately soothing your worn out body. Your legs were trembling violently by the time he worked the first egg out of you, pink slick spilling out of you.

“First one’s the hardest.” Quinn soothed.

Two excruciating hours and a total of sixteen eggs later you were wrung out. Tashi gently swept hair off of your sweaty brow while Quinn and Fausto placed all the eggs into sacks. A steady hand held a waterskin to your lips and helped you drink, even keeping from chugging the cool, clean liquid too fast.

“If you’re alright with it, we’d like you to stay at our camp with us.” Fausto requested kneeling beside you, bouncing on his haunches a bit.

“I’m sure we can get you a room at the guild if you’d rather stay there.” Quinn offered hauling the eggs onto his back.

“I’d rather stay with you guys.” You mumbled tiredly. Tashi wrapped you in a cloak and picked you up in her arms.

“Awesome!” Fausto piped.

“We just got to make a pit stop at the guild to drop these off.” Quinn grunted under the weight of the eggs.

Tashi’s grip tightened around you and sleep quickly overcame you.

[manjushriwisdom]

Naropa

Naropa

Nāropā (Prakrit; Sanskrit: Nāropadā[1], Naḍapāda[2] or Abhayakirti[3]) [4] or Abhayakirti was born in Bengal, an Indian Buddhist Mahasiddha. He was the disciple of Tilopa and brother, or some sources say partner and pupil, of Niguma.[5] As an Indian Mahasiddha, Naropa's instructions inform Vajrayana, particularly his six yogas of Naropa relevant to the completion stage of anuttarayogatantra.

Although some accounts relate that Naropa was the personal teacher of Marpa Lotsawa, other accounts suggest that Marpa held Naropa's lineage through intermediary disciples only

"I, Naropa, Not seeing all things As the Mind of Clear Light, Made freedom almost unobtainable By naming it, “Tilopa Not understanding That I AM already The Mind of Clear Light, Sought the guru outside my Self. In Truth, The Guru Tilopa never existed Though I gambled everything To find him. Yet What did I have to lose? You and I Do not exist either…yet Here you are Reading about me. Where we are Does not exist either… But is merely a reply To the questions Being asked of the “I”. Emaho!!! The Mind of Clear Light Hasn’t a form Yet, you can see it everywhere! The Mind of Clear Light Hasn’t a voice Yet, you can hear It singing In all things! The Mind of Clear Light Doesn’t have a taste Yet, you never cease Licking it off your lips! The Mind of Clear Light Is disguised as Dust on the window sill, A chair, a table, And even your favorite coffee cup… All things are a pulsating pointing To a world in which Nothing exists. And soon you will say, “There is nowhere it is not! Beyond Words, Beyond Symbols, Beyond Religion, Resting on Nothing without Reliance, Remaining ever Neutral, Inconceivable, And in no need of Liberation. But when Past, present, and future Are all happening now… We tend to get ahead of ourselves. So, let’s slow down A bit With the story Of the Journey And the Path Which Led us here. But be prepared, When I Am done, Your eyes will open to find It is you in Buddha’s skin Twenty-six hundred years ago Is today…you are Awakening Under the Bodhi Tree. And perhaps, Looking at your hands, feet, the sky, And all around this strange new world You will whisper the truth that has always Been there hidden… As when all religion had fallen away from me And In that moment I knew: “My mind is the perfect Buddha, My speech is the perfect Dharma, My body is the perfect Sangha, There is no need To search for ‘Naropa’, “I Am” here."  -- Naropa

Naropa was a contemporary of Atiśa. Naropa was born in a high status Brahmin family of Bengal.[8] From an early age showed an independent streak, hoping to follow a career of study and meditation. Succumbing to his parents' wishes, he agreed to an arranged marriage with a young Brahmin girl. After 8 years they both agreed to dissolve their marriage and become ordained. At the age of 28 Naropa entered the famous Buddhist University at Nalanda where he studied both Sutra and Tantra. He gained the reputation of a great scholar and faultless debater, essential at that time as the tradition of debate was such that the loser automatically became a student of the winner. He eventually gained the title "Guardian of the Northern gate", engaged in many debates and taught and won many students.

