#/so i have lots and lots ive rotated through

[aamaranthiine]

Roleplay History

The rules are simple! Post characters you’d like to roleplay as, have roleplayed as, and might bring back. Then tag ten people to do the same (if you can’t think of ten, just write down however many you can and tag that number of people). Please repost, don’t reblog! Current Muses: Amalthea | The Last Unicorn Want to Write: Lester DeRosso | Bravely Default (3DS Game) - It's complicated though.. Zelda | The Legend of Zelda series Ezra | DnD OC - hope to add him to a multi blog. Ahru - Legend of Zelda OC - hope to also add her to a multi blog. And a few other One Piece OCs for said multi blog.. lol Have Written: (in terms of 'canons') Gajeel | Fairy Tail Roronoa Zoro | One Piece Eustass Kidd | One Piece Dracule Mihawk | One Piece Sigyn | Norse Mythology Inari | Shinto/Japanese Mythology and 20 years of Original Characters whom are way too many to list. I have primarily always written OCs and very sparingly did established character, usually only at the behest of friends. stolen from: @seaoftales tagging: points at you!

[arolesbianism]

Sometimes I just look at Isabeau and just know that if isat came out and I got into it when I was like 16 he would be my favorite character and I would've gone absolutely buck wild over this man and feel like he was laser targeting me. But alas Odile has a grip of steel on me rn due to her virtue of being a middle aged woman

[wanderingmoonmen]

hi there, I love your fics 🥺 any kennderland content soon?

I hope so!

At my 'new' (as if it hasn't been half a year already) job I literally cannot have my phone on me while I work so any of the little downtime I've had I can't write on my phone........

........so I've been hand writing it when I get the chance (featuring censor lizard)

[ edit: video and end of post below cut ]

The problem now is I have to sit down and write this up digitally which I just... haven't done it yet.

Thank you to those of you who have recently left kudos and comments! I do see them and it makes me happy and pushes me to try and get more stuff written.

[bunnyb34r]

I really hate movie theaters but I saw every hunger games movie in theaters and I'm really intrigued by the adaptation of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (especially since the book just came out like two years ago??) so 👀 might have to go

[worldofgoo]

i still sometimes have a lingering habit of trying to categorizing any given behavior as “adhd trait” or “autism trait”. irritating

[dreamstar-moonlight]

I have a lot of feelings but these guys summed them up pretty well imo

The issue is that some fans look at the show as "something Rick made" rather than "a show" and then turn around and look at the movies as "something that Rick did not make" rather than "the movies". Like, we're never going to have a good conversation about what makes a good adaptation unless you kill the author and leave him in the ditch.

The movies function great as movies. The show functions as shit as a show.

Not to even mention the weird ass cult of personality around Richard Riordan in the PJO and adjacent communities. People constantly and rightfully critique him for being shit at writing queer stories without turning them into 2023 Tumblr post, being horribly stereotypical at writing POC (and especially WOC), being biased as hell in writing women (which became even more obvious now that the show is out), being really weird about the cultures he chooses to "represent" (read: appropriate from and profit off without giving back), as well as his overall views, whether they are in the books or surround his space as a writer. Riordan isn't your kind Uncle, he's a millionaire that genuinely does not give a fuck about you. It's unhealthy to have such a strong parasocial tie with a straight white rich man that has in some way failed nearly every community he tried to write about (aside from the "community" of straight white people).

Whoever Riordan was when he wrote the first five books (hint: he was Not Rich), he no longer is. He lost fucking track of what made his books good because he barely writes his own stuff anymore because he's no longer putting in the effort. He doesn't need to, he's rich. He knows there are countless of fans that will "read it anyway" and "watch it anyways" and otherwise engage without considering pirating.

Media that has the least input from him (the movies, the musical) score as being better at capturing the spirit of his own books, and that should tell you something.

P. S. The first five books hold some sort of place in my heart, but I consider the rest of the franchise money-grabbing, clout-chasing trash. Mysteriously enough, his best post-PJO books are (likely) ghostwritten.

[be-good-to-bugs]

there is a god and he is cruel

[samwinchesterswifu]

You Shook Me All Night Long (Dean Winchester x Reader) Smut

Bunker seasons era

Song Inspo: "You Shook Me All Night Long" by ACDC

Warnings: literally the whole thing is just smut lmfao

MINORS DNI

A/N: ive been having TERRIBLE writers block. I dunno how happy i am with this one, so PLEASE let me know if this good smutty shit yall, thnxs for your endless support <3

Word Count: 1103

Summary: He surprises her with coming home early...but that's not the only thing he surprises her with.

The boys were away on a week long hunt. Since injuring her knee a few months ago during a Ghoul hunt, she’s decided to take a break from hunting to allow her body full time to heal. This allowed her a lot of time to make the Bunker a proper home for them. She would spend her weekends keep housing if the boys were still gone, then during the week she would spend time in the library cataloging or helping with research. Then, whenever Dean came home, she was hands on with focus. Her and Dean had been a thing for a little while. The stress of the job eventually breaking down the tough looking hunter asking her to be his life partner. She had happily agreed. There was no real label on their relationship, just two people who understood each other more than any other human.

It was a Sunday morning. Dean had called her the night before, informing her that they would probably be home Sunday night, or possibly into Monday. She was excited to see Dean. Since taking her leave, Dean coming home from these longer hunts added an extra excitement to their relationship. But knowing he won’t be home until as late as tomorrow, she treated it like any other Sunday.

Dressed in little shorts, a cute tank top that showed off her features she began her cleaning routine. Starting in the war room, making her way through the kitchen and then finally to the library. Music blasted throughout the speaker system of the bunker. Charlie had helped set her up with a Bluetooth connection to the old raggedy speakers one weekend while the boys were gone and they had a girls date. It was her little incentive to stay motivated.

One of her favorite 80’s song began on a new rotation of shuffle and she began swagging her hips to the beat of the song while spraying cleaner on the library tables, bending over to get all the way across. She was so distracted by the beat that she didn’t even hear the bunker door open. Dean had arrived home early as a surprise. Dancing around the tables, doing small spins or dance moves, Dean just admired her from a distance. He never got to see her like this. He dropped his bag down and with a thud she turned around to see him. Completely flustered that she was caught. The two of them just starred, Dean was practically undressing her with his eye making her squirm under his gaze.

Neither of them said anything as Dean strode towards her. Grabbing onto her hips, and pulling her tight to his chest. Breathing in the cheap cologne Dean always loved to wear, practically getting drunk off his sent alone. A grin creeps on Dean’s face and he sways the two to the beat. Eyes were locked on one another as he gave her a little spin before bringing her back into sway. A deep blush forms across her cheeks. She hardly ever saw Dean this way, usually this was after a good hunt and no one got hurt. Towards the end of the song, Dean crashes his lips to hers. This was a new hunger she hasn’t experienced. Sure, they’ve had make-up sex, ‘I thought I lost you back there’ sex, and so forth. But this was different, it was ravenous. Dean’s kisses grew heavier, teeth clashing as he drove his hands all over her curves.

At this point, her hips were pinned against one of the library tables. Dean broke away from her lips, kissing along her cheek and down towards the nape of her neck. Nibbling away at different spots along her collar bone. Small mewls and moans of pleasure leave her lips, earning a tighter grip of his hands on her. Dean leans down for a brief moment, hoisting her up by her legs to sit her on the table. He gently pushes her shoulders back on the hardwood, and continues to trail kisses down her clothed body. As he gets closer to her stomach, Dean shifts to be on his knees. Which was surprising. He places tiny kisses across her hips as he uses his hands to push open her legs. Dean yanks off her shorts underwear in a swift movement. Both pieces coming off together. This man was starving for her.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers looking at her pussy. His eyes drift back up to hers as he licked his lips.

In a split second, Dean was diving in. Lapping away at her folds like it was the most delectable fruit Dean has ever tasted in his time on earth. An orgasm was ripping through her body with moments. She tugs on his hair as he continues to coach her through the orgasm. But Dean wasn’t done, he was still at it. Moans echoed through the library and she felt so unholy. This is where men of generations came to learn about the monsters of her world, and yet her she was, bare ass on the same table as her man ate her out alive.

Another orgasm was on the horizon, and like the quick man that Dean Winchester is, two of his broad fingers are inserted into her folds. A shocked and rattled moan escapes her at the shock of surprise and pleasure. His fingers are going in and out like a jack rabbit. Dean occasionally curling them to reach her g-spot.

“Come on baby,” Dean whispers from his spot. This man was fucking edging her on.

Another finger inserted.

“If you want my cock, I’ll need another one from you,” his voice was demanding. And she was prepared to meet those demands.

His attack on her just sped up more, and more. While simultaneously sucking on her clit. But finally, she was close.

“Fuck, Dean,” she gasps. Tugging again at his strands.

“Don’t..stop,” breathing was labored and felt like she was about to see stars. She was there…she was right there…

Then there was nothing. The area Dean was just in was cold. Looking up in utter confusion, she sees her man pulled away. His chin shining with her cum and a shit eating grin plaster on his damn face.

She stutters.

“Y-you, you cant do that, please Dean.” The unpleasant feeling of an orgasm left unfinished pulsated through her.

“I’m gunna need you to last all day sweetheart, I’m not done with you yet,” He says as he gets up from his position.

Giving her a wink, he simply walks away leaving her baffled.

What the hell am I getting myself into.

[noyasmashing]

hellooo, i don't know if you do requests but ive been REALLY wanting to see this fiction come to life:

frat boy suna x nerd reader. they meet at a frat party when reader joins the blunt rotation going on. as things progress, suna enexpectedly gets the best sex he's ever had after being ridden on by the reader for the first time.

me oh my, this idea has me foaming at the mouth, thank you for the request ;3

Dom!reader x Sub! Suna

CW: p in v sex, unprotected sex, smoking and alcohol, degrading (slut is used a lot), cream pie, nudes?? (reader takes a pic of suna at the end)

The bass thumped through the air, mingling with the buzz of voices and laughter. Amidst the lively crowd, you stood slightly out of place, clutching your drink and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the pulsating energy around you. As a dedicated nerd and bookworm, social gatherings like this were definitely outside your comfort zone.

You watched from a distance as a group of slightly familiar college kids passed around a joint, their laughter echoing over the music. One of your many tipsy friends giggled noticing your stare. Firmly gripping your wrist as a smile tugged at her lips, “You want a hit?” She asked playfully, forcing to two of you to the small group gathered by the sofa.

“Heyyy, do you guys mind if we join?” She asked without a hint of nervousness, while you stood there, rather awkwardly.

One of the well known Miya twins immediately began flirting with your friend making you scoff. Looking at the sea of faces, one of the guys, with a mop of dark hair who you could have sworn was on the volleyball team caught your eye.

"Come on, [Name], loosen up and take a puff!" your friend encouraged, nudging you forward. Taking the half-smoked roll into your hand and feeling its warmth, you gently pressed it to your lips and sucked in.

After inhaling deeply, you briefly shut your eyes to savor the drugs effects before reopening them to meet those familiar yellow ones through your lengthy lashes. After passing the joint to the random person next to you, Suna spoke up in his usual monotone voice.

"I haven't seen you around before. You new here?" His eyes held a hint of curiosity as he glanced at you. You shook your head,

"Nah, I'm just don’t see the fun in parties," you replied, a smile forming on your lips, but it's not the usual grin Suna witnesses on the faces of the girls he typically charms. It's the type of smile he recognizes on the court, one that spells trouble.

"I'm Suna. And who might you be, baby?" he introduced himself, switching to his typical flirty voice - the one he reserves for girls. It's a tone that never fails to drive them wild and have them begging for him to fuck them in a matter of seconds.

But you, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes at his rather forward question, tipping your head back to finish off your drink before wandering off, hopefully to find something better to do.

You glanced over to see your friend practically making out with Osamu, already feeling ready to head home since you had plenty of homework to finish. As you put on your jacket and headed towards the door, you suddenly came face to face with the familiar dark-haired boy.

"Ready to leave, baby?" he asked, his well-built figure leaning towards you. You couldn't help but let out a laugh, a faint blush appearing on his handsome face.

"Why would I ever let you near me with that over used, excuse for a dick? I have no interest in dirty, worthless sluts like you."

"What did you just call me?" However, his reply lacked any form of retaliation. In fact, he sounded rather turned on.

