#and are a nice break from thinking about politics
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loreandletters · 2 days ago
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Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Chick-Fil-A
The King, L’landis Plebarin, hadn’t stopped speaking. He stands ramrod straight, a large, obnoxious sword at his hip. The land behind him unfolds like a tapestry, a beautiful window into a world of fantasy. In Peter’s home, birds would dot the sky; here, there are dragons. They’re on the balcony of this prestigious building, so the view is high up and unobstructed. There’s no skyscraper to break up the horizon, or a thick smog to block it. 
The building they’ve climbed the steps of reeks of a strange otherness, enshrouded in a beauty that Peter has only known to be in ancient cathedrals and grand eastern temples. It’s beautiful, really. He’s sure they brought him up here to tempt him with their wealth, their beauty and fantasy. What a real fucking shame this King and his servants only know how to spew filth. 
“- and crush our enemies, who threaten our world.” 
Yeah, Peter had stopped listening after ‘we will gift you with slaves to own and women to conquer.’  
A high collared servant of some sort stood smugly by the Kings side, a polite smile scrawled across his wrinkled face. His too long robe fell into a puddle onto the floor, spreading out like a puddle of piss, except it floated before it could touch the stones beneath their feet. He wore another dress underneath, covering his feet, and Peter thought if magic was used so thoughtlessly, they might not be as stupid as they sound. Damn. There goes his punch-and-run plan.
The King stood confidently, his aged face warm with invitation. What a crime, for such a conventionally attractive man to be this vile. “What do you say, hero?”
Peter smiled, because sadly, he wasn’t the one with a giant sword on his hip or magic at his fingertips. “Your enemies, the Demons, are they the only ones I have to fight?”
“I wish it were so.” A weary look overcame the King. “Our land is surrounded by enemies. To the west, lay the Lipkons, who vie after our riches. Should we defeat them, I’m sure their Queen will make a valuable concubine.”
“Queen Kelamine is a proud woman, unnatural through and through. Worry not though, pride makes for feisty bed warmers,” the servant remarked. Fury burns begins to warm his skin, and Peter thinks how satisfying it will be to smack this fucker.
“They are a Matriarchy, the fools, so naturally they will be the easiest to fell.” The King rubs his chin thoughtfully.
“Right.” Peter agrees in pure habit alone. Strangely, this feels like dealing with an old customer, one who begins spewing the most ridiculous shit completely unprompted. He employes his usual coping method: a flat smile, a nod, and a dash of a desperate hope that he’ll get through it without getting yelled at. Fuck, it’s so annoying. He’d just finished with this shit not an hour ago, getting off a stupidly long shift with a line that just wouldn’t end. Fuck this old man and fuck Chick-Fil-A. 
“And then to the east, the dirty Halflings have made a kingdom of their own.” The King laughs like its a joke.
“A rabble of bandits more like, liege,” the servant says, “they are nothing to worry about. Built out runaway slaves and illiterate bastards.”
“Yes, we have nothing to fear from them,” the King agrees, “the North is ours, thankfully. The Dukes in charge had rebelled some time ago, but we have reasserted our control. Their heir resides here with us, so hence, the Northern loyalty is secure. And of course, the South is rife with the Demon Empire. So, yes Hero, we are in desperate need of your help.”
“I understand.” Peter closes his eyes. He’s cold, only standing on this balcony in his thin, red uniform. He hadn’t even been able to walk through the door of his apartment before all this shit. Couldn’t get iskeaied into a nice place, could he? Or any of the other kingdoms? Couldn’t be the east, or the west, or even the Demons - he had to get the sexist slavers, smack dab in the middle of the continent. No chance to run, no place to go.  What the fuck is his life.  
“So, Hero, will you take this challenge?” The King sounds confident, as if there’s no world in wich Peter will say no.
Fuck you, let me go home bitch, Peter thinks viciously, resentment bubbling up because this never should have been his problem. This man doesn’t even see him as a hero, just pawn in a really fucked up game. Kinda like Kaden, the power tripping bastard that thought being a manager of a round down fast food restaurant was equal to being god. Kaden only bothered to start acting nice when an audit came about. Fuck the King, fuck Kaden, and fuck Chick-fil-A.
“You’re asking a lot of me.” Peter grits out as politely as he can. Damn it all, just let me go home.
“You are right, what we ask of you is tremendous. But, know this, you were not summoned at random,” reverence emboldens the King Plebarin’s words, and Peter has to shove down the urge to scratch his face off, big fancy sword or not. “You were brought here for your strength, inwards and outwards. You may not believe in yourself, but I believe I do. You will be the one to save us, Hero. I know it.”
Oh, I’ll do more than that. Peter nods, more to himself then the king. Resolve slowed his heart,  quieting its rabbiting pace. Save you? Ha! I’ll be a hero, alright, just not yours.
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Peter bowed, his righteous fury and determination filling his chest, “it’ll be my pleasure.”
the king has a large problem. The hero that was summoned thinks slavery is "a bad thing" and women "should have rights"
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runariya · 1 day ago
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hi! is your prompt game still open? hehe
jungkook + 🎤🥂🥲🥰
gf!oc being invited to jk’s golden listening party and oc doubted herself if she is really meant to be on jk’s life (stuff like that) pls end it with a happy ending too 🥹
thank you! 🥹
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(idolverse+party+angst+fluff) part of the prompt game pairing: idol!Jungkook x gf!reader genre: idolverse, established relationship, angst, fluff warnings: self-doubt, angst, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.296
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It’s supposed to be a brilliant night. A massive one, if you’re being honest.
Jungkook’s “Golden” listening party is the talk of the industry, the kind of event people beg, steal, or sell their left kidney to get into. And you? You’re on the guest list. Not because you’re a big deal or anything, but because you’re simply his girlfriend.
That fact alone should have you over the moon. You should be buzzing to see him in his element, to be by his side, to celebrate the music he’s poured his heart into.
But you’re not.
You’re standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection, wondering for the hundredth time why on earth he wants you there, even if it should be obvious to you. 
You’ve gone all out tonight, found the nicest dress you could afford, done your makeup in a way that says “effortless” even though it’s taken you an hour. Your hair’s as good as it’s going to get, and yet, it’s still not enough.
You don’t look like the sort of person who belongs in his world.
You’ve seen the women who swarm around Jungkook, those effortlessly stunning types with legs for days, glossy hair, and flawless skin. The kind of women who don’t just walk into rooms; they fucking float. Who can chat with celebrities like it’s no big deal, who wouldn’t hesitate before striding into this party like they own the place.
You on the other hand? You’re not one of those. 
Standing here, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, stomach flipping at the thought of walking into that room. You feel like an imposter, like any minute someone’s going to clock that you don’t belong and politely, or not so politely, ask you to leave.
But your phone buzzes, ripping you momentarily out of your thoughts. 
Jungkook.
Can’t wait to see you, he’s texted, and there’s a little heart emoji tagged on at the end.
Your chest aches. You know he means it, he’s been so excited about this night, about sharing it with you. But there’s a voice in your head that just won’t shut up, no matter how hard you try.
Are you sure he really wants you here? Or is he just being polite, roping you in because he’s nice like that?
You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You can’t do this to him. You’ll go inside. You’ll smile. You’ll fake it if you have to. For him.
And indeed, the party is insane.
People are everywhere, dressed to the nines, dripping in designer everything. The music’s loud, the lights are low, and you swear you can feel the buzz in the air even though you haven’t had a sip of alcohol yet. 
It’s exciting, in theory. In practice, it’s overwhelming as hell.
You spot Jungkook right away, standing in the middle of a crowd that’s clearly there for him. He looks incredible, gold jacket, perfect hair, the works. He’s laughing at something someone’s said, his whole face lighting up in that way that makes your heart pump to its limit, and for a second, you just stare.
This is him. Your boyfriend. The man who texts you goodnight even after a 16-hour day, who steals chips off your plate, who sings in the shower when he thinks you’re not listening.
But this version of him? This superstar surrounded by models and influencers?
You don’t know how you fit into that picture, even after all these months. 
You linger by the door for longer than you should, trying to work out where to go, what to do. You feel out of place already, and you’ve barely even moved.
It’s like he can sense you, though, because suddenly, his eyes find yours from across the room. His face breaks into a smile, a proper, bright one that’s hopefully only reserved for you, and he excuses himself, weaving through the crowd to get to you, greeting everyone else in passing. 
“Hey,” he kisses you briefly, breathless but happy, taking your hand like he’s been waiting all night to see you. “You look amazing.”
You try to smile. “Thanks.”
He frowns a little, clearly picking up on your nerves. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” you lie.
He doesn’t look convinced, but before he can press, someone calls his name. He glances over his shoulder, then back at you, torn. “I’ll be quick,” he promises, squeezing your hand before disappearing again.
And just like that, you’re alone.
Time crawls. Or it just feels like it does.
You end up at the bar with a drink you don’t even want, keeping your head down like you’re hoping to blend into the wallpaper. It’s easier than pretending you’re confident, especially when everyone else here seems like they were born for this kind of thing.
Every time you look up, you spot Jungkook in the middle of another group, flashing that smile of his like he’s got the whole room wrapped around his finger. Which, to be fair, he does.
There’s a group of women around him now, all stunning in that effortlessly intimidating way. One of them touches his arm, leaning in close as she says something, and he laughs.
Your stomach drops to the floor, hard.
You know it’s stupid. You know Jungkook loves you, that he chose you, but sitting here, watching him shine in a room full of people who seem so much more fitting, it’s hard to believe it.
What are you even doing here?
You’re halfway through debating whether to leave when Jungkook reappears.
“Hey,” his forehead’s creased in concern. “What’s going on? You’ve been hiding.”
You shake your head. “Nothing. Just… needed a minute.”
“Don’t give me that,” he scolds softly, taking your hand. “You’re upset. Why?”
You hesitate, swallowing hard. “I just…” You glance around, lowering your voice. “I don’t think I should be here.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Look at this place, Jungkook,” you try to explain, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Look at you. You’re in your element, and I’m just… me. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with you.”
Saying those words feels freeing in a way you haven’t expected, but when you finally lock eyes with him, his expression makes your heart crumble.
“You don’t believe that,” he tries, his voice low, like he’s willing you to agree.
“I do,” you admit, tired, desperate. “You could have anyone in this room. Anyone, Jungkook. Why… why me?”
He stares at you for a second, then, before you can even process what’s happening, he grabs your hand a bit tighter and pulls you right into the middle of the room.
“Jungkook, what are you—”
You don’t get to finish.
Jungkook cups your face, tilts your chin up, and kisses you.
It’s not a quick kiss, either. It’s a kiss that makes people stop and stare. A kiss that says, in no uncertain terms, that you’re his.
When he pulls back, you realise the room has gone quiet, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care. His hands are still on your face, his thumbs brushing your dusted cheeks as he looks at you with his loving boba eyes.
“Does that answer your question?”
You can’t think, let alone speak, so you just nod.
“Good,” he nods right back, his lips twitching into a smile. “Because I don’t want anyone else. I never have, and I never will. You’re it for me, alright? So stop thinking you’re not enough, because you are. You’re more than enough.”