According to his Tibetan namtar, or spiritual biography, one day, while he was studying, a dakini appeared to Naropa and asked if he understood the words of the Dharma, Buddha's teachings. He replied that he did and when she seemed happy with his response, he added that he also understood their meaning. At this point the dakini burst into tears, stating that he was a great scholar, but also a liar, as the only one who understood the teachings was her brother, Tilopa. On hearing the name "Tilopa", he experienced an intense feeling of devotion, and Naropa realised he needed to find the teacher to achieve full realisation. He abandoned his studies and position at the university and set out to find Tilopa. Naropa then underwent what is known as the twelve minor hardships in his quest to find his teacher, all the hardships being hidden teachings on his path to enlightenment. When he finally met Tilopa, he was given the four complete transmission lineages which he then began to practice. While studying and meditating with Tilopa, Naropa had to undergo a further twelve major hardships, trainings to overcome all the obstacles on his path, culminating in his full realisation of mahāmudrā. Naropa spent a total of twelve years with Tilopa. At the bank of river bagmati, in the premise of Hindu shrine Pashupatinath Temple , there is the cave where he was initiated by Tilopa and attained Siddhi.

Later in his life Naropa stayed in Phullahari, where he died aged 85. Phullahari or Pullahari was located most likely in eastern Bihar or Bengal.[9]

One of the few reliable historical accounts of him comes from a Tibetan translator named Ngatso Lotsawa, who made an effort to visit Naropa at the monastery of Phullahari while waiting to visit with Atiśa at Vikramashila.

The Six Yogas (or, more literally, Dharmas) of Naropa (ན་རོ་ཆོས་དྲུག, naro chö druk, Wyl. na ro chos drug), sometimes also referred to simply as the Six Yogas (ཆོས་དྲུག་, chö druk, Wyl. chos drug), are six sets of teachings and practices which originate from the Indian mahasiddha Naropa. They form the basis of the inner yoga practices of Mahamudra, as practised in the Kagyü and Gelug schools. They are:

Inner heat (Tib. གཏུམ་མོ་, tummo; Wyl. gtum mo) which is the root of the path. For a dzogrim practitioner this meditation on inner heat is like the root of the entire path. Without some experience of tummo practice, it is said, the various experiences (Tib. ཉམས་, nyam) of tsa-lung practice such as bliss, clarity and absence of thought will not arise.

Illusory body (Tib. སྒྱུ་ལུས་, gyu lü; Wyl. sgyu lus) which is the foundation of the path.

Clear light/luminosity (Tib. འོད་གསལ་, ösal; Wyl. 'od gsal) which is the heart-essence of the path.

Then in order to test the strength of, or assess one's progress in, the practice of clear light, there is the dream yoga (རྨི་ལམ་, Wyl. rmi lam).

For those who are unable to complete the practice of clear light because untimely death occurs, there needs to be one who picks them up, just as when one is travelling to a country such as France and one needs to be picked up at the airport. The practice which comes to 'collect' you is the practice of phowa (འཕོ་བ་, Wyl. 'pho ba).

Then, finally, the juncture which bridges the gap between past and future lives and provides a connection with the Zangdokpalri heaven of Guru Rinpoche or the pure realms such as Sukhavati (Tib. བདེ་བ་ཅན་, Dewachen), is the bardo. By applying the bardo teachings a practitioner whose practice isn't particularly great can transform their practice and become a great practitioner.

Tummo is very mystical practice who need preparation to be able to perform it properly.

What do we need to be able to perform tummo properly?

