#THROUPLE SWEEP!!!!

[hearthomelesbian]

[ID: A screenshot of Tifa and Aerith holding onto Cloud's arms in Final Fantasy VII Remake. End ID.]

Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith (Final Fantasy VII)

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 6; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Johnny cleans up the lamp in the morning.

He might as well, being on second watch and all. Ghost wakes him up at the ass crack of dawn with a gentle kick to the ribs (gentle for him) before rolling over on the couch and going right to sleep. It’s routine for them to fall into sleep like rocks sinking in water, but the waking up is never quite as graceful. Johnny snorts awake and whips his head around sharply from side to side before confirming that he’s just in his girlfriend’s apartment and the asshole that woke him up is just his ornery lieutenant. 

“I better not hear any fuckin’ jabber,” is all Ghost says before closing his eyes. Johnny chews his lip to keep the grin off of his face.

He tries to keep it down after that. For the first couple of hours, he sits up against the wall and scrolls on his phone. That keeps him occupied until any lingering exhaustion is flushed from his veins.

There’s a broom and dustpan in a small closet in the kitchen where his girl also keeps the garbage bags and compost bin that he uses to sweep up the mess, and he tries to make as little noise as possible while he cleans up. The glass makes a tinkling sound as it’s swept up though, just loud enough that it inevitably wakes his girl up.

She comes creeping out of her room late into the morning, the shop not due to open for another hour or two. The late weekend opening hours mean she usually gets to sleep in. 

Weeks back, it used to be something that Johnny got to do with her as well, cuddled until she’d suddenly pull away, then waking up to her swallowing his cock, peeking under the bedsheets to find her pretty head bobbing up and down his length. Groaning and palming her head to press her lips down to the base, eyes rolling back at the sound of her gagging around his length, the base of his dick a mess of come and drool. 

In the present day though, she clears her throat. Johnny blinks and refocuses on her. 

Her eyes flit to Ghost’s still form on the couch and when they dart back to Johnny, he raises a finger to his lips. Let the man rest. It’s the least Johnny can do for him after he dragged him back to his girl’s place to make amends. She hazards another cautious glance at Ghost—his lieutenant lies still as a statue on the couch, motionless like he isn’t even breathing—before pursing her lips, displeased. 

In the light of day, his previous anger feels cleansed. He understands now. They’ve gone about this all wrong, topsy-turvy. He’s been chasing his own tail and making a mess of things for far too long now, but Ghost’s voice is clear in his head now. It settles him.  

So when his girl goes to open her mouth, maybe thinking that she can whisper softly enough so as not to wake Ghost up, he steps forward quickly and covers her mouth. 

She squawks behind his hand. Again, he shakes his head. Any sound would be too loud for the man slumbering on her couch. 

Johnny can feel her swallow behind his palm and it almost makes him salivate. His fingers twitch on her cheeks like he might press them into the soft skin and make her lips pout. 

“Not here,” he murmurs, almost mouthing the words.

He waits until she nods before removing his hand. Then he leaves to go dump the dustpan filled with glass into the trash. 

She corners him in the bathroom after that and it’s all he can do not to come in his pants. It’s not his fault he’s been trigger happy since Ghost tugged them off on the sparring mats and came on his stomach; he’s been pent up since the last time he saw her. There’s still flakes of dried come on his belly. He only half resists lifting his shirt to look. If his girl knew, she’d be mortified. 

He wonders if she’d be more upset that he let Ghost beat off on him or that he didn’t clean up his mess. 

Johnny lets the bird guide him to the toilet, letting her shove him down onto the lid.

“Ah, hen, ye really wanna do this now?” he teases, spreading his legs and wrapping his hands around her waist to reel her in, slipping up her shirt at the same time. 

He almost moans when she slaps him across the face, biting his lip when she gasps right after, surprised at her own actions. “Oh—fuck—I’m so sorry—”

He clicks his tongue, lips curling up into an impish grin. “Dinnae worry, baby. ‘M tougher than I look.”

It’s a small mercy that she’s too agitated to really look him over because if she were to direct her gaze even slightly south, she’d find Johnny’s shaft straining against his fly, hard enough to pound nails the second her hand touched his face. He swallows a groan and his fingers tighten, sinking deeper into her flesh. 

“I didn’t mean to—Jesus, it doesn’t matter.” He loves that when she gets frustrated, her bottom lip juts out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into it. “When your…boss or whatever…wakes up, can you please take him and leave?”

“Leave?” Johnny repeats, blinking up at her innocently. 

“Yes. Leave,” she says, stressing the word. He hums and strokes his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach, pleased that she hasn’t yet told him to take his hands off her. Sweet little bird. “We kissed and made up. That’s what you came for, right? So the two of you can get going once he wakes up.”

“No breakfast?” 

She looks distinctly unimpressed. “There’s a coffee shop down the block.”

“Aye, I ken, baby,” Johnny croons, pulling her in closer, smiling when she squeaks and braces her hands on his shoulders, his face almost cradled between her breasts. He turns his head to kiss one, mouth lingering over the cotton of her shirt, tempted almost to bite and rip it. “It’s jus’ that…seems an awful like the second Simon and I take off, you’re jus’ gonna go right back to cold shouldering me. Sure you’re nae jus’ putting on a little show for me now?”

Her fingers grip him by the fabric of his shirt. “Johnny—” She yelps when he bites the inside of her breast, snarling when she tries to pull away. “Okay, okay, okay, I got it—”

“That’s right,” he says with a content sigh, pulling back just the slightest bit. “You’re nae going anywhere. Not until we’ve talked this out, nice and civil.”

When she stares down at him, wide-eyed, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, it’s a rush like he’s never experienced. He feels right in the flow of things now, his head on straight for once. 

“What’s there to talk about?” she mumbles, and he almost melts. “I’m not mad anymore.”

“Nae mad? Then why’re ye trying to kick us out?”

“Because I’m busy, Johnny,” she snaps. “The shop’s opening in an hour and I don’t have time to babysit the two of you.”

“Ye willnae even notice we’re here, hen, I promise. Fuck, I’ll even help ye out—make some deliveries, go shake anyone down that still owes ye—”

“I don’t shake down my customers, Johnny—”

“Whatever ye need, baby.” He drags his palms up her sides, pulling up her shirt with his hands. Her tits pop out like ripe fruit dangling in front of his mouth, puffy nipples begging to be sucked on. “Simon and I will be right here. Ye can use us however ye want.”

He stares at her nipple while saying that, unconsciously leaning forward until his lips graze her skin and his tongue pokes out. She doesn’t budge, just curses under her breath and lets him rub his tongue over her beaded nipple, shaking in his hold. Johnny bets if he pulled down those little sleep shorts of hers, he’d find a wet little cunt begging for a fat cock to fill her up. 

It’d take nothing for him to pull them down and give her what she’s asking for. The love of his life is tucked away beneath a layer of flimsy cotton and begging for him to give her some love and affection. Johnny hasn’t kissed her in God knows how long—a week? Two? He’d probably find her swollen and aching beneath her shorts; could get her to come just by dragging two fingers up the seam of her. 

He knows what Ghost would say though, so he drags his teeth over her nipple just for the pleasure of feeling her flinch and then pulls back. The bird blinks down at him with hazy eyes when he helps readjust her shirt, pulling it back down to cover her gorgeous tits, a damp spot on her shirt over the nipple he just had in his mouth. 

“We’re not going to…?” she asks, letting the question dangle in midair. She says it without thinking—clearly, because the second it dawns on her that she just asked if they were going to fuck in the bathroom with Johnny sitting on the toilet, she looks horrified with herself. It’s beyond endearing. 

“No’ with Simon in the other room, baby. Wouldnae be fair for him to have to listen in.”

He doesn’t tell her that fairness in this case doesn’t mean cruel. It means that it wouldn’t be possible. 

Still, he needs to shoo her out of the bathroom to tug one out into the toilet bowl. Johnny would be half tempted to jerk off onto her mirror just to leave his mark where she could see, but he has some manners. 

