#I’m not one of those people who thinks everyone are out to get me

[starlight-library]

Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts I LN4 (Pt. II)

pairing: Jock!Lando Norris x Nerd!Reader

summary: Formula Ivy Academy, or FIA for short, is the most renowned private in the world who takes such a select few. Usually those from wealth with status and secrets and so much to lose. Yet, you are selected to join the FIA on a full scholarship. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain scares a lot students, especially their star athlete who will do anything to protect those he cares about. Though, he didn't expect you to have as much of a...bite to you for a little nobody.

warning: jealous!lando. also possessive lando again, ig. bestie!charles, MESSY!FRANCO!!! god it becomes SO messy!!! franco is so smooth too. mention of make out. mention of eating out & fingering (f receiving). um idk after, kinda dying like ferrari's strategy by not having it beta read

fc: none!

a/n: since everyone is asking!!! here’s a new part!!! also once again, i opened a ko-fi! feel free to show extra love 💕

wc: 4.5K

part 1 | current

“Has Lando’s attitude gotten any better since last week?”

“No.”

“Ha! Well, surely he’s been a bit better at practices, no?”

“That, he has. I think it’s because Max snapped at him and the coach backed Max up. Though he still gives me dirty glares during practice when he’s not speaking to me.” Charles shrugs, “though I am unbothered. I wasn’t the one who tried to bribe someone out of this school for people who don’t actually truly like me. Still baffles me that he did that considering how half the school talks poorly about him behind his back. Some are not as subtle as others.”

“Well, everyone has their reasons. Maybe he was more so worried about his friends. Max, Oscar, you—”

“I don't know if I would qualify as a friend anymore.”

“I would consider you a friend if I was Lando,” you admit with a small smile, “friends fight. That’s just the nature of any relationship, romantic or not. I bet he’ll let it go and muster up some apology for being such a dick to you.”

“And you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, “Lando apologize to me? My dear friend, are you sure you don’t smoke anything? Because that sounds like straight delusion. Did you find the delusion at the store? If so, did you get extra because I would love some.” You remark.

“Y/N. I’m serious here.”

“So am I, Charlie. Lando is never going to apologize to me for the shit he tried to pull on me last week.” You lean forward in your seat while making a face at the thought of Lando actually apologizing to you, “Him apologizing means that he was wrong and him admitting that he’s wrong is like hell freezing over or God admitting he was wrong to cast Lucifer out of heaven or like a guy actually knowing where the clit is or—”

“Y/N!” Charles almost shrieks before shuffling closer and murmuring, “you cannot just say things like that! You know how they are about language—”

“Oh bite me.” You groan softly while looking at Charles unimpressed, “The FIA only made that rule because Max was stupid enough to curse at his advisor. Though Marko totally deserved it, if you ask me. Besides.” You take a chance to look on either side of you before looking back at Charles, “we’re the only two here so I doubt anybody heard me. If they did, I think a lot of the girls would be agreeing with my statement and if it was faculty, I will happily take my community service hours because I am not apologizing for telling the truth.” You lean back in your seat with a shrug.

You watch Charles open and close his mouth as he tries to think of something to say and him growing increasingly frustrated because he really had nothing to say besides ‘you’re right, y/n’. You giggle seeing Charles huff and lean back in his chair, grumbling that “ you have some fair points.” You just nod before looking back down at all your notebook. You take a moment before tipping your laptop screen back as you go back to rewriting your notes as silence falls over you and Charles.

“I’ll be right back.” You tear your gaze away from your laptop looking at Charles who is gently pushing his books and laptop back onto the table. “I promised Arthur I would help him with piano and I have to meet him in ten minutes. I’ll be back soon,” Charles is rapidly telling you as he grabs his coat, hastily walking away. You stare, mouth a bit open before just accepting your fate and turning back around. Whatever, it’s fine.

You start finding your groove again as you see just a flash of color across from you. Still, you didn’t even acknowledge the other as you continued to take these notes down. You take a few more minutes to get through the section and let out a sigh of relief. That was one out of four, anyway. Leaning back, you rub your eyes and decide you can take a five minute break. Dropping your hands, you expect to see Charles sitting across from you once again. Instead, someone else sat in Charles' seat.

The universe just loves to test your patience. It has barely been a week since the incident with Lando that you had swore you were done. No more curly hair, greenish eyes, stupid contagious smile, friendly heartthrobs in your life. It was so oddly specific that you were certain the universe would listen but instead the universe decided to test you if you were really done since you now have curly hair, hazel green eyes, stupidly friendly and contagious smile sitting right across from you who was watching you with a gentle smile.

“Franco?”

“Y/N. There you are.” Franco leans forward and puts his elbows on the table, “Leave it to you to find the coolest hidden spot in the library.” He leans over to look at your laptop and then sits back down. “Are you rewriting notes? Gross. I am very sure you have an uh…” he pauses, “photographic memory. That is the word. You already know the things, please put the notes down and have social interactions?”

“Oh why thank you for thinking I have a photographic memory but I do in fact study a lot.” You giggle and feel a blush creep onto your face at the compliment. “I am having social interaction. Am I not talking to you?” You raise a brow at him smiling. “I can talk to you while rewriting my notes, you know.”

“Yes but I do not want you to do that but that means I only have half your attention,” Franco complains as he gently closes your laptop screen shut and grabs your hands. You look at Franco and feel your face turn as red as the school’s hoodie while looking at the other, “and that just will not do.” Franco brings your hand to cup his cheek while looking at you, “you’re always taking notes and talking. I want one hundred percent of your time. Just this once, please?”

You were not the universe’s strongest warrior. The way that Franco looked at you with those wide eyes and small pout. You had found yourself letting your resolve melt quickly as you gently shut your laptop, elbow on the table while resting your cheek against your palm. “Yeah,” you find yourself saying while smiling dreamily at your fellow classmate, “I can do that.”

“Wonderful!” Franco praises as he leans back slightly. “Now, where were we last time we talked?” Franco thinks trying to recall, “I think we were talking about Hamilton—”

“And Toto,” you add on with a grin.

“Right, right,” Franco nods while glancing around before leaning in slightly. “I’m going fucking insane. They have Hamilton coming in as the guest designer for the fashion students this year and they moved the fashion kids into the arts building after that fire. Which means,” Franco grumbles, “I have the fortunate bad luck of seeing Lewis four times a week almost all day.”

“Why is that bad? He’s like your biggest celebrity crush.”

“That’s the thing!” Franco hisses, “He’s a celebrity crush. A crush that was never to see my existence or anything. Now instead of kilometers separating us, it’s just one floor! You think a man that is perfect should be looking at someone like me?” Franco looks at you, horrified, “Y/N. Please. I’ve never been so stressed over my looks before going to class. I don’t know how much longer my fragile heart can take seeing Lewis in all his glorious outfits with all those lovely rings…and tattoos…and stay sane.” Franco drops his head in defeat before looking back up at you. “Well, what about you? How’s your celebrity crush on Toto?”

You sigh and look away defeated. “Sadly, he is no longer a celebrity crush. He’s…” You cover your mouth as you take a moment. You close your eyes before taking a deep breath in and out. “Toto Wolff is…off the roster,” you whisper dramatically while looking at Franco. Franco gasps loudly, covering his mouth.

“What?! Say it ain’t so! Toto Wolff has been on the roster since the day we created the rosters,” Franco stares in disbelief, “What happened? What did he do that was so…dirty that you had to take him off the roster completely.

You stare at Franco before looking away, shaking your head slightly. “He did the one thing that I was terrified of. The only thing that would have me kick a man such as Toto Wolff off the damn roster…he became a full time professor here.” You finally admit, covering your mouth again in disbelief that your worst nightmare came true. You hear Franco gasp again and you nod, “I know. It’s such a sad day. We lost one of our strongest.”

“Here lies Toto Wolff. That man saw the rise of your beautifully curated roster. A moment of silence for our beloved.” Franco whispers as he sits there with you. You two glance at each other and you two break out into laughter. You both lean in, giggling while trying to hush the other so you two don’t get in trouble for being so loud. “Though seriously, he became a full time professor here? Good for him but that truly is a shame. We got new eye candy but at what cost?”

“I know! But hey, at least his teaching style is unique so at least I am very engaged which is really a good thing plus him looking as hot as he does since he’s a psychopath. Who the hell has classes at eight in the morning? I can’t even be happy that it’s once a week because it’s a three hour class that starts promptly at eight in the morning on Monday. Maybe it is a good thing Toto became a professor because this is too much.”

Franco’s been laughing silently the entire time, silently getting more dramatic as you spoke so he wouldn’t scream in the middle of the library. You watch him for a moment before laughing as well, grabbing onto his arms as the two of you laugh.

You two calm down and lean back as someone clears their throat. The two of you look up and your face falls to horror when cold stormy green eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably as you become defensive. Shoulder a bit further back. Back a bit straighter. Chin a bit higher. You force a smile at the British student while trying to explode him with your mind.

“Y/N.” Lando remarks while looking down at you with pure raging dislike, “Funny seeing you here.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Ha.” Lando looks at Franco and relaxes slightly. “Dude. Come on. I’ve been looking for you for the past ten minutes, we have to grab Oscar before meeting up with Max and Carlos soon. I really don’t need Carlos getting on me for being late.”

“Oh sorry. I just got so distracted.” Franco tells Lando and stands.

“What were you even doing? Speaking to Y/N?” You glare at Lando. Franco is way too sweet to be dragged into your bullshit with Lando before looking back at Franco. It seems that the Brit has a soft spot for your fellow freshman or something because Lando clears his throat before he keeps speaking, “I didn’t realize you two knew each other. Didn’t mean to sound so rude…sorry.”

Holy shit. Did hell finally freeze over? Maybe it’s pigs flying. Or he’s finally getting laid. It really doesn’t matter the reason why right now because you were still in disbelief that Lando apologized. You never thought you’d live to see the day where Lando apologized in general but apologizing because of the rude tone he had when speaking about you? Did you end up in the Twilight Zone? No no this must be a joke. Okay, cut the cameras. Seriously the cameras can STOP rolling.

“Oh of course I know Y/N! We’re in the same graduating class and we have a few gen eds together. It’s just hard given our schedules but,” Franco grins, “We make it work. Though! Before I leave I actually want to know if you’d be interested in grabbing lunch with me tomorrow” Franco announces as he looks at you, smiling, “could be a date if you want?”

Suddenly the world just freezes and you’re stuck at the library table staring in complete shock at the turn of the events. You hadn’t even told Franco about Lando, not having the heart for his poor heart to be crushed by how Lando could be so nasty. Still, you’re trying to figure out how the hell this conversation got onto the topic of Franco asking you out on a date.

In the heat of the moment, you can’t help but turn to look at Lando as if he heard Franco correctly. Maybe you’ve just fallen asleep and this is some weird dream or something. You come to the shocking yet unsuspecting realization that this is not a dream when Lando meets your gaze having the same idea. You both look back at Franco in a state of shock and confusion. “A date?” You and Lando ask in union.

“Yes.” Franco laughs and smiles widely at you and Lando before looking back at you, “well? Would you like to get lunch with me? As a date?”

“Yes.” You smile while nodding, “I would love to get lunch with you as a date.”

You stare at Franco with a stupid smile. You hadn’t expected this was how your evening would go but you were more than happy about it. You were so happy, that Lando’s look of shock turned to disgust didn’t even phase you. Finally, you’re crashing back to reality when Lando annoyingly clears his throat while looking down at the two of you. “Well, lovebirds,” Lando forces a smile but you can feel the burn his venomous words carry, “sorry to cut the moment short but we really have to leave now, Franco.” Lando manages through gritted teeth.

“Right! Sorry again.” Franco gathers his things and looks at you, “I’ll text you later. Bye Y/N,” Franco waves before Lando sends him off, telling him he’ll be right out.

You watch Franco go off and sigh dreamily. You glance away for a moment before doing a double take. Your smile morphs into a scowl while looking at Lando who—hasn’t moved yet. Looking him up and down, you raise a brow. “Can I help you?”

“Why did you say yes to Franco?”

“You really think you’re entitled to that after the shit you pulled last week?” You raise a brow while clicking your tongue, “besides. Why do you even care?”

“Because Franco’s a freshman and I don’t need him distracted,” Lando snaps and you roll your eyes. Here he goes again about distractions and shit. Lando glances away and huffs. “Also because he’s a bit of a player.”

“Takes one to know one, yeah?”

Lando glares at you and sneers slightly. “So what? I wouldn’t want him wasting any of his time on you.”

“Why?”

“You’d probably bore him to death.” Looking down at you as Lando gives it a beat. “Also I doubt you’d know how to get him off for your first time. Hell, I don’t think you’d know how to get anybody off. Not even yourself.” Giving you a condescending smile, “I would hate for him to be a part of your body count.”

“Oh.” You laugh slightly, “That’s adorable. Well. You know what? I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Lando’s a bit taken aback. “I—what?”

“You know. I’ve been doing some thinking. I think we didn’t quite see eye-to-eye.” You continue as you pack your things. “Which isn’t really fair because you were truly just looking out for your friends. Like you’re doing right now.” Standing straight, “which I just wanna say is the sweetest thing ever so. I want to thank you and I’ve figured out the best way to do that.”

“…Which is…?” Lando leans in slightly, waiting for your answer.

“Which is…letting you know in great detail not only how good Franco’s gonna fuck me this weekend but you’ll also have to listen how Franco’s not going to want anybody else when I’m done with him.” You feign innocence to Lando as you sling your backpack over your shoulders before walking away.

“Now, don’t you move a single muscle,” Franco kisses your forehead with a smile “You just focus on resting and I’ll handle everything for dinner tonight, okay?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good girl.” Franco winks before leaving your dorm. 

You lay in your bed staring where Franco had just left before rolling over, grunting as your legs failed to work with you. Fumbling around the messy sheets and pillows till you find your phone and immediately open the texts messages because you had to tell someone about the date you just had:

A MINX. HE’S A MINX I TELL YOU. - YN

WHO? WHAT? THE FUCK IS HAPPENING??? - CL

FRANCO. FRANCO IS NOTHING MORE THAN A MINX!!!!-YN

??????-CL

So Franco asked me out on a date for lunch today—YN

HE WHAT?! WHEN?-YN

Yesterday after you disappeared. He showed up and Lando came looking for him.-YN

LANDO? WHAT? Oh my god was he nasty to you? I’ll hurt him istg-CL

No. No he was…civil. Or civilish while Franco was around. But anyway, yeah Lando was asking like why Franco was talking to me cause we don’t really talk and like they had to go to Max’s place and Franco was like “oh we’re in the same graduating class” and stuff but before he left he was like “oh do you wanna get lunch with me tomorrow as a date?'“-YN

And I was gagged! I thought it heard it wrong so I looked at Lando who was LOOKING AT ME THE SAME WAY so we realize oh this is real. This is happening and Franco wants to grab lunch with me like a date. So I say yes, obviously.-YN

IN FRONT OF LANDO!?-CL

Yeah cause fuck him!!! If my happiness is his kryptonite to having a good day, then so fucking be it. But wait!! There’s more!-YN

TELL ME! TELL ME!-CL

So Lando hangs behind and Franco leaves. Then Lando looks at me all like “why’d you say yes?” Bitch what do you mean???-YN

Oh my god, he did not!!-CL

He totally did!!!-YN

Ew. Why does it have a jealous undertone?? possessiveness???-CL

It’s giving ‘you belong to me’ or like ‘nobody else can have you because I want you’ like some dark romance MMC. This is not a bully romance with a mafia subplot or some shit!!-YN

PREACH 👏👏👏. So what happened after?!-CL

Oh so I was like “i’m not telling you after the shit you pulled last week” and asking why he cares and he’s going on about how Franco’s a freshman and he can’t get distracted and how he’s a bit of a player, which he isn’t he’s just kind of a himbo, and I was like “oh takes one to know one, yeah?”-YN

YOU DID NOT. SHUT UP OH Y/N I LOVE YOU SO MUCH-CL

I did and that pissed Lando off. He starts going on about how I don’t know how to get anybody off and I’d bore Franco to death and how he would never want Franco a part of my body count. First off I got three bodies and I have pleased all three, thank you very much but also like fuck Lando!! His opinion? Doesn’t matter!! So I started bout how ‘oh we got off on the wrong foot’ and ‘you’re right’ to throw him for a loop before I told him I wanted to ‘thank him’ for ‘opening my eyes’ and his thank you is listening, in great detail, to Franco fuck me this entire weekend and then listening to Franco wanting nobody else 💋-YN

YNNNN!!! OH MY GOOOOOD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!! Ugh yes that’s some queen shit. Though how does that tie into Franco being a minx??-CL

BECAUSE. It’s Friday. He has no classes. Mine got canceled so I decided, oh why don’t we stay in today, right? soooo like, we go to the cafe, i get food (that Franco paid for) cause he’s not hungry right now which is whatever, and then we head back to my dorm. We’re watching tv, we’re talking, and I finish eating. It’s great, right??-YN

Yes, correct.-CL

So as I’m talking, I start talking about Lando. Franco’s apologizing, I’m telling him he shouldn’t be apologizing. He’s asking if he should stop hanging out with Lando and you know me. I’m not gonna police people on their friends so I told him no. As long as he holds Lando accountable, then I don’t care. If Franco wants to drop Lando that’s his own doing.-YN

Anyway, we keep talking and laughing. We’re getting closer. And then…you know-YN

…What happened? 👀👀-CL

We start kissing. Then it turns into a lazy makeout. Hands start wandering, nothing real scandalous ya know?-YN

Uh huh…-CL

Then this mf pulls away and is like “Oh, I’m real hungry”-YN

FRANCO!!! WTFF!!!!-CL

OH WAIT!! Cause that’s what I thought. I was like “Oh really? Like now? I mean I guess we can go back to the cafe.” Meanwhile he’s actively getting off the bed. Then Franco pulls me by my ankles to the edge of the bed. so i'm thinking he’s really hungry so I go to sit up and he pushes me back down talking bout some “where’re you going mami?”-YN

SIR?? EXCUSE ME??? I can hear the accent now, oh my god that’s—wow-CL

OH BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE!!!-YN

So first, don’t be calling me mami unless you plan on making me an actual mom. Second, I’m looking at him confused like “you said you were hungry” and he’s like “yeah?” and I was like “Oh I’m sorry, I just thought you’d want me to join you going to the cafe to get lunch” and he’s looking at me like I got ten heads before going like “the cafe? Why would we go to the cafe?” He’s actively like leaning over me while holding my thighs and slowly pushing them opening talking bout “I don’t need the cafe when I got a full five meal course right here sprawled out in front of me.”-YN

FRANCO!?! OH MY GOD—I have to fan myself. Wow that was—🥵🥵🥵🥵-CL

RIGHT?!?!-YN

WELL??-CL

…Charles when I tell you. I do not believe in god but I am pretty sure I was knocking on his door. Two hours. I was seeing god for TWO HOURS!!! Charles when I tell you that man had me screaming crying throwing up I MEAN IT. Charles, I'm still in bed. My legs are still shaking. I can’t feel them.-YN

What I wouldn’t give to be sucked off like that—CL

But wait. There’s a cherry on top of all of this.-YN

WHAT COULD TOP THIS?-CL

Franco really had to make sure everyone knew what was happening. I mean, he’s on his knee with my hips hanging off. He’s got one hand gripping my ass like it’s his lifeline to this world. He’s between my thighs and eating me out like he is a man up next on death row and I am his final fucking meal. He pushed all the pillows away. Got my wrists pinned to my stomach with his other hand. I am solely at his mercy and I cannot keep quiet for the life of me and he ate it up. I was so loud, I heard banging from upstairs.-YN

Banging?-CL

Yeah. Like someone was hitting a broom against the floor. To signal to shut up, which Franco and I ignored. More Franco than me, I couldn’t see straight and that was an hour in. Do you know, what the banging was though???-YN

A disgruntled upstairs neighbor???-CL

Yeah. Do you remember who my upstairs neighbor is?-YN

…OH MY FUCKING GOD, LANDO LISTENED TO YOU GETTING THE BEST HEAD OF YOUR LIFE?-CL

Yes SIIIIIIIIRRRRRR. Dude Lando got so mad he CALLED Franco in the middle of it and he answered.-YN

HE ANSWERED?!-CL

Yes. He answered. Pulls back enough to start fingering me and hands be a pillow telling me to bite down on it which I do without a second fucking thought. But tell me why Franco put Lando on speaker and Lando asking “what are you doing right now??” and Franco looks me dead in the fucking eyes going on bout “Oh I’m just having lunch right now with Y/N.” and Lando’s like “oh yeah? Is that so? Then why the fuck is she screaming so god damn loud? Huh? Thought it was a lunch date?” and Charles. I shit you the fuck NOT, Franco without missing a beat goes, “It is. She’s my lunch and my mother always told me to finish everything on my plate and I plan to do just that.” THEN HUNG UP THE PHONE AND WENT RIGHT BACK TO EATING ME OUT.-YN

Y/N…you are the luckiest bitch around. Holy fucking shit. I need a man like Franco—do we know if Franco swings both ways??-CL

He does. Though you might not like him. He’s got a huge crush on Lewis—YN

Never mind. You keep Franco. Gives me an easier chance to steal Lewis' heart. Or just get one chance with him.-CL

I think you can do it. I believe. Anyway, yeah so that happened and—YN

You accidentally send your message to Charles early when a new text comes through. It’s by an unknown number and you click on it.

Lacrosse field. 8pm. We need to talk.-Unk

You think for a moment trying to figure out who this could be. No names come to your mind so you think that someone texted the wrong number. Typically, you’d leave unknown numbers alone but you got the impression that this was something important and urgent that you respond.

Oh I’m sorry, you have the wrong number-YN

I don’t-Unk

Excuse me?-YN

You look up hearing the familiar broom hitting against the floor. You scowl at Lando and his antics before looking back at your phone. Huh. That was…too coincidental. You lay there for a moment before the banging came again, this time a bit more urgent. You send your message before realizing it.

Lando?-YN

The banging stops. Suddenly, your dorm is eerily quiet and you hold your breath. You watch the familiar three bubbles appear and disappear before appearing again as your heart sinks.

Bingo. 8pm. Tonight. Lacrosse field. Alone.-LN

tag list: @dripostsstuff, @tinyhrry, @formulaho, @green--beanie, @brekkers-whore.

@fat-meh, @landossainz, @jaydensluv, @carpediem241108, @rayaharper,

@bookishnerd1132, @asmoothoperator, @loloekie, @kawaiifurychaos

@st0rmzi3, @tygecjjd, @eclipsedcherry, @linnygirl09, @ln4-cl16-world

@poppymelonz, @katiascraft, @fangirl125reader, @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs, @norrisleclercf1

[fandoms-x-reader]

Defense System

Requested By: @space-dragon-ace

Oneshot

Summary: MC loses everyone in a crowd. To find the others quickly, they yell, "MC is a good for nothing human!" and wait to see what happens. OM! Cast x Reader Word Count: 851

You were apprehensive about going to this event in the first place.

You had just gotten back to the Devildom after being away for some time and you were still readjusting to the way things were down there.

But, your friends had all insisted on taking you to an event that occurred in the streets of the Devildom.

There were going to be tons of food trucks, vendors, shows and so much more.

They promised you that you would have a ton of fun ~ so who were you to refuse to go?

It was only after you got to the event that you began to regret your decision to go.

You had all shown up in a large group, but it seemed that everyone had their own things that they wanted you to experience.

All fifteen of your friends almost immediately went their own way, wanting to get something from a specific vendor to bring back to you or wanting to get you tickets to a show.

They were in competition mode and whenever that happened, you knew that it was hard to get them back on track.

There were tons of people surrounding you; and, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t see a single one of your friends.

You were a bit frustrated at this point, mostly because you had only agreed to go for them.

And, now you were standing in the middle of a crowd of demons, by yourself, unsure where to go or what to do.

You wanted to call someone on your D.D.D. but with how busy it was around you, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to hear anyone even if they did pick up the phone.

You thought about using your pact to summon one of the brothers; but, you didn’t think you were at the stage where that was exactly necessary.

Especially since summoning could cause the brothers pain if it isn’t done properly and it had been a while since you tried to do it.

Unsure of what else to do, you decided to be a little mischievous and test your bond with the others a bit.

You took a deep breath before shouting into the crowd, “Y/N is a good-for-nothing human!”

You paused for a moment, looking around once again, but when you still couldn’t find anyone, you let out a small sigh.

I guess that didn’t work…

“Alright, who said that?!” Mammon shouted, suddenly barreling through people to reach you.

“Oh, there you are!” you said, relieved at the sight of a familiar face and completely forgetting about your little joke.

But, there were fifteen people suddenly rushing to your side who did not forget about what was said.

They each came to you, one by one, hot and heavy and ready to throw punches.

You listened as they each began to throw insults toward this imaginary person as they searched the crowd for who could possibly be the culprit.

You tried to interject a few times, wanting to tell them the truth, but every time you opened your mouth, you were interrupted by another angry person.

“Y/N, did you see who said those words about you so we could find them?” Diavolo asked you, concern in his eyes as everyone turned their attention to you.

You were holding back a laugh as your cheeks dusted pink from all of the attention.

“Sure ~ it was me,” you admitted and their faces turned from ones of anger to confusion.

“Why would you say that stuff about yourself?” Beel asked as innocently as ever.

“Geez, Levi, you’re rubbin’ off on ‘em,” Mammon pouted, causing Levi to look extremely guilty.

“Relax, everyone,” you replied, stifling another laugh.

“I lost you in the crowd and I thought it would catch your attention enough that you would come find me. Looks like I was right,” you explained.

“Well that was risky,” Belphie stated. “Satan nearly lost his mind,” Solomon agreed quietly.

You couldn’t help but notice how adorable they all looked, pouting at the prank you managed to pull off. 

“I’m sorry, really. But, I thought the purpose of bringing me to this event was so that I could experience everything with all of you. Not for me to stand alone in the crowd,” you added.

You could feel the tension in the air shift as they realized that they had left you alone and understood where you were coming from.

They completely abandoned you in the middle of this large event. No wonder you pulled that stunt.

They promised not to leave you alone again and they each took you to their favorite parts of the event, making sure that at least one person was with you at all times.

They made you promise that you would never try something like that again.