Silver lines your lashes, but you manage to laugh, shaky as it is. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, leaning in to kiss your lips right again, “you bring it out of me.”
And for the first time all night, you let yourself believe it.
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esinofsardis · 2 years ago
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No matter how horrible the world seems, Tier Zoo makes me smile
also the 90s nostalgia music
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nothingunrealistic · 2 years ago
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QUERIDO EVAN HANSEN
TALLER DE 3° ITM, PRACTICAS DE INTERPRETACIÓN EN EL TEATRO MUSICAL 21/22
this is a delight… obviously the production values aren’t the highest but many fun acting and staging choices here, especially the four evans, and i’m impressed that they managed to incorporate the anonymous ones and hiding in your hands without cutting songs
#is that legal? probably not but i doubt any other element of this is. think they also ripped some ywbf projections right from the movie#dear evan hansen#don't know spanish well enough to comment on most of the nuances of the translation but i can tell they cut some dialogue#e.g. the “nothing unrealistic” lines from sincerely me; the lines about dana p from evan and alana's act 1 conversation;#some of jared & evan's dialogue about the connor murphy memorabilia market; squip connor dissing jared;#alana offering jared the role of treasurer or secretary; “great idea evan” / “thank you jared” / “no sweat”;#cutting off sincerely me reprise after the first four lines??? and cutting some dialogue there and in the following heidi scene;#the lines about evan's dad in to break in a glove; evan and zoe joking about a kegger; “wonder of wonders miracle of miracles”;#heidi & cynthia & larry's wine discussion; the chicken milanese; the sulu/sula confusion; some of evan and heidi's pre-gfy fight;#alana's comment about evan dating zoe; a few lines in the scenes around for forever reprise and words fail; & the pottery barn discount#evan & jared's spanish project becomes an english project quite appropriately; heidi now says “fuck” after the gfy fight which i love#and zoe's line of “i didn't realize you were actually capable of saying something that wasn't nice” gets turned into#something that ends in “politically correct” instead of “nice” which is a fascinating change#don't love the audience laughter at the dialogue around the anonymous ones given that it's not supposed to be funny#but it sure does speak to the quality of that dialogue compared to the text of the original stage show#also there is clearly a tumblr post in the ywbf projections lmao. may make this the only version of the show to acknowledge tumblr
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mortalfollies · 1 year ago
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thinking about gender thinking about fatness thinking about stuff and thinking about how easy i have it as a skinny white gnc woman and wondering why it is not easy for other skinny white women and gnc women and why they seem to think the barbie movie is a rallying cry for feminism lol.
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southislandwren · 1 year ago
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So basically I’ve been spreading the phrase “silly quirky” around my department kind of to show that we all have little quirks and it’s okay to be different, and people have adopted it and generally use it in good faith, but I have a theory (with good evidence) that the freshman just genuinely does not like autistic people, and it’s making me really bummed out since she’s one of my close friends :(
#there’s this guy that’s almost definitely on the spectrum because he’s just like me fr and we get along really well#and he left for class and freshman IMMEDIATELY went ‘he’s always creeped me out. he’s so weird’#girl how can you say that about him :( he’s just living his life and getting a degree like us#and another guy joked about freshman being ‘low functioning’ (bad joke. i know. but this is SD it’s just part of life here)#and she got soooo bent out of shape about it. she really crossed a line from ‘joking’ to straight up micro aggressions (dude is black)#and idk. it’s rich coming from her because she’s ADHD and she should really be on our side#but like. sure tease and bully the people who are silly quirky.#i think I’m going to call her out soon bc I’m reaching my snapping point#yes I’m feeling like this because she was mean to my crush and called him creepy#but also she complains and is mean nonstop. i feel like I need to stop that before someone gets hurt#and it’ll probably be one of the silly quirky people who breaks first.#it would feel sooo good to be like ‘you know what? you’re being a bully right now and I’m not going to tolerate that.’#and then get up and leave. or say something like when was the last time you said something nice about someone?#honestly she depends on me quite a bit for schoolwork help. so I think if i refuse to help her it’ll really drive my point home#but idk. i sit next to her in class 4x a week so it would be awkward#i mean I am perfectly capable of being nice and polite despite how I’m feeling#but I don’t think she’s capable of that. luckily though I have a good reputation with our profs#and she is slowly digging herself a grave. we’ve all watched them slowly get more tired of her shit#the snarky comments during class. the joking around at inappropriate times.#like if this comes to a head I’ll come out on top due to pure reputation let alone my anti-bullying stance#idk. im thirsty and then i gotta go to bed#we’ll see what happens tomorrow but I think im done listening to her shit talk people#diary post#oh also she found out who my crush is on (because she was being mean to him) and she was like you told religious friend before me?? :(#like take a step back and look at how you’re reacting. you told me to stop having a crush on him because he’s creepy and weird.#religious friend was supportive and offered to give me his number.#she thinks she’s so important to me but honestly after I graduate I’ll probably only talk to her like twice a year or whatever#idk. now IM being the bully and that’s not cool of me. I’m just frustrated I think and I’ll be better tomorrow#(also advisor said I was ALWAYS on his good side so huge win for me ❤️❤️❤️❤️)#(and he said I’m not being manipulative by being nice to people I’m not really a fan of. so suck on that freshman 🖕)
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trashbatistrash · 1 year ago
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gromlyn · 2 months ago
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as someone who went to a private christian high school this perfectly describes multiple kids I went to school with all I'm saying is private christian high school is the perfect modern au setting if you're looking for a setting that captures systemic abuses of power like westeros
i am pretty anti asoiaf modern aus bc they seem to exist to remove any problematic content. this is why my modern au where larys is a school shooter and alicent is a pro life bible thumper is way better and different. plus american high schools love to reward homophobic and misogynistic repressed hot guy cops so it’s an au where criston always comes out on top
#alicent is the girls chaplain has been since she got elected sophomore year 4.0 gpa top of her class golden girl#she helps organize a school trip to the march for life and is just. aggressively a white evangelical christian#she comes across as mature and grounded to like. the adults in her life and most* of her classmates#that's mostly a front to compensate for immense self-loathing and guilt (purity culture)#most* meaning there are kids she Does Not Like and she makes sure to make their lives marginally worse#she's not super overt about it bc she has an image to uphold so its mostly her being a snitch to her dad otto the ap gov teacher#definitely homophobic but thats mostly a cope to compensate for her occasional gay thought#naturally she feels a lot of frustration and resentment for her environment/the people around her but#bc shes in a repressive conservative religious space where perfection is expected of everyone but her specifically#she has no real way of working through her emotions and takes everything out on people she perceives to be lesser than her#shes definitely the kind of christian girl who is super nice to your face but talks mad shit behind your back and then denies it#she is a product of her environment and will probably get better when she gets to deconstruct+go no contact w otto+come out in college#criston on the other hand is the captain of the football team boys chaplain popular guy he is king of the school. he is thriving#is this his peak? yes. does he realize this? no.#he does not know these are his glory days because#he dated rhaenyra (headmasters daughter) for like two weeks freshman year and she dumped him right b4 homecoming#mostly so she could go with harwin the new transfer from the local all boys catholic school#criston never lets this go and as a result never has a normal relationship bc all the girls in their grade know hes hung up on rhaenyra#he and alicent wind up dating junior/senior year but that's mostly a political maneuver so they can win prom king/queen#under normal circumstances theyd probably be great friends but once again. theyre in a such a toxic environment#that their relationship is 100% superficial. just a means to and ends socially. for alicent at least#criston on the other hand is convinced hes found his high school sweetheart future tradwife#they break up like 3 days after graduation and criston immediately joins the military#and larys? larys is the nerdy kid who snitches to the principal in exchange for special privileges (tormenting his peers)#he gets expelled when he gets too cocky and the art teacher overhears him telling his classmates hes gonna bring a gun to school#(<- based off something that happened at my hs)#I am so sorry about the wall of tags but I started thinking and could not stop.#hotd au#<- so I can come back and maybe draw this..
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loriache · 8 months ago
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"I've been waiting for ages for somebody to unmask them."
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This moment tends to elicit negative reactions in a first read through, and I've got some opinions about why where Kabru is coming from here actually makes a lot of logical sense. So I thought I'd elaborate on that.
I think people hear this and go, "He thinks they must be hiding something because they gave money to someone? What a cynic." Or "he dislikes them because they did charity?? What's wrong with this guy!". And obviously, a lot, a lot is wrong with him. But I think this makes more sense than it seems at first glance! What people evaluating this judgement miss is why Kabru is paying attention to Laios and co to begin with.
Kabru knows of the Touden siblings because (he's a little bit of a stalker-) he is keeping an eye on all the relevant parties in events developing on the island, in order to be able to guide them to his preferred outcome. This includes adventurers because they are the ones actually exploring the dungeon! He's well aware that something as minor as internal tensions between party members could be key to the historical events that are developing. (He would love the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.)
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His desired outcome is that whatever the rewards are of breaking the dungeon's curse, whether that's kingship or the ancient elven secrets of dungeons, are claimed by:
A) a short lived person
B) Someone who will be a good, effective leader and/or use those secrets and the power they carry wisely, with foresight, and to establish a political bloc for short lived people.
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The person he can best trust to do this is, of course, himself. But due to his PTSD regarding dungeons and monsters, he's not able to develop the necessary skills to conquer the dungeon. Once he realises this, he starts looking for someone else who he can support to that end.
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But most of the adventurers don't have any intentions of conquering the dungeon, don't have the skills, or are unsuitable in other ways. In fact, it seems like some potentially suitable people are the Toudens. There are a lot of good rumours about them going around - they actually seem to have a very positive reputation! That's what Kabru means when he says "unmask".
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So when Kabru is observing something like them giving money to an old comrade from their gold-peeling days, he doesn't consider it a problem because "they're giving money to this person who doesn't actually need it" or because they must have some dark secret if they act superficially nice. I think he actually understands this situation and what it implies about Laios (in particular) perfectly well.
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Laios and Falin gave money to an old comrade who got injured and couldn't work. That person then healed up but kept taking their money. Then he used the money to start smuggling illicit goods to the island.
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The key is that for Kabru, the problem here is the same as with the corpse retrievers - people using the dungeon's resources to fuel dangerous, selfish, or violent pursuits cause problems for the island, attract more criminals and people with motives other than breaking the curse, and increase the chances of the whole situation ending in tragedy.
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Kabru is willing to work with the Shadow Lord of the island if it gets him to his goal - he isn't scrupulous - but the criminal element of the island increasing is something he sees as a major issue.
Also, when you're evaluating someone as a candidate for power, riches, secrets, potentially kingship - then being curious about how the money you give to people is going to be used is kind of a relevant trait!
Interpersonally, Kabru's actually very easygoing - I mean, Mickbell isn't exactly an upstanding guy, is he! But Kabru likes him and they get along well. These traits wouldn't be a problem at all in a friend, or a comrade, or someone Kabru was confident he could use. But he can't get a handle on Laios, and Laios is someone who has the potential to be a major player!