He gives himself a nice, leisurely tug with the help of his girl’s expensive hand lotion. It’s not as viscous as the lube in the gallon tub on his nightstand back at the barracks, but it’s a good substitute; makes his hand glide nicely over his shaft.  If he closes his eyes, it even smells like her, like it’s his girl giving him a morning reach around, and part of Johnny wonders whether he was too quick to kick her out of the bathroom. Ghost wouldn’t begrudge him a quick and dirty jerk.

The thought dissolves the longer his hand flies over his dick though. Hard to think about anything outside the present moment when his hand is braced against the wall and his orgasm barrelling towards him. When he comes, it’s with a deep, shuddering grunt, not even bothering to muffle the sound. He hopes his girl hears him from the other room. He hopes it makes her squirm and ache. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, another voice takes him by surprise.

“Johnny. You’re on breakfast.”

Ghost’s voice is gruff in the early morning hours, abrupt. Rarely could it be classified as gentle, but it’s like chert rattling in a leather bag after hours of disuse. Especially since it comes out of nowhere, the man asleep one moment and awake the next. Johnny’s worked with him long enough to not flinch at the sudden sound of his voice, but his girl hasn’t; she yelps when his voice comes unbidden from the couch, big body suddenly upright like he’s been awake the whole time. 

He’s no cook, but Johnny can rustle up eggs and bacon like any other self-respecting serviceman. On deployment, they used to rotate cooking duty every night, no one skilled enough to take over the post permanently. Still, Johnny eyes Ghost worriedly when he takes a seat across from the bird at her little kitchen table. It’s not a table meant for two grown men, just a small wooden thing with four chairs, only enough for one on each side. It means that Ghost’s knees knock against hers when he takes the chair across from her, forcing her to curl up into herself, tucking her legs under the chair. 

He stares her down. Menacing eyes. Not the kind of man you want sitting across from you, no matter the circumstances. It makes Johnny anxious to turn his back on them when he has to crack the eggs into the pan, checking over his shoulder religiously. The whites go crispy at the edges before he remembers to flip them over.

“You work downstairs in the flower shop,” Ghost says bluntly, breaking the silence. His first words to Bird all morning. Not a question.

“…Yes,” Bird answers gingerly. Her palms are clamped over her knees, sweating likely. “I own it.”

“Since when?” He doesn’t blink before firing off another question.

“Um…two years.”

“Where’d you work before?”

“In…in London. I was a shopgirl there though—”

“Where’s your family from then?”

It goes on that way for a time, an interrogation with no rhyme or reason. Even Johnny has to wonder at Ghost’s intentions—knows that there’s no shot that Ghost hasn’t already done a background check on her. Why interrogate the bird then? Why rattle off question after question in such quick succession? Why make her tremble and look down at the tabletop and stutter out her answers and fidget under his stare—

He notices Ghost’s hand slip beneath the table to grip his length, spreading his legs to help readjust.

Ah. Mean bastard. Of course he’d get off on making her squirm.

The bacon burns. Johnny can’t help it. He listens attentively to her clear voice—softer in the morning hours, still sleep-laden and flowery—whispering out her life’s story, dick getting hard behind the kitchen island. He bites his lip to hold back a moan when she trips over her words. Thrusts forward to rub his bulge against the underside of the island when she chews on her lip, relieving some of the pressure. It drives him mad that there’s a wet cunt going unsatisfied just a few feet away. 

Ghost shoots him a sharp look as if he can hear his thoughts. “Johnny.”

He turns around to flip the burner off.

[lesmisshippingshowdown]

Round of 32 Wrapped!

To tide you all over until the next round begins (although I hope you're all keeping busy getting started on your fanworks to steal some votes!), let's have fun with some statistics about the Round of 32 :)

Poll with the most votes overall: Combeferre/Courfeyrac vs Turnchetta (1,554 votes) What else could you expect from a contest between a veritable fandom juggernaut, inescapable as both a main couple and background couple on Archive of our Own, a true bedrock of fandom heritage... and Combeferre/Courfeyrac?

I jest. But it's great to see people turning out in honour of the great fandom tradition of getting a little silly with it. The question remains - how far can a novelty ship like Turnchetta (one could call her the Jedward of this competition, and I of course mean that with the utmost respect #JEPIC) make it in the bracket?

(It's worth noting that Turnchetta also takes home the prize for Round One's Biggest Giant Killing, defeating AO3's 4th most popular Les Mis ship by published works despite not a single fic coming up when I click their relationship tag on that website.)

Poll with the least votes overall: Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta vs. Bahorel/Éponine (546 votes) Again, perhaps this was unsurprising. J/B/M is a true staple of the fandom, and one of only 6 ships in the bracket with over 1,000 tagged works on AO3 (and that's not even counting individual pairings within the throuple!). Bahorel/Éponine, on the other hand, has only 46 tagged works and I wasn't even able to find fanart for them on a sweep through Tumblr tags. This was not a match up that necessarily spurred on hard fighting and intense propaganda, and turned out to be one of the round's most resounding sweeps.

Will J/B/M nation be forced to turn out in greater numbers for round two, or will they be able to rest on their laurels against a - once again - comparatively niche ship like Courfeyrac/Grantaire? And will Bahorel/Éponine's fandom turn out to be small but mighty when given a chance for redemption in the Great Round 2 Steal-Off?

Closest battle: Combeferre/Éponine vs. Enjolras/Marius (47.5% vs 52.5%) I'll say this outright as the bracket's resident infamously unbiased Enjolras/Marius shipping mod - Combeferre/Éponine shippers, I seriously underestimated your game. In a poll where most of Éponine's het ships fell dramatically at the first hurdle, you guys held your own against me constantly reblogging my own posts to yell "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE" in increasingly undignified ways. You stood behind Éponine's right to date a really nice nerdy man, and I'm very excited to see what you guys pull out of the bag in the Round 2 Steal-Off. I suspect this may not be the last we see of Combeferre/Éponine in this competition.

Biggest whitewash: Courfeyrac/Éponine vs. Cosette/Éponine (4.1% vs 95.9%) As Les Mis's most iconic relatably lovelorn everygirl, Éponine based ship wars have been a fandom staple probably since the actual 1860s. Whether she's battling for Marius's affections or accidentally playing a pivotal role in very, very 2013 discussions about queer erasure in fandom, when there's a ship war to be had in the Les Mis fandom our girl is normally at the scene of the crime. This match up, however, showed none of the fire of its predecessors. When asked if you'd rather see Éponine paired off with Les Amis' lovable centre or patching up her longstanding and complex relationship with Cosette, you overwhelmingly voted in favour of lesbianism. Got to respect it. Happy belated International Women's Day.

Winningest multishipping target: Enjolras (5 out of 6 ships progressed to the Round of 16) For a character who is canonically uninterested in romance to the point that I've seen large swathes of this fandom headcanon him as aroace, you guys LOVE it when Enjolras gets around. Not only did he have 6 ships entered into this bracket (for the mathematicians among you, that means 18.75% of the bracket involves Enjolras in some way), but he won almost every first round contest he was involved in. The only losing Enjolras ship in round one was Enjolras/Éponine, so I guess that's settled*. He really didn't know there was such a thing on earth as woman.

(*It is not settled. If you don't think we're getting a special Enjonine vs E/R face off at some point you don't know me)

Losing-est multishipping target: Éponine (1 out of 8 ships progressed to the Round of 16) Speaking of Enjonine, the other half of that ship suffered basically opposite fortunes. Poor Éponine appeared in a whopping 25% of all ships entered into the bracket, but only one - Cosette/Éponine, her sole femslash pairing in the contest - made it as far as the round of 16. It seems that homosexuality has mutually won out for both halves of 2013's most controversial het ship.

Other stats for the interested:

The average number of votes cast per poll was 770.5 - not bad for a first round! Can you up that number by encouraging your friends to pokémon go to the polls for the round of 16 next week?

In the Round of 32, the balance of different relationship types (going by characters' canonical genders) was as follows: 56.25% M/M, 34.38% M/F, 6.25% F/F, and 3.12% Multi.

In the Round of 16, the balance will be as follows: 68.75% M/M, 12.5% M/F, 12.5% F/F, and 6.25% Multi. I would say "I'm sorry, women" but to be fair both the yuri ships did sail through their respective match ups. Really, I'm sorry heteros. Especially Éponine's hetero ships. I know I keep saying this but it was a rough ride for her.