You had fifteen people who were ready to fight for you at the drop of a dime, and saying something like that, even if you were joking, would always set them off.

Because they cared about you far too much to let something like that slide.

[interstellar-productions]

Thinking so many thoughts honestly, about Aaron currently (spiritually not situationally I relate to him, it’s complicated). Aaron so specifically speaks to me because of how (at least with the crumbs we’re fed by canon) he internalizes and deals with his trauma. He WANTS to be normal. In fact he tries so hard to be normal (as society interprets normality) that he actively distances himself and represses any part of him that may lead people to viewing him as anything other then normal.

In my mind this was probably done intentionally, it creates a contrast between him and Andrew (and is probably why Neil is able to tell the twins apart pretty much from the get go). Andrew doesn’t speak about his trauma but he also doesn’t necessarily minimize it. Andrew makes himself big, body language wise he’s very loud. “Look at me, at what they did to me. Look at who I became”. Andrew is a warning sign, he lets his bleeding wounds show and mixes them with ragged bone and snarling teeth. Andrew is telling people without telling people what will happen if someone crosses him.

In contrast Aaron hides, his pain and his scares. Aaron turns everything inwards, shoving it all into closets and under beds. If he blends in then maybe no one will notice him enough to pick him out. Hiding in plane sight. Aaron works so hard to be normal and is canonically known as the least interesting and most normal fox, despite having a murder charge and being a recovered addict. He is the normal fox. People overlook him, glance right over him, his teammates, peers, everyone. Perfect grades, good at his sports, girl next door girlfriend. Aaron is so painfully NORMAL.

It speaks so deeply because it’s so obvious to me that its a coping mechanism and not actually because that’s how he really is. If he was just painfully normal we wouldn’t get some of his more violent or assholeish out burst and he probably wouldn’t have that grudge against Bee. His grudge against Bee is actually what sparked this whole thing for me. He hates Bee, he says that he’s never actually spoken a word to her and even when he starts sessions with Andrew he’s really just speaking to Andrew while Bee is in the room rather then directly speaking to Bee. My little psych major mind (mixed with my personal feelings but HUSH) is just screaming that this whole “I’m normal look right through me please I’m normal”. It’s how he COPES. This guy grew up at least a little bit inside a church (because Luther) and had to hide both bruises and addiction and whatever else was going on inside that house. Statistically speaking there’s two major ways you internalize trauma like that. And I love Aaron and Andrew because their those two ways basically. Aaron is trying so hard to be so Normal that he becomes basically invisible. Blending into the background.

He probably has everyone convinced that he’s got it all in the bag, all his shit? It’s in a sock, don’t even worry about it. He’s got the grades, the girlfriend and he plays a sport. Bro is literally sitting pretty to be so uninteresting that he gets nothing but a cursory glance, and it’s totally part of his scheme. No one’s going to think to ask questions he doesn’t want them too. Not about his past and not about what’s going on in his life. “Oh that’s Aaron yeah I’ve got advanced chem with him, yeah good guy. I think he plays exy.” Aaron doesn’t want people to ask questions, because he knows he’s towing the line. Does he have it all together? Or is he desperately trying to keep all his shit in the boxes he’s stuffed it in? Who knows. Aaron probably doesn’t even know.

Aaron gives me “fake it til you make it” vibes that it actually hurts my soul. This man wants to be normal so bad that he’s doing everything he can to not have to address what’s actually wrong, because acknowledging something’s wrong means acknowledging that he is in fact NOT normal. And he wants to be normal because being normal is how you survive. (How he got Tilda to not beat him for dragging the wrong sort of attention to her)

My psych major mind is absolutely consumed by AFTG because to me they represent all the different ways that trauma can manifest in people. Basically all of the foxes (even and Renee Wymack) are the violent kind. Their teeth and warning signs, don’t get too close, don’t step on my toes. But they all show it so differently. Renee for example is the healed sort of violent, she’s faced the majority of her demons and won, she knows she’ll be able to handle you if you step out of line (see her ruining the nest). Nicky is the loud kind. He’s not the break bone sort of violent but he is the make you uncomfortable kind. So much of Nicky’s early character (Foxhole court) is him giving off borderline predatory vibes. His jokes, his mannerisms, the whole Edens trip. It’s his version of violent. He makes you uncomfortable so he knows whose safe and who isn’t.

Then you have aaron and his whole character is a ticking time bomb. Aaron isn’t normal because he’s healed, he’s normal because its the only way he knows to survive. That’s why he doesn’t like Bee. Bee is a psychologist, her whole job is to know their problems and fix them and the fact he even has to go sit in a room with her is a threat to his overall performance of normality. Because normal people don’t NEED therapy.

Screams into the void, I’m so normal about him.

Also all of this is just my personal little ramblings about a purely fictional character that reminds me of myself as it relates to the topic of interest I’m currently studying. If you don’t agree with me that’s totally fine, if you have different preconceptions about him thats totally ok too. This is just my little brain rot corner of the internet and I’m just trying to have fun.

To the 3 people that wanted to see my deranged psych rambles i hope this reaches you, this is all for you!

[kytiapseud]

In Defense of Epic Manwhore au

Okay, so I’m kinda nervous to post this but I feel like it should be said. I hope I tagged correctly for the topics I discuss in this. So, in defense of the Manwhore au as for the concept being coerced, it’s not like the god(s) said ‘you’ll die if you don’t have sex with me’. Odysseus is the one who brings it up. Although yes, the line of consent there is a bit murky with Odysseus more doing so to get out of situations rather than because he wants to. It’s totally valid for some fans to not be a fan of the au, not everything in fan spaces is for everyone. You are entitled to your opinion and get to make your fandom experience safe for you. There is something I saw though that felt like commentary about those who came up with/ enjoy the au. To me this felt close to attempted fandom censoring or those who try to ‘cleanse’ all fandom content to what they think is morally correct. Again, it is fine if you want to share your thoughts on something. But I hope no one comes after those who do enjoy the au. I haven’t seen that happen yet, I’m hoping it doesn’t. But the generalization about what it says about those who enjoy the au doesn’t sit right with me. For reasons like I mentioned above, about worrying it could turn into attempted censoring. Especially if anyone tries to get others to agree to black-and-white thinking about what they think is true. That could easily turn into justification to harassment, which I have seen in fandom spaces before. Particularly with anti-proshippers.

There may be valid criticisms to this au concept, but that doesn’t mean everyone who is a fan likes it for the same reasons. Let me address some of what I’ve seen though. The joking about Odysseus being a Manwhore coming from homophobia. Yeah, that’s possible (although personally I feel like a homophobe is more likely to not even mention gay things.) I don’t think that’s always the case though. I know there was one animatic I saw, the first thing I saw for the au, that had a joke in it that I didn’t like. I don’t judge this creator, and in fact it’s a common joke I’ve seen. Particularly with people wishing they didn’t see something. It just doesn’t vibe with me. In no way do I think that those who say such jokes have something wrong with them. People have different senses of humor and I think some use such jokes as a way to cope.

Anyways, I think some of the humor more comes from how unexpected it would be. I mean, we have a war captain facing foes who instead of choosing to fight goes for seducing them. It’s certainly interesting. I know some of the jokes come from the others not involved in the coupling being just shocked or grossed out. I think that more comes from like not wanting to see someone else talk about or get busy with another? I mean, some of these men probably consider each other to be like brothers. I imagine that would be weird. I think homosexuality wasn’t taboo in ancient Greece, I’m not entirely sure though I may need to do more research on that. So there could be some homophobia to the jokes, but I don’t think that’s the case for everyone. It certainly wasn’t for me. It could also be lgbt+ fans wanting to see more gay stuff in the story. Gay shipping isn’t uncommon after all.

I don’t think everyone who talks about the Manwhore au has no problem joking about sa. There can be many reasons why someone may enjoy a concept in media. You don’t know. Like how women are criticized for rape fantasies. I watched a documentary about sex once (I can’t remember which one this was in now) and there was a whole segment about the rape fantasy, discussing why this is an appeal to some women. It did not mean these women want to be raped of course. Part of it could come from a culture of feeling pressure to not experience any sexual feelings, so the scenario allowed them to experience something without feeling guilty about it. There isn’t always a clear explanation for why someone can find something sexy.

I think this started as a joke, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some who wanted something sexy in their Epic fan experience. I mean, having read the Odyssey in school (twice actually) I did not expect I would want to see Odysseus in such a scenario. But then I saw one sexy fanart of him with others and cough I ended up liking it more than I expected. Those who have seen my reblogs on this tag know heh.

There’s also the infidelity notion. I feel like given the situation, Penelope would understand. I also saw some comments that they could be poly, which is a concept I like for this. I’ve also seen mention that human relationships with gods have ended up tragically for the humans involved. I don’t think everyone who listens to Epic knows about that. I didn’t. But again, this goes back to it being fantasy. People enjoying picturing it the way they want to. It doesn’t have to be accurate to the myths. It’s fanfiction/au.

I think the infidelity notion to it didn’t bother me as much as others because in the original, he wasn’t faithful. Sorry for Odyssey spoilers I guess. Anyways, I was already used to him being a cheater. Although the one with Circe may match more with the coercion along the lines of ‘sleep with me for your crew’. The knife that’s been shown in some animatics wasn’t in the original. It’s been a while since I’ve read it so I’m not entirely sure about how that went down.

Referring back to if Odysseus wants it even if he was the one who offered (sorry if I’m all over the place with this, I have a lot of thoughts.) Seducing foes doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t want it. There’s a character in a Sanders Sides roleplay I was in named Remy (Sleep), whose rp version was created/and played by the wonderful @queroze , who was proclaimed by them to be a manslut. His go-to to get out of situations, if he saw it was a fit strategy, was to seduce. Sure, he got into situations that weren’t great, but often he was the active one in the seducing. I wouldn’t say his go-to being to seduce meant it wasn’t always consensual. In fact, there’s many descriptions and some statements from Que themselves saying Remy loved bringing pleasure to his partners.

Then there’s the mention of the unlikeliness of the scenario actually happening. I don’t think this matters that much to be honest. It’s fandom enjoyment. Who cares if people want to enjoy something that doesn’t seem likely in canon? I personally couldn’t see seduction working, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t find the concept entertaining. Sure people shouldn’t insist it could occur to the creators. But aside from that, it doesn’t affect you. Enjoying fan spaces is way more fun if we let things stay peaceful.

I kinda want to write a fanfic now that adjusts to some of the critiques I’ve seen of this au. I know I said I probably wouldn’t, but I got inspired while planning this heh.

[365granitegirlx]

⋆☀︎｡Smile Back ... At Me ⏾⋆.˚

Grumpy!Vessel x Sunshine!Reader

grumpy/sunshine, sickfic, housemates, fem!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff goes smut

a/n: there's easter eggs in here for three people 🧍🏻‍♀️

Taglist (that I decided I have now): @inv3ga

“No no no. Don’t do this. Please. Please!” Vessel was distraught. Panicked. Verging on crisis. He stared at himself in the mirror, white knuckling the vanity. “Get it together, Ves. Don’t…don’t.” His breath was ragged…”fuuuuuck...”

How many sneezes in a row was that? 5? Oh…oh they’re still going. You knock on the bathroom door softly. Vessel rips the door open with a scowl, his nose and eyes red from whatever irritant deigned to infect your intrepid workaholic housemate. 

“What?” He asks, deadpan.

“I heard you sneeze like…8 times in a row. That’s concerning.”

“Yes. Thank you, doctor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get cleaned up and go to work.” He looks you up and down. “Think you ought to do the same?”

You look down for a second at your pjs and gasp. Work? “Oh shit! I…hey… wait a minute!” Vessel just titters as he splashes some water on his face. “It’s my day off!” Again, he chuckles and pushes past you. “You know for someone so crotchety with me you sure know a lot about my schedule!” But he’s already down the hall. Of the housemates, Ves was the one you had the least positive interactions with…and yet…you saw each other the most. It just worked out that way with your schedules. Ves could go to the studio or work from home at will, and you seemed always to be home at the same time. 

“You’ve done this on purpose. To torment me.” Ves said once as his phone buzzed incessantly with notifications as you input your schedule in the shared housemate calendar. And, in your endlessly witty, carefree way, you responded “Aw Ves, finally you’re noticing all I do for you!” For the record, Vessel doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t really hate anyone. No. He’s just a little brusque. And short tempered. And he just likes things done a certain way, ok? You, on the other hand, seem too happy to be here. What are you plotting, he wonders sometimes. 

But today those thoughts are dulled by a throbbing pain behind his eye and the annoying feeling of his nose leaking at any moment. By 2:30, he’s ready for a 20 year long nap. He rubs his face in agony as he sits at the control panel. Usually the studio is a reprieve but one of his worst nightmares is unfolding. He’s sick. He has a cold. A sinus infection? Christ…the flu? He has to push through. He has to see this day to the end and finish this…”fuck it I’m done. I’m going home.”

“Literally just asked how the cymbals sounded, man. For fuck’s sake.” Even poor ii wasn’t safe from Vessel’s sick tirade. The two share a silent look of “the hell is wrong with you/me?” 

“Sorry mate,” Vessel rubs his temples and sniffs. “Uhm…yeah…there could be more…definition or whatever. I’ll see you lot later.” Vessel sulks out of the studio and towards the bus stop. If this was a comic strip, he’d be kicking a can with little fumes over his head. Vessel hates getting sick. It throws off his groove. Makes him unproductive. He’s no stranger to powering through but it doesn’t seem worth it this time around. This makes him feel weak. Like once he gets better he’ll need to work 10x harder just to make up for his time off. Make it up for who? Well…the label, for one thing. And ii. Part of his brain says “it’s only for yourself,” but he pushes that aside. Yeah he’s proud but he still needs to prove to everyone else he’s fine. He can manage. Hasn’t he always landed on his feet? Looking out the bus window at the passing houses and buildings doesn’t provide any distraction—just more fodder for his migraine. As Vessel rests his temple against the window, his phone vibrates, but he ignores it. Whatever it is couldn’t make him feel any worse...oh but he was wrong. So very wrong.

You: I’m sure you saw this on the calendar but it’s just us for the weekend. Are you still feeling sick? Want me to get some soup? Let me know. :)

You’re not surprised Vessel doesn’t reply to you. He’s at work and, well, you’re you. As you’re about to text him again, because you reaaaaalllllly want to get a jump on ordering food, he comes through the front door. “Tsk, you look miserable.”

Vessel so badly wants to be snarky. To tell you what an astute observation you’ve made. “I am…where is everyone?” You look at him a bit quizzically and tell you texted him…and that their trip was on the calendar, etc etc. Oh the defeated sigh he lets out! The misery of being cooped up with someone so chronically pleasant might do his head in if this migraine doesn’t first. And maybe it wasn’t your best idea to follow him to his room to ask if he needed or wanted anything, if he was hungry, did he have a fever, can you do— “Have you considered leaving me alone? You’re not my mum and you’re definitely not my girlfriend! Can take care of myself just fine without you flitting about trying to fix everyone’s problems…maybe you should...” He stops himself and rubs his hand down his face with a heavy sigh. “Fuck it. It’s not worth what little energy I have. Let me know what takeaway you’re thinking.” He shuts the door and leaves you in the hall. Was he suggesting that you spend more time on others than yourself? How dare he? How dare he be right and sound mean about it. But you don’t pout long because he opens the door again, but this time his shirt is off. Your eyes trace the curve of his shoulders…down to the ridges of his chest and abs. Close enough to touch. ‘Stop…he’s sick. And your roommate.’ He sniffs hard. He’s so stopped up. “I…should not be like that. I’m sorry. Pizza?” You look away, feeling shitty after overstepping…he must be really sick if you got an immediate apology. 

“Don’t you think something like soup or…you know what? We’ll do whatever you want.” That elicits a soft smile from him...with teeth no less.. Wait…”you just smiled at me. An honest to god smile...Ves…”

“Oh, sh-shut up.”

After dinner Vessel feels…weird. His head and body hurts…he can’t even think straight. And you notice. He can barely stay awake but there’s no way he’d be comfy on the couch. His long legs…you imagine him trying to curl up and get comfortable like a big dog on a tiny bed. You take a chance and put your hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you get in bed.” He sighs heavily like you asked him to give up music. “Is it really this hard to accept some kindness?” Apparently that was a shit question because he huffs and takes himself to bed. Fine. Maybe you should leave it alone but damnit he needs help…and attention. You come into his room with your arms full.

“What are you…” But you cut him off by dumping a big blue quilt on him.

“I always always always sweat shit out with this quilt.”

“I don’t have a fever.”

“Oh well, it’ll make you feel better. And…alsooooooo…” you hand him a stuffed puppy with floppy ears and a dumb, goofy look stitched on his face. “Just give him a squeeze.” Vessel looks at the stuffed dog and the quilt but can’t seem to look at you. If anything he’s looking down and past your feet.

“As persistent as my cold, you know that?” 

“You deserve a break. Let me know if you need something…you know where I am.”

“H-hey…wait…” You look back at him, and it’s as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. Did he ever know in the first place? All he knows is that any breath he takes after this night is for something beyond the music. Beyond himself, even though his efforts there are questionable. “Sit with me…for a bit?”

And you did. All night. Waking up next to him hugging your stuffed dog under your “sick day” quilt was such a sight. His eyebrows knit together like he was thinking. It must have been a fever dream, you think, as he groans softly and clutches the dog closer. You want to reach out, move the hair off his brow, feel if he has a fever…caress him. But you have to at least act like you know better. When he blinks awake he gives a lazy smile.

“You shouldn’t have stayed in here. What if you get sick?”

“I could deal.”

“Hm. Maybe you’d accept some kindness in return?”

After his cold finally fucks off, Vessel looks at you differently. Not necessarily because you did something for him. No. There was something different. After he snapped at you, and then later after you two had a long conversation about nothing before he drifted off, Vessel noticed something behind your eyes. God, those eyes. His walls came down. He was defenseless. It’s not like you’re best friends now or anything, but he felt moved to treat you gently. Hell, to smile back at the very least. 

Late one night, long after everyone went to bed, Ves notices your bedroom light is still on. “What am I doing?” He whispers to himself, but apparently too loudly because soon you’re opening your door.

“Oh thank fuck it’s you. Thought I was hearing things.”

“Jus’ me…I…why are you up? It’s 1:30.” You shrug. There’s that look again. He has to dig. He has to pry just a little. Just like you had with him. “Can I come in?”

You nod and let him in, motioning for him to sit on the bed. He sees your laptop out and wants to ask what you were up to, but you quickly put it away. “Better question is why you’re awake, Ves.”

He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “So no one has a good excuse, hm?”

“Hm.” You tease back, gently pinching his arm. He looks down at your fingers on him and his heart flutters. Ves lets his gaze drift slowly up your body…taking in every curve and slight movement before resting on your eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

“W-w-what…? What are y-?” You try to act nonchalant. 

“Can just tell…something’s off with you.”

You sigh heavily and look up at the ceiling. “This…” you put your hands out, “is actually my natural state. Tense. Not nearly as bubbly or…like”

“A sunshine girl?”

“Yeah or…a sunshine girl.” 

Vessel looks at you with a sympathetic smile…he can see that blush dusting your pretty cheeks. He  lets his hand rest on your shoulder, squeezing it slightly but then pausing. “You’re knotted up, love. Can I…?” Without even hearing your answer, he moves behind you and rubs your shoulders. It hurts a little, only because you’re so tense. His wide hands cover your shoulders and luxuriously knead into your muscles. “What’s made you so tight,” he rasps close to your ear, “Hm? What’s eating at you?” 

You can’t help it. Your head lolls back to his chest and turns so you can look up at him. “All I do is run around taking care of business and other people. I don’t know how to care about myself.”

He can’t stop himself. Brain shutting down. Hands and lips have a mind of their own now. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you run yourself into the ground like I did. You should care about yourself…I…I could teach you…” Vessel trails his nose up your neck and kisses your ear softly before you jump up. 

“Jesus, dude, you can’t just come in here and…” but fuck it he doesn’t look precious wiping his hand down his face and hiding the strain in his pants. “Oh…fuck… actually you totally can.” Immediately you’re straddling his lap, held in place by his soft hands cupping your face…pressing you desperately into his. His kisses trail hungrily down your jaw and to your neck. He finds your pulse point and claims it with his hot, open mouthed kisses. Your hips grind against him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world…but of course, he adjusted to press his strong thigh against you...you are supposed to do this. Suddenly your thoughts are poisoned with guilt as you realize how tightly you’re squeezing his thigh and how you weren’t being exactly quiet. Vessel gently guides your head down so he can whisper to you.

“I’d take you far away from here…anywhere you wanted…just to hear it…I want to hear what I can make you say…how loud I could make you…”

“V-v-es we-...“

“Shh shh shh. It’s ok. Do you want to stop?” His voice is warm and sincere, like he’s meant to take care of you.

“No.”

“Then let me do this…for you. Some comfort…” he turns slowly to lay you on your back, “would you like that…” his fingers gently trace your breasts and tummy over your shirt… “could make you feel good…safe”…your shorts and panties are thrown off the bed…”when was the last time someone did that for you, darling? Made you cum…just to cum?”…your shirt is lifted, tits exposed to the chilly room and his starving eyes.

“Never.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he murmurs as he kisses your thighs and settles on his tummy, “no pressure for me then.” But you’re moaning softly already. You’re a live wire as the hands you’ve desperately tried to avoid fantasizing about explore your inner thighs and folds. His finger glides up and down the length of your needy pussy as he looks up at you…pure bliss etched all over his face in the dim lighting. “Atta girl, love. We’re just here to feel good. Hm?” You hear and then feel a wad of his spit hit your clit, followed by his fingers pressing against either side of it. Vessel wraps his left arm around your tummy as your body chases his touch. “Found something you like, did I?”

“Vessel,” you whisper breathlessly but it’s cut off by a strangled moan. His tongue gently darts out for little kitten licks on your clit. You don’t know if your reactions or what he’s doing is making him whimper like that, but you don’t care. Your hand caresses his hair lazily until you have to grab it and keep him in place. He’s taken your clit in his mouth…something you’ve never experienced. Forgetting every wall you placed around yourself with this man, you let your hips grind shamelessly against his perfect mouth. Vessel’s moans and hot breath nearly push you over the edge multiple times. 

“I…” he exhales, trying to catch his breath and contain himself, “am really going to enjoy this.” His middle and ring finger work into your wet cunt and find your g-spot quickly.  “That’s it…that’s it…you feel that? Feel my fingers rubbing you from the inside, yeah?” You can’t respond directly…you’re too busy squirming and whimpering fuck fuck fuck. It feels like you’re on fire as Vessel licks and sucks at your clit, your eyes rolling as your brain tries to compute that the same spot is being stimulated from different angles. It’s too much. 

“I’m yours…I’m yours….please I’m yours.”

“Mine, yeah? Good. You sound s’perfect…haven’t even had my cock.” It’s a miracle that you aren’t screaming out loud now as he sucks at your clit. Both hands tangle in his hair when he starts thrusting his hips against your bed. He moans pathetically into your clit, his hips landing soft blows into the mattress. “I…I’m sorry.” He stops and quickly pulls off his clothes…you swear you’re cumming a little just from the sight of his cock alone. “See what you do to me?” He breathes heavily, standing at your bedside with his cock throbbing without contact. “Seeing you…let yourself go… enjoying yourself… so fucking hard for you. Could cum just licking you out, babe.” You’re tempted to tell him to try it…but you feel empty.

“Make me yours…”

“How would you have me?”

You’re speechless for a second…he’s really into this. Into you feeling good. “Get on your back, angel.” Vessel does as he’s told and blushes at the pet name. He teasingly rubs his cock against your slit…tells you how tight you felt around his fingers…how good you are for him. You moan quietly…weakly…dreamily as you slide down each inch of Vessel’s cock. The stretch is beyond perfect…not uncomfortable…but still more than any stupid toy in your bedside drawer could do. You grind against him and bounce on his cock seemingly without much thought other than feeling good. And he doesn’t stop you, nor does he grab you and fuck up into your pussy. No…he just lays back like a good boy and takes it. Luxuriates in the feeling of the warm stickiness of your pussy…how it hugs his cock and threatens to drain him. You wince a little as your hips tense; still you weren’t fully relaxed despite your blissful state. 

“I’ve got you.” Vessel pulls you close to his chest, pressing your hips down. “Just lay down on me. Let me feel you.” He moans softly as you lay out, your legs scissoring with his just enough to keep his cock buried deep. Your lips crash together. You taste yourself on him…his mouth…and your mind goes even fuzzier. “Sweet girl…you like being lovey, don’t you? Hm?” His hips snap up and press into your cunt. “Little lover girl??”

“I’m…fuck I’m yours Ves…I’m your girl…”

“Let’s make it real then…” his hips thrust back and forth again before pressing deep into you, holding his cock hard against the limit of your pussy…”I’ll fill you to the fucking brim with my cum…leave my handprints on your ass…and-“

“And I’ll leave…little love bites on your chest,” you add, trying to weigh in and stave off your climax. Vessel groans out in response and holds you in place like a toy as you suck and lick at his soft skin. So much for handprints on your ass, though; he can’t help but cradle your back and head. Neither of you have ever felt this before. The soft, warm middle of equal parts wholesome chemistry and earth shattering lust. What was that in the delicate in-between? You bury your face in his neck and forget the world…forget your name…it’s just him. 

“So tight…” He gently lifts your head. “There she is…mmm. Need to see you…need you to see what you do to me.” Vessel tangles his hand in your hair to help fix your gaze on him. His throat bobs with each broken moan…god he wants to cry out for you so badly. For the way your body melts into his as he rolls his hips up and into you. For the way your slick runs out all over him, making a mess of you both. It’s all too much. You press your forehead to his and bear your hips down. Vessel grabs you and presses his hot, greedy lips to yours not just for a kiss, but to muffle the pornographic noises your pussy rips out of him. The feeling of his tongue on your lips pushes you over the edge. Your fluttering orgasm squeezes and milks Vessel’s cock for all it’s worth, causing him to fuck up into you like a rabid animal. He completely and unapologetically ruins you.

You wake up the next morning curled up against his back. He’s already awake and smiles brightly when he feels you pull him close. 

“Guess what.” He whispers. You barely mumble “hm” back to him, still sleepy and fuzzy from your late night tryst. Vessel chuckles and rolls over, your stuffed whale shark from the aquarium clutched to his chest. 