On Laios' end, this is the same as with the marriage seeker who joined their party. She kept asking for things and he gave them to her, because he tries to be nice to others. He even gives her money! It's the exact same thing.
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That's fine, but it became a problem because he basically wasn't interested in her motives, didn't notice she was trying to manipulate him, and it also didn't occur to him that the other party members would notice or be affected. We can assume the situation with the gold peeler is the same. When Kabru says that "It's not that they're bad people, they just aren't interested in humans," he isn't wrong.
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The extent to which this is true of Laios is linked to his autism imo, (because it isn't just disinterest - he genuinely isn't able to notice nonverbal cues that people are lying to him or have ulterior motives) but to a greater or lesser extent I think it's a very common trait. Most people aren't actually that interested in other people who aren't close to them. Kabru is the weird one here. It isn't an issue except as a leader - which is why we see an immediate comparison to the Island's Lord, because that's how Kabru is evaluating them.
And disinterest in/lack of ability with people to the extent Laios exhibits it, it does, actually, make him a worse leader... it's just that as we see in the story, people can help him out. The rest of the party tell him the marriage seeker is taking advantage of him so he tells her he can't give her special treatment anymore. They're pissed and it's a crisis point - he couldn't have recovered their trust without Marcille and Falin - but that's exactly the point. With Marcille and Falin, he was able to recover their trust.
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And he has other good traits that make up for it, such as his intelligence, strategic knowledge, open-mindedness and sense of fairplay.
Kabru doesn't disqualify Laios as a candidate based on what he sees about him from afar, though - he still tries very hard to get close to him, obviously hoping that if he manages he can steer Laios to defeat the dungeon and make up for his lack of people-skills in the aftermath. (Which... he does eventually achieve that goal!) He completely fails until the events of the story, so... definitely I think "They just aren't interested in humans" could also partially be a stung reaction to Laios' complete disinterest in him.
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Anyway, that's my read on what exactly Kabru's "issue" with Laios is. Obviously, once he does find out what Laios' true nature is like - about his love for monsters - he develops an entirely new set of fears about Laios' priorities. But since Laios kept that a secret until the start of the story, he has no idea of that yet.
Given all that, I think it's interesting that he says that he doesn't think that the Toudens are suitable to defeat the dungeon, and that he's hoping they'll turn out to be the thieves. As some of his few potential candidates, people who he thinks may play a big role in the island's future, you'd think he'd hope they would be good people!
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I suppose it's better, in his eyes, because it means that he's involved in something "interesting". They haven't just had their stuff stolen by regular criminals (boring, puts them further away from his goal) - they've been caught up in the beginning stages of "a historic event". The desperate and dwindling group forgetting morals in their quest to retrieve their lost comrade probably appeals to his sense of melodrama. Because he also just... loves drama.
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Despite it being "uglier than anything he was expecting", he still pursues Laios as the person he wants to conquer the dungeon pretty much as soon as it becomes clear that he won't be able to do it himself and they are out of time. That's because... well, to be fair, there aren't any other options. And he fits standard A: he's short-lived!
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and Kabru still hopes he can fit standard B, too, and be persuaded to use the power he wins for good. No matter how many nightmares he has about Laios, or whether he thinks about killing him. He doubts him, but ultimately he puts his faith in him and seems happy after the manga's ending that he made the right decision.
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simonsrileyhusband · 3 months ago
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requested on dm, nsfw:
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you fidget with the case of your phone as you wait for simon to arrive, you politely nod and smile to your coworker who wouldnt leave you alone, his mouth never shutting and his unwanted flirting still going, even when you have told him multiple times that you have a boyfriend. (one that could break every bone of his body if he wanted to)
"so, where is that boyfriend of yours?"
"on his way..."
"maybe he left you sweetheart, i could take you home if you like~"
you take a step to the side, trying to be as far from him as you could. a smile forming into your face when you hear the loud engine of simons bike parking infront of you.
"sorry lovie, traffic got bad."
you dont say anything, just rush into his arms that wrap around you immediately, he is scanning the situation, his eyes landing on that guy you keep bickering about, his blood boils and he sees him stare at you, if he could he would punch him in the face until he can't smile amymore... but he likes visiting you at work, so he has to think of something else.
"lets go home~"
simon helps you put on your helmet and makes sure your arms are wrapped properly around his torso.
the ride home is nice and quiet, and once you arrive he holds your hand all the way to the apartment. once he closes the door he will take off your jacket, put down your backpack, make you lay on the bed, take off your shoes. his body on top of yours, leaving sweet kisses on your face as his hands rub your waist.
"why so lovey-dovey simon?"
"wanna make you feel good... let me, please"
you nod and kiss his cheek, his bulky hands unbuttoning your shirt, taking it off gently.
"you are mine, you know that, right?"
"yes simon, is everything all right?"
he growls into your neck, kissin and bitting on it.
"mine, mine, mine..." he will whisper as he leaves red marks all over your neck and chest, his hands cupping and gripping all over your body.
"ill make sure he doesnt bother my baby anymore" down went your pants and underweare, simon made sure to make you feel good... really good, he didn't stopped until you were a mess under him.
the next day, when he dropped you off at work, he took off his helmet, grabbed you by the waist and kissed you infront of your (shitty) coworker, your pretty cheeks red, and a little hickey picking over your button up, a proud smirk grows on simons face when you wave at him as you enter the building.
his loving stare and smile drop to a killer gaze, staring at that excuse of a man until he runs into the building.
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pucksandpower · 10 months ago
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That’s Not My Name
Toto Wolff x wife!Reader
Summary: in which people assume you are everything except for your husband’s wife
Warnings: mentions of a significant age gap
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The Daughter
You take a deep breath as you step through the paddock, clutching your pass tightly in your hand. The noise and energy of the Formula 1 weekend thrums around you. You’ve never been to a race before, and it’s all so new and overwhelming.
When Toto invited you to join him for the British Grand Prix, you were hesitant. This stage of your relationship is still so new — you’ve only been married a few months. But Toto was insistent. He wants you by his side.
Still, you feel out of place among the teams and journalists. You’re just a normal girl, plucked from obscurity by a man twice your age. What must they all think of you?
You arrive at the Mercedes garage and glance around nervously. The mechanics are bustling about, focused on their work. You spot Toto across the garage, talking intensely with his drivers. He looks stressed, his brows furrowed as he discusses strategy. This high pressure environment is his domain, but it’s foreign to you.
Toto glances up and notices you hovering near the entrance. His face breaks into a smile and he quickly excuses himself from his conversation to come greet you.
“Mein liebchen, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You cling to the solidness of him, drawing comfort from his familiar embrace.
“I wasn’t sure I should come,” you say softly, glancing around. The mechanics are staring curiously. You know how it must look — their team principal hugging an unknown woman half his age.
Toto cups your face gently, “I want you here. This is your world now too. Don’t worry what anyone else thinks.”
You bite your lip but nod, trusting in him. If Toto believes you belong here, then you do.
He tucks you under his arm and leads you further into the garage, introducing you to his team. They greet you politely, hiding any surprise or judgment. You know you’ll have to win them over, prove that you’re more than just Toto’s midlife crisis.
A sudden commotion draws your attention across the paddock. The Red Bull Racing team is gathered around the entrance, greeting their team principal enthusiastically as he arrives. Christian Horner is holding court, shaking hands and clapping shoulders.
You tense involuntarily. The rivalry between Mercedes and Red Bull is legendary, with Christian often attempting to get under Toto’s skin. You don’t know how he’ll react to you.
As if sensing your thoughts, Toto tightens his arm around you. “Don’t worry about him,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”
But you can’t relax as you see Christian look your way, his gaze sharp and assessing. He says something to his team and begins walking towards the Mercedes garage. Your heart sinks. There’s no avoiding this confrontation.
“Toto!” Christian calls out jovially as he approaches. “I see you’ve brought a special guest this weekend.”
Toto presses his lips together but forces a polite smile. “Yes, I wanted her to experience her first race weekend. Christian, meet Y/N, my wife.”
You extend your hand nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Christian raises his eyebrows, blatantly looking you up and down. “Your wife? My, they do start young these days.” His tone is patronizing.
You blush deeply, humiliated. But Toto comes to your defense.
“I’d appreciate if you leave her out of our rivalry,” he says sharply. “She has nothing to do with it.”
Christian holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get defensive! I just didn’t realize you had gotten hitched again. And to someone so … fresh faced. She could be your daughter!” He chuckles.
Your face burns. You hate Christian for putting voice to that thought. You know people judge you and Toto for your age difference. Hearing him joke about it so callously stings.
Toto steps forward angrily but you grab his arm, silently begging him not to cause a scene. He takes a deep breath, struggling to contain his temper.
“It was lovely to meet you, Christian,” you say as evenly as you can manage. “I do hope you’ll have a good weekend.”
Christian looks surprised by your composure. He nods farewell and heads back to the Red Bull garage, throwing one last smirk over his shoulder.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Toto turns to you. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says earnestly. “Christian is an ass. Don’t let him get to you.”
You shake your head, swallowing back tears. “It’s fine, I knew people would think those things about me … about us ...” you trail off miserably.
Toto cups your face in both hands. “Look at me. None of that matters. He can think what he wants. But I know who you are. You are my heart, my present, and my future. No one can take that away, not even Christian bloody Horner.”
You give a watery laugh at his vehemence and he kisses your forehead tenderly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him, finding your courage again. “I want to be here.”
Toto smiles proudly and laces his fingers through yours. “Good. Let’s show them we’re not going to hide. I want you here, where you belong.”
Holding hands firmly, you walk with your head held high back into the bustling garage. Let them stare and whisper. You know your place is here with Toto. No judgment or rivalry can change that. This is your world now.
The Assistant
The day has been a whirlwind so far. After the confrontation with Christian Horner, you tried your best to settle into the hectic swing of pre-race preparations. Toto has been swept up in strategy meetings and sponsor obligations. You trail along behind him, clutching your paddock pass, trying not to get in the way.
During a rare free moment, Toto turns to you. “Why don’t you go exploring for a bit? Get a feel for the place. I need to take this call but I’ll come find you soon.”
You nod uncertainly. Venturing off alone makes you nervous, but you want to prove to Toto you can handle this new world.
You wander toward the garages housing the Formula 2 teams. The cars are lined up, mechanics hovering over them making final tweaks and adjustments. You watch them work, enthralled by their practiced movements.
“Are you lost?”
You turn to see a mechanic frowning at you. He’s from one of the backmarker teams, a lower budget operation.
“Oh no, just looking around,” you stammer self-consciously.
The mechanic’s eyes drop to your pass. “Ah a VIP pass eh? Who are you with?”
“Oh um Mercedes ...” you trail off awkwardly.
His eyebrows raise, impressed. “Posh. You must be Toto’s new assistant then?”
You freeze, the old insecurity rising. Assistant. Because why else would someone your age be hanging around the Mercedes garage? You want to correct him, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t want to make a scene.
So you just nod and mumble something noncommittal. The mechanic looks sympathetic.