All of AO3's top 3 Les Mis ships (by tagged works) are still comfortably in the game - as already established, Courferre was this round's biggest loser. Could the Round Two Steal-Off, where the creation of fanworks is crucial to success, offer them a chance at redemption? Tune in next week to find out!

[dancingbirdie]

Honestly I just wanted to write something Astarion x Halsin x Reader related, and this is what my brain told my fingers to tap onto the keyboard. It's sugar sweet with like one speck of chili pepper flake. Idk how to feel about it - it's not my fave I've ever written, but I also like how cutsey it is? Idk.

Feathers, Flirts, and Fiends

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Astarion x Halsin x gn!Reader

Word Count: 800

Tags: Fluff with a dash of spice at the end, humor, throuple domestic bliss, polyamory cuteness

Summary: For Astarion, it can be very taxing when your two lovers also happen to both be druids.

*****

In his dream, the bed was so disheveled that down feathers whooshed up in riotous little eddies each time he moved his limbs. Snow white, soft as petals, landing carelessly this way and that. He could feel the heat from his two lovers on either side of him, although the bed was too expansive to reach for them. 

They must have shared a rather rowdy evening together, given the abundance of freewheeling feathers that surrounded him. He couldn’t recall the details now. Curious. His eyelids slipped shut as a tuft floated down to land on his lashes. Another caressed his cheek. He smiled, content. 

But then the third arrival was less welcoming, landing just under his nose. He lifted a hand up to knock it aside, only for the feather to be replaced by another. Brows furrowed, he batted it away with a tinge more annoyance. But that one was only replaced once again. 

The barrage of feathers was beginning to tickle. He could feel a sneeze itching its way to the front of his nose. As his body instinctively inhaled to let it loose, he woke with a start. 

Well, the dream had gotten one thing right, Astarion thought to himself. 

There were indeed feathers surrounding him everywhere. It was all he could see as he peered about with bleary eyes. But they weren’t the soft down of a priceless plush pillow or mattress, no. 

They were attached to the pelts of his two lovers, you and Halsin, having shifted sometime in the night into your owlbear forms. Sandwiched between you, he felt the feathers rise and fall, sweeping up and down across his body, in time with your deep, drawn out breaths. 

“Gods damn you blasted druids,” he griped, shoving against you and the Archdruid in an effort to rouse your overlarge forms. “Wake up and shift back! Lest I succumb to death by feather asphyxiation.”

You’d awoken the moment Astarion had startled beside you, but the trickster in you considered feigning sleep just to see how long he would grouse. He could be so dramatic at times. It was darling. 

But Halsin was a kinder soul than you. You sensed him shift immediately in response to Astarion’s huffy command. Heard him murmur a sincere apology. 

“I know you’re awake, you beastie” Astarion hissed into the feathers covering your ear hole. “Your breathing’s picked up.” 

Blast. There goes any fun. 

Blinking open your enlarged eyes, you rolled them in a show of exasperation as you pulled on the tether of your magic to relinquish your wild shape. You quickly downsized to your normal elven form, curled in the same way your owlbear self had been sleeping. 

“Don’t be such a gremlin, Astarion,” you yawned, scooting closer to embrace him and Halsin, who had banded an arm across the vampire’s waist and was reaching for you to join them. “I would have thought you’d rather enjoy the warmth of two owlbear companions.”

“Oh yes, being smothered by lichen-and-moss-smelling feathers has always been a fantasy of mine,” he retorted. 

“Can vampires actually be smothered? I thought it was just wooden stakes and sunlight that did you in,” you smirked deviously. 

“You’re awful,” Astarion pouted, turning his head to rest in the crook of Halsin’s shoulder and neck. “At least Halsin showed an ounce of contrition.”

You heard the archdruid’s gravelly laugh as he kissed the top of Astarion’s head. “I’ve learned it goes a ways farther than verbally sparring with you,” he murmured into his silvery curls. 

“Quite right,” Astarion sniffed. “Much farther indeed, darling.”

Laughter bubbled forth from your own lips as you squeezed closer into his side and snaked an arm across his chest. 

“But where’s the fun in that?” you whispered. “Our verbal sparring often leads us three into some very interesting circumstances.”

At those words, Halsin reflexively clutched your waist harder. Astarion tensed before pushing back into your chest suggestively. You grinned fiendishly to yourself. Getting these two hot and bothered had become a specialty of yours lately. And you loved it.

“Tsk. You’re incorrigible,” Astarion grumbled, although his words were a bit breathier than they had been.

“Careful, lest you start something again,” Halsin warned. You couldn’t see him past Astarion’s head, but you could tell he was smiling just by his tone. “I’m not opposed to losing rest in order to see how this tête-à-tête ensues.” 

You chuckled darkly. “Noted. What say you, Astarion? Care to keep sparring?” The insinuation in your tone was clear. 

“Darling, you forget,” he murmured, one hand slipping down, behind him, to tug at the lacings of your breeches. His voice was muffled. You watched hungrily as he began to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses across the column of Halsin throat. 

“I’m always ready for a spar with you two.” 

[cowboygideon]

Hi, please enjoy this little Challengers drabble I wrote. It's mostly a character study of Art?? I guess?? And it's essentially artrick, but if I continued it, the intention would be throuple endgame, so keep that in mind. Also, it's tragically unedited, and sentence structure means nothing to me. Anyway, here it is—!

---

After New Rochelle, it’s like a switch in Art’s brain flips. He feels Patrick’s hands on his back, the sliver of skin at his waist where his shirt rode up when he jumped, ghosting over the scars on his shoulders—and, somehow, it twists his stomach like a betrayal.

Patrick wins the match. He tries to talk to Art afterwards, chases him off the court, but Art just can’t. He can’t talk to Patrick, not after the match they just played. It’s not even about the signal, that goddamned serve, even though it should be. Really—and he doesn’t want to admit this to himself, inside his own brain, even—it’s about the fact that it’s been thirteen fucking years and playing tennis with Patrick still feels the way it did at Mark Rebellato, still lights up every synapses in his brain, still feels like really good sex, or something equally euphoric. It’s also about the fact that there’s been a hole, a giant gaping wound, in Art’s gut for over a decade, and now it feels like it's scabbing over.

It’s about the fact that Art doesn’t even care that he lost. It’s about the fact that he knows that he’d lose a thousand fucking matches, a million, if it meant getting those years back; if it meant he wouldn’t have Patrick’s hurt, confused expression outside of that room at Stanford tattooed on the back of his eyelids, burning there everytime he blinked.

Tashi finds him afterwards—he can’t hide from her, not anymore.

He tells her he’s quitting tennis.

He tells her he needs some space.

What the fuck does that mean, Art?

I—I don’t know, Tashi. I just need a second.

A second?

He leaves her, standing in the waning afternoon light, outlined in the sun like a fucking angel, wondering what he meant by a second. He wants to tell her what he meant. He doesn’t know what he meant, he realizes, and then he goes to the bathroom and vomits up his breakfast. When that meager meal is gone, he sits on the grimy tile with his head in his hands, wondering if he’d just fucked up his entire life.

---

By a second, Art meant a separation—or, at least, that’s how Tashi takes it. She doesn’t yell at him, doesn’t say anything, really, as Art packs some of his clothes into a couple suitcases. He brings his tennis gear, which Tashi also, very pointedly, says nothing about.

She follows him down stairs—a giant sweeping staircase; white, sterile, like everything else in this monster of a house, which Art has many times considered throwing himself down, bleeding out just to give the place a little color—and outside into the driveway.

She stands, their mansion at her back, arms folded across her chest, nails digging into her biceps. He wants to go to her, take her hands in his and work the tension out of them. He still loves her—so fucking much, a painful amount—but he also knows that he needs this. Tennis is Tashi is tennis. It doesn’t matter how many years stretch between now and the last time she actually played a match, Art knows the sport would never relinquish its hold on her.

And that’s perfectly fine. But if Art wants to quit, and wants to really commit to it, he can’t be falling asleep, waking up next to a constant reminder of everything he was leaving behind. After so many losses, after his blatant loss of passion, anyone would believe that this was Art Donaldson simply giving up, giving in. They’d believe it was easy for him, like he could just put down his racket and never pick it up again, and that was the end.