“Hey! That’s mine,” you grumble.

“Oh and suddenly you don’t share anymore…hm? Not my lover girl when the sun’s up,” he teases. “Anyways…it’s just us this weekend. We have some wasted time to make up for…don’t you think?”

[danidrabbles]

I've been in a real reading mood lately and it made me SO excited to revisit this. Miranda, we've messaged about this before, but I wanted to give it the proper reblog it deserves!!!! (This got a little long. I'd apologize, but as a writer myself I know (hope) it's fun)

Because Dieter and ex-wife!Reader are on my mind all the time. I really like reading about people meeting, but love reading about people and knowing there's history between them, it makes things so bittersweet. Especially with these two because the love is there; you make it so efficiently evident in their "Do you want the truth or a lie?" conversation, and when they admit they think about each other, when Dieter says “I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.” 🥺 It's a quick interaction, but it says so much about them.

As someone who was once a teenager with a crush on David Duchovny, Reader's meeting with Dustin is soooooo satisfying. The way he describes the production of the movie

"Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

made me laugh out loud.

The interactions between Dieter and Dustin are so fun, too. Their snarking back and forth while discovering they might not be so different after all... You manage to build so much tension between them and Reader in their conversation with her by the door. But then you also pack in gut punches like, “You don’t know. You don’t know me.” “That’s not true.” “Yeah it is. I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.” and “You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this.” OOF. ouch! It’s all walking that line between fun, comedy and sexy so well.

The smut is so good Miranda... Even on a reread I’m sitting here like 😳

Having Dustin between Reader’s legs, having so much fun with her, while she and Dieter kiss, and the way it goes back and forth between the sensations of something new (Dustin) and something familiar (Dieter) is sooooooo fantastic, I love how you kind of juxtaposed them without ever making one feel less involved in the threesome than the other. Also so good for her (reader insert me) to have her little You used to masturbate to this man. Revelation!!!! (and her getting to say it to him later was so… soft?)

I’m obsessed with the fact that you went there with Dieter and Dustin, too. Like not that I didn’t expect that of you, it’s just that M/M/F threesomes can often be... more on the M/F/M/ side, you know what I mean? When they kissed, when Dustin made Dieter suck on his fingers (As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. Damn…) when Reader lays back and tells Dieter “I want to see what you’re like with men,” and they just. went for it. LOVED it.

There’s so much I want to comment on, but instead I’ll give you some passages that made my heart ache…

You know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you. 

That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life. 

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

It’s so beautiful and so bittersweet. It’s so good 😭 

And some lines that made… other places ache…

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity.

“He wants you so bad. Look—” You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

“Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

Your Dustin is lowkey a fucking menace, jesus... Which genuinely surprised me so much!!!! But also the You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. made me laugh so hard.

THE ENDING IS SO FUN??? It’s so creative and I love the promise of more between these three. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). made me giggle.

Miranda, this was so fantastic. I said it before but I love the way you work in all these emotions so seamlessly, while never losing any of the sincerity in the process, it's so admirable. Your word choices, your analogies and metaphors, the way you picked such an unconventional relationship for this and made it work... You're an amazing writer, I am in awe of you, and I love this story so much!

three's company

pairing: dieter bravo x ex-wife!reader x dustin mulray rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: smut, pinv, protected sex, oral (female receiving) *inserts good for her meme*, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, light voyeurism, talk and use of drugs and alcohol (weed & wine), the weirdest situationship you ever did see, a bit of angst, jealousy, fingering, dubious consent (but like, only a tiny bit dubious. the tiniest bit) word count: 16.k+ (don't ask me what happened there) summary: The world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with Dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in England. One night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got. a/n: i don't know how i got here but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i could dedicate this to a lot of things but mostly i'm going to dedicate it the red shoe diaries. thanks to david and the horny '90s. also to maria (@sweetly-yours-and-mine) who has spent countless nights working through this with me. you are a gem

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Facetime isn’t the same as real people.”

“Those are bad movies, Bravo. I’m not sure I want to be around those who make them for that long.”

“I know.”

“Actors have never been my favorite company.”

“I know.”

“And I just don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll learn to stop answering your calls one day, you know? And then you’ll do everything alone, even a global disaster.”

“I knew you’d give in. That's my girl.”

——

The hotel is a converted English Manor - the very stuff of childhood fairytales and honeymoon daydreams with its Italianate architecture and technicolor green grass. It is warm, inviting, with high ceilings and the soft, consistent hum of human activity as workers scurry around to greet the incoming guests. They filter you in through white plastic tents and stick cotton swabs up your nose before giving you the WIFI password and a room with a stunning view of their expansive, manicured grounds. You don’t have any grounds to look in America, and your studio apartment has been eerily quiet as of late. The pulse of life has stopped in Los Angeles, but here it comes back with an unvarying rhythm.

You don’t like to admit it, but Dieter was right: you are not above loneliness.

The room they give you feels anachronistic, too modern and beige, but cozy in the way all four star hotels aim to be. You’ve got a television, a pristine bathroom that hosts a bathtub and a shower, and enough floor space to move around without stubbing any toes. There’s ample furniture too: a reading chair by the large window, the queen bed, and another chair by the door, which looks like it’s meant only for bags and the stray suit jacket. They’ve given you decorative pillows and instructions not to leave for two weeks - not for any reason.

You lay out on the queen bed and Facetime Dieter. The irony of the situation is too good not to tease him for.

“I know,” he gruffs, picking up your call immediately.

You can’t help but laugh at the misery that drips from his voice. “I’ve always been better at being alone. I think it was you who didn’t want to be alone.”

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and frowns. Even if you won’t take it, you like the idea that he’s only a long walk away now. You give in and shuck off your winner’s ego. “It’s only two weeks,” you assure kindly.

“If I’m good, do you think I can earn a sleepover?” There’s mischief in his eyes, flirtation thick on his tongue. You look askance at him and the dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m only kidding of course.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan.

“It’ll be nice after two weeks,” he promises. You know that tone, far off and introspective. It’s not good.

“Just Facetime me when you’re losing your mind.”

“You don’t want that. I’ll be on the phone with you all the time.”

You stare down at the phone, frowning. He smiles, coming back to his body. “I’ll be alright, kid. I always am.”

“Two weeks is not so long.”

“No,” he agrees quietly.

——

Two weeks is a prison sentence.

The room they put you in, while spacious, is merely a cell block now, reduced down to its most basic elements: the bathroom with the shower and the tub, which you’ve used so much it's a miracle your skin hasn’t fallen right off; the bedroom area, with the reading chair by the window; the queen bed, which you stopped making after day four and try your damndest not to fall in before 3pm. You’ve paced the floor so many times, feeling the angry itch of loneliness coupled with a newfound, perpetually lurking anxiety.

“One more day,” he reminds you over the telephone, trying to allay your fears. You hear the sound of his tub running in the background, over the static of his voice, and you wonder what he looks like right now. You picture two week’s more worth of beard growth, the slouch of his back as he sits on the edge of the tub, the pudge of his stomach, and the inciting trail of hair below his belly button. And his naked self. At home he was perpetually nude, and you imagine it’s no different now.

You find your own reflection in the mirror over the sink: sunken eyes, with bags underneath and your flesh taking on a slightly gray cast, the color of isolation.The window sun doesn’t seem to be helping much. You frown self consciously, but try to remind yourself he must be in a state himself; he stopped Facetiming you a week ago, opting for the good ol’ telephone call at least once or twice a day since.

“I’m going out of my mind,” you say as you continue to look at yourself. You lower your voice, vulnerability shared in a hushed, confessional tone. You imagine Dieter again: with that soft concentrated look that pulls his eyebrows together, the one that enhances the lines between them. They called him a curious child and now he’s got the lines to show for it. He told you that. The thought makes you smile at yourself, but you still look so tired.

“Just one day,” he supplies again. He sounds vaguely apologetic.

“I know,” you tell him simply.

“What have you been up to today?” he asks. You hear water come to a stop and a gentle splash follows it. He’s gotten in. “Anything fun?”

“I read, watched a movie. You?”

“I got high and jerked off. So, you know, nothing different than the past thirteen days that you’ve called.”

You scan your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next words. It isn’t a good idea, but nothing is. “What did you think about?” you ask.

“Lots of things.”

He tells you this as casually as if you’ve asked him his name. You are so achingly lonely and this is so embarrassing, but you can’t help it. You know he’ll let you. Hell, he’s probably been waiting weeks for this. Years.

“Do you ever think about me?”

There’s a short, considerate pause. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”

“A lie.” You worry your lip between your teeth.

“Oh, never.”

You laugh, relieved. “I thought you were going to say something different.”

“Hm,” he hums, “I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Mine too. She thinks inviting you was a terrible idea but she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.”

“Mine hates you.”

He grunts. “Suppose I deserve that, don't I?”

“I think this is the first time in history that you diverted phone sex with talk like that.”

“I’m getting older, wiser,” he jokes. Then, “Do you think of me?”

“Do you want a lie or the truth?”

He considers it for a moment. “The truth. Hit me with it hard, baby.”

“Oh, a lot more than I should.”

——

The rapt sound of knuckles against your door incites an excitement in you that you haven’t felt since childhood. You jump from the bed, uncaring of the state of yourself, hungry for the news that awaits on the other side.

A kindly British man tells you that the quarantine has been lifted and that there will be a party and dinner for the cast and crew in a couple of hours. Formal wear is encouraged but not required.mYou spend the next few hours undoing what’s been done by isolation: the bags under your eyes; the unkempt room, with the fetid smell of loneliness wafting over everything; the living out of your suitcase and the wrinkles on your best clothes. You find an iron in the closet and shave your entire body.

Dieter stops by your room while you’re in the middle of getting ready. He sits quietly at the edge of your bed, watching you in the mirror with that dazed look in his eyes. He wears the ugliest goddamn housecoat you’ve ever seen, but he’d smiled so wide at the door that you’ve forgiven him for it.

“You’re excited,” he observes. His fingers fiddle with the sunglasses in his hands. “I thought you hate actors.”

You try to steady your hand as you bring the eyeliner up to your eyelid. “I don’t care what they are, as long as they can hold a conversation,” you mumble.

“I can hold a conversation. Maybe we ought to stay here and celebrate with each other.”

You look at him in the mirror, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. You can’t tell. “You’re kidding.”

He shrugs. There’s a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard about something.

“Are you high?” you ask him.

“No, but I’m thinking maybe I should be.”

“Cheer up, boy scout. You’re the one who wanted to do this goddamn movie.”

He lets out a defeated sigh and falls back into the mattress with a groan. “I’m going to kill myself.”

———

He doesn’t kill himself, but he looks like he’s still weighing the prospect of it as you take your drink from the bartender.

Dieter suffers no one lightly, and you have a feeling the personable strawberry blonde in front of him isn’t exactly his crowd. You smile over the rim of your drink, enjoying seeing him squirm for once. Everything seems to come easy to him–except this. He’s never been very good at socializing when he doesn’t want to.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turn your head and find Dustin Mulray. You feel a hint of your teenage self come back to you as you look at him, struck wordless. It’s nothing as strong as the love that had you tacking up posters with his face on it to bedroom walls, but something vaguely akin to it. You’re happy to find it manifests itself as a friendly smile instead of love confessions. Perhaps it’s helped by his appearance: In his infinity scarf and beige knitted sweater, he reminds you more of a homely professor than a Hollywood movie star. You think: Movie stars! They’re just like us! while shaking your head in answer.

“No,” you tell him, “He’s my ex-husband.”

“Ah. That’s my ex-wife with him. Marriage is tricky, isn’t it?”

He takes a seat next to you and orders a drink. The bartender sits it on a napkin for him and he turns to you, his blue-green eyes awaiting an answer. You hadn’t thought he would want to talk to you, not really. You’re used to being invisible at events.

“I guess you could say that,” you reply.

“Are you working on the movie?”

You remember what Dieter told you to say if anyone asked: “For legal purposes, yes. Art coordinator #3.”

This amuses him, drawing out a smile. “That title come with pay or would you say it's just an internship?”

“I guess you could call it an internship.” You smile back at him. “Why? You think you could pull some strings and get me a paycheck?”

“I think I’d do you one better and get you a better place of employment. Have you read the script?” This makes you let out a genuine laugh. He brightens, smiling a little wider. “What? It’s the truth! Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean—“ He looks over the crowd, lowering his head closer to yours conspiratorially. “—Not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

“Ah, I feel you but I can’t quite reach you from here.”

“No, I bet not.”

There’s something simmering in that line. If you didn’t know better, you’d figure it was a light flirtation. Surely not.

“I liked your early stuff better,” you confess.

“Me too. But those were the glory days and now I have alimony and child support to pay. How about him?” he nods in the direction of Dieter. “You get half his ass in court?”

You shake your head. His candor, although surprising, is refreshing. “No, no big payout. We’re amicable.”

He clicks his tongue in awe. “I envy the bastard but I can’t say I didn’t deserve my lot.”

“You haven’t even finished your first drink and you’re already gonna confess your sins?” You raise a curious, teasing eyebrow. He hangs his head and laughs.

“You married an actor. Don’t we all wear our hearts on our sleeves?”

“Mm, not mine,” you shake your head. “It seems he saved his emotions for the silver screen.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to raise his own curious eyebrow.

“How cozy.” You look over your shoulder to see Dieter standing in front of your chair, his fingers reaching out to the back of your chair. He looks…jealous.

“Dustin, this is Dieter,” you introduce them. Dustin sticks his hand out and Dieter plays nice, shaking it with a passing grin.

“Nice to meet you,” Dustin mutters. Dieter nods his head. “Yeah, you too. I was actually coming over here to steal her away for a moment. If she doesn’t mind.” He looks over at you, expectant. There’s a bite to his words you don’t like at all. How fucking rich, you think bitterly, remembering all the times you had to sit by while he shamelessly flirted with half the fucking world.

“She does mind,” you respond. The sharp finality of it makes even Dustin cough awkwardly.

Dieter looks taken aback. “Okay,” he mutters, looking between the two of you. He nods again, as though he’s drawn some conclusion. “Alright.”

You watch as he walks away to the other side of the room. Looking back at Dustin, you give him a rueful grin. “Sorry. And here I was, talking about how amicable we are. Exes of the year.”

He raises his glass. “To us pitiful people and our pitiful crash and burn marriages.”

You clink your glass against his, fighting the urge to cry or kill Dieter. “To us.”

—

The dinner table arrangement is unforgiving for Dieter. He’s sat next to Dustin at the far end of the table, with yet another red headed actress to his left. Unlike the talkative one, this one is in a state of brooding and continually huffing at everything he says. You’re slightly more lucky, sat at the other end, sandwiched between Dustin's ex-wife and the director.

He watches woefully as you chat with the ex-wife, nodding your head along politely. You were always such a good listener, even with the worst people. He frowns. He had changed his outfit between the party and the dinner, opting for a classier open dress shirt. He had seen the look in your eye when you had opened the door for him earlier, and figured he could use all the help he could get now that he’s undoubtedly pissed you off. He had hoped that they would’ve sat him next to you so you could talk. He’s even wearing that cologne you like. Or used to like. He doesn’t know anymore.

“So, like what—you usually get along with her or…?” Dustin asks him, following his eyeline right to you. Dustin brings the cool champagne they’ve served to his lips, his eyes too burningly curious as he gazes at you.

Dieter tries not to be possessive. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone: that sharp, angry disappointment that you’re so used to delivering him. You don’t like when he gets like that. Not that he has much. This is a relatively new side effect he’s required since the divorce. He shrugs lazily, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

This earns him an even laugh. He looks over at the older man, frowning. “What?”

“I see magazines with your face all over it, man. C’mon, we all kiss and tell, even if we don’t want to.”

Dieter bites at the side of his cheek and considers him for a moment. “Look you and your wife-“

“Ex-wife-“

Dieter nods, uncaring. “Sure, your ex wife — you both like to talk a lot.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I can make a pass at her or not. Make it easy for me. I don’t want to have to suffer this entire shoot because you’ve got some weird shitty thing going on between you. I don’t step on kept grounds….Well, not anymore,” he adds.

“How noble,” Dieter says wryly, “She’s not mine to answer for. Besides, it seems like you were already doing a good job at making a pass earlier.”

He fights down the petulant child inside of him, biting at his lip instead of wearing an all out pout. Through the concealed tint of his sunglasses, his eyes soften at the sight of you across the room. He can almost feel the crack in his heart as he considers the fact that you might have actually liked talking to this man.

Dieter knows one day it’ll come, the moment when you find yourself in a serious relationship with someone else. Most of the time he thinks he’ll be okay — that it will affect him like it must but it won’t ruin him entirely — but sometimes, like right now, he worries he’ll get on his knees and beg you not to do it. You don’t deserve that. He hates himself for the greed he feels, how he can’t ever just let you be happy. He doesn’t want to be like this dick, taking and taking from his ex-wife, all while he noses around and wets his dick in anything that will let him. He never wants to embarrass you like that. Not again. Never again.

Chugging the last bits of his drink, Dieter looks over at the man. Dustin looks back at him, nonplussed. It takes herculean strength to say the next words.

“She doesn’t like men who are crude or too direct, but to be frank, I think you can’t really fuck up with her. She likes you and always has.” Dieter casts a glance in your direction again, feeling mischievous. He smirks, letting himself have this one. “Well, since you were last relevant, that is.”

Dustin laughs the burn off, shaking his head. He touches Dieter’s shoulder in a show of faux friendliness. “We’re in the same shitty franchise now, bud, so welcome to the club,” he whispers, just low enough for him to hear.

Dieter raises his empty glass to Dustin with a forced grin. Feeling defeated but comforted by the fact that he’s now got something to separate him from that asshole, he raises his hand to the pretty waitress for another drink. To celebrate.

But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.

He fucking hates Hollywood.

—-

Truth be told, Dieter didn’t plan on doing this tonight. Getting high. He planned, if he was being honest with himself - and he is trying, at his most introspective more now than ever - to be doing you. Had he invited you on the vacation just to fuck you? No, but ignobility inevitably follows in the tracks of his nobility. It was written between the lines, something you both had hinted at over the past two weeks. But now you’re somewhere else. There's a lot of rooms in this hotel. Maybe you’re in your own. Maybe not. Dustin had looked like he was going to devour you at the bar earlier tonight, so probably, you’re doing him in his room.

Or do you bring men back to your own place now? He doesn’t know.

Dieter would blanch if he wasn’t so high. He sits in the middle of the decorative couch, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, and he tries to imagine a different version of your last phone conversation.

When you asked if he ever thought of you when he touched himself, he’d tell you the truth. Because you like the truth. He’d say: all the time. More than he should. Really a sickening, depressing amount because he misses you, especially lately. New York is a terrible place to be these days; death permeates everything and nothing seems as right as it used to. Even loneliness feels worse, no longer poetic or artistic but just lonely. It's less like Al Pacino on the set of the Godfather and more like Michael Corleone, sitting alone at the empty dining room table. Days stretch on and on, and he’s hungry for life that has halted so he paints terribly, insecure of even hobbies. What else is he supposed to do but play with himself and remember poignantly that he had once been married to a lovely sort of woman who would’ve made it all better, if only he hadn’t fucked it up?

Well, he doesn’t think about that last part so much. It doesn’t really make for good masturbating material.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive the pandemic before they asked him to do this movie. And of course he asked you along when they had. It’s the only way in the world he could ask for your help: through omission of truths and beating around the bush. He wonders if you might take pity on his soul again and let him crash with you for a while, just to wait the rest of this out together after the movie wraps. If you really are fucking Dustin, it might make things tense but not impossible. He’ll learn to live with it. He’ll have to. What else is he going to do? Go back to this moment in time and stop you?

Perversely he wonders if Dustin is not the first man you’ve fucked since the divorce. You’re not his last but he wishes you were a lot. It’s been nearly two years and he’s forgotten what you feel like, what you taste like. It’s miserable. When he touches himself and thinks of you, you’re like an apparition, some Franksteinian woman built of fragmented, hazy memories. All he remembers was that the last time wasn’t nice and that you didn’t cum. He couldn’t make you, something about you being too sad or too angry. It was a shame, because he’d always imagined the two of you would’ve gone out with a bang.

This thought makes him smile, but it doesn’t last for long. There's nothing funny about your divorce, not really. He broke your heart tediously, and now you’ve got to tell people that it wasn’t just one thing but many things. He knows that. An unanswered phone call. That waitress in Vegas who he flirted with so unabashedly your mother thought he was cheating on you - along with half the internet and for a brief moment, yourself too. The apartment in New York he bought and moved into without asking you. That art house opening he missed, the one you’d asked him continually throughout the week to set time aside for. So many things—the seven sins and just a few more to top it off.

He wasn’t really surprised when you had asked him for a divorce over lunch one day. You didn’t even live together at the time - the New York apartment became more permanent than he had originally planned for - and you looked so tired, like you were drained of life, overwrought and quiet. What surprised him was the fact that you hadn’t done it sooner. The knowing that you had tried against hope was not an easy one for him to reconcile with for a long time after that. Even in that moment you had developed a sort of halting lisp as you pushed the statement out, as though your own body protested it. He remembers that better than the sex.

You had waited for him to get better and he never did, so you both took your chicken salads with a side of failed marriage that day, and now here you are. Dieter sighs, feeling the familiar pangs of remorse.

“Whatever drugs you’re on must not be very good because you look miserable.”

Dieter lifts his head off the back of the loveseat, straining his eyes to make out the shape that’s hovering in his doorway. His brain catches up with him before his eyes do, and the distinct mumbling voice of the figure comes to him. Dustin.

Shaking his head, Dieter laughs, relieved. “I was thinking.”

Dustin takes this as an invitation to cross the corridor. As he comes closer, Dieter finds he’s in more casual clothes - perhaps even sleepwear - clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. If this is a peace offering, Dieter will take the olive branch. He’s so goddamn pleased you’re not fucking this guy, he might even kiss him.

“You want a joint?” he asks him, straightening on the couch. Suddenly it’s not so hard to be magnanimous, not with the sheer euphoria of you not having betrayed him (is he allowed to call it that? Probably not, but there’s no word quite so apt). He feels he might even be smiling, but he can’t be sure. He hopes so.

“God, please,” Dustin groans. He sits the bottle of wine on the table and rubs his hands together eagerly as Dieter lights the one he’s been puffing away at.

“I figured you were the one with the goods,” Dustin says around a cloud of smoke. He looks over at the open door, nodding at it. “We should close that, huh?”

Dieter shrugs. He thought he had closed the door, truthfully. “Probably should. I think I saw a kid here,” he says. Neither of them get up.

Dustin passes the joint to Dieter. He takes another hit when he gets it because fuck it, this is a celebration. “What, she didn’t want you?” he can’t help but ask.

Dustin laughs mutedly. “I don’t know. I figured by the way you reacted at dinner that I better not try. And there's that thing with my wife.” He shrugs. “I’m always fucking that one up. I thought I should just wander around and see where the night takes me.”

Dieter rests his head back against the couch again, nodding sympathetically. “Mm, I understand. Me too.”

“What’d you do?”

“The better question would be what didn’t I do.”

“Did you cheat?”

Dieter turns his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t fuck anyone else while we were together but she said I might as well as have. And I guess she’s whose opinion really matters, isn’t it?”

Dustin mumbles an agreement. “I fucked a lot of people,” he confesses. “Even the divorce lawyer.”

“And she still talks to you?” Dieter asks.

“We’ve got a kid.”

“That’s right. She told me that, because she likes to talk.”

“Hey don’t be a dick. Yours does too, you know? That’s what women like to do—talk. And they like to be listened to.”

Dieter narrows his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the bar? Talking?”

Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”

“I listened.”

“But you didn’t like what you heard.”

Dustin says this more as a statement than a question. Dieter looks back to the ceiling and pinches his eyes closed, too high. “Mm,” he mumbles. “I’m just so happy she isn’t fucking you right now. I really thought she would be there for a second and it was making me sick.”

Dustin huffs out a laugh. “I take it you never shared?”

“What do you mean ‘shared’?” Dieter asks. “Like wife swapping? No. We seemed to have left the practice in the sixties.”

“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”

“Have you done that?”

Dustin shrugs, smiling unashamedly. “Before we got married, of course,” he tells Dieter. Then, “And a little after too.”

Even with the high, Dieter can’t help but feel curious about the arrangement. “With men?”

“Sure. It wouldn’t have been fair with just women. That was the rules, anyway. Why? You’ve never been with a man?”

“A few. That’s not what strikes me as odd. You just didn’t strike me as the type.”

“I wouldn’t say I was, but fair is fair. And it can be nice. Interesting.”

Dieter rolls his eyes. “Gay sex is gay sex, no matter how you cut it. If you’re about to tell me it doesn’t count, I’m gonna laugh.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just like there to be a girl there too.”

The information weighs heavily on Dieter’s drug induced state of mind. He finds himself beginning to laugh. “Wait a minute, are you trying to talk me into a threesome? Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That’s what the wine is about, isn’t it?” He points to the bottle in question, and everything suddenly seems much too funny.

Dustin begins laughing too. “No! The wine was for something. I just couldn’t figure out what”

Dieter ignores him. “Your…your wife hates me,” he manages to hiccup out, “And mine? She—“ She hates me too. This thought makes the laughing come to a slow halt. That’s right. She hates him too.

“I bet she’d do it,” Dustin supplies, soft chuckles still emitting from him. “They can surprise you like that sometimes.”

Dieter shakes his head, his smile more soft, almost sad. “Not with me. I pissed her off. I was thinking I’d try with that waitress downstairs but she’s young and I’ll for sure hate myself for that later.”

“Don’t do that. Your wife really will hate you for that,” Dustin advises. “Take it from an expert. Just call her. Apologize.”

Dieter shakes his head. “That won’t work. It’ll just make her more mad when she realizes I’m high.”

Dustin considers this. “Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s go to her room. Do it in person.”

“You can’t go,” Dieter tells him evenly. It’s not often he’s the voice of reason — even less so when he’s high — and this dynamic is beginning to make him feel out of sorts. He wants to shut his eyes and sleep this off, but naturally — because he is who he is — he will follow this train of thought through with Dustin.

“Why not?” Dustin smiles widely, catching his stride in the conversation. He speaks more animatedly, bringing his hands into the mix for emphasis. “She doesn’t want to fight with you in front of me! And she can see we’ve made friends. That’s progress! She’ll like that.”