You flash that menacing smile once more, leaning in closer so he could catch a whiff of your strawberry perfume. Slowly and deliberately, you repeat your words to him,

"Dirty. Worthless. Slut."

You tried to blame it on the weed, you really did, but you knew one hit couldn't have caused this. You found yourself sitting on his meaty thighs, his sweaty palms gripping your waist tightly.

Your lips crashed against his, his tongue exploring your mouth eagerly. Breaking away for a moment, he panted heavily while you smirked down at him.

"You're such a slut, Rin. Are you really going to hook up with someone you just met?" You scolded seductively. The heat in the room seemed to swell, making the atmosphere even more charged.

Despite your harsh words, Suna's body reacted to your degradation, thrusting up for more friction. He had been with countless women before, he watched squirm on his cock, and it bored him. He wanted something more, you were a challenge he couldn't resist.

You laughed at his pitiful state as he whispered, "I want to fuck you so badly." He couldn’t resist the embarrassment, hiding in the crook of your neck, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Maybe I'll let inside me if you're lucky," you teased, feeling his cock throb against you in response. But he wasn't about to give in so easily.

"Your the one who wanted to sit on top of me!" he argued, pulling away to meet your intense gaze. His brash words causing you to clench around nothing.

"Shut up, slut. Good boys don't speak unless I say so, got it?"

Your hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his baggy jeans. You could feel Suna's hips twitch as your hand brushed over his hard erection through his boxer briefs. He knew he must look pathetic, his cock eager and leaking precum, but he was finally turned on for the first time in awhile, and at the mere words you spoke.

Without even bothering to remove your skirt, you pushed your soaking wet panties to the side, ready to take his aching member inside you.

"Wait," he stammered, looking up at your half-lidded, seductive gaze that intensified his desire. "Don't we need..."

Instead of allowing him to finish, you lowered yourself onto his throbbing shaft, causing him to throw his head back with a moan. You attempted to laugh, but it emerged mostly as heavy pants of pleasure.

"Hmm. I don’t know you would worry about that sort of thing, I’m on birth control." you reassured him, though it diminished him slightly. Despite this, he couldn't help but thrust into you eagerly.

You mocked his helpless state, lifting your hips before swiftly driving them back down, fully engulfing him inside you.

"Aww, my little slut, you're getting excited, aren't you?" you taunted, maintaining your aggressive rhythm, which left his knuckles white and the tops of his ears red. He had never imagined his body would respond so intensely to something so humiliating. Yet here he was, already on the brink of climax.

"Y-yours?" he questioned at the possessive nickname, struggling to hold back his pitiful whines.

"That really does turn you on. I can feel you pulsing inside me," you replied, feeling his cock brushing against your tight walls, eliciting moans from both of you.

You placed your hands on his shoulders firmly, gaining more leverage to bounce up and down rapidly.

His face displayed intense pleasure, with half-lidded eyes, an open mouth filled with drool, staring up at you desperately.

Suna's heart raced so fast that he felt lightheaded. His back arched off the bed as waves of pleasure continued to crash over him.

"Let me come inside you, please. I-I want to fill you up," he desperately begged, his voice cracking with shameless desire.

"Alright, whore, I'll spoil you today, but don't get used to it," you coo’d, coaxing his orgasm out with steady, harsh thrusts that had him moaning loudly, oblivious to the people in the next dorm trying to sleep. He was too far gone to care, the sensation of filling you up while being degraded overwhelming him. Tears threatened to fall from his lashes as he whimpered even more.

You, too, felt the coil of pleasure unwind as you rode his trembling cock, releasing sharp grunts atop him.

You let him stay inside you as he recovered from the intense pleasure that overwhelmed him. Quickly you reached for his phone on the bedside table while his eyes remained closed, unaware of your actions. But the flash of his camera made those pretty eyes snap open in surprise as you captured a breathtaking photo of the scene before you.

“Send that to me, kay?”

Maybe parties weren't so bad after all, especially when they ended like this.

[genyawritesshizz]

Promotion - Sentinel Prime X Reader

Spending your days endlessly mining energon you yearned to one day be promoted. To finally free yourself from the frame aching work of the mines. Yet when you catch the optics of the Sentinel Prime, that promotion may come at a terrible cost, maybe you should have read the fine print.

Tbh it’s very little plot mostly just smut.

18+ ONLY

IVE NEVER WRITTEN FOR TRANSFORMERS NOR HAVE I READ MUCH FIC OF IT BUT I TRIED TO GET THE TERMS RIGHT BUT YA KNOW, ITS A LOT.

Possible part 2, we’ll see how this does.

WARNING: Dubious consent, emotional manipulation, Power Imbalance, (TBH Sentinel is a walking red flag), Sexual Coercion, Size kink, SMUT, Cybertronian reader,

This is essentially just robot porn I'm sorry to all my anime followers :(

The first time Sentinel Prime had set his optics on you he knew, much to his initial disgust, he wanted you. 

A miner. 

Of all the femme’s at his disposal the one that at last managed to catch his gaze was a cogless, bottom level, miner. 

“That thing?” With a snarled lip and multiple sets of trailing skeptical eyes, Airachnid's own revulsion was evident. Far down below the balcony on which they stood, walking the bustling city streets you at last returned to his hungry gaze. 

“Unfortunately so.”

Primus, what an honor it was to be within the presence of Cybertrons protector, the bot who single handedly protected all Cybertronians from the Quintessons; Sentinel Prime. 

After being approached by Arachnid and ordered to follow her you had initially feared you had broken an unknown protocol, resulting in a demotion. Yet much to your shock within the gold columned building you had been led to he was there.

The look of pure admiration within your optics as you stared up to him in awe coupled with the now quiet whir of your internal fans as your spark raced within his mere presence fed his already raging primal desire.

Such blind naivety.

"Walk with me. I’d like to discuss something important." His tone was warm but carried a weight of authority. One you could not help but blindly follow. 

The two of you stroll through the empty corridors, arachnid standing guard just outside of its entrance.

“Tell me, have you always felt bound to the mines? Or have you ever imagined something greater for yourself?" You shift, pace faltering a smidge, taken aback by his directness. You're proud of your work as a miner but can’t deny that you’ve thought about rising above this level.

"The mines are… Well, they’re home. I have my friends down there. But I’ve always wanted to do more…to make a real difference for Cybertron." 

Sentinel nods, his optics narrowing slightly. Searing blue scanned from the top of your dull paint chipped helm to your transfixed gaze, (noting how you subconsciously averted it away from him when noticing his search), down to your chin.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, signaling his satisfaction in finding whatever he had hunted for. 

Vulnerability suited you well.

"I could see that. You carry yourself with a strength that is rare, even among the most seasoned warriors." 

His confident stride deviates him closer to you and he lowers his voice just a touch. 

"Cybertron needs warriors with your spirit. And not just in the mines. In places where real change can be forged." 

His words spark something in you. Your gaze sharpened, instantly locking with his, the once thick humility gives way to a flicker of pride. 

‘Is he going to promote me?’ You hopefully thought. You had been working your frame down to the wire for the last few rotations in hopes of this.

Sentinel picks up the change in demeanor immediately. Before continuing his sweet talk, he comes to a complete stop and turns towards you.

His frame is significantly larger than yours, as to be expected when comparing a cogless to a Prime.

Though, the way he truly towered over you left you feeling far weaker than usual as he had to bend down significantly to reach optic level with you.

"Too often, talents like yours go overlooked down there. Others might not see it, but I do. Imagine if you were to rise up, to stand among those who shape Cybertron’s future. Those who ensure our planet’s place as the greatest in the galaxy." With each passing word he had leaned closer, faceplate now mere centimeters from yours.

Your spark fluttered. 

His venting flowed deliciously warm against your intake.

Proximity feedback signals fired on high and energon lines pumped furiously fast. 

Yet despite your system's shock at his actions, you could not look nor move away.

“You really think… I could be that?”

A set of servos planted themself around your lower chassis, their span long enough to completely wrap around you. 

Your servers struggled to process exactly what was happening, focusing solely on the swirling lights of blue that threatened to swallow you whole.

“I know you can.”

The digits ensnaring your waist tightened, pulling you flush against his wide frame. 

His helm delved lower, denta lightly nipping at the sensitive wires between the spaces of your minimal plating. 

The second you beeped in surprise then melted into his embrace, helm craning to the side allowing him further access, he knew once again. 

You were not going anywhere. 

But then again, why would you want to?

When your protector was so kind enough to show you, a nobody, such special affection. 

Never had you anticipated that you would ever find yourself within a Primes personal suite yet here you were. Sprawled out atop a luxurious berth, hidden away from the rest of Iacon city, with desires you had never even thought to dream of coming true.

Your gracious leader's frame was reduced to a hunched, yet still ever imposing, form as he kneels between your legs. Your modesty paneling had long since been retracted, revealing your array to his hungry gaze, and allowing you to relish in all the new sensations your Prime was bestowing upon you.

No, in all your cycles you had never found the desire to fragbond with someone. Yet now as Sentinel Prime’s silver glossa ravenously glides through the throbbing mesh of your valve and mouthpiece occasionally latching onto your external node you cannot believe your hesitancy for such pleasures. 

To think you had gone for so long without.

Not to worry, never again shall you ever have to suffer such a fate.

It is extremely out of character for Sentinel to give his partner's pleasure this way or in any way/to care about it. 

Normally he wastes no time in pleasuring others, he was a busy man after all. Instead focusing solely on his own release within others bodies then disposing of them.

But something about having you pinned beneath one of his arms, the other easily reaching over your head to hold your wrists down, the way you cried out for him, your Prime, and to be completely at his mercy…It has his spike twitching beneath his own paneling.

Savagely he feasts upon your now swollen valve, thick glossa entering your spasming opening, nose buried atop your external node.

“M-my, oh Primus! - My Prime I-” You were completely unfamiliar with the feeling boiling inside you, it felt as though a coil was winding. Each intrusion of his glossa only pulled it tighter.

“That’s right, say my name.” A smug smirk tugged itself into the corners of his faceplate before he delved back where you so desperately wanted him. 

You looked and sounded both pathetic and desperate.

He loved it.

“Sentinel!”

Overloading into the mouth of said mech was absolutely euphoric.

Though despite your high, he was left utterly displeased to hear you leave off the Prime in your cry.

He had earned that title.

It was his name.

You would learn the error of your mistake soon.

He did not ask permission to continue. 

Standing up from his crouched position, the grip that once held you down now flipped you onto your chest plate and dragged you towards the edge of his berth, allowing your legs to dangle off the edge.

Even on the tips your pedes you would still not touch the golden floor beneath.

Positioning your aft up into an arch he at last retracted his paneling, allowing his spike to spring free. 

Central processor still short circuiting under the throws of overloading, you did not even notice the shift in position.

Once your intake had returned to normal your mind followed suit, catching up to the reality of what was happening.

Yet it was too late to protest as something sickeningly thick prodded at your valve's still quivering entrance.

It felt like far too much.

Trying to squirm away from it you're met with a dark chuckle and thick digits atop your shoulder, easily pulling you back down into position.

“Where do you think you're going? We're just getting started sweetspark”

The moment the head of his spike entered, you felt an immediate sense of dread wash over and a cold shiver through your struts. 

“Too big...” Your vocalizer had barely returned, causing the whine to sound utterly pitiful, drowned in static and served only to feed Sentinel's ego.

“Hm? What's that?” Leaning over your form, faceplate centimeters away from your audio receptors, steam rolled with his words; fogging over the heaving metal of your shoulder plates.

“Frag…You-You’re too big.”

“Oh, do you want me to stop?” His tone was high in pitch and laced with manipulation. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Prime now would you?” 

A strangled whimper and a shake of your head ‘no’ gave little confirmation to his taunt in ‘permitting’ him to keep going, not that he cared whichever direction your response led. 

Even if you wanted to stop, you had no power to break away from him.

A deep, dominating, chuckle bubbled within his chest plate. “I thought not. You’re serving me, a great honor really.”

It felt like being pried open, the way his spike speared into your clamping valve was utterly painful. 

Despite your cries you attempted to stay still as the gold winged Prime behind you continued to push further. 

Each half centimeter only served to strengthen the burn.

Halfway in you had closed your optics, denta plates gritted tightly shut. 