But he knows it isn’t going to be easy. As much as tennis has ripped him apart these past couple of years, it’s a very real, very big part of him. It’s his childhood, his college experience, his livelihood. It’s how he met Tashi, it’s why he has a beautiful daughter.

It’s how he met Patrick fucking Zweig.

“I slept with Patrick,” Tashi says, after a couple very long minutes of silence. She’s staring him right in the eyes, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, unashamed but sympathetic. “Before the final.”

Art shifts his weight onto his back foot, clutches the strap of the duffel on his shoulder. He knows, of course, but he didn’t expect her to just come out and admit it.

“And I talked to him afterwards,” Tashi continues. Now she looks away, training her gaze on the concrete. “He wants me to coach him.”

That is a surprise. Art’s heart seizes in his chest, and he feels the same way he felt after he lost the Junior Open final to Patrick and lost Tashi to him, too. Like one game had just determined his entire future. Like he’d really, truly failed.

“Are you going to do it?” Art asks. “Coach him, I mean.”

There are a couple more moments of tense silence, which is familiar. Their marriage has consisted of a lot of those silences the past couple of years, disjointed conversations mingled with stale air, pulled taut between them, like a tightrope of pain and indignation.

“I’m considering it.”

Art nods. There’s not much else to do besides that, he thinks, but he says something else anyway, not really knowing why: “You should.”

Tashi looks up from the ground, a plain shock opening up her face. It’s not often he surprises her. “Seriously?”

Art shrugs. “Why not?” There are a lot of answers to that, but he continues, “I think he has a few good years left in him.”

A beat. Tashi’s mouth pulls up at the corner, tucking a small smile into her cheek. “That’s what he said.”

Art hums. Of course he did, Art doesn’t say. Of course, even after all these years, they’d maintained some of that signature synchronization.

Tashi tells Art to pick Lily up this Friday, at around lunch time, and Art agrees. A quick, perfunctory hug that neither of them wants and he’s off, driving fifteen minutes away, further into the heart of Palm Beach, where he’s renting an obscenely expensive apartment. While he drives he thinks about how close they are to the academy he’d grown up in; Mark Rebellato sat only half an hour or so south, near Delray. With the thought comes that familiar roiling in his stomach, a painful twist of nausea so powerful he considers pulling over.

It was funny when they bought a house here—Tashi and Mark Rebellato had been slotted into very separate parts of his brain, a kind of before and after. He’d (they’d) met Tashi at the beginning of senior year, the end of August, so, really, he’d had about nine months of both Tashi and the academy mingling in his mind. But the entirety of that year had been permeated by both the thought and the absence of her, the memory and the repression of what had happened in that fucking hotel room. She and Patrick’s phone calls started to take up half of the time that he and Patrick used to dedicate to each other.

Before and After.

---

Art and Tashi are separated for six months—half a year, Jesus Christ—before he sees Patrick again.

He knows she’s training him. It’s all over the sports channel, for one thing, stories about Tashi Donaldson’s new project spliced with stories about his own retirement. It's a devastating, headache-inducing loop that he cannot bear to turn off.

He keeps playing tennis, somehow. Not as often, obviously, but just enough to keep him sane. He’d tried to go cold turkey in the beginning, spent an entire week laying on his bed in his empty apartment, dreaming about the New Rochelle match; the win in the doubles tournament; his loss to Patrick the next day. It was enough to make him consider taking a dive off the balcony.

Still, it’s nice. Eating a burger for the first time in a decade, sleeping past five-thirty, playing for fun, not to get somewhere.

Nice.

How he manages to avoid Patrick for so long, he isn’t sure. An act of God, maybe. Maybe some very intentional scheduling on Tashi’s part, maybe some subconscious effort on his own. Either way, his breath catches every single time he leads Lily up to the house, peering up and down the street for Patrick’s shitty white Honda CR-V, listening for the tell-tale sound of a ball hitting a racket out back. But there’s nothing. Six months of nothing.

It’s enough that he gets comfortable, simultaneously grateful and disappointed in the fact that he clearly isn’t meant to ever see Patrick Zweig again. He’d walked away from that part of his life: Tashi and tennis, and by extension, Patrick.

So, when he sees that familiar head of dark curls behind Tashi when she opens the door, his heart plummets, from his chest into his gut.

Tashi looks surprised to see him. “Art,” she says. “You’re early.”

Patrick is in one of the chairs in the sitting room, which is past the entryway, all the way across the room, beside the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. He’s so far that his head is really more a dark smudge against the bleached white of the house, but he turns around when Tashi says Art’s name.

Art checks his watch. It’s ten forty-five, he usually drops Lily off a little after eleven. “I guess,” he says.

He can hear the sounds of a bag being packed, the sound of rackets clacking against tile and clothing shifting against polyester. Then, Patrick-smudge stands up, heaves a bag-smudge onto his shoulder.

“Hi, Mommy,” Lily says.

Tashi’s shoulders, squared and tense, relax at their daughter’s voice. She smiles—uninhibited, all teeth, a smile she reserves for Lily alone—and opens her arms. “Hi, sweetie,” she says, and tucks Lily into her side in a tight hug.

When they separate, Lily turns around and hugs Art. “Bye, Daddy,” she says, muffled against his shirt.

“Bye, Lils,” Art says. He wraps his arms around her, feels his shaking hands still against her tiny shoulders, his one constant. “I love you so much, okay? I’ll see you next weekend, baby.”

Lily pulls back, an affronted look on her face. “Um, no!” she says. “My show’s on Wednesday, remember?”

He does remember. Her dance recital, he’d been looking forward to it all month. It was marked on the calendar on his fridge, a reminder on his phone.

The sight of Patrick had thrown him off more than he’d care to admit.

Art brought his hands to his mouth, a show of exaggerated remorse. “Oh, my God,” he says. He kneels in front of her and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Of course, I remember, Lils, I’ve never been this excited for anything in my life.”

She giggles, and he pulls her into another crushing hug, pressing a dozen kisses to the top of her head. “Okay, okay!” she says, pulling away.

“One more,” he says and presses a last kiss to her forehead.

“Gross, Dad,” Lily says, nose-wrinkled, but she’s smiling at him, and so is Tashi. For a moment, they aren’t living in separate houses, trading their daughter back and forth at the end of every week. For a moment, they’re a family.

Then Art stands, and looks past them. And—Patrick.

He’s smiling, too.

Lily takes her bag off the steps and slides past Tashi to head inside. She waves to Patrick as she passes him. “Hi, Patrick,” she chirps, and Art is thrown by the familiarity there.

Patrick glances at Art, so quick he almost misses it, and then waves back. “Hey, Lily,” he says. “You have fun with your dad?”

“Yeah,” she says. “We went to the zoo!”

“Awesome,” Patrick says, grinning like it really is awesome. “I’m about to head out, so I’ll see you later, kid.”

“Okay, bye, Patrick.”

Art watches them, a little bewildered, before returning his gaze to Tashi.

She talks before he can: “He’s here for training, and he stays for dinner sometimes,” she says. “That’s it.”

Art thinks this is her way of telling him that she’s not sleeping with Patrick, but it's hard to say. Not that he could object, exactly. He’s the one who asked for a second.

Patrick-smudge becomes a full-fledged Patrick as he approaches them in the doorway. There’s this stupid fucking sheepish look on his face, like a kid who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar—which, on anyone else, would look just that: fucking stupid; but on Patrick is irritatingly endearing. Art remembers Patrick was always good at that, at making his bad qualities look like good ones.

Regardless, it doesn’t lend much credence to Tashi’s proclamation that she and Patrick aren’t fucking, but Art attempts to suspend judgement. If they are, he thinks, he can’t blame her. Not really. Not when Patrick looks—well.

Back in New Rochelle, he and Tashi had caught a split-second of one of Patrick’s matches, his third or fourth, maybe, not long after the tournament started. As they headed back to the hotel, Tashi had talked at Art about how terrible Patrick looked, with the scruff and the track marks and the general air of a stray dog that’d wandered onto a tennis court.