Dieter considers this. He does want to show you he’s sorry — really.

“You just want to fuck her,” he says to Dustin. He’s too high to be angry, even if he really wanted to be, but he is suspicious.

When Dustin doesn’t respond to that, Dieter narrows his eyes. “You do!” he accuses, acutely horrified by the idea.

Dustin looks at him, a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, aren’t you a little curious to see what it’d be like?”

“No. And besides, even if I was, I don’t think she would. She’s not…I don’t know, I don't know how to explain it.” Dieter pinches up his face, stuck for the right words. “She’s not a prude by any means, but I don’t think she would.”

“Would you? If she did?”

Dieter doesn’t consider the question, only beats around it. “She wouldn’t. I know her.”

He watches as Dustin rises from the couch. “Let’s just go ask her.”

Dieter jumps up, feeling sobriety sneak up on him. “No!” he says, horrified.

But Dustin has snatched up his bottle of wine and began to make his way out into the corridor before Dieter can stop him.

So crumbles the olive branch.

—-

When you see Dustin standing at your door, holding up a bottle of wine with a goofy grin, you think it's a sign from the Heavens above. No more Dieter, that’s what it tells you. He’s ruined your life for a decade now and it’s a cause you’ve got to accept is a lost one. A new man is here and you’re lonely, and you didn’t even have to go search this one out. You smile, open the door a little wider.

But then you see Dieter shuffling down the corridor, brown eyes blown wide. Dustin looks over at him with a grin and you realize with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t what you imagined it was. You don’t know what it is, to be exact, but you’re sure it’s not right.

They look up to no good, with glazed eyes and Dustin’s too wide grin. You close your door just a smidge when Dieter shoulders to the front. He smiles apologetically, and you instinctively hold out a hand to keep him steady. But he’s steady, in no risk of tumbling forward. He puts his hands over yours before you quickly take it away. He looks stung but you don’t care.

“Hey kid,” he says sheepishly. His eyes seem to be asking you something - saying something - but you’ve long lost that way of communicating. You frown, slumping against the doorway.

“Make friends?” you ask, nodding back to Dustin.

Dustin nods his head, unaware or — more likely — too high to be aware. “He’s being a good boy,” he vouches.

“I’ve been good,” Dieter echoes. He tries another grin and that easy charm of his, but none of it works. You fold your arms over your chest.

“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“

“I’m sorry. I know what I did earlier was shitty. I don’t know why I do things like that. Don’t shut me out. Please.” Dieter pouts. The sincerity of his words punches you in the gut, and makes you angrier somehow. Like it’s mocking, even though you know it’s not. He seems to sense this and he continues talking. “I know I don’t own you like that. I had no right. None at all. And I’ve been meaning to say it to you all night. And I know you’re thinking ‘this prick is high.’ I am. I’m really high, and I can’t deny it, but I’m sorry too. I was sorry even before I got high. That’s why I got high.”

Dustin giggles behind Dieter. You look over, feeling pangs of annoyance for him too. Now that he’s not your knight in shining armor he’s just some asshole in kahoots with this asshole. “That’s terrible,” he huffs out. Dieter glares at him over his shoulder before you’ve got the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Dieter tells you again, pleadingly. You shake your head.

“You’re always sorry. That was always the problem.”

“I know! God, I know.”

“Ask her if she wants some weed,” Dustin whispers.

“And I suppose you smuggled that in?” you ask, straightening yourself up. You feel motherly, glowering at him like this. You want to wring his neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed fuck you, make you feel eternal and sexy. But no. Now you’re so matronly, standing there in your PJs, frowning so hard wrinkles are mapping their permanent home in the places your face creases.

He nods guiltily. “But you knew that! I’ve talked about it all week.”

“Yeah but—“ you wave your hands in the air. “It all adds up with you. It’s..”

“The little things,” he finishes sadly. “I know.”

“Why do you know so little if you know so much?”

Dustin coughs suggestively behind Dieter and Dieter turns around swiftly. “No,” he tells him sharply.

You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”

Dieter shakes his head dismissively and Dustin shrugs, looking around aimlessly. He’s trying hard to contain a laugh or a grin, you can tell. You hate that Dieter is making you a bitch in front of him. You could be fucking him for God’s sake, but you’re just annoyed.

“Go to bed,” you tell them.

“Well that’s the idea,” Dustin counters, his lips drawing upwards. Dieter looks pallid.

“It wasn’t,” he tells you. “I swear. I came here to stop him from asking!”

“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.

“For a threesome,” Dustin says simply, like it’s nothing at all. “Though I can see now that’s probably not in the cards. And it wasn’t really asking for one, just a hypothetical.”

You look over to Dieter. He looks down at the floor, like a kid in trouble. “Dieter,” you scold.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to ask. I told him—I said you wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to suggest it,” he mumbles helplessly. “That’s not what this was supposed to be at all, kid. I swear. I just wanted to say sorry and…I don’t know.”

You don’t know whether to believe him or not. “But you talked about it?”

“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.

“The threesome? You were talking about having one?”

“Yeah, but not like—it wasn’t locker room talk. Not really. He just started talking about it and asked if you would and I said no—“

“How do you know I would say no?” you huff. “You don’t know. You don’t know me.”

Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah it is,” you nod. “I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.”

“I never thought of you like that.”

“Well, still, yes,” you say, feeling angry and stung and in a desperate need to prove him wrong and spite him all in one go. It’s such an ugly feeling and it’s not right, but you can tell the words take him by surprise.

“Yes?…” he asks. “Listen, I get that you’re angry, but you don’t have to do this.”

“No I want to,” you say. “If that’s what you want, what he wants, I want it too. If that’s what you’ve come for, then you’ll get it.”

He shakes his head. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. You’re…being mean. And you’re only going to piss yourself off more, I think, and then you’re going to be mad at me because I drove you to it.”

You shake your head. “No. I think I’m being quite nice. I’m standing here telling you I want you to fuck me. I want him to watch. I want him to fuck me and you to watch. Whatever perverse things you cooked up together, let’s do them. If you’re going to make me mad, then I’m asking that you have the decency to fuck me too.”

Dieter struggles to compute the information. You do too. You hate him. You love him. You are so high strung and pissed and you’d do anything to be touched. Let him prove himself, goddamnit, or let him be damned jealous. Either way, you get fucked. Everyone's a winner or only you are. You don’t give a shit.

Dustin seems altogether pleased by this, clapping a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “I told him you might surprise him.”

“Mm hm,” you hum. You do not break eye contact with Dieter. He nods his head, resolving to trust you—or to go along with it. It doesn’t matter, just so long as he doesn’t question it.

When he steps forward, you put your hand up, blocking him. “First the weed.”

He lets out a soft sigh and stays put for a second, looking as though he wants to say something more. He’s wise enough not to in the end.

As he rounds the corner, heading back to his room, you finally glance back up at Dustin. He smiles softly. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells you. “I really was just to get some fire under his ass. I mean, I’m not against it, but if you’re just doing it because you’re pissed—“

You cut him off with a hard look. “I want to,” you say resolutely. “And I am pissed. So be it. Men start wars for less.” You shrug. He looks amused and you feel something arise in you, up alongside the anger — arousal. Desire. Something. He smiles handsomely. The grayish scruff on his cheeks bodes well with his aged features.

You do want to fuck him. That’s freeing information. Propping the door open wider with the kick of your foot, you nod him in. “C’mon. Get in here before I change my mind.”

The dichotomy between his laughter and the intensity of the fight you just had with Dieter makes you smile despite yourself.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he responds with a wink.

He brushes past you with his body and you fight the urge to suck in a shallow breath at the sudden casual contact. As he moves into the room, he pulls you away from the door with him, gripping at your shoulders. He doesn’t let you stay back and wait for Dieter like some lost puppy.

You look at him, eyes wide, and he hands you the wine in his hand. He is so unserious that it’d be plain endearing if it hadn’t been a source of annoyance a moment before. You watch as he wets his lips and looks down at yours. There seems to be a pregnant pause, eyes searching yours for an answer to an invisible question. You think of Dieter, of all the sex you’ve not had since the divorce, and how hurt he seemed when you pulled back from his touch. You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this. You heed your mother’s warning too late and you kiss Dustin hard on the mouth. He takes some of your grief with a practiced tongue, kissing you deeply until you’re interrupted by a cough in the corner a few blurry moments later.

Dustin smiles, holding your face between his hands. “The weed,” he remarks. Dieter nods. He looks a little hurt, a little angry, a little betrayed—looks like he’s always made you feel, and you are not surprised it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You love him. You fool.

You shake Dustin off and Dieter hands you the joint with a forced grin. “It’s strong,” he warns softly as he lights the end. As you inhale, Dustin comes to stand behind you. Dieter’s eyes watch as his arms snake around you. He plants wet kisses alongside your neck and Dieter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dieter reaches out to you, touches the wrist you’ve risen to put the joint in your mouth. His calloused fingers try to reach across burned bridges and you aid him, handing the joint back and reaching out to him too. His baggy sleep shirt is easy to take between your fingers. He takes a hit and then comes closer to you, pressing into you.

When he kisses you for the first time, you think of an ouroboros. Whole and eternal, destruction and rebirth. Your mother hates him when she once loved him. He knows your birthday and the way you like your coffee in the morning. You don’t know what he did yesterday. He doesn’t know your friend’s old cat died and that you’d been to two weddings before COVID hit. He tastes familiar and feels strange against you, unreal and vivid. You open your mouth and he slides in his tongue. The kiss isn’t like the one with Dustin; he does not explore you as much as he remembers you.

Dustin and Dieter pass the joint between them. When you feel the loss of warmth behind you, you turn curiously, detaching from Dieter’s lips. Dustin goes to abandon the joint on the table by the bed and Dieter’s hot mouth presses kisses alongside your neck. You wrap your fingers in his hair and you can't help but moan when he tongues alongside your jaw. Dustin’s eyes spark with delight at the sound.

You look down at the wine bottle still in your hand and hold it up. Dustin takes it from you, grinning. “I forgot to tell you it was my gift. I’ll open it. It’s good, aged to perfection,” he comments.

He searches your bedside for a glass and finds a crystal one beside the water vase that they gave you earlier that week. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and frowns. “Fuck, I forgot the wine opener.”

“Call the desk,” Dieter says against your skin.

You turn your head back and begin kissing him again, humming an agreement against his lips. Dustin shuffles behind you as you return completely to Dieter, your lips ghosting over his. He licks into your mouth and grasps at the back of your neck, keeping you attached to him as you begin the dance backwards to the bed.

The weed gives you a cloudy feeling, enhancing the warmth of his fingers and lips on your skin, but erasing any inhibition that would make you embarrassed to be doing it in front of another man. You like the idea of it, actually, that there’s some stranger - albeit a familiar one - standing somewhere in the room as Dieter’s fingers lift up your sleep shirt and dip beneath the hem of your underwear. Your ass presses against the edge of the bed and you feel his erection against your thigh. You moan carelessly, tugging at his hair, and he exhales into you, the line between pleasure and pain thin and delicate as he rushes to do what he’s afraid Dustin will get to first if he doesn’t.

Dustin hangs up the phone and looks at the two of you on the bed, a surge of desire filling him as he watches. You’ve got your legs open and Dieter’s got his hands down your underwear and he can see it all from this angle. You’re making delicious, breathy moans and Dieter’s arm muscles flex as he works them out of you. There’s a wet spot on your underwear and he wants nothing more than for Dieter to take them off so he can see more of you.

He watches a while longer, captivated by what makes you tick and what kind of a lover Dieter is. It's kinda like hotel porn that he’s had on repeat the past few days, but live. Before he can get out the request for Dieter to take your underwear off, or wait for the inevitability of it, there’s a knock on the door. He rushes to answer it, holding the door open only enough to take the glasses and the bottle opener. He mumbles a quick thanks before shutting the door on the confused worker.

Dieter enters you with a thick finger and you let out a loud uninhibited moan around his kiss. As Dustin attempts to open the wine he smiles, thinking of the young man who was just outside the door. He likes that you aren’t afraid; he’s always found that attractive in women.

“Here,” he says, pouring the pinkish liquid into three separate glasses. Neither of you look at him, so he repeats it again, this time with more command in his tone. You look so thoroughly kissed when you look up, red lipped and swollen, that it makes him ache, and Dieter’s wild haired annoyance is charming in its own way. He hands you both a glass and you take it with a shy smile. Dieter is less pleased, but takes it anyway with a soft ‘Thanks.’

Dustin watches as Dieter wipes your slick from his fingers with a pang of envy, swallowing down the wine. This isn’t something he’s made a habit of doing often— watching people fuck, threesomes — but he had felt that it wouldn’t have been right to do without Dieter. Truthfully, he had had every intention of going to your room by himself before he had peered into Dieter’s open door. The sight of him sitting there, staring up at the ceiling like he had been doing, inspired sympathy. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about that with Dieter, but what he’s learned over the years about sex is that some little white lies must be told sometimes.

A part of him feels guilty, knowing his own ex-wife lies somewhere in this hotel, probably brewing in her own anger. But he’s leaving her alone. That’s what she asked of him, isn’t it?

“So, any rules?” he asks, abandoning this train of thought before it crashes.

Dieter unwraps himself from you, sitting on the edge of the bed like you are, and shrugs his shoulders. You both look at each other. Dustin feels like an outsider, intruding on something too big and personal, but he doesn’t mind. A bit of self-flagellation mixed in with pleasure was always how he did his sex best, and there’s nothing quite like sleeping with two people very much in love during a pandemic.

“Dieter said you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking at you. “Is that true?”

You nod your head. “What do you mean by ‘rules?’”

“Well, I guess it’s a bit different because no one is with anyone here, but sometimes there will be requests people make to ensure no one gets their feelings hurt. For instance, you might not want me to cum inside of you or enter you at all. They’re for safety too—consent, boundaries.”

“I see.” You look down at your glass of wine, thinking. “I don’t really have any rules. Maybe just use condoms.”

“Are you sure?” Dieter whispers, tugging at your shirt sleeve. He leans in closer, says something Dustin can’t hear. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care if you do that,” you tell him. He seems surprised by your answer.

Dustin can’t help himself. “What’d you ask?”

Dieter shrugs his shoulders. “Just about how she feels about us.”

“Do you have any rules?” he asks.

“Don’t cum in her first.”

You look at Dieter quizzically and all he provides is a shrug that says nothing. Dustin nods his head. “That seems easy enough: condoms, don’t cum first.” He swallows down the rest of his wine and sets the glass aside.

You twirl the liquid around in your own glass, smiling faintly. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” you say.

“Me either,” Dieter replies. He sits his glass, half finished, on the nightstand.

“I’m feeling high,” is your next sentence. Dieter seems to grimace.

“You’re in the wrong state of mind,” he tells you.

You shake your head. “No. I made up my mind before I got high. I want to be fucked,” you tell him, voice plain and even. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll be okay with just him.”

Dieter shakes his head adamantly, cheeks beginning to red. “I—I do want to. I always want to. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you’re going to regret later.”

With a smile, you tell him teasingly, “I won’t regret it later. Not if you do it right.” You offer him a teasing wink that draws out his dimple. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, too romantic and sweet to be good for your soul.

You decide then that this will have to be less Dieter focused if you want to last. “Lay on the bed,” you say to him. He nods his head, prying off his house shoes. You look over to Dustin, who stands awkwardly at the head of the bed. He smiles again with that charming Hollywood grin that age hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, and you grin back. “I want to kiss you again,” you tell him directly.

“That can be arranged,” he says, dipping onto the bed.

Dieter lies back against the heap of pillows at the headboard, his knees spread apart to make a spot for you. Dustin guides you there slowly, his body pressing into yours until there’s nowhere left to go but into Dieter. He kisses you deeply, hands strong and warm and unfamiliar in an entirely exciting way as they bunch up the fabric of your sleep shirt and expand over your skin.

Dieter doesn’t touch you, even though he badly wants to. Part of it is heartbreak and disbelief, and the other part is erotic fascination—watching you come apart like this, at another angle, is undeniably doing something to him. You are so pliable under Dustin, so easy for him, like you’ve waited your entire life to be like this. Maybe you have. Maybe he never paid enough attention—maybe in all your thousand little, subtle ways you had once alluded that you’d like to be this way. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prick, he could’ve made more rules, one like ‘Don’t enter her at all’ and ‘Don’t kiss him like that because I know once upon a time you kissed me like that and I screwed it up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better husband. I’ll be a better friend, just don’t kiss him like that.’

But then again maybe not. That’s a mouthful and you’re high and he’s high. Maybe it would be just like this. It’s just that he loves you. It’s an odd kind of love, but it’s real. Dustin has his tongue down your throat, his exploratory fingers beneath the fabric of a sleep shirt, but Dieter loves you. The fool.

Blissfully you are unaware of the pity party Dieter throws for himself behind you. He is a body, a springboard for desire and heat, as you surrender yourself to lust the way you never really have before. You do draw up some comparisons, unable to help yourself.

Dustin is grittier, all command and surrender. He is an electric taste of the illicit, some faraway fantasy made palpable. Dieter is your ground zero, vivid and stormy. He is what yesterday was. You read somewhere once that when you have a child with a man, their genes have the ability to change your own. Though you and Dieter have no children, you feel like something irrevocable like that happened — that you carry a part of him in your genetic makeup. It doesn’t make Dustin worse for it. In fact, it makes him better, an exotic vaccine into your very tired bloodstream. You deserve it. You deserve it so much, and you practically beg for it, mewling as Dustin kisses his way down.

“I bet you taste like heaven,” he mumbles warmly into your skin, licking a teasing strip over your midriff. You watch, mouth agape, heart beating wildly in your chest. Dieter tilts your chin up, directing your attention towards him, feeling impossibly greedy now. He kisses you languidly, tonguing lolling gently against yours, making it lasts forever. Your mind is in a haze, the slow, sensual turn of your tongues lighting a fire in your belly as Dustin uses his own on you. He trails lower and lower, warm and wet, fingers drawing down your underwear and then—

“Fuck,” you say, gasping out the word. You surprise yourself. Dieter captures the word in his mouth and groans in soft appreciation. You glance down your body, your knees hanging loosely over Dustin’s shoulders, watching his warm tongue pressing against your clit. It’s a sight to behold, the way his pink tongue flattens over you. His large hands grip onto your legs, holding you apart as your back presses into Dieter’s front. You feel his semi-erection nudge into your back.

Dustin spends his time with you, teasing you lightly with his tongue at first, learning the careful intricacies of your body. As you run your hands through his unruly bed hair, the tip of his tongue dips into your opening experimentally. He looks up to you, blue-green eyes searching for approval. You buck against his face, desperate, full of want and drugs and something indescribable but undeniably exciting. Ambition. Want. Joy. You used to masturbate to this man. His nose grazes against your clit and he laughs as you struggle. It is warm and bubbly, and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

You tug his hair so hard that he sends another noise vibrating through you: a low, half pained, half aroused groan.

Dustin brings his mouth back to your clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. “Oh,” you say, your head drawing backward, falling into Dieter’s shoulder. He watches you, his dark eyes fixed. He presses his lips onto yours like time hasn’t changed anything. You bask in it, give yourself over to the fantasy with the ease he’s offering it—you kiss like lovers, familiar and intimate, an unformidable duo in sex where you weren’t in marriage.

Dieter doesn’t leave your lips as he says, “I never got to see this sort of thing from this point of view. You’re so goddamn pretty.”

His hands tease up your sides, fingers drawing closer to your chest. “Is he making you soaked? Just like I used to?” he asks, his voice a low drawl. You arch up, bringing your lips up to his. He slots his mouth over yours, pressing into you roughly as his fingers find a pebbled nipple through the cloth of your night shirt. As he scraps over the top of it with the pad of his thumb, you draw your eyes closed. The heady scent of Dieter surrounding you mixed with the intoxicating feel of Dustin pressed against your cunt is almost too much to bear. Almost. You moan against Dieter’s lips again as Dustin’s tongue works you, and Dieter smiles, nodding. “Oh baby, he’s gonna be like me. A pitiful, helpless fool for you. Aren’t you?” he says, looking down the valley of your body to the other man.

Dustin grunts wordlessly against you and your hips fail you again, pressing up into the vibration. Sensing this isn’t the end of lack of control, Dustin presses a hand against them, pinning you down. As he licks you open, spreads your folds with the warmth of his eager tongue, you feel on fire, the sensation reaching every part of your body. He’s good at that. He’s lapping and lapping, his strong nose meeting your clit at just the right time each time he comes up.

“He’s so fucking good,” you say helplessly, uncaring of who hears. The drugs make you uninhibited, looser. You meet Dustin’s eyes as he takes your clit into his mouth again. He is sucking lightly and you try to roll your hips into him, but he presses down, a silent no. “Fuck, you’re so—good at that. Oh my god.”

Dieter pinches your nipple between his fingers, humming softly at the sight before him. “You’re gonna make me jealous, baby.”

Dustin’s mouth grows more focused, intent. You feel your orgasm drawing up, coming closer and closer. You open your eyes, blown wide with desire, and focus on Dieter. He kisses you softly again, bringing his hand up to your other breast. Dustin sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and your hardened nipple scraps against the warmth of Dieter’s palm. It's all so right. You cum then, toes curling into the sheets, body going rigid beneath the touch of them both. Dustin doesn’t stop; he laps up your want greedily and Dieter draws up his head to watch. His eyes darken, full of desire and what you assume is a begrudging respect.

After you’ve ridden out your orgasm on Dustin, Dieter huffs out a soft laugh. “He wants to fuck you,” he tells you, thumb swiping affectionately across your cheek. Dustin, unable to let that one go, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and muffles a laugh against your skin.

“Bravo, you’re so jealous it’s making you stupid. She knows that,” he says, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Of course she knows that.”

“M’not jealous,” Dieter denies evenly. When he looks down at you, brown eyes too kind, you half believe him.

You break the eye contact and smile appreciatively down at the man between your legs. A finger you’d locked in his hair now swipes across the bottom of his shiny lips. He takes it into his mouth, wetting the pad, and you say, “You aren’t a very good team. I think it’s important to be a good team.”

Dieter places a hand on your arm, more of a phantom touch than a grip, but you know it’s a stroke of possessiveness. You glance back up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. “Dieter likes men,” you tell Dustin, not looking away from Dieter. “He’s not playing nice now and I think it’s a shame because I bet you taste just like me right now. And I know—“ your gaze drops down to Dustin, your voice velvet “—how much this dearest ex-husband of mine likes the taste of me. Have you ever kissed another man, Dustin?”

Dustin bites at your bait, smirk growing wide as his body stalking up yours. “Of course. I looked like a God in the ‘90s. Everyone wanted me and I wanted everyone,” he jokes, his warm hands flattening against your torso. His legs rest behind your thighs as he sits upwards, and you can see the tent of his erection against his sleep shorts. The black of them does little to conceal the full outline, and you thrill at the idea that he’s probably not wearing any underwear beneath the fabric.

You’re not one for getting starstruck - not anymore, anyway, a Los Angeles resident for years and the ex-wife of a star - but the fact that you used to masturbate to this man in front of you is something you still can’t shake. It occupies your mind, the way you had rewinded scenes from his raunchy, made for tv erotica over and over. Even now, many years later, you can still picture it: his younger frame pressed behind a blond woman, fucking into her in haste, his hands all over her and his thrusts rough. It was incredible to you back then, placed in some seedy location like an alley. Public and animalistic—the stuff of paperback romance novels. You remember the way he tugged her shirt upwards, how in the heat of the moment he grasped at any part of her he could get. A black bra and a long skirt, the bra pushed askew, going higher and higher with each thrust, and the skirt gripped onto, used for leverage as he pushed into her from behind. The VHS that hosted the scene had been passed from friend to friend in your college days, until someone’s VCR had eaten it. You feel a bit excited to know you’ve got the real thing right here. You think about telling him.

But it’s not about you, not now; it’s about Dieter. You widen your legs, make room for the ‘90s heart throb to slip between your body and come closer to the man you’ve dedicated your life to. In this moment you can admit as much. Dieter’s got his cock pressed against your back, and you know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.

Dieter stiffens as Dustin presses closer and closer to him. You shift to accommodate them, moving your body up, guiding Dieter along. He holds you close like a shield but doesn’t protest when Dustin’s lips press into his.

Dustin tastes of earthy vineyards and you—like sweetened strawberry wine and the familiar palette of tangy and acidic that’s blessed Dieter’s tongue many times over. That’s it, he thinks with a smile against Dustin’s generous lips. That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.

He plunges his tongue so deeply into Dustin’s mouth, it threatens to gag them both. But it doesn’t. They’ve both got their party tricks, after all. Dieter’s kiss grows hungry and suddenly there’s no space between any of you. You are a perfectly molded puzzle, fingers on skin, in hair, tongues swiping against lips and chests, and there are deep guttural moans exposing what the erections do well to show.

You know Dieter wants this, can feel his evident excitement press into your back. You happily welcome the warmth of Dustin’s firm body pressing impossibly close to yours. Dieter wets his bottom lip and squeezes you reassuringly, a habit from other life slipping into this new one.

You alternate kissing one another, creating a new taste on your warm, eager tongues. It is perfect. Dustin’s hands gingerly fumble over your chest, not focused or intent but curious, and Dieter’s allow it. The possessiveness has translated into something entirely more agreeable, and these men work together like lovers.

Your fingers grip at Dustin’s muscular shoulders, trail lower and lower over the slope of his chest down to the dip above his shorts. The path is slow and arduous to your lust riddled brain. He grunts against your collarbone, his hot breath fanning over you, and you go lower still, taking the shorts with you.

Dieter’s eyes trail the same place yours do, his chin tucked into your neck; you share the same view of Dustin: the red weeping head of his cock as it bops against his toned stomach, eager to be touched and licked and surrounded. Dustin sighs hotly against you as you press against him - against it - and Dieter swipes his tongue behind your ear. It is heaven, the way Dieter and Dustin feel against you, combined like this. You want them both. You need them.

You wrap your hands in Dieter’s curls, let him support your body as it rubs frantically over Dustin’s. Dieter peppers kisses alongside your neck and whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. God, I was so fucking lucky—“

The rest of it is lost against the shell of your earlobe. Some things - even the kindest, most genuine things - are better left unsaid.

