#i really am the resident dumbass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

orbitariums · 4 months

Text

warmth | patrick zweig, art donaldson + black fem reader (pt. 1)

you guys really liked the snippet i posted so it's finally here! this will probably have a second part <3 (let me know if you'd like to be tagged for that!)

content: smut (oral f. receiving, fingering, handjob), childhood best friends trope, patrick and art are acting like high schoolers again, reader is rich bougie conniving hippie writer hybrid ...

reader, patrick and art are childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite.

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more.

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end.

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him,

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat.

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered, already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking over at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers.

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast.

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway.

The both of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies.

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end.

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead, you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half of that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were practically draped in that baby blue silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school, now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twentysomething industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here.

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly sucked you in.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently.

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that clung to his jaw, and the detergent still fresh on his clothes.

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing.

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected.

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh.

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom, and they fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs inching further and further up, their lips ghosting against your soft skin, had them panting like puppy dogs, only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.”

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. It was just the process of growing up. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from reintegrating into your life. Your childhood best friends.

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore.

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed.

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.”

Clink clink clink.

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options.

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it.

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that.

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither of them wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year, more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in the midst of their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag.

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table.

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly.

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied.

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee.

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt.

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips.

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm)— before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly.

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal.

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider.

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease.

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken.

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place.

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you.

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes.

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last,

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?”

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five-bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly.

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile.

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental. Still, the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath.

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — they were just two pubescent boys all over again.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“I think we should just go for it.”

Patrick lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling with his hand on his stomach, speaking aloud as if into the clouds. Art, who had been gazing into the distance, sitting up against the wall on his side of the room, shook his head at Patrick’s words.

“What are you talking about Patrick?”

The two of them sat in the room that you had put together. They had showered and dressed in the pajamas that were waiting for them, just as you said they would be. The house was practically silent, it was the dead of night. Though you’d left hours ago, that same heaviness in the air seemed to remain in their chests.

“You know… I mean, she invited us here for a reason, don’t you think?”

Art glared over at Patrick, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown,

“Don’t be a creep. We’re her friends.”

“Who want to fuck her, and she knows it. Pretty sure she wants to, too.”

“That was high school, Pat. Get over yourself.”

“Like you weren’t getting your dick wet just from looking at her. C’mon.”

Art throws a pillow at Patrick. It lands square at his feet.

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m just saying, she’s not innocent. She knows what she’s doing. She’s just as perverted as the both of us.”

“Yeah? So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Fucking — I don’t know, something. We should just both go over there and knock on her door.”

Art couldn’t help but sigh heavily — Patrick was always creating some elaborate plot or scheme, but rarely did he ever actually go through with something unless Art was onboard.

“Patrick, she’s not trying to have a threesome with us. I’m not interested in your porn addict fantasies. Plus it’s the middle of the night, she’s probably asleep. Think she’s gonna wanna sleep with two idiots who fucked up her nighttime routine?”

“So then why are you still here?” Patrick retorted.

“What? What do you mean?” Art tried to sound normal, but his defenses were up, and they both knew exactly why.

Patrick turned so he was on his side, facing Art, making sure his words hit just right.

“You know what I mean. You could’ve just gone home. Could’ve told her that we’ll catch her some other time. But look at you, sitting here, feigning innocence. She’ll think we’re cowards, you know. Seven years later and we still can’t come out and say what is that we want.”

Art swallowed, staring blankly into the distance like Patrick’s words didn’t sting his side. He was right. He almost always was, even if his wording wasn’t the most politically correct or precise. It was just how they were — one too careful, the other one so not. Most of the time, they came together to balance each other out: like fire and ice. But sometimes, like this time, they just threw each other out of whack – an oil spill in a pristine lake.

“I want a friendship. If you want a fuck, go and tell her that. Goodnight, Patrick,” Art spat, rolling onto his side and turning his light off.

Patrick sighed heavily like a petulant little boy who’d just been denied a cookie. Maybe in college or high school, Art would have been all ears, and they would have risen from their beds like triumphant kings, and gone on the hunt for their king. But maybe he was right — that was high school. They were too old now, and it was embarrassing. At least if Art had agreed, even if he didn’t fully believe in Patrick, they would’ve gone in together. And so, swallowing his disappointment, Patrick stared up at the ceiling, ruminated for just a bit, and then turned off his light, forcing his eyes shut so he’d fall asleep faster.