Art hadn’t contributed much to that conversation, for the simple fact that he didn’t entirely agree with her. Later, in the sauna, his suspicion was only further proven: Patrick Zweig, thirty years old, living out of his car, maybe addicted to drugs, still looked really fucking good. The universe was truly cruel.

Crueler still is the fact that now, under Tashi’s care, with a workout regime and a real bed, he looks impossibly better.

So, yeah, if Tashi is fucking him, Art won’t—can’t—blame her. Patrick has that effect.

Patrick hovers around Tashi’s shoulder in the doorway, staring at Art. Art deliberately does not stare back.

“Tomorrow,” Tashi says. “Six a.m. Don’t be late, Zweig.”

She says Zwieg like people usually do, pronouncing it with the w sound, instead of like a v. Art used to correct people when they were kids. He doesn’t now.

Patrick salutes. “Yes, Coach.”

“I’m fucking serious, Patrick,” she says, casting a glare over her shoulder.

Patrick throws his hands up. “So am I, Tashi! When am I not serious?”

Art has to look up at that, out of habit, leveling Patrick with a glare that used to say you’re being such an idiot, and they make eye contact. Patrick grins. Art doesn’t.

“Art,” Tashi says, voice softer. “I’ll see you Wednesday, okay?”

“Yeah,” Art says. He doesn’t want to watch the two of them say goodbye, deal with the fanfare that a goodbye entails, so he turns and starts down the driveway. He can hear them talking as he walks, and then a door shutting. Then there’s the sound of slides scuffing against concrete.

“Hey, man, wait up,” Patrick says.

Art hesitates, mid-step, and is reminded of Patrick following him after winning the challenger.

“Art, man, come on,” he says. “Just talk to me for a second.”

Art stops. Turns around.

Patrick is wearing one of his stupid muscle-tees, a pair of his even stupider mid-thigh length gym shorts. So, to put it plainly, he looks fucking stupid. He also looks so Patrick that Art swallows.

“What?” Art says.

There’s a smile on Patrick’s face, as there usually is, but it’s not as sure as Art remembers it. His eyebrows are pushed together, his grin failing a bit at the corners. He looks hesitant, cautious, which are both decidedly not patented Patrick emotions. “Uh,” he says, like now that he has Art, he doesn’t know what to do with him. “I just wanted to, I don’t know. Say hi. I guess.”

Some of the anger simmering in Art’s gut fizzles out—he can’t help it. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” Patrick returns. His smile regains some sincerity and he drags his eyes over Art, appraising him. “You look good.”

Art huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, you, too, dude.”

“That’s what having a mattress will do for you.”

He says it jokingly, but at the same time it's a reminder—of Patrick’s years spent without him, of Art’s spent without Patrick, of the fact that Patrick was living out of his fucking car and doing drugs which is still an idea that Art can’t wrap his head around.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then Patrick says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, “I still can’t believe you had a kid, man.”

It’s not what Art’s expecting him to say, treading over another reminder of their separation, but Art hums and nods anyway. He isn’t sure how else to respond. There are some thoughts swirling around in his head, prospective replies piled up beside things he would never fucking say under any circumstances, the loudest of which is: I still can’t believe I had a kid without you, which Art understands is a very odd thing to think, so he mentally scratches it out and replaces it with: I still can’t believe I had a kid and you weren’t there, which he also understands is only marginally better.

Art casts a look around, checking the driveway and the street, and finds only his car parked up by the garage.

Patrick says immediately, like he’s reading Art’s mind, “Tashi picked me up today. My car’s in the shop, its—”

“Shitty, yeah,” Art finishes.

Patrick hesitates a split-second before laughing. “Yeah, it is,” he says. “I’m just going to get an Uber back to my apartment.”

Some deep-rooted urge to take care of Patrick, fostered by six years of living out Patrick’s pocket and Patrick living out of his, of pushing their beds together and operating in complete synchrony, compels him to say, “I can take you.” He pauses, then adds, “If you want.”

“Oh,” Patrick says. His eyebrows have shot up to his hairline, and he’s momentarily stunned into silence. Another unfamiliar occurrence. “Uh, yeah. I mean, yeah, if you don’t mind. Thanks, Art.”

tbc.

[yandere-avatar]

Yandere! Team Korra Headcanons

Wishing my friend a happy birthday! <3 [Even though he's kind of a loser]

You met Korra first, since she was the Avatar. You were smitten with her, but thought she was out of your league, so you didn't pursue

The next person you met was Bolin and he was sweet and quick to sweep you off your feet

You slowly become part of Team Avatar. You fit in well and Bolin makes it easier for you to fit in

When learning you are not a bender, Asami is quick to teach you how to defend yourself. Besides, you're dating boys who are brothers

You become very close and anyone can see it. In fact, Bolin becomes a little jealous and you both get into a fight

"Well, maybe we should break up!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" And then you leave, letting your words really sink into Bolin's mind. He knows he fucked up

You do eventually make up again, but you don't want to date him again

Mako didn't like you for a while, for hurting his brother's feelings, but once he spends some one on one time with you, a thought in the back of his mind appears. You were out of Bolin's league and maybe it was for the best you both broke up... Besides, he could probably treat you better anyway

He tries to get you to like him, even though he knows it's wrong

Bolin's not happy about it, but seeing you happy makes him all giddy and happy, so he let's go of his resentment. Though, he's still protective over you, so if his brother breaks your heart, he'll beat him up

Asami finds out you're dating Mako, even though you tried to hide it, because they used to date, but she seems okay with it-

Well, that's not true. You suspect she's jealous- But not because you're dating him, but because he's dating you?

She'll bring up bad things he did when she was dating him

"I just want you to have the best, because that's what you deserve and while he is my friend even after everything, I still think you deserve better"

Girl was out to ruin your relationship from the beginning

Though, Mako being Mako, he does end up fucking up the relationship on accident

He tried to apologize, but you couldn't forgive him

You found comfort in Asami, just like she wanted

You avoid dating her for a while, in fear of being a 'Homie hopper'

When you and Mako get back on better terms, you talk about it with him

He seemed okay with it, though he'd rather you be single, but he knows Asami, so you'll still be close to him, even if you date Asami

Korra was always sweet to you, but never anything that made you think she felt something special about you

You two are friends, but don't date, not until later, when she starts doubting her abilities

You're there for her and she gains an emotional attachment to you

She realizes she's in love with you, but you're dating Asami

Asami has been so good to her, just like you, so she couldn't betray Asami like that

Bolin and Korra are much more laid back and more willing to let you do as you please

You can get away with a lot more with them. Especially Bolin

Asami and Mako are stricter and restrict what you can and can't do

Mako is the strictest and you can't get anything past him

Asami wants you to like her and when realizing you get along better with Korra and Bolin, she tries to be more laid back

Though, when Korra gets hurt, you try and stay with her

She tells you no- The world needs protector, especially since she can't do it. She also doesn't want you seeing her like this. She feels weak and helpless

Korra is the only one who hides her feelings for you

The only way you find out is because she accidentally lets it slip to Asami

Asami is surprisingly open to the idea of a throuple

She knows that she can't always protect you, but Korra can. You'd always be safe if you were with Korra

They try and make you seem weaker than you are, because they all want to protect you

They know that something is wrong with them and with each other, but they find peace in that they all feel the same way for you. They love you, so who cares if other people don't understand- They do.

[hazelfoureyes]

Will you do more tidbits for The Safe Word Is Radioapple? I love the little bits of cuteness and plot in between! P.S. I love the way you write! It sweeps me completely into the story you’re telling and I only ever come back to reality when the fic ends! 🥹

Yes! I needed a break but I’m itching to return to our messy, fun, confused little throuple. I’ll probably return to it with a tidbit to get my sea-legs back. Hearing my work is immersive for you means a lot, it makes me feel really accomplished 😭

Referencing

⟢Lucifer x Reader x Alastor - The Safeword is RadioApple smut💦

Alastor would give you anything, all you had to do was ask. When you asked for Lucifer, he delivered. But after seeing just how much you enjoyed Alastor’s rough handling, Lucifer takes a turn and gets a little lost in the pleasure.