Dustin emits soft, urgent moans as his cock catches between your bodies. The tempo of your shared thrusts grows quick, more focused, and he is close, on the very brink of letting go. You knit your brows, watch curiously and excitedly as he draws closer. You think of it: A hot spurt, just for you. Dieter holds up your sleep shirt, seeming to expect the same.

But then Dustin stops, his thick fingers rough and tight against your skin as he stills your movements. In the morning you’ll be bruised, a thought that thrills you. “Not yet,” is what he says in explanation, leaning his forehead against yours.

Dieter laughs softly, some terrible joke about bad endurance dying before it rises to be heard. He’s on his best behavior. Dustin tastes of you, of him, and you’re all naked and you’re so happy, so pliant. You lean against him like he’s someone you can lean on, and he swallows the serenity of that thought silently. Dieter is a half guilt, a perpetual bleeding heart, and you are his salvation. He knows it doesn’t work like that, can’t, but sex is not about what is real and logical. That’s why you were always so fucking good at it; it was beyond the both of you, and somehow a language you spoke best together.

He should feel worse about Dustin. Perhaps it’s because you want it so bad, or maybe it’s because he’s so horny, but the inclusion of him feels less intrusive than before. This is not your marriage bed - it’s been lost to the cruel seas of time - but it feels like a union, and Dustin plays a curious part. Not the voyeuristic onlooker, but the active participant, his glistening cock hot and heavy against your beautiful stomach. It should make Dieter sick. It did, thirty minutes ago. But now it makes him hard, wets his mouth. The bastard is good looking.

What can he say - you have always had good taste.

You turn your head and lick into Dieter’s mouth, redirecting your attention. He turns you between their bodies, pressing you into him as he kisses you feverishly. Dustin assists him, holding you against his body like Dieter had been doing before, only upwards. Dieter draws back and lifts the cotton sleep shirt over your head. He takes advantage like Dustin hadn’t been smart enough to, wetting your nipple with his warm mouth and tweaking the other between his fingers. You squirm, pressing your hot cunt against his stomach. He feels too clothed suddenly, having been denied contact because layers. You help him take off his shirt and Dustin helps you take off his pants. You waste no time wrapping your hot hand around him and tugging loosely.

His mouth finds your nipple again and you wrap your fingers into his unruly hair, jerking him off slowly as he kisses and sucks at your bare chest. He knows you’re already dripping, seen it on Dustin’s glossy lips when he got done with you, but this is his body remembering you and he can't stop. He remembers the way you got when he licked at you like you were the last scraps of his final meal on earth. How desperate and needy you became, just as desperate and needy as him. His hand travels down your stomach, straight down to your cunt, and he palms the wet heat of you into his hand. Dieter relishes the way you gasp into his mouth as the heel of his hand finds your clit, a smirk on his lips and a sentence like, “That’s it, baby,” coming out against you.

He fingers your entrance teasingly and finds you devastatingly wet. This is heaven, he thinks, the wet stickiness of you on the pad of his finger and your hot breath on his lips. You dig your nails into his shoulder, shut your eyes against the sensation of one of his fingers entering you. Dieter is ground zero. In your Garden of Eden, Dieter was there, at once Adam and the serpent. This is the apple. How delicious it is to be fucked, how perfectly human. Of course they’d turn on God for this. Cover up with leaves and be terrified of the whole earth later. Bleed and cry. Divorce. Whatever. This is worth turning back on perfection for. Poor Eve. Poor you.

You rub yourself against his hand and Dustin takes one of your breasts into his hand, watching. Dieter is so focused on the squelch of your juices and the way his finger - fingers now, two, and you stretch so perfectly for him - enters you that he doesn’t even mind. You’re no pissing contest, he sees that now—you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He swallows your moans and tries his best not to cum. Your grasp on his cock is so loose and it’d be so embarrassing to cum on your stomach when the tugs are nothing, and besides this is about you. So he focuses on trying not to.

“Condom,” you mutter, your lips landing on the side of Dieter’s mouth. Dieter nods his head but doesn’t pull back from you. He watches, enchanted, as your hips move against his hand. He can feel your orgasm build in the way you clench around his fingers, the penultimate pressure too much to bear. When you come, its with a shudder, your body tight and rigid above his as you ride it out. Dieter is so high and so in love with you, and he’s so sick about it that all he can do is laugh earnestly, even though what he wants is to ask you to marry him again.

Dustin is touching you all over with his hands, palming your perfect breasts, and you’re arching farther and farther back. Dieter can hardly bear the sight—not because of the jealousy—but because he’s deathly afraid this is it for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had, and he knows he can’t think that way. You had a good run—you’re great friends now—but God, you married him in Vegas and you used to sketch his nose with careful affection onto canvases you kept for yourself. Who’s gonna sit in your studio now? Who’s gonna take up space in your heart, make you smile over the canvas as you work? He would weep if you didn’t look so pretty and sated, leaning into Dustin the way you are.

He kisses you hard on the mouth just to get rid of the thoughts, and then he kisses Dustin too, grabbing roughly at the back of his hair the way he hasn’t ever with you. It’s not kind, but Dustin doesn’t seem to mind; he moans gruffly, absorbing nothing but the desire behind it.

Your hands explore Dieter’s exposed skin as they kiss, warm and gentle, unconsciously fingering the scar he got as a child. You know the map of this body. When his hard cock bops against his stomach you take it in your hand again. Before he has time to think, you put him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against Dustin’s lips. They stop kissing, looking between them at the sight of you. Dustin is so considerate, so much better than Dieter has ever been. He moves aside your hair, kisses against the curve of your spine. All Dieter can do is think about not cumming. He feels bad about this, wishes he could gather enough strength to think about your hair and things like that. But your mouth is warm and you take him in with expertise, bobbing in a rhythm he wouldn't dare break. Up, down, the tip of your tongue running alongside a vein, back up again. He’ll cum like this. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he touches the top of your head with unspeakable tenderness. Cum, you beckon, but he won’t. Can’t.

Where is that goddamn condom? How can he make this last forever?

He pulls back from your lips smiling an apologetic grin when you at him, surprised. You seem to understand, a devilish little smirk playing across your glossy lips. He wants to kiss you, but even that feels dangerous right now. He thumbs your lips instead.

“Condoms,” he tells you softly. You nod your head.

“In my bag.” You point over to the corner of the room. Dieter pads off to get them.

Dustin’s hands sneak between your thighs and you sigh when he finds your entrance, the tip of a finger rubbing the spot Dieter abandoned. You’re so wet and you want it so badly. He presses his lips against your shoulder and you feel the heat of his breath against your goose pimpled flesh. As you loll your head against him, he slides a finger in. You scratch the back of his head and nod frantically.

“You’re so tight.” He nips your skin and then licks at you with a desperation you’ve only experienced in Dieter. You like being wanted this badly. You lift your hips and ride his finger, squeezing around him. So tight, right. He laughs and you feel that too. “You like being talked dirty to, don’t you? You’re being so good, riding my finger like this. I can’t wait to fuck you. To feel you around my cock like this. And I bet he’s thinking that too.”

You both look over to Dieter as he unwraps a found foil and takes out the condom. You sigh; Dustin’s thumb finds your swollen clit. “We’ve got to make him cum in you, but I don’t think you’ll find that hard. He wants you so bad. Look—“ You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

Dieter strokes himself through the protective sleeve as he watches the two of you. You feel the familiar sensation of heat spreading low in your belly. When Dustin dares to enter another finger into you, you gasp, feeling full and stretched and yet not full enough. He spreads his fingers inside you, preparing you. You tug at his hair and make eye contact with Dieter.

He smiles lopsidedly, suddenly boyish and more handsome than he’s ever been. You think he looks happy for you—so pleased that you’re pleased, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it’s the drugs. You don’t know. Maybe he is happy that you’re happy. He was always better at saying he loved you than he was at showing it, but you suspect that this is his showing you. Love. Maybe it spills over in divorce, just another cruel thing you’ve got to cope with.

When Dieter comes back, he presses a condom into Dustin’s thigh. You are at the edge of another orgasm, everything perfectly in place — the sensation of Dustin’s thumb, the way his breath hits your skin, the idea that Dieter is watching you—but he denies you it, interrupting. You go to protest, whine, but he doesn’t give you a chance.

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity. You squeeze Dieter’s shoulder. The other condom package falls loosely onto the bed as Dustin uses his hand to keep you steady, your knees weak from the pleasure.

You tug at Dieter’s hair to make him stop. Dustin seems to know instinctively, leaving you feeling empty when he takes his fingers away. His slick covered fingers rest on your hips as you tell them both, breathlessly, “I can’t do another one. It’s too much.”

Dieter shakes his head in protest but Dustin takes the information in stride. He’s too good at this, moves through the motions with ease, improvising quickly. He extends his slicked fingers to Dieter. Dieter, who has been so focused on you, looks at them quizzically, unsure of what they mean. Then he seems to get it, hard features smoothing out in realization.

He looks at Dustin, and it’s not like with you. He's focused, not icy or angry but so intent. It’s not a loveless gaze, per se, but it is devoid of love; filled not with something warm but something hot.

Dustin’s cock presses into the small of your back. As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. You bite at your lip. You’ve never seen Dieter with men before, and this new side of him excites you—like unlocking a new door in a house you’ve had for ages. He puts on a show for you, bobbing like you did on him. Dustin’s fingers seem to be an extension of yourself. You shudder as Dieter tongues along them, and Dustin rubs himself helplessly against your backside.

“I want to see what you’re like with men,” you say to Dieter, your voice barely a whisper. But Dieter hears you and his eyebrows perk in interest. This is a long unanswered question to something you’ve never been brave enough to ask. You’ve always known that he’s been interested in men — that he’s had sex with them — but you’ve never really questioned outright about what it was like. It felt equal parts too personal and hurtful; you didn’t want to know what it was like with other people before you. But everything seems different tonight. You want to know badly, like he’s got secrets that could be your salvation hidden in him.

You slip from between them, lying against the pillows. Before filling the space, Dieter looks over at you. His brown eyes implore you for a sign and you nod your head.

He’d asked you earlier, when Dustin asked about rules, if you’d be alright with them touching each other, maybe even entering one another. You hadn’t expected it to get to that, so it had been easy to say you didn’t mind. In fact, you had figured Dieter only said it as a means to scare you away from the idea. And now that the notion is not only on the horizon, but a reality, it comes just as easy to say yes—maybe even more so.

He stalls, hesitating, so you nod again, laughing. He smiles. Your ex-husband is a startlingly beautiful man like this, looking so openly vulnerable. He’s physically and emotionally naked and you’ve waited decades for it.

Dieter and Dustin kiss each other like men do, aggressive and dominating, neither willing to lose the good fight just yet. You feel your interest piqued, watching the way their fingers touch each other. How they tug and grip, search for purchase all over. Dieter is much rougher with Dustin than he’s ever chanced to be with you, with bruising kisses and bruising touches. When he grabs the man’s cock, it is with an ugly dedication, fast dry and quick tugs. Dustin hisses the first time but doesn’t protest. In fact, he thrusts his hips unashamedly into Dieter’s closed fist, licking into his mouth with a degree of delight. They tug at the back of each other’s heads of hair and eventually Dieter gives way, falling back to allow Dustin to mount him.

Dustin searches for the condom on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily in an attempt to grasp at long denied air. You watch through heavy lids as he slides the latex onto himself. He’s circumcised, pink and swollen at the tip. Drips of pre-cum have made him all glossy and you bite your lip watching him struggle to line himself up. When he gets the latex down to his base, he smiles a satisfied smirk. He doesn’t look at you. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t mind at all. This is his favorite play, and he’s an actor after all.

Dieter’s knees knock apart to accommodate his frame—a body you’ve begun to notice with quiet admiration in your desire. He’s broad, much broader than he’d been in his youth, and he’s got muscle all over now, whereas before he’d been lean and lanky. He’s hard and tight and as he begins to rub himself against Dieter, you’re taken with the way his skin stretches over the plains of his back, his arms, his stomach. Dustin is in impeccable shape, perhaps one of the only men who can claim he’s doing better now than he was in his youth. Gone is the boyishness, replaced with a heady, sure masculinity.

Dieter seems to relinquish his fight happily now, soft growls emitting from his lips. Dustin presses down into him, and while most of what they’re doing is obscured by Dieter’s legs, you can imagine it well enough: the steady, erratic thrusts of Dustin’s cock rubbing against Dieter’s. There’s a sheen of sweat on them both and Dustin buries his head in Dieter’s neck. He licks at the places you had once, and it is nothing but erotic little huffs from them both.

“You’re…” Dustin begins, but falters off. He lifts himself up, repositions, bracketing Dieter’s head between his strong arms. Dieter’s eyes are pressed closed, his dark features etched with pleasure. All they do for a while is rub against each other. You feel like an intruder, like something stopping them from getting where they need to be. Maybe you are.

You dare to speak: “Aren’t you going to touch each other?”

Dieter looks startled. He’s red in the cheeks, the exertion of their movements and the heat of his desire making him flush. He taps Dustin on the arm, making the steady roll of his hips slow until suddenly it’s nothing. It’s all quiet for the first time in minutes.

They both look at you with intent eyes. But Dieter is the first to take charge. “You should fuck her,” he tells Dustin. Dieter looks at you, questioning.

“But—“ you protest. Dieter shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”

Dustin has no qualms about the interchanging of you and Dieter. You notice that he's notably gentler with you than he was with him, though. He crawls to you, kisses you chastely—as if testing the waters. There’s nothing necessarily erratic or rough about what he does to you. He looks between your spread legs and fingers at your entrance once more, circling the area teasingly. You groan in anticipation and his head falls to your chest. He takes a taut nipple into his mouth as he plunges his fingers inside of you, pushing them against your front wall. As you sigh heavily, he moves his wet mouth to the other nipple.

You turn your head, catch Dieter’s fixed gaze. He reaches out his hand and you lace your fingers together. He’s touching himself through his condom, stroking softly. You want to devour him.

Dustin takes his fingers from you, and you look back at him. Before you can plead for more he says, “I’m gonna enter you now.” You nod, wordless.

He gathers the slick from his fingers and coats his latex covered cock with it. As you squeeze Dieter’s hand, Dustin lines himself to your entrance. His kiss is soft, barely a kiss at all, and he enters you, inch by careful inch. He feels so overwhelmingly right, snug, puncturing something decidedly primal inside of you when he bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan hotly against his shoulder. He manages a small laugh, running his lips against your cheek. “Go hard,” you ask. He hasn’t moved yet, stays still inside of you. You think of the way he was with Dieter.

“I don’t know if I can. I think I’ll…” He swallows. “I know I’ll cum.”

“Please,” you beg. You dig crescent shaped nail marks into ass and he smiles teasingly, running his warm tongue against your sensitive skin. He presses so intimately into you, your nipples scrap against his chest. It feels so good. Everything does.

“He said no,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes.

“He’ll give me anything I want,” you say. Dieter’s fingers leave yours then, and you look over. You think you’ve made him mad but he’s only repositioning himself, coming closer to your bodies. He doesn’t say anything.

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dustin mumbles, finally drawing back. You nod your head, encouraging, but he doesn’t go harder. He moves in the same way he did before, experimental and slow. When you look at him, imploring silently, he shakes his head. “But a rule is a rule, baby. ‘Sides, I think he’s making me get you ready. Your husband is a bit of a pervert. He’s touching himself, watching me stretch you open with my cock.” Dustin presses his lips into yours. Against you, he mumbles, “Did ya know he likes to watch? Bet he likes to hear too. You—“ Dustin pushes back into you, stopping himself, and the squelch of your juices adds to the effect. He smirks. “—You’ll get fucked. Just not by me. Not yet. Maybe I’ll fuck him while he fucks you. Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

You feel Dieter’s fingers but can’t move your eyes away from Dustin’s. They’re greener like this, up close. Dieter trails a line over your body, and then up to Dustin’s, with a lone finger. Dustin turns to look at him and he smiles, nodding. They seem to work without words.

Dustin reaches down to grip the condom as he pulls out of you. You look over at Dieter, half angry and half amused that he could interrupt. You realize what they’re doing almost immediately. Dieter holds open your legs by pressing his palm against one of your knees, and Dustin shuffles, moving back to let Dieter take his place.

His cock probes against your entrance and he smiles down at you like a fool. “Hey,” he tells you evenly, half sober. You ache for him. You clench around nothing as he licks into your mouth.

“Hey,” you respond, overcome. Your fingers wrap around his arms and you notice that he’s got more muscle than before too.

“You want to be fucked?” Although he attempts to make this a question, it is more of a statement. You nod along anyway. He kisses you hard, rough like with Dustin, and he nearly enters you as he rubs himself greedily against your naked warmth, wetting himself with your slick.

“Yes. Hard, like you do with him,” you tell him. He smiles against your lips. You take his cock in your hand, so much more sure with him than anyone, and he slides into you. It feels like homecoming, wet and warm and familiar, your fingers digging into his skin and the smell of sex in the air. He does what you ask, his thrusts sharp, his hips snapping against your hips.

“Dieter,” you pant out, nodding your head. He kisses the side of your mouth sloppily and you smile the best you can. Where Dustin felt right, Dieter feels perfect. You feel like you touch the hem of eternity as he plunges into you with the intensity you requested, uninhibited and giving in the roughness.

He repositions you both in one expert movement, moving to his knees, pushing your hips farther up. This makes you let out a startled gasp; he hits you far deeper like this, his thumbs digging into the flesh on your hips with bruising intensity. You can’t kiss from this position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks you. Really fucks you.

You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. He doesn’t even touch himself. This makes you frown.

“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.

“Huh?” he grunts.

“Dustin.”

“Mm, what—what about him?”

“Let him fuck me too. Please.”

Dieter shakes his head. “No, you’re mine right now. You’re—“ he snaps into you roughly, the bed creaking. “I’ll suck him off. Or maybe—“ Dieter grunts again, “Maybe he’ll be smart and he’ll get behind me. And maybe he’ll—“ his head drops to your neck, and your head the next part through mumbles. “Maybe he’ll rub against me like he was doing before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Just think about you. It’s all for you.”

You close your eyes, nodding. That sounds fine. Great. Dieter’s finger gazes at your clit and you nod, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist. You always liked to feel the way his forearm moved as he did this to you.

“Cum for me and I’ll cum for you,” he says, and you feel it begin, the stirrings of another orgasm. You think of him, of the way he punctures his thrusts with grunts, how good he feels inside of you, bottoming out like this with measured fury. You like how rough he’s being, like never before. You like this side of Dieter. You like that there is more of Dieter to know.

When you cum, you call out his name. He swallows it, pressing his lips to yours. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me. You’ve always been.” He fucks faster into you, his own release on the horizon. You squeeze around him once, twice, and that’s it; he’s filling the condom up and he’s gasping earnestly, amazed and so goddamn in love. He kisses you on the mouth and it’s so genuine. You kiss him back, smiling like a newlywed.

“Dustin,” you say against Dieter’s lips, after a moment. Your chests are both heaving and you're drenched in a thin layer of sweat. He presses his forehead against yours and you smile. “Let me take care of him,” you tell him.

Dieter rolls off of you, collapsing into bed with a soft groan and saying nothing. You take a moment to recuperate, breathing in and out, letting the bliss of this moment wash over you.

“Come here,” you say to Dustin, patting the open space of the bed beside you. He listens, the bed dipping beneath his weight. It takes a lot of effort on your part, but you rise to your knees. You guide him onto his back and he helps you straddle him. For a moment, you just sit there on top of him, looking at him.

“I used to masturbate to you,” you finally admit. This makes him grin. Beneath your cunt, his erection jumps a little.

“Thanks,” he says. His hand palms one of your breasts again. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I can finish myself off if you want.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Didn’t you hear me? I used to masturbate to you. This is a dream.”

Another hand comes up to cup your other breasts. “Are you sure you don't feel too sore? He fucked you pretty good.” You begin to glide your cunt alongside his prominent erection. He sucks in a swallow breath. “Guess that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm.

“Just let her fuck you,” Dieter tells him quietly. You smile over at him but he doesn’t see it; he’s too busy watching the way you move your hips over Dustin. Even with a flaccid penis and in a state of post-coital peace, you manage to get to him.

You ride Dustin quickly, grabbing onto his strong shoulders as he tongues your alongside chest, finding your nipples. He groans, the sensation vibrating throughout your body as you follow the motion his hands set for you. A fast up and down, your back arching, taking him in completely and then pushing back so far he nearly falls out.

Admittedly he does most of the work, your legs wobbly and your body tired. But it feels good. God, does it feel good. You like this, being with two men back to back, each of them taking turns. Dustin generously tries to get you to cum again, his fingers sliding between your bodies, but you stop him.

“It’s too much. Just this,” you tell him. You grind down on him to make him feel better about it, and he hums sympathetically around a mouthful of your breast.

You ride him less enthusiastically the closer he gets, both of you too tired and worn. He stops aiding you so much, kissing anywhere he can access: your jaw, your neck, the side of your mouth. He lets your body fall forward into his. It’s a sort of lazy fucking that you do, meeting halfway to create the sharp thrusts that push him closer to climax.

“Cum in me,” you tell him, voice silky against his ear. He knows how tired you are, feels it too. He gathers up the last of both of your strengths, rutting up into you with intent. As he cums, you ride him, curious, taking all he can give. Dieter is too sensitive, can’t stand to move when he cums, but Dustin nods, moaning against you. When it’s over, you collapse into him, hugging his sweaty body. He laughs against your warm skin.

“Thank you,” he tells you softly, so only you can hear. You nod. You lie on him like that for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart. Dieter watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look faraway.

You reach out to him with your fingers and he smiles, coming to.

Dustin helps you off of him and you fall between them, sated and spent. He slides off his condom and reaches across your body. “You want me to take yours?” he asks Dieter. Dieter, no longer feeling jealous but merely tired, nods. He hands the man his condom and Dustin pads off to the bathroom. Dieter and you watch this, amused.

“I kinda understand what you see in him now,” he confesses, smiling. He interlocks your fingers and you let him.

“Thank you,” you say, ignoring his comment. You look over at him.

He nods, sincere. “Of course. I assume I did it right?”

“You did it right.”

“And you don’t regret it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

You kiss him chastely, even though you know you shouldn’t. “I know,” you tell him softly. “I love you too.”

“Like a friend?”

“No.”

“Like a husband?” he asks, testing the waters. You laugh. Dustin comes back from the bathroom.

“No. Something more than all of that.”

“I can handle that.”

You nod your head. “Me too,” you tell him.

The bed dips from the weight of Dustin once more, and you roll over to your side, cuddling into him. He passes a warm rag to Dieter and he accepts it, cleaning himself. He goes to hand it to you, but you shake your head.

“I’ll take a shower in a little. When I can walk.”

This earns a laugh from them both. Dustin reaches an arm around you, drawing you closer to his body. Dieter, surprisingly, doesn’t mind this; he curls up behind you, too, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re all so close, and it’s nice. He thinks maybe they might be something to this sharing after all.

“I liked that,” you say to no one in particular.

Dustin hums, fingering trailing over your arm. “Enough to do it again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I think the opportunity for this kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. This is Hollywood, and they love sequels,” Dieter adds, smiling.

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”

You close your eyes, smiling faintly. “A sequel, then, maybe,” you say tiredly.

In the morning, you do not regret any of it.

—-

A YEAR LATER.

SUBJECT: THREE’S COMPANY, BUT ONLY SOMETIMES from: dustin.mulray@gmail.com

I was at an art show the other day and I saw a painting with your name on it. The guy in it looked a little familiar (they told me it was an old painting, from nearly a decade ago, before you were both famous. Cute). I bought it, of course. Not that I’m in the habit of buying paintings from people I’ve slept with, but it was for charity and it looked good and I’ve got a new apartment that I’ve got to fill, so I thought why not? It cost a lot (good for you!) and because of that they let me wrangle an email address from them to tell you what a brilliant job you did. You did great. Very Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of you. Anyway, to the point: You weren’t at the premiere of the documentary with Dieter last month. He told me that it's because you don’t like that scene, and I don’t blame you. Neither do I. But I was wondering how you feel about commissioned paintings? And do you think that Dieter would like to come with you to deliver it if your opinion is positive? (He told me I had to ask you that myself, so I think he’d be happy to accompany you if the canvas is too big to carry by yourself). P.S. I’m asking you for sex–a sequel, as it were–but I really would like a painting, too. I’ll spend a lot (not for the sex, but the art. I guess for the sex too, if you’re into that). Love, D. Mulray.

—-

SUBJECT: HOPEFULLY NOT ROSEMARY’S BABY SITUATION to: david.bravo@gmail.com, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Sometimes I commission art work for people I like and sometimes I make an exception for those I don’t if they pay enough. I’m sure you fall somewhere in those categories, Dustin. But I must warn you: I won’t do dick drawings. I might do a vagina one if the inspiration strikes. I must admit I’ve never had a man ask me for sex over email. Kind of thrilling, like a retro sext but without any of the sexy parts. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). P.S. It will cost you. For tax purposes, I hope you’ll let ‘it’ be the art.

—

from: david.bravo@gmail.com to: you, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?

[siolixz]

~Veils Of Crimson~

Chapter 4

Pairings: oz cobb x reader (Carmine Falcone's daughter)

<chapter 1> <chapter 2> <chapter 3>

Reader is a child of the circumstances she was raised in and Oz is still manipulative-I had to take a few breaks from writing this to walk around my house a lil bit-I think I have a pretty clear idea of where I wanna take this story going forward. You get to FUCK that old man! YES! Also, I am currently drawing Oz and 'reader' how I imagine her, can't wait to show yall. Next Chapter is gonna be up as soon as I see the new episode and I get virtually high with creativity.

I took my inspo from Driving Miss Falcone by (https://www.tumblr.com/genevievedarcygranger here on tumblr), check out the story if you can.

Enjoy, give feeback if u want ily xoxo.

Warnings: mature language, smut (oral sex, hair pulling, riding) violence, general horniness.

“WHERE ARE YOU”

You texted her back that you were out and perfectly fine-nothing to worry about, you apologized for not texting her in time as well. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Ok, so you didn’t text Sofia that you were gonna leave, so what? She’s not your parent. You just unfortunately forgot, in all the excitement of seeing Oswald, you ran out of the door, got in the car and disappeared.