“Take it all, I know you can.”

The same four words that once filled you with hope now filled you with burning heat.

You will take what he is so graciously giving you. 

Finally, after what felt like eternity, his entire spike was successfully sheathed inside. 

Though this was just the beginning.

“So tight,” Your body was clamped around the intruder in a vise grip. Desperately begging for it to be removed. “So small.”

His pace was brutally fast. The servos on your shoulder and hip kept you from escaping or sliding too far away from his attack. 

Surprisingly, after a few klicks, the tight inner calipers of your valve slowly loosened. His spike, now slathered in a combination of fluids, began sliding without much resistance. 

At last, a few surges of pleasure coursed through your system. 

Soon both of you were grunting, occasionally moaning. Though your sounds far outnumbered his. 

Your servos clenched into the smooth bedding atop his berth, surely tearing the fabric though in this moment neither of you cared. However it was something he would be sure to punish you for later. 

“You're mine, little miner.” His hips pistoned faster, slamming against your aft, surely to leave you sore. “All Mine.”

In response all you could do was hold on tighter, moaning louder with each intense slam.

“I’ll. never. let. you. go.” Each word sent another wicked surge into your swollen valve.

Blind sighted by the throes of pleasure bordering on overstimulation his words simply did not translate in your faltering audio receptors.

Though he meant every bit of it.

Helm falling back and a loud moan echoing throughout the gold-plated room, his overload blazed hot through his system. Filling your already stuffed valve to the brim with his transfluid.

Fans whirling on high, neither of you moved from your conjoined position for a few klicks.

After he's regained his senses fully, he removes himself from your valve, being sure to marvel at his work of completely ruining your once virgin body with a devilish smirk. Admiring the way his bright blue transfluid seeped from your still clenching valve.

Though this will be far from the last time he sees you like this.

With wobbling arms, you attempted to rise, though as you began to lift yourself up a large servos pushed you back down.

"We're not done."

True to his word, you had earned a promotion.

Fitted with only the finest armor paneling and a fresh coat of paint you had earned yourself the pristine position of his pet.  

A position you held with utmost dignity, after all you were serving your Prime.

[orbitariums]

( in the accent of a suburban blk girlie ) dhmu just thinking ab being art and patrick's joint pretty little thing and they're both like hah ! art/patrick could never score a girl like this, she's different from every woman ive ever met ( black as hell, boujie as hell, BUILT as hell ), he doesn't have it like me. and then all of a sudden they both find themselves at a mostly black club she frequents and posts ab on myspace a lot and they both find themselves giving her flirty, llustful looks across the dance floor at her, go to give eachother a 'hah you could never pull all that' look and realize they're both doing the same thing and then realizing that you could pull any little frat-esque, trust funded white boy you wanted and they LOCK TF IN on proving they could treat and fuck you best

- 🎹

all that | artrick + black reader

literally obsessed with this request piano anon ... thissss is universe-building and i LOVEEEE to cross cultures >:-) also, made this playlist to fit the vibe (tried to keep it 2006 themed but haddd to throw some cash cobain in there — his new album is also perfect to listen to for this)

contains: a FINE black GYAL, art + patrick feening they ain't never BEEN with a baddie, smut: fingering, oral (f! receiving), threesome i realize i could've made this a drabble but i'm a writer. so imma write. so i hope y'all fw this! word count: 7.7k and not proofread

It's giving Stanford era Art and Patrick — Art feels like he has dibs on you because he met you first and takes a few classes with you. Unlike Patrick, Art prides himself on being your friend — even though you've really only interacted through class projects, and Art hardly has the courage to talk to you outside of class.

You're different from anybody Art or Patrick have wanted in the past. Stanford opened up a door to a whole new world for them — a world outside of rich white girls who spent their summers in the Hamptons or elite tennis camps. and you were the key holder. you were hands-down the most stunning girl they'd ever seen. For Art, it was the Marley twists that reached your butt (a staple hairstyle of yours when you weren't rotating from lace fronts to sew-ins to natural), the way your brown eyes glimmered when a ray of sun shone over you through the window.

For Patrick it was your lips, thick and glossy or perfectly painted with a brown lip combo — gawking at you in the cafeteria when he visits and watching you reapply your lip gloss after you eat might be his favorite pastime.

Once, Patrick literally groaned, throwing his head back with a hand on his forehead when you bent over to pick up your lip liner, then readjusted your jeans and did that little jump trying to fit your ass properly back in the pants. Art couldn't even call him out on it because it took everything in him to hold back a whimper.

Your skin was supple and a rich brown, soft like a pillow they wanted to sink into. everything about you was something to admire — your laugh, the certainty in your voice whenever you spoke, your graceful yet assertive demeanor. You knew who you were, and that was something lacking from all the Sarahs and Kaylors and Brittanys they had been with. And, satisfying their basest desires, was your stallion body. tall, thick, and fit.

"She's so pretty," Art blinked slowly, the two of them watching you from a distance in the library as you gathered with a group of friends, standing around a table and giggling softly.

"Her ass is so fat. I've never seen anything like that shit before," Patrick murmured, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were concerned— really he was just incredulous.

A beat as Art swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. Ignoring the way his pants grew tighter. Patrick doing the same.

"Yeah," he exhaled after a moment of silence and low-eyed ogling from the two of them.

It was weeks of that — just gawking at you and getting themselves worked up thinking about you. At that point, there was more sexual tension between Art and Patrick than either of the two lusting boys had managed to work up with you. Tashi found their fantasizing aggravating and berated them for not just going up to you and talking to you — secretly, Art and Patrick praised the fact that Tashi has a girlfriend, otherwise she'd be competition too.

Art practically fainted when he saw you in the hallway talking to Patrick— Patrick leaning against the wall with his hand just above his head, towering over you with the confidence of a sly dog. He could just make out the murmurs of your conversation, the warm ringing of your laugh, Patrick's flirtatious chuckling overlapping just a few seconds later. He was laying it on thick, and Art felt like he might go into cardiac arrest with how angry he was.

Art strode up to the two of you with determination, slowing down once he gets closer so he doesn't come off as defensive as he felt. He gave Patrick an icy, tight-lipped grin that made Patrick smirk ever-so-slightly, his eyes wandering to some spot just above Art's head.

"Pat," Art bleated. He turned to you, his eyes softening along with his brain and everything else in his body except his dick. He smiled gently, locking eyes with you. "YN. It's nice to see you. I'm Art, by the way."

You shook your head and chuckled, one of your braids drifting over your shoulder. You pushed it back, and Art and Patrick went numb at the simple maneuver. You bit down softly on your bottom lip, grinning bemusedly,

"I know who you are. We did like two chem projects together, don't you remember?"

"Yeah, remember?" Patrick echoed, glancing over smugly at Art, who was too enamored by you to side-eye Patrick in return.

"Yeah. Yeah of course I remember. You were the backbone of our projects," Art trailed off into a genuine laugh, one full of appreciation.

"Well, I am pre-med, so," a slight laugh bubbled up in your throat and it was so attractive and confident, Art couldn't help but grin at you dazedly.

"Smart girl," Patrick inserted himself, catching your eye as soon as you turned your head to him again.

You didn't miss the way he held eye contact, the way he was so comfortable giving you a name to hold on to, like it was something he was used to doing with you. There's some sort of intimacy to a nickname like that, suggesting something provocative yet impossible to name. You're well aware of the fact that they're both attracted to you — you couldn't possibly miss them staring at you even when you knew they thought they were being discreet.

Seeing them now, up close and personal, finally actually talking to you instead of checking you out and avoiding eye contact, you saw their strategies, their archetypes. Art, the charming and unassuming rabbit — assumed timid by most but smart and eventually crafty — and Patrick, the rakish, bold fox, unabashed in his cunning and willing to show out. Both types that you'd seen before, but not quite in this form. And both intrigued you deeply. You, the snake. Letting them have their glory in this game now, but plotting just how you would leer over them soon enough, evaluating your prey.

"Gotta be. I only get one chance," you replied to Patrick's comment.

You could tell he was used to having girls stuck, and you weren't that type. But with you, their eagerness and need to prove themselves was strong right away.

You could tell they were trying to figure out what to say. You figured they were used to girls giggling and blushing over them. Maybe they expected a thank you, complete with hair twirling and bashfulness, like you didn't already know you were smart, fine, and everything in between.

"Mkay," you hummed, smiling precociously up at them. "I'm gonna hit the library, got a bio exam next week. I'll see you both later?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you'll see us," Art assured you immediately, on top of Patrick drawling,

"We'll be on the lookout."

You chuckled, giving them one last look over your lashes before you turned around. You could feel their eyes on you as they left, tracking all the way down to your hips which swayed as you walked.

They watched you like that all the way out the double doors, in a trance. When the door finally closed, Art swiveled on his feet and jabbed Patrick in the shoulder, walking off dramatically. Patrick caught up to him quickly.

"What the fuck? What's that for?" he whined.

"What the hell man, you can't just talk to her," Art frowned.

Patrick paused, staring at Art like he was a middle schooler,

"I just did. Besides, it's not like you were talking to her anyway, I did us both a favor."

Art knew he was being petulant but he couldn't himself — he didn't mind admiring you with Patrick, but sharing you was a whole 'nother thing. He wasn't ready to admit that the thought turned him on, and the attraction was still fresh enough that he was possessive. Maybe the doors would open once he knew he could get you.

"Yeah, well I was gonna."

"Ha!" Patrick barked out a cold laugh. "Like that'd get you anywhere."

"Fuck does that mean?" Art scoffed, glaring at his best friend and lamenting the luscious mop of overgrown dark curls brushing against his forehead.

Patrick tapped the underbrim of Art's red hat, which Art quickly readjusted,

"Look at you. You're dressed like a skinny white cuck. You don't even know what to do with all that." Patrick was growing more and more defensive and loud by the minute. He shook his head and glared off into the distance like he was thinking of just how he'd handle "all that," then continued. "She wants a big dog."

Art actually laughed — he genuinely doubled over laughing, and Patrick marched along while Art was cackling a few feet behind. He caught up to Patrick, red in the face,

"And you're a big dog? You're a rich white Jew from Rochester, New York."

Patrick smirked, like he knew something Art didn't — but when does he not know everything before Art has even gotten a hint? Or at least, he pretends to know everything. Art wasn't sure if it was too late to come out from under Patrick's wing, it's all he knew.

"Exactly," Patrick responded quietly.

Art, miffed but trying not to show it, switched the trajectory of the conversation and shook his head. He offered the first reality check ever since this little crush had formed,

"Don't sound too sure of yourself. I don't think either of us are her type."

"C'mon Art, don't be racist. You think she only likes black guys?"

Art was ruffled— he retorted,

"I didn't say that!"

"Whatever, I got her Myspace. I'll give it to you so you can stalk her but don't actually follow her like a creep. You're welcome, dumbass. You can thank me for bringing you a step forward from jerking your tiny little dick while you think of her alone in your dorm room."

How the fuck did he get her Myspace?

| | |

Patrick was back again by next week, fooling around on the computer while Art laid back on his bed and bounced a tennis ball against the ceiling.

"Oh shit," Patrick muttered to himself, a toothpick wiggling in the corner of his mouth. Art perked up, sitting up on his elbows.

"What?"

"Come look," Patrick waved Art over.

On the computer screen was your Myspace, which you just updated few minutes ago.

[ YN ] Can't wait to hit up Nebula later tonight!

"What's Nebula?" Art asked, his voice quiet and curious as he squinted at the glowing screen.

Patrick wordlessly pulled up another tab and typed up Nebula. It was a club a few miles north of campus. It had no description but a bunch of pictures. It was different from what they were used to — frat parties consisting of fist bumping and neon necklaces, a sea of white crashed against the floor and someone shotgunning a can of Budweiser. Instead, they're looking at photos of a nightclub with flashy lights and graffiti decor, and not a single hint of white — at least, not in any of the pictures. But it looks busy, and as far as they can tell, it actually looks fun.

Patrick and Art scanned the page of images meticulously, it was like their brains were reconfiguring. After some time, they both speak at once:

"Should we go?"

"We're fucking going."

The boys spent the next few hours getting ready. Or at least, Art did. Patrick didn't have a change of clothes, so he was going as he was — untucked Ralph polo, khaki shorts and all. Art on the other hand, showered and rotated through multiple outfits. By his third shirt, Patrick was fatigued,

"What are you doing?"