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

[artdcnaldson]

ohh noo cat you actually can’t do this to me… :/ pitcher art would most definitely chew gum to focus/keep his mouth occupied and batter patrick would eat sunflower seeds and somehow manage to catch your eye in the crowd as he spits them out OUGGH

what appears to be normal baseball signals relayed between them are actually broken up by secret codes that only the three of you know. like patrick stroking his cheek means art is going to sub that night or something 🤭🤭 and you have to act so normal in the stands even though you can feel your panties getting soaked with anticipation :(

pitcher art chewing gummmm 🥰🥰🥰🥰 and patrick spitting shells out onto the dirt is so hot to me uhhuhhgghhhhh

I need them both openly flirting with you from the field, and confusing the FUCK out of people in the process. One week it’s so obvious you’re Art’s girlfriend, you’re wearing a fucking Donaldson jersey, but then you’re kissing Patrick all messy outside a bar after the game??? But then there’s Art pulling you into a kiss from over the dugout after they sweep their opponent in the series ??? What the fuck???

Just messy public throuple dynamics that confuse everyone so bad!!! #needthat

[kindigo]

I’m throughly Team Throuple but the idea that Tarvek is Agatha’s boyfriend-in-law is sending me

Agatha Heterodyne, Gilgamesh Wulfenbach, and Tarvek Sturmvoraus (Girl Genius)

[astonmartingf]

you know what energy fernando alonso is giving? homewrecker energy. imagine dating mark webber or like jenson button, it doesn't matter because fernando alonso will come sweeping in, and it ends in a throuple? huh? do you see the vision?

[yanderecrazysie]

this request might be a little weird but yandere!bokuto x quiet!reader x yandere!akaashi where reader like to listen to music, coffee shops (yet proceeds to get tea or hot chocolate there), mangas, and dresses. could there be some fear in this too like the fear of the ocean and easily gets homesick.

also i love your writing its amazing and take as much time w this as you need🤍

- anon🥂💍

This sounds awesome- not weird at all! And thank you so much, you’re so kind to me! >3<

Title: Routine

Pairings: Akaashi Keiji x Reader; Bokuto Koutarou x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, reader has thalassophobia 

Summary: Akaashi and Bokuto have picked out the perfect place for you to live. Too bad you don’t agree…

routine

/noun/

a sequence of actions regularly followed.

You were a creature of habit.

You went to work and left when your shift was over. You visited a coffee place before and after work, but you never got coffee there. On Saturdays and Sundays, you spent a good chunk of your time there too, sipping away at a hot chocolate while music blared through your earbuds and you settled into your latest manga.

You also spent a lot of time at home, often doing the same things as you did at the coffee shop. Playing music while you cleaned and cooked, and curling up on the couch to read your manga. You were a homebody, but you enjoyed your time outside too.

You went shopping on Sundays and ate out on Saturdays. A little treat for how hard you worked during the week, no doubt. You got gas the moment your car started getting low and you cleaned frequently.

You liked to wear dresses and makeup, but not too much. Your dresses were nothing too fancy, almost casual and your makeup was light and natural.

You were fond of routines and anyone who knew yours could find you easily.

Stalk you easily.

Seriously, you made it way too easy for two people in particular to follow you around and watch you. Learn all the things that made you you. They knew everything mentioned and more.

Akaashi and Bokuto were best friends and shared many of the same interests- the most intense of which included you. They loved you deeply, but they didn’t know how to approach you with an offer like “date both of us, please”. It just wouldn’t work out.

Bokuto would overwhelm you, Akaashi was sure of that. And Akaashi would underwhelm you, as Bokuto liked to say. They were the unlikeliest of friends and even more so, potential romantic partners. There was no way you’d fall for either of them, much less both.

So they followed you. 

At first, they had convinced themselves that, if they just got to know you, they could woo you easily. Pretend to have all the same interests and bam! You’d be one happy throuple. 

They could claim to like all the mangas they’d seen you read. Claim to love that cozy little coffee shop where they, too, get hot chocolate. Claim to have the same taste in music.

But wouldn’t that be creepy? They realized that too. Akaashi could be subtle, sure, but Bokuto was not a good actor by any means. Too eager to please, they both knew too well.

Their minds turned to kidnapping a little too quickly. But, after all, they were stalking you. It was the logical next step for them both.

It’d be easy to sweep you away, considering how strictly you followed your routine and the fact that you lived alone. But there was the worry that they would have to keep you locked up, constantly worrying about being put behind bars and keeping you from becoming depressed.

They had an idea or, rather, Akaashi had an idea and Bokuto agreed. It was an awful, cruel idea.

But to them, it was a necessary one.

When you next woke up, you’d be in an unfamiliar bedroom in an equally strange house with even stranger men. You’d be frightened, sure, but you’d soon find it was easy to escape. They wouldn’t stand for keeping you locked or chained up, after all. 

While escaping their house was easy, escaping their small private island was not.

When you stared at the vast ocean, face drained of all blood, and swaying unsteadily, you end up looking back at the two men who casually followed you outside, wondering if they knew that you were deathly afraid of the ocean. That you’d never dare try to cross it or so much as wade your toes in it.

Only to be met with smug, knowing grins.

[thebawdybaldurian]

Halsin/Tav Week Day 1

This week of prompts comes at a great time, as my Tav and Halsin have been separated for a few chapters in my main fic and are just about to be reunited. I’m excited to get back to writing about by favorite bear. This is an edited excerpt from the next chapter I am working on. I’ve left out some of the Astarion-involved beats, just in case that isn’t your jam, but they are a throuple in my main fic.

Most of my Halsin shorts involve scent kink, so feel free to check those out in my archive, they will all be tagged with #Halsin.

Reunited (Scent Kink)

Content and Warnings: scent kink, oral sex, PIV sex (slightly rough), squirting, creampie.

Halsin Dry Humping Chapter

Halsin had been occupying his time at the inn reading, teaching the tiefling orphans some useful skills, and playing with Scratch and Hootles, the owlbear cub. He’d been trying to keep his mind off Tav while she was at Moonrise Towers, but was having a difficult go of it. He swore he could smell her scent one day, so he lingered by the bridge that led to the inn, hoping for any signs of the party returning. By mid-afternoon, between the cooking fires and heavy fog creeping in, the air was too clouded pick up much of anything else. He gave up waiting with a disappointed sigh and shifted to his owlbear form to run around with the animals. He had no smell in this form and nearly missed Tav’s arrival, but saw a clamor of people heading towards the lake. He shifted back to his elven form to ask what was happening. “A boat has been spotted on the lake, coming towards us,” one of the Harpers replied, taking up her sword.

“Foes or allies?”

“We don’t know,” the woman called as she ran towards the small docks.

Halsin sniffed the air, hoping to discover which. He caught Tav’s scent again, much stronger this time. It made him so excited, he involuntarily shifted to his bear form, bounding towards the lake. He chuffed the air as he ran, catching more of her smell as they drew closer together. He could smell others among her, unwashed and afraid, but he focused solely on her trail. Harpers and armed tieflings had stationed themselves on and around the small dock, who he narrowly avoided running into. There were a few screams and shouts as he ran past people, an excited growl rumbling in his throat.

Tav heard the commotion before she saw it, just off the boat and starting to help others off onto the dock. A large brown bear scrambled around the corner, letting out a happy bellow as their eyes met. Halsin shifted back right as he came upon her, taking her in his arms and sweeping her off her feet. “I’ve been smelling you all day. I thought I was going mad,” Halsin kissed her greedily, gripping her ass tightly. Tav kissed him deeply in return, the comfort of his sturdy arms making her melt. He’d managed to grow a slight beard in the short time they were apart, nearly rivaling Gale’s.

“We’d been doing circles in the lake half the day because of the fog before we finally spotted the Inn…I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured between kisses, brushing her fingers against the soft bristles on his face.

“I counted the seconds we were apart,” he finally set her down with a happy smile.

“How many was it?” She gazed up at him, still held tightly in his arms.

“Far too many,” he replied.

There were other happy reunions between couples, though none as public and passionate as theirs had been. Halsin pounced on Tav as soon as they’d gotten up to their room. “Wait,” Tav moaned as Halsin reached down to undo her pants. “You should hear the news first…good and bad.”

“Alright,” he nodded, his fingers still hooked impatiently under her waistband.