With your heart beating out of your chest, you pressed the handle of the main entrance to the mansion and upon being greeted with the quietness of the estate at this late hour- you went into the kitchen to grab yourself a snack from one of the fridges there.

Where are those damn Milka sweets you brought back from Europe? Did someone eat them? If they did you were gonna-

“Sneaking inside at this late hour? How scandalous.”

“Jesus, Sofia, you HAVE to stop doing that-”

“Where were you?” she said, while stepping closer, cocking her head.

Alright, this was older sister Sofia speaking

“I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t want to leave like that, It’s just that-I had some business I had to do, ok?” you said, hoping this lie would be sufficient

She didn’t look like she believed you, but she stopped asking any questions.

“While you were gone, I found a guy that's gonna help us with catching the rat in our family, once and for all.” -she didn't tell you anything about whatever she had planned

“A guy that’s gonna help us with finding the rat? That’s good. Great even.”

“Yeah, it is.” she looked down for a moment before taking a deep breath and coming closer “Listen, I think it would be best that you leave here a while, with everything that’s going on, I don’t want to lose you too-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said. Who does she think she is? Sending you away like this “this is my home.”

“Yes, yes i know” she closed her eyes deep in thought and opened them before continuing “you are one of the most important people in this family and I know how hard it is to be sent away-but this time, believe me, it’s for your own good. I only want the best for you.”

“No, no. I can help Sofia, I know I can. Why didn’t you tell me about the detective? I could’ve come with you-”

“Listen, just listen. I love you, I want the best for you-”

“You believe imma hold you back. That’s it. So you want to send me away, like dad.” you started nodding, mostly to yourself. That was it, she didn’t want you around, like she didn’t even miss you. “We have an army of guards at the mansion, I could remain here until everything is resolve-”

“Your place isn’t in a power struggle between us and the Maronis, you know that.” Honestly, fuck her. She barely talked to you since coming home, you weren’t the little girl she once knew.

“Alright- I guess, let me know if you need anything. Good night” You started backing up while talking to her, you didn’t even want to see her

“Good night.” she said.

Today was your brother’s memorial service and everyone important was here. There was food and good drinks, ready to be served for everyone to remember and toast towards your brother’s life. You really missed him and hoped he was in a better place.

You talked to Carla and Gia-her daughter. Gia told you looked beautiful, like a princess.

Like a princess of death and despair probably, wearing all black.

You saw everyone’s head turn towards the only person that could pull their attention away from you-Sofia, who was currently shoving a fist full of pasta in her mouth.

Classy-just like you remembered.

You took this moment of ignorance and disappeared into one of the rooms near one of the staircases that lead downstairs for a moment of quietness, you wanted to browse the internet a bit- see if anyone took a picture of you with him.

You talked to Oz last night when you arrived home- he told you to call him when you did, he said that you two will see each other today, that he was sorry you had to leave so early and that he really enjoyed your date, he didn’t have that much fun in a long time.

What a sweet man you thought, last night he was incredibly gentle and you could get used to going out with him, being by his side. His big arms, his charisma- everything about that man left you wondering when you two would be alone again, maybe in a more intimate setting- god it felt like you were 19 again, daydreaming about riding him in the backseat of your Rolls Royce, the way his hands would hold you down, guide you down his-

“-I told you to come to me, not go behind my BACK!”

Your uncle Luca, accompanied by Sofia and Castillo were coming down the steps-rudely disturbing your dream.

When your uncle saw you, he pointed at you and asked “You dragged your little sister into this too?”

You looked at Sofia, then at Luca “What?”

“No, she doesn’t know anything.”

“Good, at least one of you listens.” Luca continued. Fuck was his deal? Did he find out about Sofia’s plan to find the rat?

They continued to go down, still talking. You decided you didn’t want to stick around to find out what they were doing so you left and found that every single door was closing? Ok, what the literal fuck is happening.

“Search everyone for weapons.”

You followed the voice and found some of the guards in a line, unfortunately the man you desired was also between them.

“Oz? What happened?” you said as you ran up to him, the sound of your manolo blahnik heels creating sharp clicks against the expensive floor.

His gaze softened when he saw you and before he could say anything one of your guards, spoke up next to him “Someone iced a Maroni in the basement.” Oh, so that’s why Sofia was rushing downstairs with Luca, yikes.

“The fuck. Fuck you!” Viti said, as he was roughly handled by a guard. This fucking asshole, you hoped it was him secretly.

Luca and Sofia joined everyone in the hallway and your uncle called out your name and ordered you to step back-you had to unfortunately, obey.

“Fuck you looking at?” You and Oz were both staring but he directed his words towards him. “It was you, wasn’t it?” What was he doing? “You sent us there to get massacred, what did the Maronis give ya’, huh?” accusing a member of the family like this isn't wise, Oz.

“Watch your fucking mouth you gimp.”

“Fuck your mother ya dirty rat!” Jesus Christ Oz. Before you knew it they literally jumped at each other's throat, well more like Oz went to punch him in the face and stomach.

It took two men to pull the much larger man off of Viti- you were too shocked to say anything. Why was he acting like this? Did Viti’s comment rile him up this bad? Johnny is a well known shit talker.

“One of you is a fucking traitor-feeding information to the fucking enemy, I will not tolerate that.” Luca said. You looked at your sister, her face didn’t move towards you.

As the guards searched the suspects- Castillo, Sofia’s personal bodyguard, was found to be the rat.

Shithead, you thought.

“Miss Falcone I swear to God, that is not mine.” he pleaded, what a liar. You glanced at Oz and he gave you a wink- you couldn’t wait for him to be let go and kiss him again, the thought alone gave you butterflies.

“You were there with him that night-you killed him.” Sofia’s words were full of anger- hate clear as day on her face

“I didn’t-I would never.” What a shitty excuse of a human being, lying like this, your brother didn’t deserve to die at his hands.

“Give me your gun.” Sofia said towards the guard holding Castillo. Was she gonna shoot him here, in the house? You saw Oz look at you.

“Sofia, please listen to me-”

“GIVE ME YOUR GUN”

“I would NEVER do this to you-”

Luca turned to you and told you to turn around and you tried to as quick as possible-covering your ears and jumping when hearing the gunshot, did she shoot him?

This sort of stuff-this shit should never, ever happen inside the house. You knew your sister wasn’t right in the head after coming back from Arkham, but this, this was not right.

With your heartbeat in your ears, you left as quick as you could, you didn’t wanna turn around and see a dead body- one who only seconds ago was living and breathing, a human being, who you knew-who pleaded for his life- he deserved to die but not to get shot like this, especially inside the house.

You heard Oz call out your name, but you didn’t stop-you had to get outside, you didn’t even know if you would want to sleep inside the house tonight-God your knees felt weak.

Was your sister really that brutal? Was that necessary? You felt tears form in your eyes.

“Doll-” you heard the door open and as you made eye contact with Oz your tears couldn’t stop, you didn’t even know WHY you were crying.

You certainly weren’t crying for Castillo’s life, he was a rat, this is how people like him deserve to go- you should not cry-it was probably from the shock of it all.

“I-i'm sorry” you said-trying to turn away from Oz, you didn’t want him to think you were a crybaby or something-you were holding your tears back as well as you could, before he grabbed you in his arms and then you were REALLY crying.

“What just happened?” you sobbed, this was horrible-this sort of thing would’ve never in a million years happen if your dad was alive.

Between Oz shushing you-telling you that you are going to be ok and running his hands along your back up and down you eventually calmed down.

“Are you better? Hm?” he didn’t let go of you -you nodded.

“Ye-yeah I’m better, thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing to apologize for doll, you shouldn’t have seen or heard that shit, that’s not how things go.” he looked genuinely apologetic, like he shot him.

“What happened to the guy downstairs?”

“Castillo stabbed him in the chest.” he said, while glancing down momentarily

“Good God, what has this house come to? What kind of monster does such a thing?”

“Yeah nasty business, horrible really.”

“I don’t know if I can step inside again tonight, I don’t wanna sleep in there.” you hugged your arms to your chest, between your sister telling you to fuck off and then Castillo being shot, you didn’t want to go back inside “I’ll get myself a room at the Belle Monico”

“Yeah well, If you don’t want to spend the money you can crash at my place, if you want of course-”

“Really? You’d have me?”

“Of course.” he said, matter-of-factly “anything you need-you know you can call me.”

“Oz, imma need you to take care of this shitshow inside-” Viti didn’t open the front door wide enough to see that you were there too

“Yeah-yeah I’ll take care of them.” Oz gave him a dismissive wave, Jonny just shut the door as quick as he opened it “This bald motherfucker is giving me orders too now.” He looked at you, hoping you would laugh at his comment-and you did.

“Keep that smile, ok?’ while also smiling- Oz climbed down the steps to the main entrance. He turned towards you and continued “By 8 o’clock I’ll be done with all this shit and you can drop by-I’ll text you my address. In the meantime, go away from the estate, go shopping or something, I know that it will make you feel better, ok?” you nodded from the top of the stairs “No MORE crying, you got that?” he pointed a finger at you.

“Alright.” you said “see ya.” The smile he left you with didn’t disappear and as you called your driver to come outside and grab your bag, you were already thinking about what underwear to wear tonight.

The excitement bubbling inside you was undeniable and as you listened to music in the backseat of the mercedes you were getting driven in it was hard not to let your mind wander, first time you were gonna be over at Oswald’s house, just you and him, all thoughts of the gruesome spectacle that happened today at your mansion disappeared-all replaced by the familiar excitement you always had before seeing him.

This time, however, it was going to be different. You were sure that if you didn’t get to feel him on top of you, you might actually pass away tomorrow.

As your driver pulled up into the Diamond District your stomach knotted with nerves, you were a few blocks down from Oz’s place-you tried to distract yourself from all the emotions and looked outside, you might’ve been in one of these shops in the past- even if they looked a bit shitty.

“I’m waiting for you, climb up the staircase when you get in, I’ll open the door.” he texted you

OK, you were really doing this- you scooted back in the driver’s seat and took a deep breath- you put your phone on mute, Sofia didn’t answer your call when you left so screw her.

The woman that just kissed his boss on the cheek might’ve been the most put together person he ever saw in his life. She looked like she belonged in a magazine, with perfect manicured nails, beautiful hair and gorgeous bright teeth that were shown to him as she smiled-introducing herself.

Words didn’t register in his head, too blinded by this strange creature that just waltzed in like it was noth- Falcone?

He told him about her, after the failed drug transport “a woman like that kid whew -don’t think you ever saw someone as beautiful” he paused “ she don’t hang around with just any schmuck, you gotta provide a level of security-of money-I promised myself, I’d get her on my arm one day one way or another.”

This was the sister of ‘The Hangman’ shi-

“Cat got your tongue or you’re gonna leave the girl hanging like this?” Oz said and chuckled, but the jolly behavior didn’t reach his boss eyes, it sounded more like a threat to Victor “Hhey I’m V-victor.” the nerves he felt were clearly evident- poor kid you thought.

“You must be Oz’s driver, nice to meet you.” sadly, you weren’t alone with him “Nice place you got” you said, walking around a bit.

“Vic, go get us some food- doll, you have a preference for anything?”

“No, whatever you say it’s best.”

As Oz instructed Vic where to go, you looked around his place.

It was cozy, you liked it. There was a picture frame with the history of this place- this is where they made the jewels you saw outside- well some of them. That’s cool, also Oz bedroom had these big ass doors, they looked like they were made to hide money.

As Vic left the apartment you looked outside, the big concrete buildings were a stark contrast to the gorgeous scenery you were used to.

“What d’you want to drink? Got some wine, or the strong stuff—whiskey, scotch.” He gave you a half-smile, pouring himself a glass. “But I’m guessing that ain’t your thing.”

“Water’s fine-”

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing lightly. “Nah, c’mon. After the crap you went through today? You deserve better.” Before you could protest, he poured a glass of red wine and handed it to you. “Trust me, this one’s better than what they had back at the restaurant.”

You took a sip as he sat down next to you. He was right, it was much better than the one at the restaurant.

“Guess it’s just… everything that happened today,” you said, a bit quieter. “What if they come after me next?”

He set his glass down, leaning in close. “Listen, doll…” His voice dropped, low and rough as he placed his hand on your knee. You tried to ignore the way his big hands on your leg made you feel. “You’re safe here. No one’s coming for you in this place. I got that covered.” He watched you carefully, making sure you heard every word. “You know I’d never let anything happen to you, right? You don’t gotta worry ‘bout a damn thing here.” he leaned closer to your face- trying to make eye contact as you gazed at the floor and then back up at him.

His hand stayed on your knee, warm and steady, and the intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken. He wasn’t usually this serious, this protective—and it felt comforting. Comfort that you haven’t felt in a very, very long time

“You sure I’m not in the way here, Oz?” his hand tightened just slightly on your knee and his thumb traced circles on your leg

“Stop it with that. You ain’t ‘in the way,’ alright?” He leaned back, looking off for a second before muttering, “Fuck… when you left, I felt like shit..”

You reached over, brushing your hand against his. “It’s alright, Sofia’s back now; that’s what’s important.”

He huffed, giving you a crooked grin and a full image of his golden teeth “Yeah, sure. But it ain’t just Sofia.” His voice softened, though his hand stayed firm on your knee, possessive, like he didn’t want you going anywhere. “You mean a lot more to me than you think, i'm not gonna let you walk outta here that easily.”

You smiled at him and before you could respond, he closed the distance between the two of you with his mouth on yours with a hungry, possessive force.

The taste of whiskey and warmth flooded over you as he deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding up your back, pulling you in close. When he finally pulled back, his gaze lingered on your face, his hands tucked a stray hair next to your face behind your ear. The deep brown of his eyes had such a warmth to them, like crackling firewood-so gorgeous and full of passion.

“C’mere,” he murmured, his hands guiding you over him. He shifted on the couch, pulling you into his lap until you straddled him, his hands steady on your waist. His touch was possessive, yet gentle as his fingers traced along your hips, holding you there. “Forget all that other crap, it's just you and me, okay?” he said when you were on top of him

The feel of him beneath you, this bull of a man- so dangerous yet so soft towards you, so gentle- you alone could make him feel like this and that thought sent a thrill through you as his hands settled on your back, pulling you in closer.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his lips warm and slow as he leaned into you. The heat between you grew as his hands slipped beneath your shirt tracing your waist and back, his fingers gripping harder into you with each kiss. You felt his hand move from underneath your shirt to slide up, fingers tangling in your hair, gently tugging you closer as his mouth started to press open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“You’re where you should be, right here with me” he murmured against your skin, his voice so low you thought your ears and cheeks would light on fire from the heat rushing towards them- the way he enveloped you fully-the lingering whisper of tobacco on his collar, blended with the whiskey on his tongue was making you moan all on its own-the way his hands helped you grind down on him- like he’d been waiting for this.

“Oz please” you didn’t exactly know why you were saying please for, just that you wanted him to do ‘something’ .

He placed you with your back on the couch, still kissing you and he lifted your shirt just high enough to grab hold of your jeans. “Take this shit off” he roughly grabbed your jeans zipper and pulled you down a little bit by his movement, barely getting them off and when he did- those stupid skinny jeans stopped at your knees and in his urgency left them there- while also ignoring the very expensive pair of panties who you just bought TODAY.

He didn't even look at them and with one hand under your ass, pulling you closer to his face -he started to press kisses on your ass and near your pussy.

In all this rush, you couldn’t even think straight. With one hand he almost folded you in half and with the other he was pulling you closer to him. You couldn’t believe this was happening- giggling a little bit and moaning- you grabbed your pants and finally pulled them off- tossing them somewhere in the apartment.

You opened your legs to give him space. You felt goosebumps rising on your skin and grabbed his head when he started to lick your clit- placing a hand on your mouth didn't do too much to stop the sounds you were making, but at least you were trying.

His hands went below your shirt, on your tits and he groaned when he got to them-the sound sending a very pleasant vibration to your most sensitive place and making you moan even harder.

One of his hands remained on your breast, massaging it and with his other hand he put his finger inside, you thought that you might actually come from that alone, the way his much bigger finger felt inside of you-a familiar heat started pooling in your stomach-you closed your eyes-trying to not let go of this feeling, “please Oz” you sounded so pathetic, whispering like that.

Oswald didn’t even respond to you, just started pushing his fingers even deeper inside, the feeling of having his tongue touch you repeatedly where you only touched with a finger, maybe two- was the most euphoric thing you ever experienced and the way his fingers would push up like that-”Oh my god” you breathed out, gripping your mouth- your legs wrapped around his head and you moved your hips, trying to get to feel him as much as you could.

While he switched from sucking your clit to rubbing circles with his tongue on your bud, his hands were keeping themselves busy with your nipples- just peeking over your almost pulled down bra from underneath your shirt. This was too much. “I’m gonna-” You don’t think you ever experienced an orgasm like that before, your belly was almost aching by the end, the way you moved against his face made you feel almost sorry, almost.

“Look what you did” Oz turned his body to the side and got up to sit on his ass on the couch- his erection evident in his suit. You got up as well, sipped some of your wine- god that was good, your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down since he grinded you on his cock but now all your nerves were overshadowed by blind confidence that only a woman as young and as beautiful as you could possess when you tossed your top and bra next to you and kissed him as hard as you could, before going down on your hands and knees before him.

“There she is.” he said, smiling-while you were preoccupied with freeing his penis from his pants, you started to pepper light kisses up and down his length, from his uncut head down towards his balls.

He groaned as he slipped off his suspenders and unbuttoned his shirt, giving you a tease of the hair on his chest. He grabbed hold of your hair from this position and you were thinking you were ready for another round by the way you pussy clenched when he did that- with his brows furrowed he guided you to his cock. Ok, so no kisses? Straight to business.

“Can’t even imagine how much I’ve been waiting for this.” as your lips covered the head of his shaft- you tried not to choke as he guided you up and down him. One of your hands went straight for his penis as well to help you- while the other was slowly tracing circles on your still sensitive clit.

“Just like that baby” he groaned and you could see him hold himself back-with one hand he was holding your head and with the other he touched your face- the cold metal of his rings and his gold bracelet as it touched your upper back sent shivers down your spine and you were sure you jumped a little when it came in contact with your hot skin. You tried to breathe as much as you could through your nose, your hand helping you take care of all of him. He unzipped his pants even more, giving you more access to him, his penis wasn’t that long but it was thick, god you wondered how good it must feel inside.

He pulled you off of him to give you room to breathe a little bit and he kissed you again before putting your head on his cock again, his groans and the sounds that your mouth on his shaft made were the only sound in the living room- whenever a moan would leave you, he groaned and pushed your head even deeper down him, almost making your nose touch the dark hair there. Up and down and then again, his cock was fully drenched in a mix of your saliva and his precum- you felt tears well up in your eyes.

He gave a quick inhale before he pulled you off of him and grabbed your body to straddle him once again.

“You’re so beautiful” he said before lifting your hips to touch the head of his penis, you kissed him as he grabbed your tits in his hands and you both moaned in each other’s mouth as you took him.

It did feel really good to have him inside you like this, his forehead had a sheer layer of sweat on it- his eyebrows were furrowed in pleasure.

“Oh, that’s good” he pulled you completely down him and it felt like he reached your belly in this position, Oz grabbed your feet and put them in a squat on either side of him before he helped you get a rhythm- you put your arms on either side of his head, palms touching the back of the couch.

Now, you were definitely sure the neighbors and everyone else in the building could hear you, especially because he started to bounce you up and down his cock like you were riding a horse and the horse was galloping too.

“You like that baby?” he asked you, grinning.

“Yes yes” Whenever his hands would bring you down him, your sensitive clit would touch him again and again- you couldn’t even imagine this being as good as it was.

He grabbed both of your ass cheeks from this position and moved you back and forth him-whenever he would bring you forward his dick would brush up against your g-spot, were you really gonna cum again?

“Fuck-I’m gonna cum” he muttered in your mouth, before his movements lost their rhythm and he pulled his cock just in time to spill himself all over the lower part your back.

You both stayed there for a few moments, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

He cleaned you up with a towel shortly after.

While inside the shower, with the warm water running down your back, realization finally dawned on you- you just made love to the man who you were having wet dreams about since your dad hired him as your driver.

You were butt ass naked riding this man in his living room, while his own driver had to be back with the food, it’s been about 30 minutes, where could this kid have gone to?

After you were done with the shower, you patted yourself dry a little bit and went inside the bedroom, Oz giving you a light smack on your butt as you walked past him to get dressed in the pjs you got for yourself to wear tonight. When you heard the shower starting, you left to get yourself a bottle of water from the fridge and went back to the bedroom to check your phone.

Sofia hasn’t texted you, obviously-she’s too busy with her great plans of taking over the family as the reigning matriarch-

Whatever, stop thinking about her.

After Oz’s driver, Victor, you think, came back- you guys ate some pizza and went to bed. Conversion over dinner was short, just a few “it’s good no?” and “Gosh the weather is starting to be very cold” from Oz and you and Victor being a mute. Surprisingly his driver slept in Oz’s apartment too- on the couch, on which you fucked his boss, yikes.

Oz’s sheets were satin -of course they were, and as he climbed in bed next to you and pulled you closer to him, he said something about your sister coming over tomorrow that you guys had to get your rest- right after saying your ‘good night’- you fell asleep.

Authors note: This smut scene is only the start, idk if you picked up but I still tried to make Oz seem as if he was in a power trip, the hair pulling his smooth talking etc etc. He does love her, dont worry. Anyways thank uuuu for reading, I tried to make it good :))))).

[wcnderlnds]

──★ eye of the tiger / peter maximoff

short drabble in which peter takes you to karaoke. some slight swearing! requested by anon <3

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is a lil karaoke might cheer you up and help you forget all about that loser,” Peter chewed on his gum, the nonchalant expression on his face showing that he really did not know a single thing about heart break. He wasn’t trying to be insensitive— this just wasn’t his area of expertise. He had accepted his role of dorky best friend with excellent taste in music years ago. It was fine. It was totally fine.

“I doubt it but… we can go,” you wiped at your eyes with the tissues Peter had zoomed out mere seconds ago to grab for you.

That was all Peter needed to hear. Swiftly, he cradled the back of your head then in a thwip, you were standing outside the karaoke bar. It wasn’t your usual hang out. Arcades and diners were where you and Peter usually spent your time but he figured this time he had to pull out the big guns. If he had to flex his rarely used vocal cords to put a smile on his best pals face then so be it. Peter would do anything to make you feel better. He wouldn’t call himself an empath - in fact, he’d probably make fun of anyone who did - but when it came to you he was always in tune with how you felt. He led the way inside, holding the door open like the perfect gentleman. Nobody needed to know he accidentally closed it in the young man’s face that was walking in behind the two of you.

“Okay, you ready to see me blow everyone out of the water? Not to brag or anything but I’m pretty sure after this someone will be offering me a record deal. I’ll remember you when I’m touring with AC/DC.” Peter shot a wink your way, heading to the microphone.

You hadn’t even realised the drink that was on the table in front of you — Peter must have used that mutation of his to grab you one without realising. You cradled the glass in your hands as the familiar tone of ‘Eye of The Tiger’ sounded through the speakers. Peter instantly began to belt out the lyrics not even needing to look at the words; he knew them by heart, of course. In true Peter fashion, he made a show of it by adding in his own jumps and dramatic flairs. At one point you were sure he was about to split those damn leather pants of his but thankfully he ended the song without exposing his ass to everyone. He bowed to the crowd (consisting of you and maybe three other people) with obnoxious comments like ‘I’ll be here all night’ and ‘I charge ten dollars for an autograph’.

As much as you hated to admit it, he had brought a smile to your face. Your cheeks were even aching with how big you were smiling. It was almost like you hadn’t just gone through a break up. Peter’s arm was thrown over your shoulder, the cool material of his jacket against the skin of your neck making you shiver. His cheesy grin letting you know he was damn proud of himself. “So, what’d you think?”

“I think I’m lucky to have a best friend like you.”

“Don’t go getting all soft on me now. Might start thinking you’re fond of me.”

“I am,” you spoke softly, arms sliding into his open jacket to wrap around him. He was warm, soft. It was exactly what you needed. Peter hesitated for a moment, hands hovering in the air while he wondered what to do with them before he mumbled a ‘screw it’ and wrapped them around you, holding you tight against his chest.

Maybe one day he’d tell you this meant more to him than you knew but for now he’d take what he could.

[ryuzakemo128]

Mary on a Cross

Pairing: Ghost x Gaz x Female Siberian Tiger Hybrid

Genre: Smut + Fluff

Words: 2475

Masterlist

Credit for dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: "Your beauty never ever scared me"

“Go away,” said the young mistress of the vale. A simple request. A simple demand coming from a woman who did not wish for them to remain in her home.

How could she? No. How dare she demand such a thing. With her pretty waist, her plush thighs are juicy enough for his hands. He could have taken her without delay. Regardless of how her husband would have felt about it.

“They say you are a mistress. But I do not see how you could even be one if you have a husband waiting for you back at home.”

You left your audiobook on by accident. An erotic tale you have been listening to since the night before. Hooked on it before you heard the two men saunter into your bedroom like they owned the place.

You were too focused on your lewd pornographic audiobook and the pornographic drawing you were doing at your desk. Your drawings ranged from monochrome to colourful.

Sketches, Outlines, Rough drafts and final ‘masterpieces.’ Ghost looked at the ones framed on your bedroom wall; Gaz sat on the side of your bed as you continued to sketch. Swapping to different coloured pencils, completely unaware of the two men inside your bedroom.

Drawings of people in various locations, places, and situations. Each one raunchier than the previous. Each subsequent, successive stroke of your pencils, adding layers of erotic desire to the drawing.

Ghost stepped closer to you, his shadow cast over your desk as you drew, the light from the setting sun giving him an ominous presence. “What’s this?” he whispered, his breath hot on your neck, a finger tracing the outline of a particularly explicit scene. You felt your cheeks flush as your hand faltered.

“Nothing for you to worry about. I assure you. It is just harmless drawings, no more, no less.” You stammered, your hand shaking slightly. Without looking up into his deep brown eyes.

You knew all the willpower built up inside you would dissipate and fritter away the moment you looked up at him.

“Is that so?” Gaz’s voice was low and thick with amusement. You felt his gaze burning into the side of your face as he leaned in to get a closer look. “You’ve got quite the imagination, haven’t you?”