Our Lama instructions and empowerments

Bodhichitta because we doing tummo to realize buddhahood

9 breath instructions and mastery

We need to have finish our full ngangdro

Tsa Long instructions and practice

Tummo is extremely powerful practice, Lama Milarepa been able to realize budhahood in one life with it .

Tummo is part of the 6 yoga of naropa, tummo is very strong purification practice. This practice is also powerful to understand mahamudra.

" The mind, deluded by the appearance of samsara, Sees the faults of others with the senses. It is darkened by the prison of samsara; It is made intolerable by the fire of samsara; It is caught in the spider web of samsara; It is stuck in samsara as the bee is in nectar; It is encased in samsara like a silkworm in a cocoon. There is no substance to the hollow tree of samsara. Samsara is like the moon’s reflection in water, Without essence; Samsara is like an animal chasing a mirage; He who desires samsara falls into a pit. Samsara is like being trapped in the jaws of a crocodile; Samsara is like wandering in the land of the rakshas; Samsara is like a poisonous snake which destroys anyone who sees or touches it; Samsara is bordered by the precipice of karma; Samsara is like a wave in water, or fog; Samsara is tied by the lasso of karma; Samsara is bound by the seal of karma; Samsara is the density of darkness; Samsara is the deep mud of the three poisons; Samsara is the dance of impermanence; Samsara is the enchantment of this life; Samsara is the shadow of birth and death; Samsara is a merciless hunter; Samsara is snared by the hound of death; Samsara is a vast, sorrowful field of grasping and fixation; Samsara is the galloping horse of the eight worldly dharmas; Samsara si caught by the iron hook of desire; Why should I not search for the Lama While I have this precious, impermanent body"  -- Naropa

Namo Gurubhe Namo Buddhya Namo Dharmaya Namo Sanghaya, thank and tashi delek today we carry on the great mahasiddhas. Naropa teach us about many different things but three things on that teachings are central point of the kagyu teachings . Guru devotion, Samsara deception and Renounciation.

GURU DEVOTION :

Naropa show how guru devotion can change hardship to dharma, in fact Naropa show us how we shouldn’t give up in hard time with our guru devotion as key to open doors .

Samsara Decrption : Naropa teachings point as the Buddha himself did before him to the Samsaric deception by that meaning we hoping all for the happiness and putting so much on things that fall a part that we forgot putting our faith into Samsara is like liking a knife hoping be happy.

Renunciation: to find his guru he renounce to Titles to everything that even king’s were beging him. Like Naropa we must learn to renounce everything to get to the higher place what’s not values in our society.

[ngakpakonchokdorjetsondonmystic]

Naropa

Naropa

Nāropā (Prakrit; Sanskrit: Nāropadā[1], Naḍapāda[2] or Abhayakirti[3]) [4] or Abhayakirti was born in Bengal, an Indian Buddhist Mahasiddha. He was the disciple of Tilopa and brother, or some sources say partner and pupil, of Niguma.[5] As an Indian Mahasiddha, Naropa's instructions inform Vajrayana, particularly his six yogas of Naropa relevant to the completion stage of anuttarayogatantra.

Although some accounts relate that Naropa was the personal teacher of Marpa Lotsawa, other accounts suggest that Marpa held Naropa's lineage through intermediary disciples only