“Thorm has sent us to retrieve the Nightsong, so we know exactly where it is. And if he wants it, it must certainly be connected with the curse, right?”

“Not necessarily, but keeping it out of his hands will be a great benefit regardless. And the bad news?”

“Uhmmm, Minthara…the drow who held you captive…she survived somehow and made her way to Moonrise. Where they promptly imprisoned her.”

“Good,” Halsin nodded. “She’s very dangerous.”

“Except,” Tav paused, biting her lip. “I helped get her out…and she’s returning with the others on foot.”

“I see,” he nodded again, his expression remaining neutral. “And why did you do such a thing?”

“With the cult turning on her so quickly, she wants revenge. Now that she’s near the prism, she won’t be influenced by the Absolute anymore. She can provide us with useful information.”

“And you will trust what she has to say?”

“I’m not saying we let her have free rein at camp or even keep her alive after getting information out of her but…the cultists are planning to march on Baldur’s Gate. I know you have no love for the city, but it is my home. We need to find out everything we can.”

He nodded and smiled slightly, letting his fingers move up to rub along her hips. “I may not ever trust her, but I trust you…with all my heart.”

He kissed Tav deeply again, pulling her into another tight embrace. “Damn,” she pulled away with a heavy breath, his growing arousal pressing against her stomach. “I was kind of hoping you’d be mad at me…be a little rough and feral.”

He laughed, giving her ass a tight squeeze. “You only have to ask me for that.”

He picked up her hips with ease, carrying her and setting her down on the nearby dresser with a thud. He tore open the laces of her pants, breaking them in several places. He pulled her pants and underclothes down forcefully, leaving them around her ankles as he dove face first into her cunt. “Oh!” She cried as his tongue went straight between her lips, snaking inside her a little. She managed to kick off her pants and shoes completely as he ravenously licked and sucked upon her. He pulled one of her legs over his shoulder, giving him deeper access for his tongue to reach.

He was even more hungry than their first time together, barely taking a breath and leaving no spot on her delta untouched. She could barely contain her cries, holding onto the dresser as it rocked back and forth from his vigorous tasting. “Gods…Halsin! Oh!” She moaned, coming quickly from the long, forceful sucks on her clit. He didn’t stop there, however, adding his fingers to beckon more honey into his mouth.

She was hanging onto the edge of the dresser now, with both legs wrapped around his head. His beard tickled as he nuzzled against her, nibbling her between licks. He left teeth marks in her thighs, completely frenzied by her taste. “Fuck! Oh! Don’t stop!” She came again as he flicked his tongue inside her, the bridge of his nose pressed hard against her clit.

“Another?” He breathed hot against her sex, his hungry gaze catching hers. He could stay like this for hours if she wished it.

“Inside me, please,” she begged, leaning back against the dresser. He nodded, taking one last agonizing lick from her asshole up to her clit.

She untangled her legs from his shoulders and put them on the floor, waiting for him to undo his pants, slipping her shirt over her head. “You are more beautiful than my memories could recall,” he looked up at her as he unlaced himself, his cock springing free easily.

“I could barely sleep without you beside me,” she sunk down, letting him help guide her hips. “Fuck!” Her legs trembled as he eased just past her entrance. “Have you somehow gotten bigger?”

“Just more excited to see you,” he moaned, slipping further inside her. “I woke up throbbing every morning…but waited for you.”

“You did?” She huffed, slowing moving up and down his thick shaft.

“You asked me to,” he let out a slow sigh as he slid deeper inside her.

“Would you do anything that I asked you to?” She whimpered, circling her hips around him once she’d finally engulfed him to the base of his cock.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Then fuck me harder than you ever have before,” she looked him directly in the eyes, pulsing her muscles around him.

He gripped her hips tightly, moving her to the floor and pressing on top of her. She slid his pants past his hips, gripping his ass tightly. “Yes…just like this, my bear,” she moaned as he pushed her legs back against her chest, testing her flexibility. They sat on his shoulders as he pounded her hard in a full mating press, letting out low growls with each deep thrust. Her eyes rolled back as each thrust nudged against her g-spot, making her breath sharper.

“I need you,” he snarled, truly letting himself go as he fucked her harder.

She gripped his arms tightly, feeling the urgent, powerful sensation that she had yet to experience with him. “Oh Gods…fuck…fuck…fuck!” She screamed, forgetting all about the thin walls of the inn. Fluid rushed out around his cock, soaking the floor as she began to squirt. She shook so hard he thought for a moment that he might have hurt her, beginning to slow down. “No…please,” she begged, gripping his arms tighter, knowing there was more to come. “Don’t stop…come in me…right now.”

“Clataedre…my love,” he mewled her elven name, never feeling more desperate to come than in this moment.

He pressed his forehead against hers, pounding her with a few more thrusts before spending nearly a tenday of unfulfilled desire into her gushing canal. Their cries joined in harmonic ecstasy, echoing through the entire inn again. Lae’zel had wisely moved rooms before they’d left for Moonrise and the unfortunate tiefling couple who was now roomed next door went downstairs to make their own inquiry about switching. The two elves cooed and laughed as they caught their breath, lying together in the wet pool of their lovemaking. “Sorry,” she grinned as his knee slipped in their shared ejaculate.

“Don’t be,” he smiled, falling to one side of her and pulling her close. “I…haven’t been able to experience that with someone for a very long time.”

“It doesn’t happen a lot…but when it does…it’s a deluge.”

“One of nature’s wonders,” he nuzzled against her. “Do you…enjoy when I am…a little less gentle with you?”

“I like when you don’t hold back at all. I know that you would never hurt me,” she nodded, rasping her finger against his beard. It was still short enough that she would have a little bit of irritation on her thighs, but it was well worth it. “You are incredible.”

“You are all I’ve ever wanted,” he nuzzled down to her armpit, taking in more of her scent.

“That tickles,” she giggled, his nose and lips brushing against the delicate skin.

“Then it is unfortunate that you smell so good,” he continued to kiss and nibble her under arms, making her squeal.

[aluria-sevhex]

oooooooh i thought of an oc question. what fracphan character do you thikn has been the most underdiscussed and what's interesting about them

In terms of actual discussion, at least that's publicly available here on Tumblr, i'd argue most of them have been underdiscussed. The 'dollhouse' (Ademie, Meiloa, and Leassa) get most of it due to Ademie being the main character and the importance of Meiloa and Leassa to Ademie's... literally everything. Elliso has been discussed a little in response to an ask, but this question's answer is muddied by the fact that most of my discussion of FracPhan is in specific threads in a specific couple of Discord servers, one of which gets wayyyy more usage than the other. People in that thread can attest to how much random shit i think about in the process of development lol.

On Tumblr though it's mostly just the dollhouse, the one Elliso ask (again - in terms of discussion, not in terms of art. I could probably check to see who has more art posted of them.), and also there's a post about Pryalq but it was a quick thing that's more of a 'me saying random stuff that happens to be about Pryalq' than a Pryalqpost. As a result, I might end up making more in-depth posts on all of them, but for this one, I'll just list certain traits briefly.

My pick for who's the most underdiscussed overall, though, might sound like a really weird choice to those in the aforementioned thread(s): Faiyle. I was initially considering Raimvi or Sakhee because of difficulties I have writing them, but efforts to unpack and tackle those difficulties lead to discussion of them! Obviously it's not like I never talk about her, but she's in-between the extremes of 'I've been having a difficult time writing them and need to tackle that' and 'I have an easy time and therefore a LOT to talk about'. So she gets first dibs here!

-

Faiyle has an interesting relationship with the concepts of isolation and alienation. She used to be more social, but a sweep or so before the meteors she developed vitiligo. Not knowing what it is, she assumes that if she's caught she'll be culled. As a result, she wears clothes that cover up most of her body, and no longer uses stable housing - legally she still has her hive, but it's in a city. Too many interactions with other people, and she only needs to get caught once. She wanders the tunnels underneath the city and broader metropolitan area, walking between a few hidden 'nests' with her lusus.