“When you have as much free time as me, you get plenty of time to practice.” You swallowed the intense arousal, the intense feeling of excitement you felt building up inside the depths of your core. “It’s not like I can walk around the base willy-nilly now, can I?”

You hoped they would get bored with you and plough into one of those bunny hybrids everyone loves so much. Or even a puppy. Either way, you just wanted them out. But no, they remained steadfast in their mission to ruin your afternoon.

Ghost leaned closer, his eyes scanning your artwork with a predatory gaze. The tension grew thick in the air as his finger hovered over one of your favourite pieces—a depiction of a Siberian tigress in the throes of passion with a human soldier. “This looks... familiar.”

“I doubt it. There could be a million things it looks like. You could be thinking of one of them.” You simply shrugged, hoping the curiosity burning inside them both would die out. Now rather than sometime later.

“No, no, no. This...this is different. This tigress... she has a look in her eyes. A hunger, a passion that I have seen before.”

“I’m sure your bunny girls have given you that look in particular many times before, Ghost.” You mused as you kept your eyes on the picture you continued to put together.

Ghost smirks at the remark, “Those rabbits don’t have half the fire you do.” He said as he reached for the picture and pulled it closer to him. You felt a sudden urge to snatch it away, but you had to play it cool.

“Says you, I’ve had to hear it multiple times in the past. And I say differently.” You quipped. “Nevertheless, I have been hit on by various of them previously, I, for one, are sure they're ashamed about it now. At least I reckon they would be.”

How you remembered the bunny hybrids reacting to you was far, far different from how Ghost or Gaz remembered it. You presumed it was done to get you to back off or something.

However, from the perspective of both Ghost and Gaz, it is more or less etched into their mind. How the bunny hybrids would look at you. A mix of both envy and lust. You were oblivious to it. Always were when it came to it sometimes. Painfully so now and then.

It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t pick up the hints of sexual interest if your mind is preoccupied with something else. Whether it was food, a nap, or even a nice warm shower.

Not hard to assume you never were one to pick up on someone else’s interest in you. Especially in that manner.

“Oh- I haven’t done anything like that with another person” You stammered, your face flushed. “I’ve mostly done it by myself at 2 in the morning while everyone else is fast asleep.”

Gaz saw your six-inch pink tentacle glass dildo in your bedside table’s third drawer on the left-hand side of your bed.

He smirks and pulls it out with a flourish, “Looks like you’ve been practising without us, huh?” He says with a knowing look in his eye.

“Is it really practising when you’re alone in your bed at two o’clock in the morning?” you mused with a raised eyebrow. “Is it really practising if you don’t aim for experiencing the real thing? Riddle me that, Sherlock. Also, I don’t have a husband. The woman in the audiobook does. I don’t. Don’t get that bit confused.”

Ghost chuckled, his eyes never leaving the picture, “I think she’s got a point, Gaz. Maybe we should leave the poor girl to her fantasies.”

You sighed, only somewhat relieved, somewhat excited to masturbate as soon as they head out the door. Well, not immediately after they leave. But sometime after they leave, when your mind is still working in overdrive.

The moment they left you alone in your bedroom, you steadily walked back into your regular routine.

What?

Did they think you’d pause your routine for their sake?

It would be like asking the pope for the recipe for a good ol’ fashioned meatloaf. Sure, he could do it.

But why would he?

But your mind was racing with the images they had planted in your head. You hadn’t even had a chance to react to Gaz’s proposition. Did they actually expect you to put on a show for them? The audacity. You didn't know what that even entailed. Why would they assume you knew how to please another person?

‘Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. Virgin.’  You kept forcing yourself to remember. You had never had sexual interactions with another individual.

How do you even begin with that sort of thing?

You've seen people do it in the porn you secretly watched in your barracks when no one was around. But that's not the same as doing it with actual people.

That's like watching Gordon Ramsey cook and then trying to whip up a soufflé for the first time. Sure, you know the ingredients and steps, but it's never going to come out perfect.

But as you sit down, you can't help but feel a tingling in your loins. The way Gaz's hand felt on your hip, the way Ghost's breath tickled your neck.

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts. But they linger like a stubborn fog in the morning.

The glass dildo in your bedside table beckoned you, the itch you wanted to scratch harder than you had before loomed in the back of your mind. Like an untamed beast. Urging you to give into it further.

While you masturbated later that night, as the door creaked upon as you were about to orgasm a second time, and you were met with the sight of Ghost standing in the doorway, watching you with a knowing smirk on his face.

Your body froze as your mind raced.

You weren't sure if you should be embarrassed or if this was a common occurrence around here.

“Couldn’t help but hear your little… solo performance from down the hall.” He said with a smugness that could cut glass. “You really have been practising, haven’t you?”

“I don't practice, remember?” you quipped.

Ghost leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “It's a shame, really. With talent like that, you'd think you'd want to share it.”

You snort, “I mastered the solo dance, not the duet, darling” You continue stroking yourself, not missing a beat, watching his reaction closely. His smirk grew wider as his eyes remained glued to your movements. “Besides, how would I even ask about that?”

“Well, you could always just ask.” He stepped into the room, his boots thudding against the wooden floorboards, his eyes never leaving yours. “We're not that hard to approach, you know.”

“But that sounds so weird.” you mused with a frown taking the glass dildo out of your wet cunt.

Ghost chuckled darkly, “You think what we do is any less weird?” He saunters closer, his movements as graceful as a panther stalking its prey. “We've seen worse, trust me.”

“For me its just another day. I don't see how weird it is. Sexual things with another person however? Different ballgame, a different tune I don't recognise and an entire song I don't know lyrics to.” you stated.

Ghost's smirk grew more prominent. “You're telling me you've never thought about it?”

“Thought about it? Odd occasion. Never followed through with it though. Always chickened out after thinking about it enough to remember, 'I don't know what I'm supposed to say.' And I never went through with it again afterwards.” You answered.

The room was silent, except for the sound of your hand moving against the glass toy. The anticipation was palpable, thick like the heat that clung to your skin. You could feel your cheeks flush as you met Ghost's gaze.

“I see,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “Well, maybe it's time to learn a new tune, then.” He stepped closer to the bed, his boots coming into view as you sat there, exposed and vulnerable.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the thump-thump echoing in your ears like a drumline at a football match. You set the dildo aside and leaned back against the pillows, crossing your arms over your breasts. “What are you suggesting?”

“I'm suggesting,” Ghost began, his voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate through the air, “that we help you... overcome your shyness.” He took another step closer, his hand reaching out to touch the silk of your robe. “We're all friends here, after all.”

You felt a mix of fear and excitement as Gaz’s hand slid under the fabric, his rough fingers grazing against your soft skin. You gasped as he pushed the robe aside, revealing your naked body to both men. Their gazes roved over you like predators eyeing a fresh meal, making you feel more exposed than you ever had in your life.

“Beautiful,” Gaz murmured, his hand moving to cup your cheek, turning your face towards him. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and you couldn’t help but part them slightly, feeling the heat of his touch. Ghost’s hand had already found its way to your other thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that made you squirm.

"Your beauty never ever scared me" Ghost whispered into your ear. His finger traced your jawline back and forth, like you were going to slip right through his fingers again.

Capturing lips with his own, your soft, plump, delicious lips right onto his. A right recipe for disaster, some might say. A tornado of intense desire wrapped in flesh. His hand gripping your plush thigh, pulling you closer to his warmth.

Taking one leg aside to slide his index and ring finger to your moist depths between your thighs.

Kyle whined, wanting to have a taste of you for himself. Nudging Simon a few times before he finally relented. Kyle pressed his lips against yours as Simon continued to finger your warm, tight, pussy.

Selfishly, Simon grabs your chin to force you to look into his eyes as Kyle's cock continues to fill up your moist pussy.

The warmth of Simon's breath sends shivers down your spine as his eyes bore into yours, filled with a fiery passion that could only come from a man who's seen the darkest corners of the world.

His hand, now coated with your slickness, slides up to your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your eyes roll back in your head.

His hand, now coated with your slickness, slides up to your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your eyes roll back in your head.

The dual sensation of his digits inside you and Kyle's thick shaft pumping in and out is a symphony of pleasure you never knew existed.

You've never felt so alive, so in tune with your body, as if it's been waiting for this very moment to come alive. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, it's like nothing you've ever experienced before.

The two men knew they'd want to do this again, and soon. They could feel the electricity in the room as they pulled away from your lips, panting. You lay there, stunned, your heart racing as you felt their hands roam over your body. They weren’t rough, but firm and confident. They knew what they were doing. And it was driving you wild.

You were seeing stars, and you know you now have a source of artistic inspiration you didn't think you'd like so much.

You three collapsed into your bed nook by the end of the night. All too eager to have you sleep there instead of Price's bed.

Price wouldn't mind if you were with Simon and Gaz right?

Ghost whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his breath warm and comforting.

His hand found its way under the blanket, tracing patterns on your bare skin.

You felt your heart flutter at his gentle touch, a stark contrast to the roughness of earlier.

Sandwiched between two men. And you didn't particularly mind it at all. You were going to be a tad more vocal about what you want from this point forward.

Which to these two?

You felt a strange sense of comfort between the two men, their bodies warm and solid against yours. It was a stark contrast to the lonely nights you'd spent with just your dildo and your imagination for company.

And.

You knew they were right.

You liked it.

Tagged: @simons-bambi

[takatul]

Twisted Wonderland self-aware!Yuu except they’re empathic.

When I say self-aware!Yuu I don’t mean a scenario where Yuu transmigrated into Twisted Wonderland with memories intact.

When I say self-aware!Yuu I mean someone who knows themselves better than anyone else.

They know they have flaws. They know that, sometimes, their flaws will get in the way. Whether it’s shutting down emotionally, not being able to express themselves properly, or something to do with a physical ability. Their flaws will always follow them around. Even in Twisted Wonderland.

And yet, self-aware!Yuu is still kind. Still loving all of their strengths and flaws.

Ace needing a place to stay after Riddle off’d-his-head? “Yes, of course you can sleepover.”

Deuce breaking down after letting his delinquent side out? “No, you’re not a bad guy— you just protected me and Grim from those bullies!”

Riddle having a crisis after his overblot? “I don’t accept your apology. Not yet at least. But I can understand why acted this way… you’re allowed to feel angry about your past. You didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”

No matter how wrong the opponent is, self-aware!Yuu always empathizes with them in the end.

Maybe one day, someone confronts them about it. I can see Leona or Azul or Rollo and maybe Jamil. They’re people who have experienced and or seen how terrible people can be.

“Why are you so nice all the time? You’re too thought. Too kind. Good people like you always end up last.”

Perhaps self-aware!Yuu will look at them with a stoic face. Perhaps a shocked expression, accompanied by a frantic gasp. Perhaps even small laugh at their question. And just as the confronting student was about to retort again, self-aware!Yuu will smile.

“Well, I’m not a good person. I just do what I think is right.”

Self-aware!Yuu will sit down, watching activities unfold around them— heart still bursting full of kindness. They’ll pat the empty space beside them. An invitation, but it’s up to the student to take the initiative.

“It’s everyone’s first time living after all. May as well make it kind.”

Soon enough, if the student plucks their courage, they’ll sit and slowly learn how to become self-aware too.

banner credit: @bunnysrph

[thehmn]

Me: It’s getting dark. We should probably draw the curtains.

Housemates: Why?

Me: Because someone could be out there looking at us and we wouldn’t know.

Housemates: Pff! Who walks around in the dark like that?

Me: ……ME!!! I walk around in the dark and I meet people all the time! Draw the damn curtains!

[sea-jello]

hong kong miku,,,

[thepersonperson]

Autism in JJK Part 1 (Isolation and Movies)

Notes before we start.

1) Read the light novels. They are the equivalent of Bleach's CFYOW for JJK. There is a fan translation (Book 1 & Book 2), but I will be citing the official translation from my own copies.

2) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

3) Read the light novels.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface

Dungeon Meshi is heralded as The ultimate story of incompatible autisms. Everyone recognizes Laois and most of his party as autistic. Each of these characters are able to use their specific types of autism to solve problems throughout the series.

Laois’s autistic traits in particular have drawbacks when it comes to others’ perception of him. To directly quote one of the best Dungeon Meshi text posts on this site:

“Dungeon Meshi is about a quirked up white boy on a quest to save his sister and perhaps indulge his special interest along the way. He's a man of pure heart who has done nothing but help anyone he's met. Then part way through the story you start seeing other pov characters and it turns out every single person who has met him outside his party has read his awkward social skills and love for grilling as a sign of something deeply evil and has vowed to kill him on sight.”

Using Laois as a reference, I want to argue that Jujutsu Kaisen is the penultimate story of incompatible autisms.

Addendum/Disclaimer

I’m heavily drawing from experiences with my particular brand of autism for this analysis, so I’m bound to not properly consider everything. My words should not be taken as gospel since autism is a wide spectrum that manifests differently for each individual. Certain autistic traits will show up for one person and be completely absent in another. (And I personally think JJK does a great job of showcasing this variation.)

There is also significant overlap between Autism and ADHD which I’m not qualified to make connections with. (Basically if you have ADHD feel free to explain how you see yourself in these characters too.) There’s probably other readings that have flown over my head, but please understand I’m not trying to be malicious.

The main traits I’ll be referencing are:

Social Unawareness

Bluntness (and it being perceived as rudeness)

Taking Things Literally

Double Empathy Problem (the non-autistic and the autistic have a hard time understanding each other’s way of thinking and therefore struggle to communicate with each other)

Emotional Blindness/Alexithymia (difficulties with understanding and articulating one's emotions)

Hyperfixations

Special Interests

(Stimming is left out because of Tumblr's 30 image limit. Someone else can make that post for me.)

Mahito’s Autism

Strange title section right? Allow me to defend it. Mahtio’s Domain Expansion (DE) Self-Embodiment of Perfection is localized from 自閉円頓裹 (Jihei Endonka). The first two kanji 自閉 (Jihei) create the Japanese word for Autistic. Where 自 (Ji) is self and 閉 (Hei) is close/shut. The Japanese word for Autism is 自閉症 (Jiheisho) where 症 (sho) means disease. A very literal translation of Jiheisho is “self-shut disease”.

Equating autism to an illness that causes one to shut themselves inwards is flawed in its framework, but not wrong in describing the unique isolation autistic people face. If the kanji used didn’t clue you in, Japanese society is much more hostile to the autistic than English speaking countries. This is in part due to many autistic traits being seen as socially unacceptable for deviating too much from the norm.

There’s been a whole study on this if you want to know more. (This study allowed for self-diagnosed people to participate and included non-binary gender options, so I’m comfortable using it.) Quoted directly from the source: 

“Many autistic individuals engage in social camouflage and attempt to use social interaction to obtain job opportunities and other benefits. The aforementioned ‘need’ of autistic individuals to engage in social camouflage forces them to continuously pretend that they are non-autistic. This is associated with significant manifestations of mental health deterioration, such as depression, generalised anxiety, social anxiety, suicide attempts, and burnout because of exhaustion and fatigue.”

“Markus and Kitayama refer to Japanese and other East Asian cultures as ‘cultures of interdependence’. In these cultures, the primary challenge faced by individuals is to conform without standing out and pay more attention to others than oneself. Thus, the ‘uniqueness’ of autistic people can be perceived negatively, and it can threaten relationships and interpersonal harmony within the community.”

Now what does discrimination against autistic people have to do with Mahito? Well, everything. Mahito manifested as the hatred between humans, making them unique within the Natural Disaster Curses group. This causes friction in their relationships with the other curses, mainly Jogo.

When Dagon dies, Jogo mourns. When Hanami dies, Jogo and Dagon mourn. When Mahito learns about this? They react like this.

Totally not appropriate for the situation. You could chalk it up to them being a curse, but the other curses have already shown they’re capable of caring deeply for each other. 

This isn’t the only instance of it either. In the light novels, Mahito really gets into movies to better understand humans which results in this.

Jogo simply does not know what to do with Mahito becoming a filmbro. 

Jokes aside, Mahito is using movies and other forms of media to better understand people not like themself. And despite their efforts to better grasp emotions, this causes Mahito to become even more alienated from his peers. He’s in his own little bubble and his way of thinking is boon when fighting but a bane for his relationships. There’s something very autistic about that. 

Shared Special Interests

On the flipside, Mahito’s movie and book fascination causes them to create a bond with a blind homeless old man that lives under a bridge. But it’s only because the two of them have this interest in common.

As stated in CFYOW, JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust Chapter 3: Allegory in Darkness, Mahito has canonically read Kafka. 

And that line at the end. “It makes talking to you easy.” This is the same phrase Mahito uses when grooming Junpei. Though Mahito’s relationship with Junpei is one of manipulation, it started as something rather innocent—they both went to the theater, saw the same movie, and were annoyed by the people disrupting their viewing experience.

That small connection, their shared interest in movies caused them to bond quickly and Mahito used it for manipulation. (This is not unlike how minors in fandom spaces can be groomed by the adults around them.)

Mahito learned how to be this way in part by studying media and applying it to their actions. They can’t interact with most humans 1-on-1, so their main source of understanding them is media, which gives them this warped sense of reality. Think Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Mahito doesn’t know better because this is all they know.

It’s no wonder they conclude that humans at the core are creatures that eat, sleep, and rape (Ch 49 Pg 18 Sorry I ran out of image space). Think of how many “the joke is sexual assault” type characters there are in Japanese media alone. (Let’s not ignore how bad it gets in American 80s comedies too.)

Mahito is essentially a blank slate with no frame of reference for morals, critical analysis, or media literacy in general. It’s not very surprising they take everything at face value and then use it for evil.

And that’s why I wanted to discuss them first. Mahito is a reflection of humans and their reaction to media has echoes in how other characters, who are probably autistic, navigate their relationships with themselves and other humans. 

Itadori Yuji’s Autism

When I say Yuji is pure and the goodest boy in the world, I’m referring to the unbridled autistic joy in which he interacts with the world. He’s not much different than Laois from Dungeon Meshi. The way Yuji introduces himself to others is unhinged. He frequently does and says things that are not socially appropriate in the slightest. Whatever comes to mind first he acts on, no filter.

But being unhinged isn’t necessarily autistic. What gives this the ‘tism is the socially inept internal logic that goes into Yuji’s decision making. Dudebros may refer to it as locking in, but it is better known as hyperfocusing. You give Yuji a task and he Will complete it, anything in his way be damned.

Ijichi gave Yuji a task. Figure out if this person is an enemy and make sure nobody gets hurt. Interrupting a convo and pantsing a guy to complete this task is Yuji autistically logicing his way around setbacks. What’s a non-violent way to get someone to leave? Stealing their pants, probably. Things like social rules don’t matter if lives are at risk. 

Don’t believe that’s socially-blind autistic logic? Let me give you this guy from 4Chan and myself as an example. As a child I was told I should never lie no matter what. At 8 years old, I did something that upset my teacher. I didn’t know I had upset my teacher until I was asked to write an apology letter by my parents. So in my little pea brain, I had no reason to apologize because that would be lying. I then wrote something along the lines of, “I’m only writing this apology because my parents are making me.” (I got yelled at for this which confused me even more. What do you mean you want me to lie, mother???)

You can see this kind of logic with the finger eating especially. Yuji took Megumi’s words very literally and ate a mummified human finger because that’s what was needed to save lives. This isn’t a one off thing either, it keeps happening over and over—Yuji taking the most literal interpretation of the words spoken to him and acting on them in the most autistic way possible.

I love the Nanamin alert especially because only Idatori Yuji would think to do that. It also a neat showcase of the double-edged sword that can come from autism. Yes, Yuji effectively and quickly relays important information to his allies, but to their enemies as well. He also does it in a way that gets him bopped on the head by Megumi. Kind of like how going along with Gojo’s plans has him bullied by his classmates.

This happens a lot too—Yuji doing what others tell him to do, filling in the blanks when they fail to elaborate on the how to, and it backfiring.

There is nothing more autistic than doing exactly as you are told and getting punished for it. 

Nanami tells Yuji not to call him Nanami-sensei. But he doesn’t tell Yuji what exactly to call him instead, so he guesses. And since Yuji is socially unaware to a degree, he comes up with Nanamin instead of the Nanami-san that would’ve been more polite.

Megumi and Panda tell Yuji to lie. But lying isn’t in his nature so he really sucks at it. Pretending he doesn’t know who Gojo is because 1) he was told to lie and 2) Gojo is a part of the group Yuji is was explicitly told not show any familiarity with, is peak autism logic.

It’s all a part of Yuji’s charm though. Despite his autistic traits getting him into plenty of trouble, they also are a big reason as to why everyone loves him. 

Yuji’s Autistic Rizz

Yuji seems to mirror other people both to better understand them and because he’s relying on them to show him how he’s supposed to act. (More on that here.) Most of the time this is played for comedic effect, but sometimes it results in instant pair-bonding. I think that’s the autism-to-autism connection being made. (It’s also known as the morphogenetic field if you’ve played 999.)

Just like how Mahito used movies to bond with Junpei, Yuji does it too. But he uses this shared interest for good and provides a counter to Mahito’s grooming.

And lookie here, he can even utilize his love of movies to bond with people who aren’t into them at all. Junpei’s mom may not get it, but she’s endeared by it. This unparalleled autistic rizz is fundamental to Yuji’s character. And in my opinion, his relationship with Todo Aoi best showcases this.

Everyone knows that Todo and Yuji’s shared love of tall women with big butts is what brought them together. But what’s most overlooked is the specific tall woman with a big butt that made this possible in the first place. Before Todo even asks Yuji for his type, Yuji makes it known he is aware of who Takada is. (He happened to see her on TV as stated in CFYOW, JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust Ch 4 Pgs 89–90. Ijichi is the secret Takada fan.)

Takada is who prompts Todo into asking. She is also the one who appears in Todo’s delusions, guiding him to victory and driving most of the reasons behind his actions. With great confidence I can say Todo’s special interest is Takada. (And most of the fanbase assumes he’s autistic, so I don’t feel the need to explain that more.)

And what’s crazy about his special interest of his is that it fudging works. Takada and his love for manga help Todo create successful strategies. I include his love of manga because his fakeout with Mahito is a Hunter x Hunter reference.

It’s a bit spoilers to discuss how exactly this is genius, but you’ll have to trust me when I say it’s very clever. Rather than simply nodding to the source material, Todo is using the twist reveal from that scene and subverting it to help Yuji win.

This is nearly identical to Laois utilizing his special interest monster knowledge to create victories out of what would be defeats for other characters. Todo weaponizes his autism in a way that works perfect for sorcery.

But when it comes to interpersonal relationships? It destroys them. Everyone who isn’t Yuji hates Todo. 

Todo Aoi is second to Gojo Satoru when it comes to characters considering him the greatest source of stress. (Momo, Mai, and Kamo with Kokichi dedicating pages 43–46 of CFYOW JJK Thorny Road at Dawn, Chapter 2 to how much Todo stresses him out.)

They’re most annoyed with him when he talks about his special interest—Takada. She is a huge reason as to why Todo is such a good sorcerer, you could even call her The Reason he’s so good. People rely on him quite literally weaponizing his autism. But when he starts being autistic outside of sorcery? They don’t tolerate it. 

This is a recurring problem for autistic sorcerers. The very people that depend on their weaponized autism will scorn it the moment it no longer serves them directly. It’s a very Not In My Backyard (NIMBY) mentality. Sure they want all the benefits but keep the drawbacks out of their sight.

Yuji’s Loneliness

Just like Todo, Yuji suffers from social disconnect due to his autism. He feels like he struggles to understand and connect with others on a deeper level. His own feelings and other people’s feelings are sometimes a mystery to him.

On a surface level Yuji seems to be on the same wavelength as Junpei through their shared love of movies. That is until they fight each other. Yuji doesn’t understand that Junpei is acting out of grief at the start of their fight. He says something insensitive at first, but he eventually asks Junpei to spell things out so he can understand what’s going on.

It takes until the end of the Sukuna fight for Yuji to truly connect with someone—Megumi. But it’s only because they both make their feelings known directly to each other. Before that though? As discussed earlier, the autistic traits that make him good at sorcery are often off-putting to others.

I mentioned how Yuji mirrors others in what seems to be an attempt to understand others in that post I linked. In the same one I also discuss how Yuji is able to decenter himself and sync up with just about anyone. With respect to his autism, this really reads like masking to me. 

When Yuji lets that mask slip and indulges his personal hobbies, it’s a toss up on whether or not he’ll be accepted or rejected. The movies that allowed him to pairbond with Junpei don’t work for everyone. Just like Mahito with Jogo…being a filmbro causes friction with Megumi and Nobara. 

Though Yuji otherwise gets along very well with Megumi and Nobara, there is something so very relatable and sad about seeing this particular hobby of his being trashed. What’s worse is that the 2 people who would’ve matched his freak in this regard are both dead: Junpei and the one who intensified this interest of his in the first place—Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru’s Autism

I must confess, this entire post got written because of this anonymous ask I was sent a while ago. I was surprised to get it since I assumed everyone understood Gojo to be autistic by default like Laois Dungeon Meshi. So I’m going to copy and paste this anon’s words because all their observations are correct.

"As someone with Autisim, I heavily identify with how he was raised (the gifted child who is too observant vs the prophesied child who was raised to be a weapon first) and the way other react around him (treating everything he says and does with disdain)

I find the way he clings so strongly to the idea of strong and weak even after Geto and Toji yet still having a sense of justice/ noticing the unfairness of it all, his sensitivity issues, his ability to notice emotional cues yet not having the means to respond in an allistic way, his tendency to take his jokes and teasing too far/ act too close to people, and the general othering of him just screams autism to me. Like can see a lot of those traits which is usually tamped down by society being exasperated because, what are you going to do, he is the strongest, you can't just tell him off in a serious way, not when, in your society, the strong rule.

I see it especially with his students, where he's taken in all the misfits and is so casual with them in day to day life. Even him throwing them in the proverbial deepend with missions is probably how he was taught by his clan before entering jujitsu tech."

And directly from Gege via the special Gojo Booklet. 

"Q25: born and raised as a high-born, he is regaled by both himself and others are the strongest, and he seems to have want of very little, but what would you consider Gojo's weakness?

A25: His personality.

Q26: what would you consider Gojo Satoru's most intrinsic strength, when you put aside his innate abilities, influence, and physical prowess? 