Art held up a white t-shirt to the mirror and angled it against his body,

"I don't wanna show up looking like an asshole. Look at you, what are you wearing?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Patrick griped, though he did a double take at himself behind Art in the mirror.

"Did you not see how everyone was dressed in the pictures? We're gonna look like idiots if we show up like a bunch of tennis douchebags," Art retorted, finally deciding on a white shirt and ripped blue jeans.

"We are tennis douchebags," Patrick said to himself. "Got a pair of black jeans I can wear?"

Art smirked wordlessly, throwing a pair over to Patrick.

The club is packed, to say the least. But it's huge. The bouncer took a long, hard look at the two boys before graciously deciding to let them in. They did look painfully out of place — the club seemed not to have a white person in sight for miles. They were tokens here, not oblivious to the curious looks and outright glares. Chingy's Right Thurr was blasting from the club speakers, booming over the sound of Air Force 1s and chunky heels scuffling across the floor. Art and Patrick stood in the front, taking in the view of the dance floor like a pair of birds overlooking the sea from the shore.

"What if she's not even here?" Art muttered.

"She's here dude, trust me. No way she's staying in on a Friday night after exams and this is clearly the place to go," Patrick shouted over the music. The two silently scanned over the crowd, desperate to pick her out in a sea of people. Then, Patrick laid eyes on her. He jabbed Art's side, who immediately snapped his vision to focus on you, so far away on the dance floor, unaware of their presence.

You were in a tight-fitting short pink dress that hugged every inch of your body — it seemed like it was made for you. Your tits sat pretty and your ass jiggled with even the slightest move. Your brown skin glinted under the flashing lights, and reflections shimmered off of your golden bracelets. You were with a group of friends, laughing and rolling your body to the beat, hips swaying with the motion of water. Patrick and Art were absolutely stuck, staring at you with dry mouths.

"Fuck," Art mouthed, and Patrick found his lips pulled beneath his teeth.

You didn't have a care in the world. You weren't drunk, but you had a few drinks in you and the bass was thudding against your eardrums just right. And you knew you looked good. Everything felt right — but the last thing you expected to see when you turned your head was two white boys, especially not two white boys who you knew. They seemed to realize that they were caught once you made eye contact with them, squinting at first in confusion.

Then, you saw it, the lustful look in both of their eyes. Patrick was unabashedly checking you out — you were sure he was doing it before, but now it was like he wanted you to know. And Art had this look in his eyes, so deep and watchful that you could tell he was simply drinking you in. Arms tucked over his chest, his tongue swiping slowly over his lip.

You giggled, returning their gazes with a subtly flirtatious cock of your head, and a bemused grin. Patrick smiled and nodded, and Art cocked his head in unison with you. Like he was playing. And you liked this game. You turned to your friends for just a moment and quickly excused yourself, then turned back to face the two boys, glancing towards the bar.

You didn't wait for them, just started slowly sauntering over, knowing they would follow you.

Once you broke their gaze, they turned to each other, smirking. On the one hand, they knew they had an in. But they were challenging each other too, with a competitive spark in their eyes that said, "you wish."

They rushed over to the bar, practically skidding across the bar and even bumping into each other. They got there just seconds before you did, still catching their breaths by the time you got close enough. Before you could even open your mouth, both of them were panting. In unison, they spouted,

"Hey—"

"Hi."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

They glared at each other, and you laughed, shaking your head. They were practically brothers, the way they were so in sync with each other and seemed to bounce off of one another. It was fun analyzing their characters, and even more fun because they were trust fund babies without a care in the world, and you couldn't be any more different. But one thing was for certain — you could get anything from them.

"That's y'all's favorite question, isn't it?" you grinned up at them slowly, batting your lashes.

They both laughed weakly, not used to being called out so bluntly. They were so set on having you, but now that you were in front of them, it was clear you made the rules. The way you assessed them both silently, letting your eyes observe the both of them from head to toe, slowly but surely, they had no choice but to stand at your feet.

"How about this," you started, and they perked up like dogs, hanging on to your every word. "Whoever guesses my drink of choice can buy me a drink."

"Sex on the beach," Patrick blurted, mainly because he was thinking about sex.

"Vodka cran?" Art offered hesitantly.

You squint at them, shaking your head.

"Cognac, neat."

Patrick snorted, and you looked over at him with a curious grin. He explained himself,

"Sorry, it's just... that's dark liquor."

"Duh. I don't waste my money on watered down cocktails." A pause. "So...?"

They fought to get drinks, but ultimately, Art was the one who flagged the bartender down first. You told them that you should talk somewhere a bit more quiet, and led them to a couch beneath the stairs, where the music was slightly muffled. You knew that their eyes were on you as you were walking, you could tell by the way they went silent while behind you.

You sat between them on the couch, one leg over the other. Both their mouths went dry over the sight of your thigh pooling and expanding as you placed it on top of your other one. Your brown skin contrasted deliciously with the pink fabric of your dress.

You sipped your drink and leaned back just a bit against the couch. Basking in their intent eye contact.

"So," you smirked.

"So..." Patrick grinned at you, unafraid to show all his teeth.

You glance between the two of them,

"It's your first time here, isn't it?"

"Whaaat?" Patrick feigned offense, shaking his head and waving his hand. He sips his drink, leaning back just a bit to align his body more with yours. "Psshh, no, we come here all the time."

"Really?" you challenged him, and he just nodded silently with that fucking smirk on his face, his eyes boring into yours with an impish sparkle. "'Cuz I come here all the time, and I haven't seen you two before. Like, ever."

"Guess you weren't looking for us hard enough," in comes Art, quiet as ever but still so strikingly present — it's impossible to forget him, the way he sneaks up on you every time with some suggestive comment or smart remark.

You turned your head towards him now, your smile growing bigger by the minute, thoroughly enthralled by this delicious dialogue.

"Oh, I should be looking for you two?'' you raised your chin up, humored.

"Nah, but I mean... you might find something you like," Patrick replied, coolly as ever, never looking away from you even when you weren't looking at him. It was how you found yourself face to face with him when you turned your head away from Art.

"Yeah? And what's that?" you mastered your most innocent voice possible, rubbing your glossy lips together. Patrick's eyes lowered down to your lips, and he let them stay there for a while before he spoke again,

"You gonna let us find out what you like?"

No smirk this time, accompanied by unshaken eye contact. It got your heart jumping, but you played it cool, chuckling and sipping your drink,

"Y'all play too much."

"Who says we're playing?" Art interjected then, and you're met with a charming, slow-appearing smile.

“Messy. You usually have the same taste in girls?"

"I mean, yeah, we do," the boys glanced at each other and nodded good-naturedly as if assessing the question together before providing you with an answer. "But you're just... better," Art replied, and Patrick nodded.

"Better? Better how?"

"I mean... you're incredibly sexy," Patrick said as if it were self-explanatory.

"Yeah? Tell me more," you bared your teeth in a slick-mouthed smile, leaning your chin on your hand and blinking softly up at Patrick. You turned your head slowly when Art spoke.

"Your lips. They look soft," he licked his lips when you looked at him. It was like he was a completely different entity now, shrouded by the thick cloud of desire he had for you. His voice had dropped an octave lower and his lids seemed heavier. He took a sip of Cognac and leaned back just a tad.

"Got a pretty voice," you turned this time to Patrick, whose lips were turning up in a slow smile, his teeth glinting in the dark club.

"Beautiful eyes," now Art — you knew you had them right around your finger but they were proving to be more than you'd bargained for — you wondered how often they moved like this to a girl, together.

"Your body's absolutely insane," Patrick divulged.

"Personality takes the cake, too," Art chimes in.

By the time they'd finished, it felt like they were inches closer to you, encasing you in their body heat. And they had inched closer to you, the both of them cocking their head in your direction, studying your face. It all felt so practiced, yet natural. They knew just what they were doing, and that's why you didn't move a muscle. But you'd be lying if you said it didn't have an effect on you.

You didn't reply, you just sat back and slowly swallowed down the rest of your drink. All eyes were on you, the boys both leaning back against the couch and just admiring you. You set the glass down on the table in front of you and got up to stand, wiggling your dress down to readjust it.

"Let's dance."

That's how you found yourself sandwiched between Art and Patrick while a song by Miguel played. Your breaths, hot and smelling of liquor, floated against each other, bodies pressed into yours. Patrick was behind you with his hands on your waist, towering over you and looking down at you in awe. He kept it respectful, but you could feel him against your ass, poking through his ripped black jeans. Art was in front of you, your arms around his neck, just inches of space between all of you. The club was dark bar for a strobe light rotating across your faces periodically, so you could hardly see the desire in their eyes, but you could feel it. You swayed your hips to the rhythm of the song and let your head fall back against Patrick's shoulder, swaying your whole body now. Art was pressed into you, his face dipping into your neck. He nearly whimpered— you smelled like caramelized vanilla and a hint of coconut oil. He imagined you lathering your damp body in creams and oils after getting out of the shower, and had to fight an erection from forming directly against you. Meanwhile, Patrick was already half-hard.

All they felt was bliss — Patrick had more of a sense of certainty that the night would end up somewhat like this, but Art doubted they'd even be able to find you. You could sense the way they held back, waiting for you to shut it down or take it an inch further. You paused when you felt your cellphone vibrate in your purse. You pulled away gracefully from Art and Patrick, who stood there dumbly waiting for you to pull them back in. You grinned when you read the text from your friends, who knew of your whereabouts, telling you to pull up to Alicia's apartment for afters, and "bring your little white boys."

You let the boys usher you out of the club, Art with his hand on your waist trailing behind you, and Patrick taking your hand as he pushed through the crowd and out the door.

"You smell amazing," Art mentioned the minute the fresh air hit you, re-surging the scent that drove him near ballistic in the club.

You giggled at Art's sudden outburst, and the genuine admiration in his tone,

"Thank you, babe. Now, are y'all good to drive?"

| | |

Alicia's apartment was huge — her dad paid for everything, to say the least. The moment you walked in, Alicia, Nessa and Tiana crowded around you, squealing and ooh-ing and aah-ing over Patrick and Art.

"This your lil shit right here? Go head, then YN," Tiana stuck her tongue out raucously and you shook your head, laughing.

Before you knew it, you were pouring shots of Hennessy down each other's throats, playing a vicious game of Uno, and blasting Me & U by Cassie. Art and Patrick had some settling in to do at first, since they weren't used to being around mostly black girls — the most fun they knew how to have at parties was fist-bumping to dubstep. But they fit right in, and your friends had no trouble making them feel welcome. As the night went on, you lost some of that mysterious enigma, but it didn't make them want you any less.

Art nearly melted beneath you when you stood up above him and poured Ciroc down his throat, holding his chin up with your fresh French tips. Patrick was next, putting on a brave face, unwavering against the screeches and pointing from your friends. He made sure to keep eye contact with you, swallowing boisterously with an "ahh!" sound, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You grinned and took a swig yourself, then ran to your friends to dance with them, swaying your hips and shaking your ass in a way they hadn't seen just yet. It was like they weren't even there, it was just about you and your friends now.

"Fuck, man," Patrick blinked slow, standing beside Art just feet away from you.

Art ran his hands through his hair, in disbelief at the way your ass moved in your dress,

"I'm gonna be honest, Pat. I don't think either of us could handle that."

For the first time, Patrick nodded, wordlessly agreeing.

It didn't take long for your friends to disperse about the apartment, most of them heading out to the balcony to smoke. You decided to stay behind inside ("For your guests, right?" Nessa had snickered, smirking over at Art and Patrick).

"Are you bored to death yet? You're the only two dudes here," you sauntered over to the two boys, who were leaning against the kitchen counter. All three of you were just a bit more than tipsy, eyes bleared over and heat fanned against your cheeks, drifting about in that pleasantly warm dreamscape.

"Bored? You just baby birded both of us with Ciroc," Art guffawed, and you cocked your head to the side, looking up at him with those low, drunk eyes,

"Yeah, you want more?"

"I want whatever you have to give me," Art replied with quickness, simply entranced by your eyes and that sweet voice. You chuckled, shaking your head.