"I, Naropa, Not seeing all things As the Mind of Clear Light, Made freedom almost unobtainable By naming it, “Tilopa Not understanding That I AM already The Mind of Clear Light, Sought the guru outside my Self. In Truth, The Guru Tilopa never existed Though I gambled everything To find him. Yet What did I have to lose? You and I Do not exist either…yet Here you are Reading about me. Where we are Does not exist either… But is merely a reply To the questions Being asked of the “I”. Emaho!!! The Mind of Clear Light Hasn’t a form Yet, you can see it everywhere! The Mind of Clear Light Hasn’t a voice Yet, you can hear It singing In all things! The Mind of Clear Light Doesn’t have a taste Yet, you never cease Licking it off your lips! The Mind of Clear Light Is disguised as Dust on the window sill, A chair, a table, And even your favorite coffee cup… All things are a pulsating pointing To a world in which Nothing exists. And soon you will say, “There is nowhere it is not! Beyond Words, Beyond Symbols, Beyond Religion, Resting on Nothing without Reliance, Remaining ever Neutral, Inconceivable, And in no need of Liberation. But when Past, present, and future Are all happening now… We tend to get ahead of ourselves. So, let’s slow down A bit With the story Of the Journey And the Path Which Led us here. But be prepared, When I Am done, Your eyes will open to find It is you in Buddha’s skin Twenty-six hundred years ago Is today…you are Awakening Under the Bodhi Tree. And perhaps, Looking at your hands, feet, the sky, And all around this strange new world You will whisper the truth that has always Been there hidden… As when all religion had fallen away from me And In that moment I knew: “My mind is the perfect Buddha, My speech is the perfect Dharma, My body is the perfect Sangha, There is no need To search for ‘Naropa’, “I Am” here."  -- Naropa

Naropa was a contemporary of Atiśa. Naropa was born in a high status Brahmin family of Bengal.[8] From an early age showed an independent streak, hoping to follow a career of study and meditation. Succumbing to his parents' wishes, he agreed to an arranged marriage with a young Brahmin girl. After 8 years they both agreed to dissolve their marriage and become ordained. At the age of 28 Naropa entered the famous Buddhist University at Nalanda where he studied both Sutra and Tantra. He gained the reputation of a great scholar and faultless debater, essential at that time as the tradition of debate was such that the loser automatically became a student of the winner. He eventually gained the title "Guardian of the Northern gate", engaged in many debates and taught and won many students.

According to his Tibetan namtar, or spiritual biography, one day, while he was studying, a dakini appeared to Naropa and asked if he understood the words of the Dharma, Buddha's teachings. He replied that he did and when she seemed happy with his response, he added that he also understood their meaning. At this point the dakini burst into tears, stating that he was a great scholar, but also a liar, as the only one who understood the teachings was her brother, Tilopa. On hearing the name "Tilopa", he experienced an intense feeling of devotion, and Naropa realised he needed to find the teacher to achieve full realisation. He abandoned his studies and position at the university and set out to find Tilopa. Naropa then underwent what is known as the twelve minor hardships in his quest to find his teacher, all the hardships being hidden teachings on his path to enlightenment. When he finally met Tilopa, he was given the four complete transmission lineages which he then began to practice. While studying and meditating with Tilopa, Naropa had to undergo a further twelve major hardships, trainings to overcome all the obstacles on his path, culminating in his full realisation of mahāmudrā. Naropa spent a total of twelve years with Tilopa. At the bank of river bagmati, in the premise of Hindu shrine Pashupatinath Temple , there is the cave where he was initiated by Tilopa and attained Siddhi.

Later in his life Naropa stayed in Phullahari, where he died aged 85. Phullahari or Pullahari was located most likely in eastern Bihar or Bengal.[9]

One of the few reliable historical accounts of him comes from a Tibetan translator named Ngatso Lotsawa, who made an effort to visit Naropa at the monastery of Phullahari while waiting to visit with Atiśa at Vikramashila.

The Six Yogas (or, more literally, Dharmas) of Naropa (ན་རོ་ཆོས་དྲུག, naro chö druk, Wyl. na ro chos drug), sometimes also referred to simply as the Six Yogas (ཆོས་དྲུག་, chö druk, Wyl. chos drug), are six sets of teachings and practices which originate from the Indian mahasiddha Naropa. They form the basis of the inner yoga practices of Mahamudra, as practised in the Kagyü and Gelug schools. They are:

Inner heat (Tib. གཏུམ་མོ་, tummo; Wyl. gtum mo) which is the root of the path. For a dzogrim practitioner this meditation on inner heat is like the root of the entire path. Without some experience of tummo practice, it is said, the various experiences (Tib. ཉམས་, nyam) of tsa-lung practice such as bliss, clarity and absence of thought will not arise.