“First race weekend is it? They can be chaotic. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Who knows, if you impress the boss, you might get to travel full time!”
He means it kindly, but his words dig into your wounds. You give a thin smile. “Thank you, I appreciate the advice.”
You turn away before he can respond, a lump forming in your throat. No matter what Toto says, people will make assumptions about you.
Lost in thought, you wander toward the bustling fan zone. It’s a sea of colors, supporters wearing their favorite team’s kit. You pass unnoticed, just another face in the crowd.
The roar of an engine makes you glance up. The Formula 2 cars are being pushed out of the garage, heading for the grid. You hurry over, eager to get a closer look.
A harried looking engineer nearly runs right into you, focused on his tablet. “Oh, sorry, excuse me.” He does a double take. “Hey, you’re Toto’s new assistant right? I saw you with him around the paddock earlier.”
Your heart sinks. Word has spread. You open your mouth to correct him but he barrels on.
“Listen, I hate to do this, but any chance you can help me out? My usual assistant called in sick and I’m swamped. I just need someone to hold these and stand with the engineers during the race. You’ll get a front row view of the start!”
He looks at you pleadingly. You hesitate, but his need seems genuine.
“Um, sure, I can help,” you say.
“You’re a lifesaver!” He exclaims, piling several tire blankets into your arms. They’re heavier than you expected. “Just follow me.”
He leads you onto the grid and you get swept up in the controlled chaos, focusing on not dropping the blankets. The cars pull into position around you. The engineer directs you where to stand and you end up right against the barrier, the engines roaring just feet away.
Your heart races with excitement. The start is exhilarating, the cars peeling away in a blur. You forget your insecurities for a moment, lost in the thrill of the race.
The checkered flag waves and the engineer finally relieves you of the weight in your arms. “Thanks so much for your help! I really appreciate it ...” he pauses. “Actually I don’t think I got your name?”
You open your mouth but a familiar voice interrupts. “There you are!”
Toto appears through the crowd and pulls you into his arms. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Are you alright?”
He notices the engineer standing there awkwardly. “Can I help you?” Toto asks coolly.
“Nope, we’re all good here. Thanks again for your help,” the engineer nods at you and disappears into the dispersing crowd.
“What was that about?” Toto frowns. “Why was he giving you tire blankets?”
You sigh, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on you again. “He thought I was your new assistant. He needed help so I said yes.” You shrug helplessly.
Understanding flashes across Toto’s face and he swears under his breath. “I’m so sorry, I never should have left you alone. I should have made things clearer who you are.”
You shake your head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind helping out, really.” But your voice wavers, betraying your hurt.
Toto cups your face gently. “No, it’s not okay. You are my partner, my equal. Not my assistant. I need to show people the extraordinary woman you truly are.”
His faith bubbles up your own courage. You straighten your shoulders, looking him in the eye.
“Then let’s go show them. I’m not hiding anymore. Take me where I belong, right by your side.”
Toto kisses you fiercely. “With pleasure, meine liebchen.”
He tucks you under his shoulder proudly. You keep your head high as you walk back through the paddock, passes reflecting in the sun. Let them stare and whisper. You know where you belong.
The Trespasser
A few months later, you’re starting to find your stride. Each race weekend poses new challenges, but with Toto by your side you’re learning to navigate the hectic world of motorsports.
The Mercedes team has slowly warmed up to you as well. Seeing how happy Toto is has softened their skepticism. You pitch in where you can — bringing freshly baked pastries and trying to make yourself useful. Having a purpose eases your lingering insecurities.
The Singapore Grand Prix means a sweltering heat that makes the paddock sticky and humid. The stuffy garage offers little relief so you wander outside hoping for a breeze. You end up in the fan zone, mingling with supporters visiting the various team merch shops and activities.
You chat with a few enthusiastic young fans, gently deflecting their eager questions about Toto and the team. Despite the heat and crowds, their passion for the sport is contagious and you find yourself smiling.
Toto texts that he needs you back at the garage, so you reluctantly leave your anonymous conversations and make your way through the paddock. As you draw closer to the Mercedes garage, you realize your pass has gone missing from your lanyard.
Your heart sinks. The passes grant crucial access and you don’t want to cause problems. But the garage is just ahead so you decide to explain yourself once you’re inside.
Slipping through the open door, you immediately spot Toto in the back. As you weave between bustling mechanics, a hand grasps your shoulder.
You turn to see one of the newer Mercedes mechanics frowning down at you. “What are you doing in here?” He demands. “This area is restricted.”
Flustered, you try to explain about your missing pass. But the mechanic’s stern expression doesn’t waver.
“How did you get in? I know all the team members but I haven’t seen you before.” His eyes narrow suspiciously.
Other mechanics have noticed the confrontation and start drifting over. You shrink under their doubtful gazes.
“I, uh, I’m Toto’s ...” you stammer, but the mechanic cuts you off.
“A likely story. Every race some starry-eyed fan tries to sneak in for an autograph or photo. You picked the wrong garage for that. Come on, let’s go.”
He takes your arm in a firm grip. Your protests fall on deaf ears as he escorts you briskly outside.
To your dismay Toto is occupied with an intense conversation, his back turned. No one intervenes as the mechanic marches you away from the garage and into the paddock.
“I don’t know how you got in here, but I’ll be reporting this. We can’t have unauthorized people wandering around restricted areas.”
You tug uselessly against his hold, trying to explain it’s all just a misunderstanding. But he remains stoic, unmoved by your pleas.
Other teams and drivers are staring now as he parades you past. Your face burns with humiliation at the thought of causing a scene or being accused of lying.
In a stroke of luck, you spot Lewis heading towards the Mercedes motorhome ahead. He knows you, surely he can clear this up!
You call his name desperately. “Lewis, Lewis! Help, please!”
Lewis turns, confusion clouding his features. But then he recognizes you and his brow furrows.
“What’s going on here?” He asks sharply, striding over.
The mechanic snaps to attention, clearly intimidated to be addressed by Lewis directly.
“I caught this girl sneaking around the garage! She claims to know Toto but it’s obviously a ruse to get access. I was just escorting her out.”
Lewis looks incredulous. “This is Toto’s wife, mate. She’s supposed to be there.”
The mechanic gapes, his authoritative air dissipating. “His wife? But she’s so young ...” he glances at you uncertainly. “My apologies, ma’am, I didn’t realize. We have to be vigilant about security.”
You shrug off his now-slack grip. “It’s fine, just a misunderstanding,” you mumble, face still burning.
Lewis places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you back where you belong.”
He leads you away from the shrinking mechanic back toward the Mercedes garage. You feel tears pricking your eyes.
“Thank you, Lewis,” you say shakily. “I tried to explain but he wouldn’t listen ...”
“Don’t worry about it. That guy is new around here, still learning the ropes.” Lewis pats your shoulder consolingly.
You nod, trying to brush it off. But the encounter left you rattled. Will there always be those who see you as an outsider?
Lewis seems to sense your swirling doubts. “He was just new. The team knows you well by now. Stuff like this will stop happening once the rest get used to you being around.”
You want to believe him. You’ve tried so hard to find your place here.
As you near the garage, Toto comes rushing out, scanning the paddock anxiously. His shoulders sag with relief when he spots you.
“Where have you been? I turned around and you were gone!” He exclaims, pulling you into his embrace.
Over his shoulder, you see Lewis mouth “tell him” before discreetly slipping away.
You take a deep breath and explain what happened with the mechanic. Toto���s expression darkens, his protective anger rising.
You touch his cheek gently. “It wasn’t his fault. It was just a misunderstanding.”
Toto sighs, anger melting away. “I should have been there. I should have introduced you properly to the new staff.”
You shake your head. “You can’t be responsible for how everyone sees me. I don’t need you fighting my battles. This is something I have to earn for myself. Their respect, their trust … I just need more time.”
Toto gazes at you with so much love and pride it takes your breath away. “You are so much stronger than you know. And if they can’t see that, well that’s on them.”
He kisses you softly. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together.”
And wrapped securely in his arms, you finally believe it’s true. This is your world now. Your place is here, with him.
The Nanny
The warm early autumn breeze ruffles your hair as you wait outside the primary school, keeping one eye on the time. Any minute now the bell will ring, signaling the end of your son’s second day of preschool.
You smile thinking of this morning and his eager goodbye hug before practically sprinting into the building, too excited to look back. He has his father’s confidence.
Shifting the baby carrier holding your sleeping newborn daughter, you smooth down your dress self-consciously. Even after years with Toto, you still can’t help but feel out of place at posh schools like this.
The other mothers eye you curiously. No doubt wondering about the young woman with an infant waiting alone.
You know some of them recognized Toto yesterday when he dropped off and picked up your son. Your heart had lurched seeing him cradling Leon’s small hand, both your boys glancing back to wave goodbye.
But duty called for Toto today with important meetings at Mercedes’ Brackley Headquarters, so pickup fell to you today. Not that you mind another glimpse of that overjoyed grin when your son spots you.
The bell rings and a stream of children come pouring out the doors. You crane your neck, looking for a familiar head of tousled curls.
There! You wave eagerly as your son breaks into a run when he sees you.
“Mama!” He cries joyfully, slamming into your legs. You stroke his hair, hugging him tight.
“Did you have a good day baby?” You ask as he looks up at you adoringly.
He nods, launching into a story about finger painting that you can barely follow. But his enthusiasm is contagious and you can’t help but smile.
A polite cough interrupts you. An immaculately dressed woman is hovering nearby, eyeing your son curiously.
“Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to introduce myself properly. I’m Clarice, Emma’s mum,” she gestures to a girl clinging shyly to her leg.
“Lovely to meet you,” you say politely, shaking her offered hand. “I’m Y/N and this is Leon.”
You ruffle his curls and he gives a dimpled smile before hiding against your side. Clarice’s eyes flick between you and your son, a slight furrow in her brow.
“I hope I’m not overstepping, but I met Leon’s father yesterday during drop off. Is his mother … not around?” She asks delicately.
Your cheeks flush. Of course she would assume you’re the nanny, not the mother. Bracing yourself, you shake your head.
“No it’s okay! I’m his mother. Toto — Leon’s dad — had meetings today, so it’s my turn to do pickup.”
Clarice looks mortified. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry for assuming. You just look so young, I thought ...” she trails off, flustered.
You force an understanding smile. “Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake. Our age difference does raise some eyebrows.” You punctuate this with an awkward laugh.
Clarice seems eager to change the subject. “What a beautiful baby!” She gushes, peering at your daughter sleeping in her carrier. “And so well behaved.”
Grateful for the redirected conversation, you chat politely about your little girl. Clarice coos over her sweetly.
Other parents begin dispersing with their kids and Clarice makes her goodbyes. “So lovely meeting you both. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
You smile and take Leon’s hand to drive home, his chattering filling your ears. You know curious parents will likely gossip about Toto’s young wife. But it doesn’t sting as much as it once did. You’ve grown used to the assumptions by now.