A26: His personality."

Thank you Gege for stating it so bluntly. The part of Gojo’s personality that is both strength and weakness. Something that makes him a great sorcerer and socially isolated. That’s the autism.

Now that we (that anon) has established that Gojo Satoru is definitely autistic, let’s go over how this has affected his interpersonal relationships.

Improper Socialization

The Gojo Booklet has forever ruined me. Deep in my heart, I knew this was going on, but to have everything confirmed so bluntly is something else. To summarize:

Gojo was born and raised in Kyoto by an extremely closed-off traditionalist family. His Clan treated him as an investment rather than a person, focusing on his education as a sorcerer and neglecting him emotionally to create the perfect living weapon. It’s implied he was educated privately and did not attend a school with other people until high school. It’s also implied that the Clan kept Gojo under strict watch while his powers developed because of the assassination attempts. Regardless, the isolation, training, and exploitation he endured was severe enough for him to break out and run away multiple times. His attendance at Jujustu Tech in Tokyo was his first time being allowed to interact with others on his own terms rather than his Clan’s.

This means that until Gojo was 15, he likely never had friends. His interactions with other humans amounted to deification, a type of objectification where he was expected to be a tool to further other people’s comfort. Essentially, up until he met Geto, he only knew how to exist as a living weapon. 

I don’t think I need to explain why this would negatively impact socialization. Anyone raised by extremely strict/abusive parents or a cult will tell you how difficult it is to try and interact with normal society after having social skills deliberately stunted for most of your life. This lack of socialization is only compounded by autism. Not only is a sheltered autistic person inclined to be socially unaware, they have no frame of reference to what is socially acceptable.

I’ll use myself as an example. The only reason I’m not completely unpalatable in conversation is because public school allowed me to observe what normal human interactions and mannerisms look like. Otherwise, I’d be like Mahito—learning about the world through the limited media I was allowed to consume. (And even then I still took it at face-value for a pretty long time.)

Gojo is sort of in the same situation as Mahito. His Clan reportedly spoiled him rotten, so he was probably allowed to have all the toys, TV, movies, books, and games he wanted between obligations. This means that it is very likely his ideas of the world at large come from media. And boy does it seem to have affected the way he is.

Trying to Connect with Others

Nanami directly compares Gojo to Mahito. Megumi straight up thinks Gojo and Yuji are the same kind of person as stated in CFYOW, JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust Chapter 1: Kiyujitsu Kaisen.

So like Yuji and Mahito, Gojo will use media he’s familiar with to make sense of the world around him and hold conversations with others. (In the anime they have Gojo do the tornado kick which straight up appears to be him doing an in-verse reference to Code Geass's Suzaku Spin Kick aka the Spinzaku Kick. Please do not ask me how I recognized this.)

And would you look at that. Most people do Not know how to handle this. Not even Geto who is more visibly confused by his Digimon metaphor in the anime.

I can’t really blame them for their reactions either. Gojo is such a special combination of unfortunate circumstances and experiences that you might as well be listening to someone speak an unknown language. 

This goes both ways too. Gojo himself has a very hard time understanding others and tends to take the words of others Very Literally. (Just like Yuji!) This leads to him experiencing the Double Empathy Gap the most when compared to other autistic characters.

The Geto stuff is the most tragic to me. Gojo checked in on him and Geto lied about his feelings. To Gojo, Geto is his best friend. Why would he lie to him? Geto says he’s ok so Gojo thinks he’s ok. (That’s not even getting into the higher ups overworking them both and keeping them separate on purpose.) His upbringing and his autism made it impossible for him to read between the lines, so Geto's betrayal very much comes out of nowhere for him. 

The same happens with Shoko okaying the desecration of his corpse, Nanami calling him a pervert and everyone agreeing. Gojo truly believes that the people close to him see him in a very one-dimensional way and there’s nothing he can do about it. After all, he was raised to be a weapon and nothing more.

Funnily enough, Gojo’s Alexithymia is so bad that parts of the fandom have seemingly done the double empathy gap thing to him with respect to his flower metaphor.

“There was always a gulf between me and other people, even if they adored me. You can admire a flower and help it bloom…but you can’t ask it to understand you.”

To me, all Gojo is doing here is explaining his feelings as best he can. Floral language is a big thing in Buddhism which is probably why he makes the comparison. However…I’ve seen interpretations of this that conclude Gojo believes himself so far above others that they might as well be non-sentient plants. To them, this metaphor speaks to his arrogance rather than a clumsy/poetic attempt to communicate his feelings.

I’ll use myself as an example to explain why I think it’s just the autism in action. I often like animals way more than I do other people. Snakes, birds, lizards, spiders, and scorpions are amongst my favorites. Sometimes I compare people to these animals.

What I mean: I think highly of you! You share traits with my favorite animals and that makes me happy.

What others can hear: I think you’re stupid (lizard/bird brained), untrustworthy (a snake), and lesser than me (a bug/arachnid).

Now I could be projecting because I see my autistic traits in Gojo, but I do find it fascinating that how you view Gojo’s flower metaphor is highly dependent on how you feel about him.

Regardless, it does a great job at illustrating how isolated Gojo feels from others. Sometimes my autism makes me feel like I’m a completely different species because I can’t interact with people normally. And in Gojo's case, he can't even refer to himself as a human. The disconnect from others and his dehumanization is so strong he feels he can no longer identify as human.

No one’s autism is exactly the same, so this rift can even exist between autistic people. This is how you can get Yuji and Gojo bonding over their shared autistic traits but not fully understanding each other and feeling isolated for it.

But it’s still really sweet that they connect with movies so well that Gojo’s filmbroness rubs off on Yuji.

It’s also a little concerning that Gojo refers to these movies like a catalog for emotions. Like the proper way to experience emotions is through media and not in person.

The training Gojo subjects Yuji to with movies is likely how he was trained as a child. This suggests that for the first 15 years of his life, movies and other media might have been his only frame of reference for everything not Jujutsu Sorcery. And I mean Everything.

Combine this with The ‘Tism and this could possibly explain exactly what is wrong with Gojo Satoru. (You already know where I’m going with this.)

Gojo’s Racism

Here’s a list of movies for sure Gojo has watched. And for no reason in particular I’m going to include if they have a black person (like myself) in them.

Sourced from a Gege Interview.

Léon: The Professional (1994): Yes

The Descent (2005): No

The Host (2013): No

The Emperor's Naked Army Marches On (1987): No

Deep Blue Sea (1999): Yes

Extra movies from the anime. (Aka probably canon.)

Juggernaut (1974): No

Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001): No

That's only 2 movies with black people in them. I went ahead and watched them to confirm my suspicions...

Léon: The Professional (1994)

Not much to say about the black characters here. From what I saw and the IMDb list, they're all men and they're all background characters. Also I couldn’t finish the film because of how creepy it is towards the 11 year old actress. (It's really bad. Like really, really bad. Traumatized the actress, Natalie Portman, kind of bad. Wish I had a content warning!)

Deep Blue Sea (1999)

Gojo wasn't lying, the heroine died spectacularly. However in terms of spoilers, he glossed over the actual twist death. There's also someone who dies by being bit in half by a shark. And the way those legs looked like Gojo's...

There are 2 black characters in this movie. One is a jovial goofball chef who somehow survives to the end. (Miguel calls this trope out specifically in JJK 255.) There are so many points in this movie where he should've died. His name is Preacher and he has a parrot that is a Red-Crowned Amazon by the way. The other is a rich investor played by Samuel L Jackson who does Not fall into the Scary Black Man trope for once. Preacher doesn't either, he's more of a Gentle Giant.

Both of them function in the film as a subversion of the Magical Negro trope. And after watching this movie, I think Gege was inspired to make Miguel Odol fill this role too.

Anyways, the takeaways from this are 1) Black people are underrepresented in media. 2) What is representing black people in popular media isn't all that varied.

This means if media is your only exposure to black people, those representations will be internalized if you're uncritical about it. (You're reading this on Tumblr I assume you believe racism is real.) It's unconscious most of the time. People usually don't actively go, "Wow black people are all like this!" What happens is they run into a black person irl, are reminded of their impressions via visual similarity, and then say or do some out of pocket nonsense. (I have personally experienced this at the hands of Japanese tourists.)

And what does Mr. Gojo Satoru say to Miguel first? He says Miguel looks like he’ll be trouble. Later he says Miguel's strength and build are because of his race and what makes him dangerous even though Gojo knows several Japanese men with similar physiques. 

If he's never met a black man irl before...he must have gotten that idea from somewhere else. He does mention knowing the MMA star turned comedian Bobby Ologun (a big strong and goofy guy) when comparing him to Miguel.

Bobby Ologun is Nigerian. Miguel is Kenyan. Do you know how pissed East Africans get when lumped into the same category as West Africans and vice versa? (For the less informed please see Western Europe’s hatred of Slavs and other Eastern Europeans.)

But as far as Gojo knows from his media, black men are big, strong, and funny. The media he consumes also doesn’t bother to distinguish the different cultures of Africans. Dark Skin=Black and that’s it. And his dismissal of Miguel's distress over the loss of his rope only highlights that apathy towards individual cultures.

All this has terrible consequences for Miguel in the form of Benevolent Racism. This is where a prejudice that can be perceived as positive has negative outcomes for the target. Aka Gojo commits a racially motivated beatdown because of his ignorance that was fueled by the media he consumed growing up. (Miguel's Cursed Technique reminding Gojo of Toji not withstanding.)

Now I’m not saying autism makes you racist. It’s that Gojo’s isolation from the outside world, being raised by emotionally distant conservatives, and consuming media uncritically with his unique brand of autism creates the disaster that are the words coming out of his mouth.

Gojo being this kind of racist. Where he idolizes a type of strength in black people he learned from stereotypes in his movies, is great actually. I really like that Miguel calls it out and is sick of it. He even sarcastically tries to throw back the stereotypes about Japanese people to make his point too.

And guess who else only knows of black people through movies? Sukuna. He’s an art freak, there’s no way he didn’t watch some of those films Yuji was watching. And Miguel can smell it a mile away. Sukuna gives him that look and Miguel is already done with it. Honestly the way Miguel enforces his boundaries is great. He knows his limits both with risking his life and tolerating racism.

Anyways, Gojo Satoru has been running on 3 hours of sleep, sugar, and Reverse Cursed Energy like a madman for years. I don’t think he’s ever sat down and gone, “Huh? Why do I think the way I do? Why do I believe this?” Miguel is probably the first person to ever tell him, that’s racist my dude. (This is an explanation not an excuse btw.)

And that’s kind of the problem. Gojo is willing to learn and do better, but he hasn’t had the time do it on his own. Some outside force has to tell him bluntly, “Yo this isn’t socially acceptable.” (Think of how Geto influenced his morals and manners by telling Gojo exactly what he should do.)

This leads me to believe his mind is a hodgepodge of things he’s uncritically absorbed as a child and that has influenced his questionable beliefs/actions as an adult in ways he’s unable to recognize.

Gojo’s Other Problems

Outside of racism, Gojo’s most unpleasant traits include mild sexism and child endangerment. The sexism comes from how he speaks to Utahime and how treats Shoko compared to Geto. Though he otherwise does not outwardly discriminate against them, it is sus that he sees Rika, a girl transformed into a cursed spirit, and goes "Dang, women are scary." (The child endangerment is self-evident.)

For some reason, Gojo truly believes for some reason that the woman (Shoko) in his life isn’t emotionally capable of being on the same level with him as a man (Geto). This could just be a strength-based thing since Geto told him that’s why they can’t be together anymore. It’s really hard to tell. But if it really is a sexism thing, media in general being misogynistic could explain it. (On top of being raised by a traditionalist family in a society that is very sexist.)

Well-rounded female characters whose complex emotions and inner lives are explored in depth can be very hard to come by, especially in popular media. (If you want media that primarily focuses on female characters GO READ UMINEKO NOW.) A lot of the movies and manga Gojo consumes treat women as love interests first and people second. And since you’re reading this on Tumblr, you’ve probably seen posts that complain about this and how this feeds into irl interactions.

This idea comes into play with Utahime in a different way. Gojo doesn’t understand that Utahime actually hates him. This is a bit odd given that he usually takes people’s hostility towards him to heart. But a place where he could get the idea that her anger is secretly affection is…the tsundere archetype in the mangas he’s so fond of. (Gojo reads a lot of Shonen Jump, it’s no wonder he has negative rizz with women after they get past his good looks.)

Yuji does it, Todo does it, Mahito does it—they use the media they’ve consumed as a baseline for sorcery. They’re the best at what they do for it. There’s no way Gojo isn’t doing the exact same thing, especially when he’s teaching his students. He tries to fit the quirky mentor archetype who uses tough love to guide his students. (His blindfold might be an actual in-verse Kakashi Naruto reference.) And he falls into faulty logic where everything will work out if he leaves it all to his students which fulfills most Shonen story beats.

The stunt with Megumi that kickstarted this series is a 2-for-1 special. Gojo eating sweets is needed to maintain his technique. Him eating them is acting as a responsible adult. However, getting them several hundred kilometers away from his student who is in a dangerous situation is irresponsible. It may speak to how much he trusts Megumi to handle things on his own, but as an adult in charge of a child? This is very poor judgement on Gojo's end.

I also understand that Gojo's upbringing and Japan's culture (aka it's generally safe for a child to be outside alone) is probably why he's so comfortable leaving a roughed up looking child by herself. But like...he should've called someone for Hana. Maybe he did later? (Another case of is this Gege underdeveloping Hana/Tsumiki or is Gojo truly that careless towards little girls...)

Shonen is pretty notorious for uncritically putting children in situations. It probably doesn’t help that Gojo’s own family was violating multiple Japanese labor laws when putting him to work as a kid. I’m not joking about that either.

Per The Constitution of Japan (May 3, 1947) Chapter III Article 27 Paragraph 3: 

“Children shall not be exploited.”

What constitutes child labor exploitation are outlined in Japan’s Labor Standards Act (LSA) or Act No. 49 of April 7, 1947.

Per LSA Chapter IV Article 56 Paragraph 2:

“…an employer may employ a child of at least 13 years of age in an occupation…which involves light labor that is not injurious to the child's health and welfare…”

Additional protections for workers are outlined in Japan’s equivalent of OSHA, aka the Industrial Safety and Health Act (ISHA) or Act No. 57 of June 8, 1972. 

Per ISHA Chapter VII-2 Article 71-2:

“An employer must endeavor to create a comfortable work environment in order to improve the level of safety and health in the workplace by continuously and systematically taking measures as follows:

measures to manage the maintenance of a comfortable work environment;

measures to improve work methods for work in which workers engage;

providing and streamlining facilities and equipment for workers to recover from fatigue suffered in the course of their work;

the necessary measures to create a comfortable work environment, beyond as set forth in the preceding three items.”

I think it’s safe to say that Gojo not including any of his Clan members in his afterlife scene and being so overworked that he doesn't have hobbies or think much outside of sorcery is proof of this exploitation. Gojo’s self-reported best years of his life were high school and those were still exploitative as hell. The man is a walking and talking human rights violation.

The only time we see child Gojo is from the perspective of assassins staking him out. Gojo himself never willingly recalls his childhood, only his teenage years. He looks so serious and miserable compared to his older self too. (It kind of reminds me of how I was a very quiet, obedient child that blossomed into the yappy evil creature I am now thanks to obtaining legal rights and freedom as an adult.)

This exploitation of children at the hands of adults in Jujutsu Society is normalized in and outside of fiction in their universe. Gojo can tell something is wrong with how he was treated and doesn’t want his students to hurt for it. But he can’t recognize that child labor in or itself is bad, so his solution is to make them strong enough to stand up for themselves. (Aka trying to make a labor union without knowing what a union is. Still breaking child labor laws though.)

Might makes right is a Shonen staple (please see Dragon Ball Z or Baki the Grappler). And though taking that idea to heart seems to be the most of Gojo’s problems as a teacher, there’s an additional issue this genre has—neglecting emotional development and care for the most part.

Characters in Shonen or action movies will go through extremely traumatic events and have little to no reaction to them. (PTSD who? Unless you're goated like Steven Universe Future or Vinland Saga.) It can give people a false sense of invincibility. They also rarely ever discuss the steps that can be taken to handle these emotions. You’ll see characters have panic attacks but rarely how to coax someone out of it. Heartbreak is rampant, but the solutions are to never let go and let it consume you, never how to move on or mourn. (If outright ignoring it like nothing happened isn’t what occurs.)

You can see these kinds of ideas with Geto. A second love is not possible for Gojo. He was his one and only and will always be his one and only. That’s the type of romanticism that has always been in his media.

If Gojo has relied on media to teach him how to feel out his emotions, effectively and healthily coping with grief and breakups is pretty hard to find. Most of the time when media handles those topics directly, it does so in a way that promotes reflecting on your own experiences instead of instructing you how to deal with it. Something Gojo didn’t really have time for. 

In the light novels Gojo greatly laments his own inability to deal with grief. He wants his students to learn how to do that effectively and even employs outside help with this.

The result of all this is a really overworked weird guy that feels like there’s no way to process his emotions. He puts on a mask when he talks to others and still winds up alienating himself. He’s tolerated for his labor and dehumanized for what makes him good at it. This is all extremely autistic. 

Exploiting Autistic Labor

I want to emphasize again, not all autistic people have these traits. The best sorcerers just happen to all have these traits in common.

Hyperfixating on the task at hand without rest.

Not having a typical reaction to dangerous situations.

Taking words at face-value.

Disconnect from emotions and other people.

Unique perspective for problem solving. 

These are all things that make for the ideal worker. Autistic people are often compared to machines for their behaviors and what is better for the capitalist than a person that behaves like a machine? 

But autistic people are not machines. They’re humans with flaws subject to burnout, emotional dysregulation, meltdowns, off-putting behavior, and isolation.

Jujutsu Society has no incentive to help with these things, especially the emotional dysregulation or isolation. In fact, it encourages this outcome because isolated people are easier to manipulate and exploit. But this also results in the friction these characters have in their relationships.

It’s a situation where they try to have their cake and eat it too. Everyone loves when Gojo is a Jujutsu Pervert in battle. They make him do everything for it. But the second he starts being weird outside of work, they want nothing to do with him. Or they’ll even insult him for the very traits they’re more than happy to use him for. (It’s exactly like Todo. Everyone depends on his battle intuition and reliability. And that all stems directly from his special interest Takada that no one wants to hear about.)

This creates a very uncomfortable dynamic where Gojo is seemingly bears the burden for everyone and everything while the people he’s servicing refuse to acknowledge it. He’s like some kind of public emotional punching bag or hatesink for other characters because they think he can take it as The Strongest. I don’t know if this is because of the autism, but it is scarily similar to how myself and my other autistic friends get treated by others irl. I think this is why I had such a visceral reaction to JJK 269. I too have experienced allistic people exploiting my labor and then acting like I’ve never done anything for them.

And speaking of JJK 269…Kusakabe has always been that kind of dickhole. He’s been in favor of Yuji’s execution since the start. But that’s not what makes him so aggravating. It’s that he’s too cowardly to do it himself. He once again, pushes the burden onto Gojo. He’s not going to be the child killer even though he wants this child dead, that’s Gojo’s job. Gojo is the tool he and everyone else uses to do the things they don’t like. 

This includes the teaching Kusakabe thinks Gojo is bad at. Per that one flashback, Gojo had to instruct Yuta more because Kusakabe didn't do an adequate job. Gojo had to send Yuta to Kenya to be trained by Miguel because neither of them were doing enough for Yuta. Gojo recognized his own limits and enlisted help. Kusakabe projected his own shortcomings onto Gojo and waited for everyone else to find a solution for him.

I also want to remind everyone that Kusakabe is wrong about Yuji needing to be executed. Yuji and Sukuna were Kenjaku’s backup plan. Kenjaku would’ve sealed Gojo and started the Merger anyways. In fact, Gojo, Yuji, and Sukuna are the only reason Kenjaku didn’t win. Plus the remaining Sukuna fingers were getting stronger All By Themselves. This means that Kusakabe would just be kicking the can down the road and making it a problem for the younger generation. Gojo was the only adult with enough foresight to do something that would solve the problem.

We’ve also got Ui Ui calling himself the MVP of the Sukuna fight while failing to acknowledge the only reason he could warp in and out without dying was Gojo exhausting Sukuna in the first place. Gojo’s contributions seemingly don’t count because he’s not a person. He’s a tool they used. So all his labor counts as theirs instead.

And because he’s dead, Yuta really is the new Gojo. Please see how Yuta was treated before and after Gojo’s death side by side. 

(I can’t tell if this is character assassination or the point. But the only person here allowed to criticize Yuta is Todo as far as I’m concerned.) 

Yuta is their new Strongest hatesink who happens to be autistic as hell. And yes, Yuta’s autism is second to Gojo Satoru’s. 

(Yuta's leans much more into socially unaware straightforwardness and taking things literally. He doesn't have a special interest or infodumps at people and I think that's neat.)

Everyone grills into Yuta so hard over his plans for the Sukuna battle that he experiences the quintessential autistic experience as described by Twitter User PenGwenWithLC:

"The autistic trait that bites me in the ass most frequently is my impenetrable belief that if I show people the truth they will believe me."

Mind you, Yuta is the main reason they won after Gojo died. This boy had Back Up Plans A through Z and they worked. The only person who had valid input on his planning was…Gojo (and possibly Todo). The finger resonance with Nobara was Gojo’s idea (JJK 267 Pgs 4-5...Also let's talk about how if Gojo wasn't a hopeless romantic and scheduled this fight a day or even an hour later, he might have lived based on Nobara's wake up time.). Once again, these are all autistic characters using their unique ways of thinking to solve problems others are too cowardly to address.

And then these same people turn around and disparage them without acknowledging their efforts or emotions. Sure you can call it lashing out because they secretly care about them. (Aka tsundere behavior.) But both Yuta and Gojo take other people’s words at face value. They don’t understand that this is a very fudged up display of affection and internalize it. Gojo died convinced everyone except maybe 3 people hated him and even in death he couldn’t escape it. 

This is also why Gojo leaving Yuta in Miguel’s care was a good thing. Miguel seems to be the sole person in this series who knows how to avoid labor exploitation. Nanami may see work as nonsense and have an overtime mechanic, but Miguel simply does not work overtime. He sets his boundaries and sticks to them.

It’s very ironic that Yuta took flack for respecting the boundaries of a black man that refused to be exploited by the very people that would treat him poorly.

How to Not Exploit Autistic Labor

CW: Discussion of Suicide

The last time I examined the tragedy of Gojo Satoru I wanted him to live and be loved. But I’m not sure if I want that now. It doesn’t really seem like the systemic issues that caused his exploitation have been addressed, and the people he’s helped refuse to acknowledge they are standing on the shoulders of giants. Him becoming suicidal over this exploitation and choosing death because he saw no end to this is a particularly harsh reflection of what happens in reality.

Yuji notices that Gojo is acting out of character during his final talk with him. The arrogant, self-aggrandizing chipper he's used to has been replaced with this timid optimism. Gojo tells Yuji and everyone else to forget about him because he's confident they'll be living longer than him. Before this, previous chapters have shown that Gojo went around apologizing to others and preparing letters in the advent of his death. These are all warning signs associated with an imminent suicide attempt.

When Gojo tells Yuji this is confidence he's never had before, it seems like he means both his plans to go through with dying and that everyone really will be fine and better off without him.

Gojo also makes sure Yuji doesn't catch on to this. (Probably why he didn't do the soul swap too.) Even with his suicide, he's doing his best to make sure it doesn't negatively impact anyone. His final letters to Megumi and Nobara being so unserious is another attempt to make sure their hearts don't break. ...And nobody he devoted himself to in life or death noticed.

This rather bleak ending for Gojo does have a purpose I think. It’s an example of how hypercapitalist work culture doesn’t value your life. You can bend over backwards and put your all into work, but in the end, you’re just another cog to be used. Gojo’s dehumanization was inevitable under this system. This man was born to be used as a tool and discarded once he served his purpose. And because he’s not a person, people get really mad when he does anything outside of what benefits them directly. Since to them, it’s like a machine malfunctioning.

It’s unlikely these people will ever mourn him properly, let alone even acknowledge his efforts (outside of Yuji and Yuta that is). His closest “friends” in death thought of him as a self-serving pervert you know. (Once again, not sure if that’s character assassination or showcasing what Jujutsu Society does to people, but wow does it suck to see.)

But you know who did acknowledge Gojo as a human who did his damned best and is worth remembering? Sukuna.

Sukuna stopped the whole battle to lavish praise on Gojo and mourn him. He’s done that for everyone who has put up a decent fight against him. The other sorcerers? They do no such thing, even after the battle.

And you know who takes the time to cherish and mourn his comrades no matter what? Jogo.

I excluded Mahito from the autistic labor exploitation discussion for good reason. The natural disaster curses treat Mahito better than most humans have ever treated Gojo. Jogo doesn’t exploit Mahito’s autism, he embraces it. And despite their weird behaviors and beliefs stressing him out most of the time, Jogo does nothing to stop Mahito from being themself. He expresses his distaste, sure, but Jojo otherwise acknowledges those traits are what makes Mahito good for their cause. Mahito is his equal, not a tool.

Jogo doesn’t tell Mahito what to do or feel. He rolls with their shenanigans while wearing his heart on his sleeve. He takes time to mourn his comrades no matter how dire the situation. He acts with their interests in mind at all times—even in death his first concerns are his comrades. 

Even though Mahito is alive, Jogo worries for them while still having faith in their abilities. He looks forward to seeing Mahito again via reincarnation. I cannot say the same of Gojo’s allies. 

I’m not really sure how to end this discussion since I’m continuing it in another part. But if there’s anything you take away form this incomplete analysis, please let it be this one thing:

Jogo is best girl.

[foxgloveinspace]

People jumping ship cause of the new masks is very ahhhh. Telling. Tbh.

[snzluv3r]

i actually feel so incredibly uncomfortable and isolated in this space right now and i know that’s silly because of how many people there are just like me who share the same feelings but idk…the fact that people even think this is defensible behavior is making me feel sick

[kizzington]

Not aiming this at anyone specifically, but I’m genuinely so disappointed & annoyed at the fact no one in my real life circles bothered to reach out to me to check up on me regarding the recent Liam Payne/One Direction news.