Illusory body (Tib. སྒྱུ་ལུས་, gyu lü; Wyl. sgyu lus) which is the foundation of the path.

Clear light/luminosity (Tib. འོད་གསལ་, ösal; Wyl. 'od gsal) which is the heart-essence of the path.

Then in order to test the strength of, or assess one's progress in, the practice of clear light, there is the dream yoga (རྨི་ལམ་, Wyl. rmi lam).

For those who are unable to complete the practice of clear light because untimely death occurs, there needs to be one who picks them up, just as when one is travelling to a country such as France and one needs to be picked up at the airport. The practice which comes to 'collect' you is the practice of phowa (འཕོ་བ་, Wyl. 'pho ba).

Then, finally, the juncture which bridges the gap between past and future lives and provides a connection with the Zangdokpalri heaven of Guru Rinpoche or the pure realms such as Sukhavati (Tib. བདེ་བ་ཅན་, Dewachen), is the bardo. By applying the bardo teachings a practitioner whose practice isn't particularly great can transform their practice and become a great practitioner.

Tummo is very mystical practice who need preparation to be able to perform it properly.

What do we need to be able to perform tummo properly?

Our Lama instructions and empowerments

Bodhichitta because we doing tummo to realize buddhahood

9 breath instructions and mastery

We need to have finish our full ngangdro

Tsa Long instructions and practice

Tummo is extremely powerful practice, Lama Milarepa been able to realize budhahood in one life with it .

Tummo is part of the 6 yoga of naropa, tummo is very strong purification practice. This practice is also powerful to understand mahamudra.

" The mind, deluded by the appearance of samsara, Sees the faults of others with the senses. It is darkened by the prison of samsara; It is made intolerable by the fire of samsara; It is caught in the spider web of samsara; It is stuck in samsara as the bee is in nectar; It is encased in samsara like a silkworm in a cocoon. There is no substance to the hollow tree of samsara. Samsara is like the moon’s reflection in water, Without essence; Samsara is like an animal chasing a mirage; He who desires samsara falls into a pit. Samsara is like being trapped in the jaws of a crocodile; Samsara is like wandering in the land of the rakshas; Samsara is like a poisonous snake which destroys anyone who sees or touches it; Samsara is bordered by the precipice of karma; Samsara is like a wave in water, or fog; Samsara is tied by the lasso of karma; Samsara is bound by the seal of karma; Samsara is the density of darkness; Samsara is the deep mud of the three poisons; Samsara is the dance of impermanence; Samsara is the enchantment of this life; Samsara is the shadow of birth and death; Samsara is a merciless hunter; Samsara is snared by the hound of death; Samsara is a vast, sorrowful field of grasping and fixation; Samsara is the galloping horse of the eight worldly dharmas; Samsara si caught by the iron hook of desire; Why should I not search for the Lama While I have this precious, impermanent body"  -- Naropa

Namo Gurubhe Namo Buddhya Namo Dharmaya Namo Sanghaya, thank and tashi delek today we carry on the great mahasiddhas. Naropa teach us about many different things but three things on that teachings are central point of the kagyu teachings . Guru devotion, Samsara deception and Renounciation.

GURU DEVOTION :

Naropa show how guru devotion can change hardship to dharma, in fact Naropa show us how we shouldn’t give up in hard time with our guru devotion as key to open doors .

Samsara Decrption : Naropa teachings point as the Buddha himself did before him to the Samsaric deception by that meaning we hoping all for the happiness and putting so much on things that fall a part that we forgot putting our faith into Samsara is like liking a knife hoping be happy.

Renunciation: to find his guru he renounce to Titles to everything that even king’s were beging him. Like Naropa we must learn to renounce everything to get to the higher place what’s not values in our society.