Unlocking the front door, you’re greeted by the smell of cooking. Leon goes tearing off to the kitchen, shouting “Papa!” at the top of his lungs. Chuckling, you follow after, your daughter beginning to stir in her carrier.
Toto is there to sweep Leon into his arms, smothering his cheeks in kisses as your son giggles. The scene warms your heart.
Noticing your arrival, Toto sets Leon down to embrace you and peer at the baby. “How was pick up? Any tears today?” He asks Leon.
Your son shakes his head proudly. “I made a picture for you, Papa!” He runs off to retrieve it.
You meet Toto’s gaze over your daughter’s downy hair. “It was fine. Just the usual questions about my age from a school mum. She thought I was the nanny when we first met.”
You try to say it lightly, but Toto’s face tightens, protective anger flashing. Even after all this time, he hates when people judge you unfairly.
You touch his arm gently. “It’s okay, really. I don’t care what they think.”
And it’s true. The opinions of strangers can’t touch the beautiful family you’ve built together.
Toto lets out a long breath, anger melting away. “I know. But I still wish people could see you how I do.”
He pulls you close and you lean into him, breathing in his comforting scent. “As long as you and the kids see me, that’s all that matters.”
Leon comes barreling back in, brandishing his painting. “Look!!”
You both admire his abstract swirls of color dutifully. “A masterpiece!” Toto proclaims. “We’ll hang it on the fridge.”
Leon beams under the praise then dashes off again in pursuit of a toy.
You and Toto share a wry smile. “Never a dull moment with that one,” you remark. The baby begins fussing and you gently sway her.
“Here, let me.” Toto takes her expertly and she settles against his broad chest. Your heart squeezes at the sight.
Toto meets your gaze. “I know I’ve put you through a lot over the years. The stares, the gossip … you’ve endured it all with grace when you could have walked away.”
You stroke his cheek. “You and our family are worth any trial. I would do it all again without a second thought.”
Toto leans into your palm. “Having you by my side is the greatest gift.”
You kiss him softly, your heart brimming with love.
From the other room, Leon’s playful giggles reach you. The smell of dinner being prepared still fills the warm kitchen. And your baby girl doses off in her daddy’s arms.
This is your world. The only one that matters. And you know for certain you belong.
The Husband
The morning sun streams through the hotel window as you sip your coffee, scrolling absentmindedly through social media. Race weekends are always a whirlwind, but you’ve learned to carve out small moments of calm when you can.
Toto is already down in the paddock prepping for qualifying today. The room feels empty without him. Sighing, you click over to TikTok, hoping for a distraction.
Immediately a video pops up on your feed from a fan account, the caption “so cute!” catching your eye. You tap play, assuming it’s another clip of drivers’ kids or someone’s grid walk antics.
But you nearly spit out your coffee when the video loads. It’s Toto, standing by the circuit entrance, surrounded by a gaggle of teenage girls. They’re prodding phones toward him eagerly, voices babbling over one another.
“Toto, what’s it like being Y/N’s husband?” One asks boldly.
You freeze, breath caught in your throat. In all the years by Toto’s side, you’ve never heard anyone flip the script like that. It’s always been “what’s it like being Toto’s wife?” You’re an accessory to his fame, not the focus.
Toto looks momentarily surprised, then laughs good-naturedly. “She is extraordinary,” he proclaims sincerely. “Being with her is a privilege every day.”
The girls sigh dreamily at his romanticism. Another chimes in, “You must be so proud of everything she’s accomplished!”
Toto nods, his expression tender. “I am in awe of her strength and resilience. She has faced so much scrutiny with grace. And now people finally see her incredible spirit.”
You press a hand to your mouth as tears spring to your eyes. After years by his side, Toto’s steadfast faith in you still takes your breath away.
“So you’re proud to be Y/N’s husband?” The first girl presses.
“Absolutely.” Toto doesn’t hesitate. “She is my inspiration.”
The video ends and you sit staring at the screen, cheeks wet. Never did you imagine your own fans, separate from Toto. But these girls look up to you, see you as more than just “the wife.”
Your phone buzzes with a text from Toto.
Have you seen the video? The PR team says you’re trending on TikTok!
You type back shakily.
Just watched it. Made me cry happy tears 🥹
His response is immediate.
You deserve all the praise, meine liebchen. I meant every word.
Wiping your eyes, you get up and dress quickly. Down in the paddock, you spot Toto right away. He sweeps you into his arms.
“There’s my superstar wife.” His eyes shine with pride.
You kiss him fiercely. “Thank you for always believing in me. Even when I doubted myself.”
Toto touches your cheek. “You’ve earned every bit of admiration. Don’t ever forget your worth.”
As he walks you into the bustling garage, mechanics glance up from their work to smile and wave. The fans hover nearby, whispering excitedly when they see you.
You no longer feel out of place here. This is your world now, as much as Toto’s. You’ve claimed your seat at the table.
Standing confidently by your husband’s side, you wave back, ready to take on the day.
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griffonsgrove · 10 months ago
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omg hello!! I saw you post those vox headcanons and wow I was literally kicking my feet and giggling LOL. I also saw you take requests right now! (at least that’s what it said in your rules) and I wanted to request something : D
could I request general alastor headcanons with a GN! Reader please ? :D
Thank you!
General Dating Headcanons | Alastor
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a/n: Of course my dear!! I love how Alastor is portrayed in the series, he’s easily one of my favorite characters! I’ve been wanting to do these for quite a bit, so thank you for the request!
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Wordcount: 1991
Cw: Hazbin Spoilers, minor violence, mentions of death, murder
(PLATONIC):
Ah so you managed to capture the attention of the infamous Radio Demon? You should be honored he even considers you worth his time! Not most demons have that luxury, they never live long enough to see.
Al strikes me as the kind of guy who knows everyone, he’s very observant and has eyes everywhere (his shadow friends extend throughout the entirety of the pride ring). He’s got connections in just about anything. He’s bound to have at least seen you once.
That being said, he views other sinners as inferior to him, if you don't have any power, he doesn't really see you as much of a threat (let’s be honest even if you did, he still wouldn't feel threatened)
He’s quite intrigued when he sees a frail little thing like you walk through the hotel doors. You're here on your own free will, seeking redemption? Oh, this will be quite entertaining.
You’re well aware of who he is, having been in hell for quite some time, even before his 7 yearlong disappearance, you knew to be wary in his presence.
It often left you being timid or skittish around him at first.
The deer demon had a knack for popping up at the most inconvenient of times, out of nowhere it seems (perks of being able to shadow travel). He would scare the daylights out of you nearly every time. Whether it was intentional or not, it always got a good laugh out of him.
And that smile…He was always smiling, you can't ever recall a moment where he wasn't, not even a falter. It's definitely an intimidation tactic you think. After all, you're never fully dressed without one!~
Despite this, he’s a charmer. He has this flare about him that oozes confidence whenever he speaks with you, to anyone really. He’s able to talk his way into and out of anything. One of the many perks of being a showman. Alastor is witty, charming and entertaining to say the least. Life is never dull with him around.
And if you happen to be from the same time period?? It’ll only want him to be around you even more! Finally, someone he can relate to in this cesspool.
This man is quite the chatterbox. He looooves to reminisce about the good ol’ days, always talking about how things were in his radio days. He could talk for literal hours and not break a sweat. You’ll often have to politely interject when he rambles on for too long, not that he minds.
Did I mention he can cook too?? Really well, surprisingly. He claims he learned from his dearest mother. He had to put a name to her famous Jambalaya recipe! When you tried it for the first time your socks were nearly blown right off from how much cayenne pepper he put into it. He likes a little spice.
He's!! Always!! Humming!! The man loves to sing, he often finds himself absentmindedly humming old tunes from the 20’s as he goes about his day. Whether he’s out for a stroll, enjoying a nice cup of tea, or running around the hotel, he’s humming.
This has been stated before, but Alastor is not big on physical touch from others unless he's the one initiating it. There have been many times where he’s pulled you into a little dance or twirl while he explains something. It never fails to surprise you each time.
He’ll often use his microphone staff to push or touch something, more specifically someone. He doesn't like to touch sinners that often, God knows where they’ve been. You’ve seen him whack Angel upside the head with it before, the spider tried getting a little too close for comfort. But for you he’ll make an exception.
Very well groomed!! He puts a lot of effort into his appearance, and cares about how he projects himself to the public eye. His hair is always neatly styled to perfection, shoes shined, and is always dressed to the nines. I mean did you see how mad he got when Pentious ripped a part of his coat off?
As the two of you begin to spend some more time together, you find yourself often having little meetups, the both of you would chat, share a cup of tea and just enjoy each other’s company. He liked to sit on the patio, he had a little table, and everything set up for you two.
Alastor makes sure to keep an eye on you regularly. He may have his shadow sneak around and stalk you while you're out. He’ll use the excuse that ‘Hell is a dangerous place!’, He can't have some low-life sinner trying to harm you, that would make him a terrible friend!
Undeniably has a soft spot for you that he’ll never admit aloud, he genuinely enjoys your company and likes having someone around that will humor him and listen to his stories. Grandpa.
Overall, Al is quite a good friend to have, you feel like you can confide in him at any point, he’s surprisingly a wonderful listener. The more time you spend together only strengthens your little friendship. Even to the point where you both will grow to have a mutual respect for each other. He initially scared you at first, given his reputation, but underneath all the ruthless chaos is a true gentleman.
(ROMANTIC):
My man is sooo conflicted at first, He’ll spend hours in his den thinking about his feelings. (We’ve all seen the inside of his room, literally half of it is a swamp). The scenery can only soothe him so much as he contemplates on what to do.
This is probably where you will begin to less and less of him for a time being as he works out his inner turmoil.
But, once he finally comes to terms with these undeniable feelings, he decides to confront you privately, away from any prying eyes. Ahem Angel…
Very old-fashioned, this is where he will properly ask to court you. 
You’ll never know this but he was actually kind of nervous, he was worried you’d reject his offer, but imagine to his surprise when you said yes!! He kind of felt giddy.
Congratulations! You now have a cannibalistic deer overlord as your boyfriend
He’s such a gentleman, I literally cannot say it enough, the man was raised right and he respects you! 
You literally never have to open a door with him around. He holds your chair out for you, always walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, pays for every meal and is constantly giving you compliments left and right. And they say chivalry is dead.
Alastor loves to gift flowers to you. Every few weeks or so he’ll give you a new bouquet. They're different each time, some have a meaning while others he simply thought you’d enjoy. You have a special place in your room where you keep them.
Now that you’re in a relationship, the two of you are basically joined at the hip. Wherever you are, Alastor is not far behind. He doesn't want to admit it but the overlord is kind of clingy. He doesn't like being too far from you.
If there’s ever a reason he has to be away from you, he’ll often have a few of his little imp dolls watch after you. You always thought they were cute little fellas anyways.
The both of you aren't exactly private about your relationship, but at the same time you’re not screaming it out from the rooftops either. Alastor is well aware of the dangers you could possibly face due to his status. He’s made a lot of enemies in his time, and doesn't want to see you get hurt on his behalf.
That being said though, no demon in their right mind would try to threaten you.