A smattering of shrieking sounded from outside on the balcony. You scoffed, swiping a joint that Alicia had rolled from off the kitchen table. You started walking down the hall, back faced to them as you said,

"They're so loud. Let's go somewhere quieter."

Art and Patrick both gave each other a glance— they weren't sure if the night would ever actually come to this, but still they didn't quite know what to expect. All they knew was that whether or not either of them could "pull" you, you were the one in charge. Your hips swung more freely from side to side as you walked loosened by the Henny and Ciroc concoctions of the night. Art and Patrick's eyes were like pendulums following your hips.

You turned into the guest bedroom, plopping down onto the bed.

"Close the door," you gestured to Art. Heart pounding, he closed it behind him.

Art and Patrick stood stupidly in front of you. You shook your head at them, laughing quietly,

"Are y'all gonna sit?"

They might as well have tripped over themselves zooming to sit next to you on the bed, one on either side of you. You had the whole world in your hands. It was silent bar for the muffled R&B music from outside. For boys who were so flirtatious, they were awfully quiet now. You shifted to place your legs underneath you, sitting on your knees, your dress riding up your thighs just so. If they looked behind you, they'd see your ass poking out a bit too.

"So. Who's idea was it, hmm?" you hummed. "I mean, you must've wanted to come find me. I'm impressed."

You lit the joint, pressing it to your lips.

"Saw your Myspace post. Thought we'd keep you company," Patrick admitted, coolly as ever, though you saw the bulge forming in his jeans, saw the way his eyes drifted down to your lips around the joint.

You tossed your head back to exhale, giggling up at the ceiling and covering your mouth with your hand.

"You thought you'd keep me company. Y'all are too good."

You passed the joint over to Art, who took a drag and exhaled while keeping it perched in the corner of his mouth, voice half-muffled as he continued,

"We just wanted to make sure you weren't lonely, that's all."

"Yeah," Patrick took the joint from Art, doing the same. "Since you don't have a boyfriend or anything."

This time, Patrick lifted the joint up to your lips for you. You leaned into it, slowly wrapping your lips around it and sucking for just a second longer than you usually would, never breaking eye contact while Patrick's smirk grew wider and wider with each passing second. You blew the smoke out and it fanned against his face.

"And how would you two know if I don't have a boyfriend?"

Art sniffed, humored, as you passed the joint to him. It was starting to hit now — a haze rose up just so slightly in the air. You relaxed into it, feeling emboldened.

"Don't think we'd be here if you did," Art shot back.

You snaked forward, taking the joint from Art's lips and putting it to your own. He let out a sharp breath at the casual dominance such an action exuded. Your face was just inches away from his— you didn't know if it was the weed, or how turned on you were after exercising the utmost self-control for the better part of the night, but you noticed that his eyes had such a gleaming strike of blue in them.

"Think you got me, is that it?" you questioned, so close to Art that if you inched any further, your nose would brush against his. He swallowed, unsure of whether he should be turned on or scared, but either way, his pants were getting tighter. Your voice was so tantalizingly quiet as if you were sharing a secret just for him and Patrick. You huffed out a humored breath. "I'm not gonna fuck you, you know."

The way you were looking at him begged to differ. You felt the strap of your dress slide down ever so gently over your left shoulder. Before you could push it up, Patrick's hand, strong and firm, was grazing against your shoulder, pushing your dress strap up. You let your gaze on Art linger for just a moment longer before you turned to Patrick, smirking. You handed him the joint, which had gone out. He placed it on the bed beside him. You were leaning in, an unmistakably seductive twinkle in your eyes as you got even closer to Patrick, murmuring under your breath,

"'M not gonna fuck you either."

“Not gonna fuck me?” Patrick smirked, looking from your hazey eyes to your lips. You pressed your lips into his, letting your eyes flutter closed as you hummed your response into his mouth,

“Mm-mm.”

A slight breath escaped Patrick, keeping his mouth open so you could slip your tongue against his. Patrick kissed you hard and slow, his hands immediately wrapping around your back as you lifted your leg over his lap and straddled him. You could feel how much he’d been wanting this by the way his tongue curved effortlessly against yours and his grip on your hips got stronger. He kissed the way he talked. Rough and hard, but with effortless ease, like he knew exactly what you liked. Maybe it was his confidence that made the kiss so good, his lips locked in perfectly with yours. You reached behind, pulling Art in as you simultaneously pushed Patrick down so his back was against the mattress. 

You pulled away from Patrick and in one fluid motion turned your head to kiss him, letting your hand wrap against his neck and run up through his hair. Patrick, who was watching from the pillow, groaned and let his head fall against the pillow. Art kissed you needily, but gentler than Patrick. He kissed you like he was parched and your lips were a fountain of water found in a barren land— like he needed to explore more. As you kissed Art, you felt Patrick’s hands kneading your ass, and you moaned — which made them both moan. It took everything in Patrick not to just lift your dress over your ass. But you must have been reading his mind because you wiggled your dress over your ass so it was finally exposed. 

“That’s it,” Patrick groaned in approval, his hands finding new purchase against your bare skin, squeezing your ass with a tender grip.

Your kiss with Art grew sloppier, spit threatening to spill out from the side of your mouth as Art pressed himself against you. You let your hand wander down to his black jeans and gripped the hard bulge that was poking out, running your hand up and down it. Patrick, not one to be left behind, took the liberty of lifting your dress a little higher so he could see the black, lacy panties you wore. He let out a low whistle, his firm on your hips grew firmer, keeping them in place as he ground his up into you, rolling up directly against your clit through your underwear. You gasped when you felt how big Patrick was, pulling away from Art to look down at the sight of Patrick’s hips snapping slowly into you. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, tilting your head gently to the side so Art could press his lips against your neck. 

Patrick chuckled, but he was unable to hold back the groan that lodged in his throat. He could feel your clit pulsing through your underwear. 

“Take it off, baby,” you gestured down to Art, who scrambled to take your dress off, throwing it carelessly to the side once it was over your head. Both the boys nearly busted on the spot, because instead of being greeted with a black, lacy bra, your tits simply tumbled out of your dress, perfectly plump and brown and sitting pretty. 

“Oh my god,” Patrick groaned at the sight of your tits above him. He sat up immediately, attaching his mouth immediately to your tits. Art, a whimpering mess by this point, followed quickly, his lips wrapping around your stiff, brown nipple. They both sucked on your tits lasciviously, reserving one for each of them. The lewd sounds of their tongues sucking your plush skin as their hands fondled and squeezed you filled the room. Art was gentle, shifting from reaching a hand underneath your tit and cupping you softly to circling a gentle finger around your nipple. Patrick was more direct, grabbing you with closed hands. 

If you weren’t so turned on, you would honestly giggle at the sight— these two boys who’d been fiending for you for so long, showing you just how long they’d been waiting for this very thing. It was a wonder — the school’s prestigious tennis players who attended every frat party and had enough money to be set for life (Patrick at least), reduced to a melting puddle beneath you. At your beck and call, your mercy, even as the grind of Patrick’s dick against your clit made you soak through the panties. 

You looked down at them with a cunning smile playing on your lips, cupping both their chins softly,

“You’ve been wanting this real bad, haven’t you?”

Two pairs of needy, blissed-out eyes looked up at you immediately, their heads nodding insistently as they moaned around your nipples. You chuckled, your laugh ringing like bells in their ears. You tasted so divine and they hadn’t even tasted you where it really counts. Art decides he wants to get a head start. You felt his hand, his fingers long and spindly, travel down your body, past your soft stomach and down your thigh, until it looped back up to the waistband of your panties. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, pulling at the stretchy fabric until he let it snap against your waist. 

He pulled away, his lips warm and wet against your ear as he whispered,

“Can I?” 

You bit down on your lip and nodded, gazing at him as he let his hand travel back down until it crept into your panties, never breaking eye contact even as he dipped two fingers against your soaked slit. You trembled at his touch and he smirked, cocking his head gently as he brought his fingers to his lips, tasting you on his fingers.

“She tastes so good, Pat, you gotta try,” Art said, leaning down — Patrick, dazed, lifted his head and looked up at Art with glazed-over eyes.

You watched, rendered speechless for the first time that night as Art dipped his fingers back just slightly against you again, and placed them at Patrick’s wanting lips. Patrick sucked the taste of you off Art’s fingers like it was nothing, like he’d done it before and would do it a thousand times more. The sight of him, lifting his head up to meet Art’s fingers, made you stir above him. 

“Fuck, she’s perfect,” Patrick practically moaned, his lips hovering at Art’s fingers. He wasn’t even looking at you, still holding Art’s gaze as he dipped his hand into your panties and prodded at your slit, the pad of his finger tapping against all the arousal that’s gathered there, making wet sounds like fat raindrops collecting in a puddle. “She’s so wet already, shit.” He held Art’s gaze for a moment longer before he turned to you. 

“Can we taste you?” Art asked, his voice soft and lilted. 

You lifted yourself off of Patrick’s lap and kneeled between the two of them, taking their shirts off one by one. Art went to take off his cap, You embraced Art in a kiss first, then Patrick, until it was lost on you which was which— it was all a blur, mouths sloppily entangled and meeting in the middle, kissing each other all at once and you were certain Art and Patrick’s lips met more than a few times. Somewhere in the middle, they had pushed you back against the mattress. You whined as their lips suctioned against your body, down down down until they stopped between your thighs.

You couldn’t see whose lips were on you first, but you were sure it was Patrick, the way he dove right in without hesitation and started sucking expertly at your clit. You cried out, your back arching slightly off the bed at the sudden jolt of pleasure from the contact. You saw Patrick’s tuft of black curls right in between your thighs, and Art’s golden-orange locks just beside him, placing chaste kisses on your inner thighs, his hand massaging the plush skin there too. 

Patrick moaned from in between your legs, sending vibrations through your core and up your chest. You relaxed into his touch, pushing his head in and burying your fingers in his curls. He made sure to drag his tongue along every inch of you, pointing it into your slit and thrusting it into you, and flattening his whole tongue against you as he gave kitten licks to your pussy.

His grecian nose poked deliciously against your clit and he used it to his advantage, bobbing his head up and down each time you moaned at the point of contact. He sucked your clit gently with his lips, toyed at your slit with his finger and glanced up at you to gauge your reaction. The moan that fell from your lips as you locked eyes with him from between your legs was almost pornographic, and enough for him to slide one thick finger inside of you. 

You were writhing above him and Art, moaning ever so softly. Your tits were splayed perfectly against your chest and your face was constantly contorted in the sweetest expressions. They’d both imagined you like this, mouth open and eyes rolling back into your head, trapped in bliss. Then another finger, fucking into you deep and slow as he continued lapping up all your arousal, all while Art kissed your thighs with increasing hunger, his once soft kisses becoming wet and crazed. 

“Fuck,” Patrick pulled away, his mouth and chin glistening wet with spit and your arousal. “Art, taste her pussy. Want you to feel what I did to her.”

Art whimpered and assumed position immediately. 

“Wait,” you said, shifting and turning yourself around so you were on your knees, your pussy pulsing right in front of Art’s face while Patrick pulled down his shorts and boxers, wrapping a hand around his shaft and starting to tug slowly, groaning under his breath. Meanwhile, Art’s eyebrows rose up so far he thought they’d get stuck there, his mouth dropping slightly at the sight of your pussy throbbing around nothing, your folds dripping with a mixture of your own arousal and Patrick’s spit. 

You placed your head on the pillow, craning your neck to look back at the two boys. You liked the juxtaposition that was happening — the two of them in full control of your pleasure, while you were granting them the only thing they’d been thinking of for weeks now.

“Oh fuck,” Art whispered to himself, and Patrick chuckled darkly, squeezing the base of his cock. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but their faces in this moment were seared in your mind permanently – Art’s gaze of pure amazement, and Patrick’s wicked smirk snaking across his entire face, glaring down at your pussy. It was enough to make a shiver run down your spine, how readily they consumed you — the feeling of being wanted wasn’t new to you, but with them, it was just… different.  

“Her pussy looks so pretty after it’s been ate, doesn’t it?” Patrick noted to Art, who nodded with a broken whimper before shoving his face into your pussy, his button nose dancing against your clit as he put his tongue to work. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, your head dropping down against the pillow. Art might have been gentler, but that did not mean worse by any means.