She stopped interacting with new people and started attempting to engage in hostilities with her friends, hoping if they hate her then they won't have to mourn her. She's not very good at it, though, so they just think she became kind of annoying and dickish. Bad enough to strain their relationships with her without it being bad enough to completely cut her off. Visare, her best friend, knows she's bullshitting but doesn't know why and can't prove it to the others. In the process of trying to make everybody hate her she accidentally wound up in Alternia's most pathetic ashen throuple, held together entirely through none of the participants honestly communicating and Arelyn's acting skills. She is hemoloyal, and believes she is awful and selfish for not turning herself in to die.

All of this leaves her with a lot of baggage to unpack on Rebearth, including struggling to repair her friendships. When she wanted to isolate herself, she couldn't fully break her ties. Now that she wants to reintegrate, she can't help but still be more isolated. A rather unfortunate state of social liminality.

-

Lightning round!

Visare: The hazards of being an altruistic kid who did the math and decided healing others would be the best way to make his short lifespan mean something. Now he has a lot more life left than expected and is made of trauma, dissociation, and a fuckton of survivor's guilt. Somebody get this kid a sense of personal identity that isn't just being a vessel for the improvement of others' lifes NEOW.

Raimvi: Really interesting contrast between him as the hopeless romantic who genuinely loves his matesprit and wants a better future... and him as the hemosubversionist who thinks his matesprit is lesser than him, takes risks that are likely to result in more harm to lowblood communities in the long-term, and ultimately agrees with the premise that there has to be a hierarchy.

Steyat: I find religion really fascinating and Steyat's deal gets really into religion, culture, and what religion means to people. Especially since Steyat is going from an environment where her faith is actively persecuted to one where it's fairly mainstream. I also think it's interesting how Steyat has to deal with the fact that she was right - the apocalypse came, the end times happened! ...She's still here. Now what?

Arelyn: The tension that arises from being a tealblood... right in the middle of the castes that are alive on Alternia. She's not a lowblood, but she's also not a highblood. She's hemoloyal despite having a hemoanon matesprit. She yearns for higher status and is willing to befriend highbloods to get it. There's nothing wrong with wanting to befriend someone of course, but if you're a girl who gets close to a violetblood with a history of abusing girls close to him, that can get really dangerous really quickly.

Sakhee: I have thoughts brewing about his tendency towards defense and creation and how that interacts with him being transmasc and stealth (a trait i only recently gave to him!), + he's the only highblood of the group. He's the most capable of protecting the others BUT that means he feels like he's the only one who can. He personally likes to avoid overly risky behavior, but closest friend (in terms of trust) and his closest friend (geographically) are both doing shit that's super illegal, and he's unknowingly aiding the latter's activities.

>>Fun Sakhee fact since idk when I'll get a chance to mention it: he has some hearing loss because that's what happens when your preferred weapon type is guns and your planet doesn't understand the concept of "hearing protection". It's fine he's a highblood and can hear well enough to follow orders they probably won't bother culling him.

Oraini: I put her in the Beforan misogyny torment nexus. Her ancestor and lusus tried really hard to push a very traditional model of noble highblood extreme femininity on her, and she tried really hard to follow it but she just can't. Has internalized a lot of shit from it.

Pryalq: Also in the Beforan misogyny torment nexus except she's psychotic. And fat. A tall, fat, schizophrenic girl in Beforan high society. Nobody fucking listens to her so she started people-pleasing in response out of hopes they'll humor her. Sorry about the agonies girl, including the delusions and resulting fear that you're being frequently watched, an absolutely miserable trait to give to a character in an MSPFA. One of the characters I'm the most worried about reception of.

[impel-clown]

Cross Guild throuple prompt: AU with some Game of Thrones fusion. Buggy's evil guardian arranges for him to be married to not one but two fearsome warlords, Crocodile and Mihawk. Buggy is beside himself with terror, and when he actually meets his intended husbands it is a tense standoff where they don't say anything to him. When the wedding day comes, Buggy's terror only grows when he has to sail off with his new husbands for their island strong hold. However, terror becomes confusion when neither Crocodile or Mihawk actually do anything to him. In fact, they basically ignore him. Suddenly Buggy is super offended because he knows he's a catch. How's he gonna go about getting some answers out of his husbands and how are they gonna actually figure out actually being married before they are even in love?

Thank you so much for the prompt! What I originally thought up a few months ago as maybe a three chapter fic has turned into a fourteen chapter fic that I am so excited to share! First chapter should be posted next Sunday, but until then, here's a little snippet:

~~~

“So who are these men? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how coy you’ve been with the details. So come on now,” Buggy leans forward in his chair, plainly ignoring his father’s warnings to remove his elbows from the table. “Who are they?”

“Well,” his mother begins not meeting his eye. “The two of them are already wed to the other, though I am of the mind to see this as a boon rather than bane. Hopefully it indicates a solid foundation into which you will be entering. What else? Oh, one was once a knight. Isn’t that nice? I remember how you used to run around the halls swearing to anyone who would listen that one day your knight in shining armor would come and sweep you off your feet, seems that you were right.”

Buggy cannot help the red that rises to the heights of his cheeks. “Mother,” he hisses, glancing back to where his own knights thankfully have kept a straight face. “Please. Just- Who will I be marrying?”

“The other is an avid swordsman,” she continues as if she hadn’t heard him. “In fact he-”

Before his mother can continue dawdling, Buggy’s father finally looks up from his reports to interrupt. “You’re to marry Dracule Mihawk and Sir Crocodile. That is final.”

~~~

[thiquefunlover63]

You are at a xmas office party and you drink a little too much to drive home. Who is taking care of you? And who is jealous they didnt get to your first?

Oooooo this is a good one, because ya girl likes cocktails and those can take you down if you are not careful LOL

Taking care of me: I gotta go with my #1 CE! babe Steve Rogers! We could of had the same amount of drinks and they do not phase him one bit. He is just drinking them to be festive. With me, I am a bit louder, goofier (than I already am), and just a teeny be hornier (thanks increased sex drive) because my anxiety levels are down and I am feeling FREEEEEEEE!!! Steve sees me and laughs a little until a creepy & persistent co-worker tries to swoop in to shoot his shot with me. Steve looks more intently & with increased concern as I emphatically tell him HELL NAW, but he obviously does not take the hint. Steve walks fast towards me while being in Captain America mode and tell the co-worker to leave me alone. The co-worker does not listen to him, says something rude about me being drunk and that is when Steve slick loses it on ol' dude. He hems him up against the wall with his warm marble of an arm and says quietly & through gritted teeth, "The lady said no." The bi***-a$$ co-worker scurries off. I tell Steve a genuine Thank You, along with giving him a hug. That was kinda a mistake because, Clean up, aisle my panties! (thanks Gretchen from Bob's Burgers). Steve holds on to the hug a little longer than usual and offers to safely drive me home. After he does a little sweep of my house to make sure I am safe, because he still is kinda in Captain America mode, we say our good-byes. My drunkenness has decreased but I am still pretty bold in gently grabbing his arm (as sparks fly between us) and asking him to stay and...HE DOES!! Well you can imagine what happens next...😈❤️‍🔥😈❤️‍🔥Ya'll will deal the with consequences tomorrow. Tonight, he is all yours!!!

Jealous about not getting to me first: Surprisingly, I am going to go with Colin Shea. He may be a hoe (no judgies) on the outside, but while at work and around (sober) me he is a complete teddy bear. He's liked me for a while and plays it cool b/c we work together and he does not to make me feel uncomfortable at our workplace. Instead he finds random ways to get near me & talk to me about anything. Me, being oblivious, just sees him as being a kind & sweet co-worker. At the Christmas party, he also sees the same creepy & persistent co-worker trying to get me with me and make his way there to defend me, but he is too late as he sees Steve make it before him. Colin internally admits defeat because it is Steve friggin' Rogers and he knows he cannot compete. He evens likes the guy as a person & co-worker, he just knows he cannot match him, no matter how chivalrous he looks. Colin resigns to his fate and continues in the revelry. In that, he make a promise to tell his true feelings to you before the office shuts down for holidays.

Now, I know dating co-workers can be a bad idea and I would agree. In my fantasy world, I would have both of them, we would be in a throuple, with no job consequences because I deserve my cake and to eat it too! It's Steve Rogers & Colin Shea, come on!!

So how did I did I do @queenoftheworldisdead? 😁