God forbid they touch you either. They’d be ripped in half before they could even get another word out. 
He's fiercely protective over you. He tries to play it off as nonchalantly as possible, but you know he cares about you immensely, it’s rather sweet really.
Now about physical affection. Things will go very slowly in the beginning, as said before he's fine with things as long as he's the one initiating it. If you two are out for a stroll you’ll have your arm gently looped with his as you walk down the chipped sidewalks. You’ll have to be extremely patient with him, he’s not used to this “love” and “affection”
If you’re ever having a bad day however, he’ll slip out of his comfort zone for you, and allow you to hold onto him for as long as you please, in the privacy of your own room of course.
One of his favorite things to do with you, is to slow dance. There's something so intimate and special about it. It could be late into the evening, when everyone else had gone to their respective rooms for the night, If you listen closely though, you’ll hear the soft hum of music coming from Alastor’s den, he has you in his arms, the both of you gently sway in a slow waltz across the room to the quiet love songs emitting from his radio. It’s here that you truly savor these private moments with him.
Speaking of music, Al loves to sing to you. Oftentimes it may be a ballad or love song, and if you join in with him? He’ll fall for you even more. 
Cooking! He loves to whip up all his favorite dishes just for you, oftentimes you’ll help him in the kitchen, even if it’s the smallest thing. It's become an annual thing you two like to do together. He makes sure that you get only the best meat that this side of hell can provide.
He’ll often call you a mix of different pet names, here's a few of his favorites: Cher, Darling, Beloved, Dearest, Love, Mon Amour, Doll
Which btw on the topic of meat, Al is canonically a cannibal, he’ll often eat demon meat in his meals, and will have you try it at least once.
Admittedly has gotten slightly jealous of his own shadow. The mischievous thing was always trying to steal your attention away from him, oftentimes it would work, you would always give in and humor him, saying that ‘Even his shadow needed some loving too!’. With a strained smile, Alastor shoots a glare at the inky mass of himself, who just looks at him with a smug grin.
Will have you meet Rosie at least once. She’s one of his other closest friends, and a real sweetheart. At first she comes off as really scary and intimidating. but the more you get to know her, and she's for certain that you wont hurt her friend, she’s much more friendlier. 
You two actually bond together somewhat, having little chats about Alastor occasionally, or about her business.
It’s safe to say that this man would kill hundreds if not thousands for you. You have him wrapped around your little finger. If you ever have someone bothering you, they might as well already be dead, because this man will hunt them down like prey. And eat them too.
Honestly, Alastor as a lover is nothing short of wholesome. He’s so attentive and caring when it comes to you. Which is so refreshing to see, especially coming from one of hell’s most feared overlords. Things will most likely start of slow, but if you’re patient with him, all the hard work will be rewarded tenfold. He had initially thought the Princess of Hell’s Hotel was one of the biggest jokes of the century, but what he wasn't expecting was you to be one of the best things to come out of it. You both were cast down to suffer an eternal damnation in hell, but at least now you can endure it together <3.
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babygorewhore · 3 months ago
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Birthday Girl
Dad’s best friend Logan Howlett x Mutant! fem reader
Your long time crush on your dad’s best friend comes to a head the night of your 26th birthday. W.C a little over 2k.
Thank you so much to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me!!!! I love you!!!
Warnings! Age gap! Male masturbation! Panty stealing! Drinking! Female receiving oral! Praise! Slight degrading! Unprotected sex! Stomach bulge!
It wasn’t like you were committing a crime or anything but it felt incredibly naughty as you stared through the crack of the spare bedroom door.
Logan Howlett, your dad’s best friend was fucking his fist on the mattress. The middle aged man, physically younger than your father but in actuality he was hundreds of years old.
You kept your breathing as shallow as possible, knowing any wrong move he would hear you or smell you but he was too distracted at the moment. Logan was staying a few days at your home while his apartment was being fixed.
Like any normal girl, you had a massive crush on him. Ever since you met him, a few years ago on your twenty first birthday when your father protected him from mutant hunter, you were head over heels.
His gruff, harsh demeanor and bad temper didn’t scare you. Oppositely, you enjoyed the way he dealt with people. He spoke everything you secretly thought. He just wasn’t afraid to say it. Your father was normal but your deceased mother passed on a mutation. One you kept hidden from other people, until yesterday when Logan finally saw you use it. You lit a fire outside, unaware he was outside smoking a cigar.
You grimaced when you heard him turn around with an unreadable expression and head back inside the house. Neither of you had spoken after that.
You were on a college break, visiting home for your birthday that was tomorrow. Your dad wasn’t going to attend the party at the local bar your best friend was throwing so you had a celebratory dinner earlier.
And now, you were still watching Logan roll his hips. Thrusting into his beefy hand that tugged himself as he panted and you had to bite your lip when you heard him moan.
Only he said your name as he pleasured himself.
Shock overcame you as he repeated it and then you caught a glimpse of a pair of black panties that were yours.
That son of a bitch.
A mixture of smugness and your hackles rising settled in your chest. He was always polite towards you, treated you as anyone would expect given his friendship with your dad. But he hadn’t hinted that he felt attracted to you. Let alone attracted enough to you to steal a pair of underwear from your room, wrap them around his dick and jerk off.
You just saw Logan’s dirty little secret and you smirked to yourself. A pulse in between your thighs throbbed as he came to his climax. Cum sprayed on his hand, his thick fingers shaking as it coated your panties. He sloppily wiped his hand on his exposed lower stomach. Hardened muscle twitching and you finally stepped away.
Your vibrator entertained the sensitive center of your pussy minutes later in your bedroom. The image of Logan touching himself seared in your mind as you toyed with your entrance at the same time. Wishing it was him instead with his much larger size.
The next morning, after you’d only gotten a few measly hours of sleep from fucking your toy, you’d jogged into the kitchen. You saw your father pouring himself and you a cup of coffee. But you didn’t see Logan.
“Ah, yeah, Logan had to head off early. The nice professor he’s friends with offered him speedier help with his apartment.” Your father explained, noticing the look of confusion on your face.
You tried to hide your disappointment but your dad must have caught on. “I know you’re sweet on him so I told him about the party tonight.”
You could have strangled him but you sat down and grumbled.
Your childhood home was a farm, hidden away from the main town. Easier to keep your mutation a secret and your mother before she died. Which was the reason you didn’t think twice about using your power.
“Logan gave me the blues for keeping the fact you were a pyro a secret,” Your dad chuckled and you winced. “But he came around. He always does.”
“Yeah, well he’s missing my birthday again. So, he must still be offended.” You indicated that you wanted a change of subject and it was dropped.
When you changed into your outfit later after a shower, applying a face full of makeup, you realized that Logan had taken another pair of underwear.
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The bar was warm, not only from the lights but also from the shot pouring down your throat. Your best friend cheered as you slammed a hand on the counter playfully. Your black dress hugged you in all the right places, heels making your legs flex when you sauntered. You felt confident as you celebrated the number 26.
You both danced, drank and even sang a few karaoke songs. She had gifted you a silver crown when you came in and you pushed away thoughts of Logan for a while.
Until you saw him at the end of the bar, lazily sipping a beer wearing a deep red t-shirt. It accentuated his strong form and you ran your tongue along your lower lip. Tasting flavored lip gloss. Your friend turned and whipped back to you.
“Is that him?” She mouthed and you nodded. She giggled and gestured with her head for you to approach him.
You grasped your other alcohol drink, downing a large gulp and smoothed your hair. You walked towards him and plastered a charming smile.
“Logan? I didn’t expect to see you here!” He had the decency to lower his head, his way of greeting and he raised the bottle between his fingers.
“Stopped in for a few beers.” His short response made you bristle, especially knowing he did like you.
“Do you want to join us? It’s my birthday.” Your question hung in the air for a few seconds and Logan seemed to contemplate it.
“I’m gonna pass on that. But happy birthday. You’re a good girl. Your old man did a great job with you. Sure your mama would be proud of ya.” Logan’s refusal mixed in with a compliment made you unsure what to say.
Instinctively, you set a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. He was so firm, radiating heat and he looked at your fingers.
“Logan, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what you saw,” you began but he cut you off with a shrug, making you drop your hand.
“Don’t worry about it. None of my business. But it wouldn’t have hurt to know that you would have needed protection during the attack.” He gripped the beer bottle harder and you clenched your jaw.
“And it wouldn’t have hurt to know you were stealing my panties but here we are.”
Logan dropped the bottle and you smiled wickedly until he stood up. He lightly wrapped his hand around your forearm and leaned down. He opened and closed his mouth but you only focused on the smell of alcohol. You leaned up, your lips finding his jaw and you kissed lightly. His facial hair tickled your skin and he jerked back.
“You-you-“
“Is this dude showing you a good time?” You looked and saw a man near your age standing close to you. He was cute but not on Logan’s level.
“We’re in the middle of a conversation.” Logan barked at him but the younger male wouldn’t be scared off right away.
“Looks like the lady is the one making all the moves and you’re just not paying attention. Come on, baby. Let me buy you a round.”
“Yeah, I’d love that.” You answered and Logan growled.
“I’m not done talking to you-“ And you walked off.
Or you tried to but you felt steel arms loop underneath your legs and support your back. Your feet dangled above the ground, your heels clacking as Logan began marching towards the exit. You smacked him upside the head.
“Logan! My friend-“ you shrieked and you saw her shocked yet pleased expression.
“I’ll call an Uber!” She called out and waved.
Logan wasn’t fazed by your tipsy protests and another smack to his head. He carried you effortlessly to his truck that was parked in a dark corner.
But your pettiness caused you to scurry away when he set you down and climbed into the bed of the truck.
You clumsily landed in a heap on your ass, dress hitched up and Logan sighed in frustration. “Get in the passenger seat. I’m gonna take you home.”
“I’m not going home yet. I was having fun and you’re being a grumpy dickwad.” You narrowed your eyes and Logan held out his hands exasperated.
“Grumpy dickwad?”
“Yeah! And panty stealer!”
“Keep your voice down!” He hissed and you raised your eyebrows. Sensing a challenge.
Logan caught on to the idea in your head and swiftly hopped in the back of the truck. He cupped his palm over your mouth.
“Shhh, the hells the matter with you?” You nipped at him and he rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Biting? That’s childish.”
You flicked your fingers, a small flame appearing like you were about to light a candle and you waved it near his arm. Logan reached down and smacked the side of your ass. You gasped from behind his hand.
“Yeah. You want another one? Keep being a little stubborn mule and I’ll do it harder.” You thought about it but he slowly removed his palm.
Logan noticed your lipgloss smeared and he swiped his thumb across your lip. You sucked the digit into your mouth and he exhaled sharply. He pulled it out and leaned in closer.
“I know I shouldn’t have taken them. Made me feel like a dirty old man but-you’re so fuckin gorgeous I forgot myself.” His tone held lust and regret. Logan pressed his forehead to yours and you breathed in his scent.
“Kiss me.” You whispered and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, don’t make me beg. You’ve already taken two pairs…it’s the least you can do.” You gave him pouty lips.