If anything, he was passionate, noting every slight movement and sound you made and following in your stead. His tongue lappd against your clit, pleasure climbing up your spine. The new angle had you struggling to keep your legs up, but Patrick was sure to keep you in check.

“This is what you wanted right?” he proclaimed, one hand on your thigh to hold you steady, the other still stroking his cock, a bit faster now. A guttural moan surged from your throat as you nodded weakly. “Yeah? So take it. Take Art’s tongue in your pussy, fuck.”

Patrick looked down, his mouth hanging open as he watched the way Art slurped away. He detached his lips only to slide a finger in, kissing you gently as he fucked his finger into you, slow and deep and relishing the way you stretched over his finger. 

“So fucking warm,” he muttered, talking to your pussy like you and him were the only two in the room. He slipped another finger inside you, which made you cry out, pussy throbbing around his fingers. “There you go, squeeze my fingers.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, delirious. Art was rutting against the bed now, chasing his high along with you, and Patrick’s hand was working overtime on his cock, spreaidng the precum leaking from his tip along the shaft. His hand reached up to smack your ass, groaning at the way it reveberated beneath his touch. 

“You’re so fucking hot, oh my god.”

Inadvertently, you started to catch the rhythm of Art’s fingers, throwing your hips back against his fingers and his face. The sight of your ass practically covering Art’s face was almost too much for Patrick to handle — he actually glanced away for a second, hoping he could hold off on his swift-approaching orgasm. 

“Yeah, fuck back onto my face, I want you to use me,” Art moaned, muffled by your thighs wrapped around his head. 

You weren’t sure when it all happened, you just knew that you were moaning both their names as you’re sent over the edge, Patrick and Art deftly following — Patrick in his hands, Art in his jeans, hips stuttering against the bed. You squeezed around Art's fingers as you dripped down onto the bed, soaking Art's tongue and chin. It took a while for all of you to gain some semblance of reality, pushing past the haze of pleasure and smoke and bitter alcohol that you were floating in. 

“Did you come in your jeans?” Patrick’s voice cut through the foggy silence, and Art slapped his chest. 

“Shut up, look what you did to the sheets.”

You were lying on your back, gazing up at the two boys with a sated grin, resting your hands on your stomach. 

“Aren’t you glad we found you?” Patrick teased. 

You didn’t have to answer, he already knew.

i think i’m gonna have a part two for this you guys have no idea how much i was debating whether or not they should fuck in this but i feel like reader is the type to make them wait…  plus it would've actually been a novel if i added that and i wanted to get this out cuz i don't wanna keep y'all waiting!! so when they fuck they'll fuck NYASTY.

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part IV

Happy Halloween everyone!! I'm so happy I get to share this all with you today, I was really hoping to get out an update for Halloween 😂😂 I hope you all enjoy, I love reading everyone's comments, thank you so much!! If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!!

WARNINGS: None, a fluffy evening with III

Thank you as always to @spookyghostjelly for beta reading, you're amazing and I love you so much ❤️❤️❤️

Part III - Part V

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link!

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You stuck close to II's side as you made your way up to the front of the store. Who you assumed was IV peeked out behind III's shoulder, the taller man ushering him to the front. "He's very excited to meet you, he's just a bit nervous." II chuckles. "He has a tendency to get a bit worked up but I promise he's very nice." You step closer to him, a shy smile on your face. He bends down slightly, bringing his face a lot closer to yours as you lock eyes. His gaze was a lot softer than the others but still gave you that same warm feeling in your chest as he studied you.

"It's nice to finally meet you." He smiles, a cheerful tone in his voice. "You guys were right, she is really pretty." What followed IV's statement was a mix of throats being cleared, eyes being averted, and Vessel quickly trying to change the subject.

"I see the two of you got a lot done already, what else do you need help with?" You giggle at their flustered states.

"It's nice to meet you too, IV. Everything just needs to be put away, III's been a very big help." He straightens up proudly at your compliment. You sat on the counter, the four of them rotating to keep you company while the others worked.

"I told you, you just take it easy tonight. We'll handle it." Vessel chuckles as you complain for what must have been the millionth time about how you should be helping.

"Well if you all insist on doing this at least let me cook you dinner." You counter.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that." He smirks slightly before going to help the others. Noticing you were alone prompted IV to jog over.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" He asks sweetly. You move over, patting the spot next to you. He hops up with ease, even sitting down he still towered over you. "Your store's very organized." He comments, looking out to the other three as they worked, his heels bumping off the counter as he swung his feet slightly.

"Thank you, I try to run a neat ship." You giggle.

"I'm sorry if calling you pretty earlier made you uncomfortable." He shoots you an apologetic and almost bashful expression.

"It's okay." You smile, nudging his shoulder slightly. "I'm happy you finally came by, now I've officially met the whole crew." You joke causing IV to laugh. The four of them finished up quickly, before you knew it you found yourself smiling at the whirlwind of energy that filled your apartment.

"You need any help?" III asks as he leans against the counter.

"You've done more than enough, just relax." The two of you exchange a soft smile. "Also, thank you for fixing me up earlier." You return your focus to what you were cooking, hoping III wouldn't notice your slightly flustered appearance.

"No problem. How's the hand?" He asks as he holds out his own, wanting to examine it himself.

"Barely even feel it." Your breath freezes in your lungs as his fingers ghost over your skin. You glance up at him through your lashes. His blue eyes focused intently on the bandage he was readjusting. His gaze slowly trails up your arm to your face, your heart beginning to hammer in your chest.

"You have something just," he points to the spot on his own face. You attempt to wipe it away a couple times before he chuckles. "Would it be alright if I got it?" You nod. III's warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb slowly dragged across your skin. "There… beautiful." You couldn't help but blush, your expression causing III to breathe out a laugh as his eyes crinkle in a smile. You jumped slightly as the timer on the stove went off. III reluctantly pulled his hand away, you trailed after his touch, already missing the warmth he provided. "I'll let them know the food's done." He says before disappearing into the other room. It was nice having company for once. Instead of you having dinner alone, your dining room was filled with excited conversations and loud laughter. As you cleaned up that night you almost didn't want them to leave.

"Thank you for having all of us for dinner, that was very sweet of you." Vessel says kindly.

"It's the least I could do after all the work you guys did today." You smile.

"We're happy to help. You've been nothing but kind since I met you. If there's anyone we'd want to help, it would be you." 

"This apartment hasn't been this lively in a long time," you muse with a hum. "It was a really nice change." 

"Well… I have a feeling that this," he vaguely motions to your apartment. "Is going to be happening a lot more often." He laughs as he starts to head out of the kitchen. 

"Vessel?" He pauses. "Did you ever figure out why you think we were fated to meet each other?"

He shakes his head with a small smirk, "no, but I'm starting to get a pretty good idea." You trailed behind him as he re-enters your living room, the hushed whispers of the other three coming to a halt immediately. Vessel eyes them all with a knowing expression. "Alright, we should probably get out of your way. (Y/N), I will see you tomorrow." He bows his head slightly as he heads for the door. II and IV both say their goodbyes and follow him outside, leaving you alone with III.

"I'll be right down." He calls after them. III towered over you in the doorway, looking down at you with intoxicatingly beautiful blue eyes. He leans down to bring him almost face level with you, his forearm resting against the wall as he leaned in close. "Can I take you somewhere tomorrow night? Just you and me?" Despite how confident he was coming off you could hear the slight nervous tremor in his voice.

"What did you have in mind?" Excitement radiates off of him at your response.

"There's a drive-in I saw the other night, it looks like they have some sort of monster movie marathon tomorrow night… I think we'd have fun." You hear II call for him from outside.

“I’d love to go.” His hand slips into yours, tugging you the slightest bit closer. His thumb ran over your knuckles as his gaze trapped you in place.

“Goodnight, doll.” He smiles before suddenly pulling away. “Quit your yelling, I’m coming!” He calls down the stairs to an annoyed II. You couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off your face as you watched them drive away. You grew nervous as the end of your shift ticked closer. Vessel and III slipped into the store right before closing as usual, III giving you a casual wink but not saying a single word. As they both stood at the counter his eyes kept meeting yours, a flustered smile finding its way to your face. The bell rings as Vessel exits the store, III quickly leaning in to whisper something to you. “I’ll be back in about an hour.” He says with a smile before hurrying out after Vessel. You wrapped your jacket tightly around you as you stood outside in the brisk night air. His truck rumbled up in front of you, he immediately jumped out to greet you.

“Hey III.” He sweeps you into a tight hug.

“You ready?” He asks excitedly. You nod in response, he takes your hand as he opens the passenger door of the truck for you, helping you inside. The worn leather seat shook in time with the truck's engine, the cab lit up in a soft yellow glow from the radio. III slid into the driver's seat, his eyes flashing to you as a soft smile lit up his features. He noticed you rubbing your arms, still looking perfectly content despite the weather.

“I brought a blanket in case you get cold, the heat in the truck doesn’t work that well, but I promise I’ll keep you warm.” He chuckles, your cheeks immediately growing warm at the statement. He fiddled with the temperature in the truck for a moment, nothing really changing before he gave up. He groans in annoyance, pausing to think of a solution. He looks over at you, eyes trailing over your much smaller form. He holds one side of his jacket open, beckoning you closer with his free hand. You slid closer to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you into his warmth. "There, how's that?"

"This is fine." You stutter out, trying your best to hide your flustered state. You found yourself relaxing into him, his thumb rubbing your shoulder languidly, both of your eyes trained on the road ahead of you as you wound through the collage of vibrantly colored leaves. "Thank you for asking me to come with you." You suddenly pipe up. 

"Thank you for coming with me." He responds softly. "I was honestly a bit worried to ask you."

"What? Why?" You ask in a tone of disbelief, a small laugh lacing its way into your words as you slowly start to relax.

"Some random man in a mask comes up and asks you to spend time alone with him-"

"Well you're not some random man in a mask, III." You cut him off, both of you sharing a laugh. You lean your head on his shoulder, "besides, I enjoy your company… it's just nice to have someone that I want to spend time with, I guess." You glance up at him with a coy smile.

"Well if it's any consolation, I think you're pretty great and I want to spend time with you too." You giggle as you feel him nudge your side. You pulled into the drive-in, the teenager in charge of admission was too interested in their cellphone to pay much mind to the man in the mask before them.

"You're all set, man." They wave the two of you through as they take the cash, not bothering to look up from the screen. You pulled in to find the lot nearly empty, a few cars sporadically parked as far away from each other as possible.

"Lucky us, we get a private showing." You say in a giddy tone.

"I'm sorry I can't go get you popcorn, Vessel already didn't want me coming to somewhere so public as it is." You were about to assure him that it was fine, if anything you could always run over to the concession stand to get the snacks, but III never gave you the chance. "Excuse me, doll." He leans over your lap to retrieve something from the floor, his face hovering centimeters from yours, you pressed yourself back into the seat. You weren't uncomfortable being this close to him, but the warmth from his body, the smell of his cologne, you were having trouble thinking. He grabs a backpack from the floor of the truck, setting it in his lap before pulling out various snacks you had witnessed him purchase earlier in the day from your store. You can't help but smile as he lines up each kind on the dashboard. "I wasn't sure what kind of candy you liked so I grabbed a few different ones."

"You're so sweet, thank you." Your eyes meet his, making you feel like all the air has been sucked from your lungs.

"I just wanted to make sure you had a good time." He explains softly. He reaches out, carefully taking your hand in his. 

"How could I not? I'm here with you." The night was perfectly still around you. The faint crackling of the truck's old radio and the slight chill from its sputtering heater were lost to you at the moment. The only thing that mattered in your mind was III; how warm his hand felt wrapped around yours, how your heart fluttered in your chest as his attention dropped to your lips. His head dipped slightly, his warm breath pushing through the mask to fan over your skin, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the black fabric. You squeezed his hand, letting him know that, whatever was about to happen here, you welcomed it. He hooked a finger into his mask, beginning to pull it away from his face when the speakers suddenly blared to life, startling you apart. Your hand pulled away from his, folding then neatly in your lap as both of you stared straight ahead at the screen. "I'm sorry-"

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make things weird-"

"You didn't." Both of you fell silent at your reassurance.