Logan seized the opportunity and caught your mouth in a kiss. It was better than you could have ever imagined. His brutal force he always held was there. The way his hands moved and roamed your curves. He squeezed your hips and moved you on your back.
He pulled you closer as Logan’s weight hovered above your body. His hand moved to massage your tit as his jean clad thighs maneuvered between yours.
“Can’t say no to you, birthday girl. You gonna let me taste that pretty pussy?” He whispered and you whined with a nod. Logan kissed his way down, moving aside your panties and he groaned.
He buried his face in your cunt, his tongue lapping at your clit and took his time savoring your taste. You grind your pelvis against his face, Logan pulled back and spit on your pussy. He sucked and fucked your entrance with his mouth. Causing your nipples to harden as he squeezed your breast.
“That’s my girl, hump my face. Mhm, knew you were a slut but didn’t think you’d be a goddamn perv.” Logan sneered and took your clit between his lips.
You were gasping and arching your back as your orgasm was approaching. Your fingers were in his dark hair peppered with gray and pulling hard. It was probably suffocating him as your thighs pressed against his head but he didn’t care.
You were seconds from cumming when he ripped away but didn’t give you time to protest. Logan shoved his jeans down, halfway down his legs and he took his dick out. He ran the tip along your slit, smearing the precum.
You wrapped your thighs around him, ankles crossing as Logan thrusted into you. His size made you suck in a harsh breath but he aided you by circling your center with his thumb. Logan slammed into balls deep, making you moan.
His lips kissed your neck as he felt the bulge in your stomach.
“Fuckin you full. Knew you could take it. You’re such a good girl, feel so good. Shit, such a tight pussy.” He praised and your eyes rolled back.
“Going dumb on me already? My dick so good you’re panting like a puppy?” Logan ran his tongue along your throat and gave you a messy kiss.
The pleasure was overwhelming and he hauled your legs higher. Taking them from around his waist and gave you a deeper angle. Your underwear was still moved to the side, he liked feeling the material against his cock.
You drooled as you came on his dick, creaming on it and Logan moved harder. Deeper and your head lulled back as he fucked you through it.
“Uh huh, let me have it. Give me all that cum, doll. Such a good little whore,” he chuckled. “You gonna let me fill you up?”
“Please,” You managed and Logan gave you a couple more thrusts before his dick twitched.
Thick ropes of cum emptied into you and Logan huffed. Moaning and rolling his hips as he chased his high.
“You did such a good job,” He told you and slowed down. “You wanna head out somewhere? I wanna make sure to lick up my mess I made in you.”
Dividers by @anitalenia
Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @marchsfreakshow @taintandviolent @starkeysprincess @usergeta @loserboysandlithium @oceanblvd111 @justafangirls-blog
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saetoru · 1 year ago
Note
Tee…
I’m now on my hands and knees BEGGING for bully Gojo who is (secretly) DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE over the reader PLEASE ANY CRUMBS I WILL TAKE
(you don’t actually have to write this it was just a nice thought)
idkkkkk if it’s rly bully gojo—but he’s definitely a real cunt for sure.
i just think about an asshole! gojo a lot like he’s ur lab partners or something and he does that stereotypical jerk move where he’s like “seriously ?? her ??” when he’s first paired with you. and he’s just naturally an douche, yk ?? wears sunglasses indoors and makes jokes at the professors expense under his breath that gets him snickers and snorts from his frat guys in his class. has to be asked more than once to “please keep it down in the middle of class” by wtv prof he’s in class with.
and he ofc makes u do all the work bc he can’t be bothered—and on the rare occasion that he is bothered, he just does a poor job that’s the bare minimum and sloppy enough that ur like wtv i’ll just do it myself. and then ofc sometimes u don’t have a choice but to meet up to finish something after class every now and then—he wouldn’t care to, but he actually needs to know the stuff for the final report he has to write individually, so he begrudgingly meets up with you, and sometimes you notice his friends give you an amused look when he walks up with them. they snicker before they leave as he sits with you. sometimes they make a snide comment here and there like “have fun with ur super hot date” that makes him roll his eyes—he doesn’t do much to hide the look of distaste on his face.
but then—and he doesn’t even know when it happens—you start to slowly grow on him. because ur actually pretty snarky urself, sometimes making a dry comment here and there about the professor and his stupid bald headed self. sometimes a girl in the distance laughs too hard a group of guys that u roll ur eyes and mumble how “if i had a voice like that i’d never laugh in public” and it makes him snort a bit without meaning to. sometimes you stare daggers at the person who has their music so loud thru their headphones they can’t help but notice u and turn it down in embarrassment. ur actually not as much of a pushover as he thought—you just genuinely think he’s too incapable to help u out that you’ve just shrugged him off and started doing his part. it’s an easy weekly lab class anyway, you don’t need him—and then he realizes that u rly just don’t care for him. his little snickers at u with his friends and their snide comments roll off ur back bc well…he’s him—an asshole little frat boy and u didn’t expect anything better from him. so it makes him a little intrigued—maybe a little wounded in his pride, deep down, because no one has ever been indifferent to him before. they’re either madly in love, or they hate his guts, or they follow his lead. either works—he still gets the attention he craves.
but u just don’t rly care. and ur actually pretty cool, and kinda sorta funny in a way no one else is. he likes it…and fuck, now he’s starting to like you. he can tell bc when his friends ask how his little date with you went, he starts getting a bit huffy ab it bc they don’t need to talk about you. they don’t even know you…but also….its not a date. and that’s the worst part. sometimes it feels like a date. almost—sometimes you both decide to take a break in between and go get a coffee or a light snack. sometimes he’s even paid (to which you look mildly shocked before politely thanking him) and you both walk back to the library while u make light banter and it’s…well, fun. and nice. and your laugh is pretty. and your smile is kinda cute and he (though he hates to admit it) rly likes it when u laugh because of him.
and then things start to get messy—really, he didn’t mean for it to start this way. he really was meaning to ask you in a genuine manner to see u again once the semester was finished. because he’s actually started pulling his weight—he wants u to see him for someone who’s smart. satoru is actually rly rly smart and no one knows it because he doesn’t rly show it but he is. he wants u to see that side of him—somehow there’s some sick validation he rly needs from you knowing he’s not a dense frat guy who drinks and fucks until 3 am every night. so he starts doing his parts and actually communicates with u about sections. so starts ur texting routine—sometimes a little longer than u rly need to for just doing a lab together. sometimes it’s “did u hear ab that girl in our class getting dumped in front of the kfc ??” and sometimes it’s “god our prof rly needs to get some pussy” and other times it’s “look what the guy who sits behind us just posted on his story” and it leads to a few long convos that admittedly…are rly fun. ur so fun. he likes it. he rly does like u and he thinks maybe….maybe he’s grown on u too and you know what ?? satoru’s always a jerk but ur nice and who’s to say he can’t be nice too ?? just for one person. for u, he can be a nice guy—u carried lab all on ur own long enough that u deserve it anyway.
until he gets swayed in that way only a coward can. in that way you do when ur used to being “the man” around ur friends and ur too pressured to keep up that energy for appearances sake bc u don’t wanna be the laughing stock who softened up for “some nerdy chick who’s a nobody.” so he laughs when they laugh at the fact that ur probably “still a virgin who’s never touched a guy before” and then they’re patting gojo on the back and shoving at his shoulder as they laugh harder and suggest that “y’know what would be so funny man ?? if u took her virginity. you could probably do it.”
the thought is sickening because…satoru wouldn’t want to fuck you like that. god, you have him caring about when and how he fucks you—in fact, just thinking about you lewdly makes him feel guilty. disrespectful, even. you’re more than a fleshlight for his dick. since when did he become so respectful ?? but he doesn’t know how to say no, especially when everyone starts agreeing one after the other—and oh no, now they’re betting on how quickly he can do it….and oh, now it’s not just fucking. now it’s “how long until you think she’s head over heels for you? man, that would be a sight, huh ??”
and….well, satoru decides it couldn’t hurt, right ?? he does want to be romantically involved so that would include you being head over heels. hopefully. fingers crossed. and he doesn’t rly want to seem lame in front of the guys either, so he gets to keep both sides of the coin, so is it really that bad ?? maybe not the right idea but certainly the right execution. he’ll treat you well—that much he’s confident of. so he forces out a laugh and says “gimme a month or two, you’ll see.”
and a month or two they give him. and a month or two it takes—but not for you to be head over heels. it’s him who’s utterly and completely obsessed and fallen head first and whatever else they say to describe love because wow. this must be what it is. this must be that stupid fairytale shit they always talk about because fuck, no one has ever looked at him like that. like he’s some miracle to this earth and some wonder only you know of—like you hope it stays that way and that he’s yours and yours alone and no one else comes in to take him away. satoru really likes being yours, it kinda feels better than you being his. being yours means you hold him like that at night and wake him up to a kiss between his brows and sometimes, when he gets those migraines he’s prone to getting, you always seem to know. always seem to understand when to close the blinds and keep quiet and wrap him up in the covers as you rub your thumbs over his temples soothingly.
he almost forgets about that silly little bet he made two months ago when he’s around you. actually, he forgets everything when he’s around you. he’s only ever thinking about you, you, you. when he comes back to his frat house, on the other hand, they’re all gathered around waiting for the newest details. how you must’ve been so pathetically star struck by him. how you must be embarrassingly bad at kissing. how you must stutter over every other word around him. how you must be making a complete and utter fool of urself trying to impress him and be someone you’re not bc the real you would never pique his interest.
they’re wrong ofc. if anyone’s star struck, it’s satoru bc how the hell are u so…cool ?? and so funny and witty and carefree ?? and you’re good at kissing—have him chasing your lips with a whine every time. sometimes you even chuckle at him when he does and make him blush a bit. he’s the one who stutters over his words when he sees you in your little date night outfits. sometimes he watches you drink from your straw and his brain short circuits a little until you snap at him and ask him in confusion if he’s alright. but the real kicker ?? it’s that if anyone’s pretending, it’s satoru. you’re always just you—unapologetically so, that it’s endearing and beautiful and so unearthly he wonders how he got so lucky. but him ?? he’s always acting like some guy he’s not. some chivalrous guy who opens doors and pushes out seats and kisses the back of hands and waits at least a few dates before even considering fucking. some nice, sweet, genuine guy who’s deserving.
he’s not that—never was. if you knew the real him, you’d leave in a heartbeat. it’s a scary thought. a raw feeling he doesn’t like. makes him feel all self conscious and insecure and all that weird shit he never thought he’d feel.
he tries. so hard, he tries to make them forget about that silly little bet and just slowly drop it and maybe even forget ur dating so he can just stay living this peaceful little fantasy with you—but that’s stupid. that’s naive. it’s been 4 months and enough is enough—the guys need to see the look on ur face when u realize what a fool ur being and satoru is “being a lazy ass who’s too comfortable not having for work for pussy these days.” so then there’s a video going around. it’s everyone gathered around on the couch drunk and talking about you. and satoru. you both, in fact. how it’s been two months and u seem desperate for his attention with the shrill little voice you use to call him toru, baby! it’s so, so fucking embarrassing, they say. how you think he likes it. (he does. god he does so much, it hurts. he loves it, actually, when you call him that. makes him feel special in a way he never has.) but then, the worst, most disgustingly nauseous part of the whole thing is when satoru laughs along and plays into their awful words. just lets them talk about you like you’re some piece of meat. something for him to chew up and spit out after he has a taste or you. not even worth savoring and enjoying. he laughs along and agrees—you’re nothing special and he can’t wait until he’s free of you.