"Can I still hold you? It's nice having you close." He admits bashfully. You nod, leaning into his side. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, his arm sliding back around your shoulders. The two of you sat completely engrossed through every movie; holding his hand in yours as the intense music swelled, giggling at the cheesy yet adorable special effects of 1930's cinema, the evening culminating with you struggling to stay awake as you cuddled into III's chest on the ride home. You sat up and stretched with a groan as you pulled around the back of the store. III's gaze darted anywhere besides you as he fidgeted with his seatbelt. "I had a really nice night with you." He smiles.

"I did too." Your hand slips into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Maybe, next time, I can plan something." His eyes finally meet yours.

"Next time?" You could hear the excitement laced in his tone. "Yeah, that sounds great." The two of you sat there for a little while longer, neither of you knowing what to say, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles.

"I should probably head in." You say reluctantly. "Goodnight, III."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He responds. As you go to get out he gives your hand one final squeeze, bringing your attention back to him. "Wait, can you… this is going to sound really strange, but can you close your eyes?" You nod, keeping your hand in his as you allow your eyes to slide shut. You heard the soft shuffling of fabric before a warm pair of lips pressed themselves to your cheek. The kiss was very brief, you barely had time to process what had happened before it was over. But, it still managed to leave you feeling so warm. A flustered giggle fell from your lips as you finally registered the kiss, squeezing III's hand. "You can open them." You turn to find him smiling under his mask, memorizing the adorable expression on your face. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." You let your eyes wander over his face one last time before getting out of the truck. You jogged up the stairs, fighting with your keys for a moment before managing to unlock the door. You wave down to him as he pulls away. You lean against the door with a sigh as it shuts behind you, absolutely giddy over the fact you could still feel III's lips lingering in your skin. Thinking of the night with him your mind wandered back to the time you had spent with II, the soft glances and hushed conversations that caused your heart to thrum with anticipation. How you currently found a spark between you and both of these men. Groaning, you card your hands through your hair as you shuffle deeper into your apartment. There was nothing you could do but wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

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Tag List: @spookyghostjelly @herripinkle @thepoisonedchalice @saturnhas82moons @wingsofeternitysstuff @creamwhxre @itsyagirl-snowflake @themultiverseofmars @bookishpenguino @m0cha-bunny @coreofpleasure @madsthenightowl @dangerkitten1705 @rainy-darling @shad0wcast @amara-among-the-stars @venuswinnyix @dontpercieve-me-pls @mustluvecho @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @jumpcauseimfroggy (I think that's everyone, if I missed you, you'd like to be added, or you're one of the few who's @'s didn't work {I can't figure out why that happened} please let me know!)

[whack-patty]

HEY THIS IS CANON AS FAR AS IM CONCERNED

Bonus

Heh. Funny dream...!

The first four seconds were kinda serious before it started going downhill lmfao. God, it went downhill so fast with basically zero prompting-

...

So uh, I got a lovely little idea from this post made by the creature known as @whack-patty- and I've seen other people in this small community drawing some Sneep Snorp, so I thought- why not give it a go? What could possibly go wrong??

A lot, apparently.

I don't use an actual drawing program, I use Kleki. And when it closes or crashes, if you didn't decide to save your progress on your measly one file of browser storage- it's pretty much gone. The site decided to shut down on me- twice- destroying my progress on a couple of frames. It was like the universe itself wanted me to not make this. So uh... you're welcome for powering through?

[also rq, this is a crackship, definitely, I think. I think maybe definitely. Get back to me on that one later- like a lot later- but get back to me]

[nights-at-crystarium]

i just wanted to pop by and gush about how incredibly well written vivi is because GOD. his story unfolding has made me reconsider several story beats about my wol and thats an amazing thing

theres two things that i think uve done especially well with his storytelling, being that vivi feels like an almost complete enigma to the reader, despite how intimate this story is, and the fact that vivi feels incredibly human - almost TOO human to be comfortable with

so to elaborate on the first point - i think a lot of us (and certainly i can) echo thancreds sentiment that he doesn't know vivian rell, because as intimate as this story can get with his pov, in the end, much like someone you'd meet in real life, we don't know much about him before the point we meet him, and any glimpses we get just signal that theres so much more to him than we get to see. and as much as we DO know about him, i find that every time he does one of his blank, furrowed stares that signal he's thinking something, my brain practically lights on fire trying to figure out what he's considering. to that end i really like how enigmatic uve made him from a storytelling perspective, because it makes him feel so much more real!!! i honestly look forward a lot to learning more fragments (heh) of him and slowly piecing together a puzzle of him as the story goes on. i just want to rotate him in my head lol

but also, this does segue into my other point really well, which is the fact that vivis position as wol really seems to wear on him, and he seems for lack of a better word, completely exhausted! i know (myself included) write their wols with a trait of an almost unbreakable, iron will, which is very much still true in vivis case (again, anyone who gets to the point of shadowbringers without flat out giving up is incredibly strong by default) but showing him at his wits end, exhausted with the burdens of a hero, someone just so throughly *done* with what is, realistically, a pretty shit job is well... yeah! of course he is! he's only human, and he's what, saved the world 3 times now? seen countless die before him, powerless to save them, of course he's numb. the fact that the most defining experiences of the first for him are filled with mostly such... benign experiences, and that the major, climatic moments of shadowbringers get as much fanfare as a forlong gaze, or a like. him hanging out with his fairy bestie is such a cool storytelling decision. (also before i ramble about this the decision to not even show tesleen is such an excellent decision bc like. it makes sense for him for this to not be such a significant moment. shes just another death, another tally to the thousands hes already seen. or maybe im reading WAYYY too hard into a decision to not highjack this love story with plot) basically, what i've been gushing about is the fact that vivi feels very much like a whole person, and is probably one of the most well realised wols ive ever read about. and his relationships with the world leaders, and this impossible burden hes forced to shoulder has gotten me to reconsider how i write my wol, because yeah! any hero might be strong-willed and resilient, but theyre still human, and the burden of a warrior of light is maybe, a little too much for anyone to bear.

i hope u could at least make something out of my rambles, but honestly to sum it all up i am incredibly captivated by vivi. i originally read fragments because i like ANY wolgraha content but now, i come back almost exclusively to see how vivi's story unfolds, and how graha eventually comes into the fold too. hes such a fascinating character, and i think youve done an incredible job of creating a well rounded hero, full of humanity!!! (also, if you want, feel free to post this on ur blog!!)

I think I shat myself like 5 times while reading this (positive)

Vivi being an enigma wasn't really part of the plan. We have a pool that's his lore, things I wanna tell, and a bottleneck through which it has to go. The comic format forces me to consider what bits of info to deliver when, there's only so much I can tell at a time. One deliberate choice I made is completely burn the bridge between ARR and ShB, skip, leave it empty. That already sparks questions when we see a different Vivi at the beginning of ShB (and gives me leeway, time to write with more nuance, I didn't Think about HW-SB in such scrupulous detail as ShB).

I wanted to tell a primarily ShB story from the start, but had less ambition, and planned to condense the angsty bits that you're reading nowadays into an infodump told by Vivi to no one (to the reader). Changing the receiving party to a tangible character who's eager to learn (Exarch) made the info easier to digest and anchored it in the world. This change, fwiw, happened in like 2022 while I drew the ARR arc, saw the warm reception, and got more excited about my thing. I constantly learn and try to improve, writing's a new toy that brings me tons of fun.

So, when I learned the new trick - telling things through other characters - I thought, why not make everyone slightly wrong, or rather, with a specific snapshot of Vivi in their head. Same happens irl, people only know the version of you that they're exposed to, the only person who knows the full and real you is you.

That brings me to the next point, why Vivi feels so human: I made him not as a wol/hero, but a guy I wanna ship with Exarch, his foil. Obligatory note it was dumb of me to ignore Emet's existence in that case, but that's already changed. Exarch denies himself the simple human joys, he plots his own fucking death, so I thought I'd give him a guy that teaches him how to enjoy being alive again. That was THE foundation of Vivi, his core. He's a manic pixie dream boy.

Then I started asking how and why: why he falls for Exarch specifically instead of ARRRaha? He's confident, selfish, casual (these traits are what Exarch lacks), emotionally intelligent, where did that come from? He must've had an utterly normal life and loving family before he became a hero. He grew up being appreciated and happy. OH, then his ass must LOATHE the current situation because he can't go back to that normal life! So on, so forth.

i find that every time he does one of his blank, furrowed stares that signal he's thinking something, my brain practically lights on fire trying to figure out what he's considering.

This's me carefully dropping the breadcrumbs and hoping that you notice them, and you go HOLY SHIT BREADCRUMBS, this's so validating ;w; <3 This's overtly called a story hook, though I prefer "door". So far this story's only opened doors, as in hinted at more stuff without immediately showing it. I love it when questions get delayed answers, when you get time to stew on it and build up anticipation, then, when the door finally closes, it's much more satisfying. I keep in mind all the doors I've opened, if something provokes a question, it's by design.

(also before i ramble about this the decision to not even show tesleen is such an excellent decision bc like. it makes sense for him for this to not be such a significant moment. shes just another death, another tally to the thousands hes already seen. or maybe im reading WAYYY too hard into a decision to not highjack this love story with plot)

You're 100% correct!! I'm not retelling the canon ShB story from a default wol pov, this's a custom thing focused on ships, therefore anything that doesn't contribute to said ships gets cut. You may read what's NOT shown as what Vivi doesn't pay attention to.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, this gave me so much motivation like you wouldn't know ;//////;

[wyrmswears]

wyrm thinking about jordana do you want to talk about your thoughts 👂

ok it was 2am so i saw this ask, thought to myself damn id be incomprehensible, and went to sleep to get up in time for my 9am lecture. BUT!!! yes i would like to share my thoughts.

first of all, ive been rotating lightning master au in my head a Lot. like tumblr doesnt even know a fifth of what ive got going on there. so ill share a little bit keep the general public updated nod nod (though im always happy to elaborate). jordana is so ignorant to non-imperium cultures and thats really fun to explore because it means that she knows little about elemental powers and even less about the significance of lightning in particular. at first jordana assumes that it was one of the new elements created by the merged (because, well, lightning sounds like a bit of a niche) and has no clue about the 'finding a new host' thing.

He was likely the holder of a new element created by the Merge, as so many now were. And just as quickly as the Merge had created it, Ras had destroyed it.

not to mention, almost every realm outside of imperium learnt the significance of the ninja in the aftermath of the merge, with them being such an important part of ninjago's culture. even as the rest of imperium became more open and started interacting with other cultures, jordana went with ras, continuing her isolation and only ever learning of the wyldness.

all this is to say that she is woefully unprepared for the reaction people would have towards her element.

“The most shocking competitor of the tournament!” A burst of amusement at the pun, courtesy of Jay. “Jordana - master of Lightning!”

For a brief second Jordana enjoyed the shocked look that washed over the ninja, but as the expressions of shock turned to dread, her smug smile twisted into an uneasy frown.

The arena and stands had fallen into eerie silence. Jordana felt like she was missing out on the punchline of a joke, a common feeling having grown up isolated in Imperium’s culture and more recently finding herself surrounded by citizens of the Merged Realms, all of which had learnt from and shared with and found understanding in one another.

There was common knowledge underlying the dread, she knew. She just didn’t know what it was until one of the ninja - the master of Earth - stepped forwards.

“Your element is… lightning?”

Her hand found its way to her chest, rubbing above where her heart would be. “What does that matter?” She said, not dismissively but with fear creeping into her voice.

the tournament is an awful place to realise the significance of your situation. surrounded by friends of the ninja and a city of people who know far more about elemental powers than jordana, who has held the element of lightning for maybe a month at this point. all of whom know what it means for jordana to be the master of lightning, far more than she herself does. to jordana, every ounce that someone cares about jay is an ounce less that they care about her. the silence as an entire city of people understands and processes and starts to mourn the death of jay is the backing track to when peoples perception of jordana changes from a kid participating in a competition to an enemy. effectively through her introduction she has made a far greater enemy of herself than she has ever been considered before

so silly that jays attempt to give jordana protection (by passing on his element to her, hoping that it would defend her against ras) instead leads to her persecution at the hands of the ninja and allies

anyway. breaking out of lightning master au, lets trans jordanas gender. i think this would save her. i really do.

oh fuck i have another lecture uh. more thoughts later

[void-ink-studios]

Rinse and Spit [Part 2] - A Mouthwashing AU

Chapter 2 baby!!! It's a bit of a calm before the storm type of deal. And a little bit more character interaction, for better or worse.

Check it out on Ao3 right here! And drop a comment while you're there!

Content Warning: Depictions of physical abuse.

Curly didn’t see the others much these days.  Not that he saw Swansea or Daisuke very much, even before the mysterious meeting with Anya.

But now, not even she came to see him much.  Just to redress his bandages, give him an IV for food, and keep him as clean as could be helped in such situations.  But she didn’t speak to him.  Or really look at him anymore.

Maybe she finally figured out how to hate him.  Curly figured it was only a matter of time.  Five months of taking care of someone that could be blamed for all current problems had to have taken its toll on her.  He didn’t blame her in the slightest.

She watched him through the night, just to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit.  She extended as much care as she needed to.

It’s exactly what Curly deserved.

He had no right to miss their one sided conversations.  Or her reading out loud to him some cheesy fantasy novel, or the employee handbook.  He didn’t need any of it, didn’t deserve any of it.  So it’s only right, he supposed, that she’d decide that as well.

But the other’s absence meant that it was just Curly and Jimmy in the Med Bay these days.

And Curly hasn’t had a moment’s peace yet.

Jimmy liked to stare at him.  Maybe gawk is the better descriptor.  He seemed to take some amusement or satisfaction looking at Curly’s state.

Curly had done his best not to dignify it with eye contact.  But it was hard when you felt the burning emptiness locked onto you.

He touched a lot.  No matter how many times Curly made noises to indicate it hurt, or how he moved his weak limbs, he was touched.  He was moved and turned and rotated, as if Jimmy was trying to take in every detail.  He opened and closed his mouth, sometimes hard enough to make his teeth rattle against each other.  He forcefully turned his head to make him look at random things.  He picked at bandages, staring as his ruined skin tugged on them.

I hope this hurts.

Sometimes he would just choke him.  If Curly ever made it out of this, he would remember the look on Jimmy’s face forever.  There wasn’t any light in his eyes.  Not even anger or disgust.  Just emptiness as he squeezed and pushed hard onto Curly’s neck.  Sometimes he’d rummage through a drawer and see how far he could push a tongue depressor down Curly’s throat.

Jimmy didn’t talk much during these visits.  Only when he gave him his pills did he really talk.  But dear god did Curly wish he didn’t.

“I know the way you thought of me” he started.  “I was your charity case, right?  Saving me from my struggle of a life?  Yeah, I see that, Curly.  I suppose you think I should thank you?”

Jimmy stared intensely at the pill between his fingers.

“Who should be thanking who now?  Not like you can do anything without my help anymore.  It’s you’re fault we’re in this mess.  I think you should act a bit more grateful.”

The pilot leaned in close, close enough Curly could smell his breath.

“Say thank you.”

Curly did move.  Didn’t open his mouth.  Just kept his eye locked on Jimmy’s.

“I said to say thank you.  Say thank you and I give you your pill.”

Jimmy’s hands were rough.  They always had calluses, he’d worked a number of odd jobs back on Earth, labored the softness of his skin away.  And Curly could feel all those years of struggle as his former friend started to squeeze his cheeks tightly, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“I’m busting my ass around this ship because of you.  The least you could do is be thankful for it.”

Curly’s world goes topside as Jimmy shook his head back and forth.  Black spots filled his vision, and he could hear the blood rushing in his head and ear.  And the grip just kept getting tighter.

“Say it.”

Curly forced his throat to make sounds.  Some kind of approximation of “Thank you.”  Anything to get Jimmy to leave faster.

“There.  Wasn’t so hard to just show a little appreciation, right Captain?”

Curly had learned to mostly escape his own body when Jimmy shoved his fingers down his throat.  That’s been a skill he’s gotten really good at.  He could carry his mind away, to other places and times, far far away from the Tulpar.

But he could never escape for very long.  Jimmy patted his cheek like he was a misbehaving child finally deciding to cooperate.

“You know.  If we had the supplies and Swansea could let go of a bottle of mouthwash for long enough, I bet we could put together a little button wall for you.  You know, like those videos of the talking dogs Daisuke was showing you?  Then you can tell us when you need your pills instead of making those fucking noises all the time.  Look at me.  Still fixing things.”

Jimmy laughed.  Curly didn’t.

He had hoped that would be the end of it.  But he was hardly so lucky these days.

“Stop staring at me.”

Curly flicked his gaze up at the ceiling, his eye tracing the patterns of the seams in the ceiling.  He could still see Jimmy, out in his peripheral.  Staring at him.

“Why’d you have to give Swansea the ax, hm?  Old bastard won’t hand it over.  Kept saying how you entrusted him with it.  Even before the crash.”

Curly wasn’t sure where he was going with this.  What was he meant to do?  Answer?  He’s not even sure why.

But there was something in Jimmy’s expression that makes him glad he did.

“...This really was all your fault, huh?  If you had just… Well, we wouldn’t be here.  And now look at you.  You’re too useless to be angry at.  Managed to dodge any responsibility and get to lay here.  You don’t have to do anything.  Must be paradise, right?”

And then Curly was alone again.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just trying to breathe and let the pill’s effects take hold.  He didn’t even like how the pills felt.  He felt clouded.  Muffled.  Not even in a way that could let him relax or distract him from the pain.  It’s just now he can’t do anything to express that discomfort.  He can’t even make “those fucking noises” when they take effect.

Best he could hope for is them making him too tired to do anything else but sleep.

He didn’t know if Anya knows that.  Does she think they’re helping?  Does she know that Pony Express paid for the cheapest possible painkillers and called it a day?

He didn’t know which answer would be worse.

“...Captain?”

Curly jumped a little.  Couldn’t be…

Daisuke seemed lost.  He always looked a little lost, but this time he really looked out of place.  He’d been to the Med Bay a few times, as far as Curly remembers.  A few bumps and bruises that Anya had to clear, especially after the foam wall mishap.

“Uh, hi Captain.  It’s been a while.”

Curly made a soft noise as Daisuke inched into the room a bit further.  He turned his head, unable to look at the intern.

The kid shouldn’t be here.

Take Responsibility

It was Curly’s fault this kid was here.  He remembered the memo from Pony Express, that they assigned an intern to the voyage.  He remembered getting frustrated, but letting it go and informing Swansea he’d be training a new crew mate.  He remembered how excited Daisuke was when he boarded the ship, immediately tripping over the last step before the captain could warn him about it.

Curly thought bitterly about Pony Express.  Why bother hiring an intern if they knew they were going under?

God, what are his parents thinking right now?  Did they know?  Did anyone on Earth know they’re stuck out here?  When would they figure it out?  Long after they’re all mummified in this metal tomb, that’s for certain.  If they even get that far.

“Are you feeling any better?”  Daisuke sat on the chair right next to his bed, where Anya usually sat.  He turned his head to look at the kid.  “Right… Dumb question, sorry.”

He pulled something out of his pocket.  Oh… His game system… Swansea had complained when he first saw it, called it a waste of batteries.  And maybe it was.  But Curly let him keep it anyway.  What harm could two missing batteries cause, after all?

Curly remembered Daisuke showing him the game he was playing, months ago.  Some platformer, a difficult one, one Daisuke himself said he was kinda bad at.  Yet he kept playing.  Curly couldn’t recall a time he’s seen the intern not smiling while playing.

Unconsciously, Curly makes a noise, a motion towards Daisuke, who had begun playing.

“Oh!  You wanna see?”

Curly hesitated for a second before nodding.

“Awesome.  So, I’m on this level with a bunch of explosive mushrooms, the explosions are huge and hard to dodge.  Never made it past this level.”

Curly watched the gameplay, the tiny character trying to dodge and weave between fungal bombs.

He felt himself move before he consciously realized he was doing it.  But he found himself now on his side, watching the game.  It was the most movement Curly’s had in days, at least movement that he initiated.

“Swansea’s not interested, Anya’s busy, and Jimmy… well, nobody seems to really have time for anything other than stress right now.  A-And I don’t blame them, this situation sucks.  Maybe we’ll get famous for it later, but right now… Things are pretty dicey, Captain.  I know I should probably be doing something more useful right now but… I don’t know.  I just don’t want to make things worse.”

Daisuke looked at Curly, a little surprised to see the captain’s change in position.

“Oh, woah.  Anya said you haven’t moved in ages.  Heh, glad my game’s so interesting, Captain.  Makes me play better, I bet.  Be my good luck charm?”

Curly didn’t make a noise, just a shallow little nod.  If he could smile, he would.  It was the first in a long time that the captain felt he was being treated like a human.

Not that you deserve it.

“Anya and Swansea have been acting weird lately.  They have little meetings in Utility.  I don’t think they know I’ve noticed.  I thought Swansea said Utility was walled up with foam.  Guess he cleared it out.”

Daisuke made a little triumphant noise as he defeats what Curly believes to be a miniboss.

“They don’t talk about you anymore.  I tried to ask Anya if you were doing any better and she just kinda looked away.  I thought you had died or something. Swansea just told me to not worry about it.  Maybe that’s why I wandered over here.”

Curly made a wounded noise at that.  He figured he was probably a lost cause anyway, but… Well it didn’t make hearing it hurt any less.

“Jimmy’s been weird too.  Or, I guess he’s always been a bit weird.  But now he’s acting really weird.  He keeps telling me that Swansea’s up to something, but… I dunno.”

Daisuke shook his head, his expression turning a little embarrassed.  “Sorry Cap.  Didn’t mean to talk your ear off like that.  Or, uh, wait… Nevermind.  I can go if you, uh, want.”

Curly groaned.  He couldn’t grab, couldn’t reach out very far without the bandages tugging on his back and arms painfully, but he tried his best.

“Oh.  Cool.  I guess I’ll keep playing here then.  It’s quiet here.”

The two stayed like that for a long while, with the only noise being the little sound effects and music coming from Daisuke’s game.  Even the fluorescent buzzing and crackling of the window screen seemed quieter than before.

“I get why Anya sleeps here instead of the Lounge.  Gotta be nice to get away from Swansea’s snoring, right?”

Curly chuffed a weak laugh, surprising even himself.

He wished he could tell Daisuke stories.  He had wanted to ever since the intern first introduced himself after take off.  Wanted to let him know they’ve all been in his position.  And that he’d find his place soon, just like they all did.  But Curly was always too busy or distracted.

Take responsibility

It all seemed so pointless now.  What place was Daisuke meant to find if he lost his job before he even finished his first trip?

“Hey Captain…?”

Curly snapped out of his thoughts, turning to look more directly at Daisuke.

“When we get back, you’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Curly was confused at that.  Keep in touch?  It’s a miracle every second he’s still breathing, how is he meant to last long enough until they get to a proper hospital?

But then he saw the look in Daisuke’s eyes.  He was always such a happy kid.  Smiling even when Anya lost her mind at his luck in dice games.  Laughing even as Swansea scolded him for doing something foolish.  Joking even in the face of what’s certain death to everyone else.

But… Well, Daisuke probably knows that too.  He knows the chances of them ever seeing Earth again are slim enough to cut air.  He knows as much as everyone else.

Do you see the dead pixel?

Curly nodded, making his best effort at a positive noise.

“Awesome.  I gotta tell Mom and Dad what a cool boss you are.”

Take responsibility

The door slid open, breaking whatever spell was cast over the Med Bay.  The buzzing and crackling filled Curly’s head again, the pill’s effects finally enveloping his head.  He spotted Anya, who looked a little startled.  Both at Daisuke’s presence and Curly’s new position.

“Daisuke.  Did you need anything?  Another new bruise?”

“No Ms Volkov.  Just chatting with the Captain.”

Anya looked between Curly and Daisuke.  Curly had the impression like she was inspecting him.  Whether it was like an insect or like a wound, he couldn’t tell.  He wordlessly rolled back over onto his back.

“...Swansea was looking for you.  You might want to meet him in the lounge before he blows a gasket.”

“Yes ma’am” the intern said with a silly little salute.  He turned to look at Curly one more time.  “I’ll talk to you later, Captain.  You’re my new good luck charm with my games.”

And with that, it was just him and Anya once again.

The two stared at each other for the longest time.  Curly hoped that maybe she would finally speak to him again.  His selfish heart still ached for her company.

I hope this hurts.

“...Goodnight Captain.”

And Curly was alone again.