that part hurts. that part sucks the most—when he acts like he didn’t tremble under your touch every time you kissed him. like he didn’t beg you to stay just five more minutes! before walking out the door to go home. he acts one way in front of you and one way in front of them and what’s worse ?? you don’t know which one is real. couldn’t tell even if your life was on the line to decide. because there’s no way he’s that good at pretending to be desperately in love, no fucking way. but there’s also no way he can be in love if he’s talking about you like that. that’s not what love is—that’s not what love feels like. that’s not what it means to someone.
you don’t know which satoru is the real one, but you know that neither is worth your time. not if he can’t stick to it.
it’s terrible thing—the way you break up. it’s messy and teary and he’s begging, he’s actually begging. he never thought he’d do that. but he doesn’t even hesitate to plead for you to hear him out. baby, please let me explain. wait, please don’t walk away—please just listen! i can explain.
he can’t explain, though when you as him to. stands there with a bitten bottom lip and teary eyes that are pleading you to just stay with him. to overlook this and just … ignore it like it’s nothing. like what he did and said was just nothing and you can shrug it off like you’re nothing too. like your feelings are nothing and so is your worth and that’s why you should just ignore the way he absolutely destroyed your pride and reputation and dignity and worse….every ounce of your love.
such deep, raw, pure love—it’s almost enough to heal every dry crack and crevice of this earth and bring it back to life.
you look at him with teary eyes and something so broken, it makes him feel like dirt beneath your feet.
“it’s embarrassing, satoru,” you hiss that night through tears, “you’re in your twenties getting a degree and you’re still just a high school bully. life’s really gonna kick you in the ass some day.”
life’s already kicking him in the ass as soon as you walk out. the air is colder. the world is dimmer. food doesn’t taste as good and fuck—there is just so much loneliness when you have no one to be yourself with. when there’s no you.
but he supposes you’re right though—he is just a bully. it’s pathetic, really. and maybe it’s for the best. maybe you don’t deserve someone who’s only ever known how to feel good because someone else doesn’t.
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cinnamorollcrybaby · 26 days ago
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Hello love!! How are you doing? 💕
I LOVE your works so much!! You are so amazing and talented!! I wanted to thank you for writing the 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 cursed technique Nanami fic, and especially not judging me for it 🫶🏽. I don’t know you but you seem like such a nice and cool person, with that being said… I was thinking about a fic I saw where Saturo Gojo got his wisdom teeth removed and he falls in love with you over again and I thought that would ADORABLE but with Kento 😭 (also I can’t remember who wrote the fic to give credit sorry) So like yeah Nanami would get his wisdom teeth removed and you’d take care of him and he would be such a charming man (he already is) but like just the most fluff thing he’d be like “you’re a very beautiful nurse” “I’m not a nurse but thank you” you feel me? Anyways that was it lol
Much love and take care!! 💗💗
(I don’t know what anon is 😅 is it like your followers cause I see request and people ask if they can be added as anon and I’m like so confused)
You’re my…. my wife?
Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, established relationship, crack, fluff, suggestive at the end.
An: Hey Anon! Tysm for requesting again. I’m glad you liked the freaky energy fic!! Also, ofc I’ll never judge you for any fic idea (as long as it’s not like straight up deplorable with nasty kinks).
I hope it’s okay, but I changed this fic idea a little because I fear it was a bit too close to the original creator’s idea, and I don’t want to encroach on their idea. However, I hope the vibes are still there that you wanted!!
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Your normally strong, doting, intelligent husband has been reduced to a confused mess. Lying in the bed in the sterile infirmary, Shoko carefully monitors his vitals while Satoru recites exactly how it all happened for the nth time.
Your loving, sweet, charming husband was hit with a very specific cursed technique while he was out on a mission with Gojo. Luckily, he was physically unharmed and mostly mentally unharmed as well… except the cursed technique is one that messes with the memory.
The curse didn’t just want to kill Nanami; it wanted to break him. The curse robbed Nanami of his memory of his most precious moments: the one’s that included you.
His hazel eyes scanned the room, wondering why everyone was making such a big fuss over him. He was fine - really.
You sat beside his hospital bed, wanting to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him. Shoko said that his mind may be a bit fragile after having such a crucial part of his memory tampered with.
When his hazel eyes met yours, Nanami stared at you for a moment before shifting in his bed slightly. He looked to be uncomfortable with your sheer presence, which only broke your heart more.
“Were you hit with the cursed technique too?” He finally speaks, looking over at you with a bit of a confused look. He was really trying to piece together why you were here with him.
“Oh, um… no..” You quietly respond with a forced smile. Your heart longed for your husband, and he was right here but he wasn’t your husband.
“Forgive me… Are you Shoko’s apprentice..?” He tries once again to remember. He’s seen your face before. Maybe in a different lifetime.
Satoru and Shoko are silent as they both witness what’s going on between you and Nanami. Holding their breaths, they’re hopeful that he’ll regain his memory at some point. The curse couldn’t just extract memories. As Shoko explained it, the curse probably just kept the memories hidden from Nanami. Your husband will probably slowly start to remember you over time.
“No… I’m not Shoko’s apprentice.” You politely answer again. As bittersweet as this is, it’s certainly a cute scene to see Kento trying to make conversation with you.
“Hm.” He hums to himself quietly before he gazes at you again. His hand combs through his hair, trying to fix it up from lying in the hospital bed, and Satoru quietly snickers.
“Trying to look good for her, Nanamin?” He teases lightheartedly, earning a death glare from your husband. You softly giggle too, realizing what’s going on. Your poor husband isn’t uncomfortable with your presence. He’s nervous.
“Don’t be crude, Satoru. There’s a lady in the room.” He huffs, shaking his head at Satoru’s audacity.
“Aww, thank you, Nanami.” Shoko grins, subtly playing along with Satoru’s tactic.
“I wasn’t talking about you.” Nanami responds flatly before his eyes shift to you in another “secretive” glance, except everyone notices how he keeps looking at you. Your husband can’t keep his eyes off of you.
“I.. apologize for being a bit forward, but do you think we could…” His eyes flicker down to the wedding band that’s proudly sat upon your finger. His face subtly drops to a disappointed look. “Ah, I see. forget what I was saying.”
Shoko and Satoru are nearly losing it. The irony that Nanami is disappointed that he can’t ask you out because you’re married to him is hilarious. You give them a look, and they both quickly excuse themselves from the room, so they can go laugh together.
Once the two are finally out of the room, you smile softly before placing your hand over your husband’s, using your thumb to gently stroke the back of his hand. He looks at you with an unsure look, but he doesn’t remove his hand. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly.
“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t like you touching another man like that…” He mutters quietly, causing you to softly giggle.
“Well, it’s a good thing I am your wife.” You finally reveal to him, unable to keep the secret any longer.
Nanami’s eyes widen, and he looks at you with sparkling eyes but also utter confusion written all over his face. His heart is racing in his chest. The heart monitor starts to beep at a more pressured pace. The pretty woman that has been sitting next to him is his wife…?
“You’re my… my wife?” He asks quietly.
“Mhm.” You hum in agreement before lacing your fingers with his. Your wedding band rubs against his. Both of the gems were cut from the same diamond. His eyes then focus on the joining of your hands, and he notices it too. “We’ve been married for a few years now.” You explain in a calm tone, trying to ease him into the idea of it all.
“I… I’m sorry… I don’t-“ Nanami is rarely off kilter like this, but he’s just trying to wrap his head around it all. You’re his wife… You’re his wife. “I’m sorry- I just can’t seem to remember…”
“It’s okay, Ken. Take your time.” You encourage as you rub on his hand gently.
His eyes fall to his lap, and a small smile curls on his lips. He may not completely comprehend what’s going on, but he knows in his very soul that he’s the luckiest man alive because you’re his wife.
Watching Ken fall in love with you all over again and rediscover all his daily pleasures was a treat. He slowly regained his memory over time: prompted by his senses randomly picking up on familiar sighs, smells, or even tastes.
Ken didn’t only fall in love with you all over again. He fell in love with the life he cultivated with you again. He found himself laughing a bit harder. He squeezed you a bit tighter. He lounged in bed for an extra ten minutes in the morning time to bask in your presence.
Oh, and that’s not to mention the literal tears he cried the first time he felt your cherished cunt after the incident. The way you squeezed around him so intensely… the way it’s so fucking wet — greedily sucking him in… Goddamn, he’s so lucky to have you.
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s-brant · 6 months ago
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Three’s Company
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When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.
9k (18+)
Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.
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The room is stiflingly hot.
There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.
Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.
They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.
"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."
They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.
When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.
Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."
To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.
"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."
She smiled.
"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."
Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."
The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.
As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.
He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.
The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.
"So, how did you and Art meet?"
Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.
"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."
"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."
Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.
She chuckles.
"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"
Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.
"Well, there were some other contributing factors."
"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."
This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.
"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"
Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.
The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.
He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.
When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.
With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.
The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.
Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.
Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.
Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.
They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.
"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."
Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.
After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them. 
She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.
With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.
Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.
Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"
Patrick doesn't miss a beat.
"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"
The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.
"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"
Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...
Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.
He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.
Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.
She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.
"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."
To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.
Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"
The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.
In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.
That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.
While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone��between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.
One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her. 
He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."
Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.
Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.
Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.
She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.
Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.
Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."
To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.
Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.
When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.
"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."
Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.
The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.
So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.
Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now. 
When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.
The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.
They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...
Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.
"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.
It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.
She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"
The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.
It hits her harder than she ever knew it could. 
Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.
If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.
Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.
She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.
Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.
He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"
Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.
"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."
They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.
Patrick is the first to break the silence.
"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"
"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.
Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.
"Only a little?"
She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.
It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.
Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.
"Too much clothes."
But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.
Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.
"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.
To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.
It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.
A taste is all she allows herself, though.
Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.
She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"
Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.
To their surprise, it's Art who answers first. 
Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.
"On my lap."
Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.
Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.
"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."
And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.
The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.
Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.
"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.
There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.
Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.
Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.
She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."
"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."
If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.
"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."
With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.
Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.
She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.
As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.
Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.
"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."
Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.
Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.
Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"
A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.
"If it's too much, you have to tell us."
Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."
Patrick does not need to be told twice.
Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.
One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.
She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.
Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."
The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.
One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.
As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.
And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.
Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes. 
"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"
The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.
With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"
Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.
Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.
He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"
A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.
He asks again, "Is that what you want?"
Her response is immediate.
"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"
To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.
The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.
To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.
Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."
Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.
Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.
She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.
It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.
Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.
It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.
The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.
The silence continues to stretch on, then—
"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if don't mind sharing me."
His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.
"I don't mind one bit."
-
Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!
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