1:10 AM.

That was the time on the clock when Art opened his eyes next. He woke with a start, like there was something he was meaning to do. Then immediately, he was a bit disoriented. This room was far too big. It wasn’t his. He remembered where he was, and just what he had to do. He rose like an automaton and found his feet swinging to the floor. He threw on the Calvin Klein shorts and shirt your assistant had given him (his pair was white, Patrick’s was black), and slid easily into his slippers.

Only once he stood did he really catch his breath, and seemingly also his determination. It was like he knew what he was doing, and he was completely okay with it. He even peered over just slightly, to see if Patrick was still asleep. And by the slow rise and fall of his body on his side, he could tell that he was. He was stuck in this dream state between idiocy and confidence, making for mindless determination as he sauntered out of the room and down the hall. He had intent, his head was screwed on straight. He knew where your room was, and he practically marched down the end of the hall.

As soon as he reached your door, he realized what he was doing, truly realized. He stood there stock still, like a rabbit that had just gotten caught eating a carrot from someone’s garden. He was suddenly confronted by the fact that he was completely alone; your room was at the very end of the hall and completely cut off from the other rooms. Now the heartbeat in his chest was loud and clear, and the slight shifting sound of the fabric of his shorts rubbing against his inner thigh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Nervous tics settled in, and he felt a rattle go down his spine at the recognition of what he was doing— the sheer arrogance, the assumption he was making. He thought of Patrick, and the betrayal this would be, considering he had just shut him down so profusely earlier. He thought of the fact that it was so easy for him to be so double-sided, to just get up and attempt it on his own, even making sure that Patrick couldn’t possibly be involved. How easy it was for him to be so unfair. He thought of himself, standing there with suddenly sweaty palms and a dry throat. Like a high school boy with blue balls.

What are you doing?

He thought to himself. He almost turned around, but he heard humming from the other side of the door. No doubt your voice, and no doubt you were very much awake. He could hear music, albeit muffled. He swallowed, closing his eyes like he was bracing for impact, and sighed. If he could remember the words to recite Hail Mary, he would have. Eyes still closed, he knocked. He heard the slight pause on the other side and imagined you perking up slightly and looking around the room to make sure you weren’t just hearing things. Despite his embarrassment, the knock was firm. It was clear it was someone else on the other side of the door. And so, a few seconds later, you swung the door open.

“Art,” you said, a hint of both surprise and relief in your voice.

“YN,” he replied, saying your name like it was a period to a sentence.

You were clad in a cream-colored silk slip with a lace trim. A dainty gold necklace adorned your neck, flush against your collarbone. You’d changed again since the last time he saw you, and this outfit did not make it any easier for him to tear his eyes off of you, starting from the necklace, to your breasts, to your legs. The slip was short and nearly see through, revealing your thighs which looked so soft and plush. The pucker of your nipples sheened underneath the thin fabric. The way it clung to your body was almost maddening. You looked fresh as a daisy — like you’d spent hours in the bath, rubbing countless creams and gels against your skin. Art felt suddenly embarrassed like he had interrupted your girl time with his boyish, base desires. You pulled him out of it though, with a slight smile and kind eyes looking up at him.

“You doing okay?” you asked almost playfully, still grinning slightly.

“Yeah, I just uh… wanted to… talk to you,” Art said, not even making eye contact with you and instead very obviously peering inside of your room. You looked over your shoulder like you were trying to see what Art was looking at, then looked back at him. Finally, he was making eye contact with you. He felt like you were scrutinizing him, searching for something to validate this interaction, to validate him. Your warm smile didn’t look all that different from a smirk anymore.

“Well. I am the host. Who’d I be if I didn’t indulge a late night chat?”

You stepped aside, pushing the door wide open with your back. You nodded at him like a coach, beckoning him,

“Come in.”

And so he stepped inside, and you closed the door behind you. Your room was how he’d expected it to be — reflective of your personality as long as he’d known you, but a hint more sophisticated. Everything rested on a plush chenille carpet. Your mattress, adorned with plush, deep red and green linens, sat on a large wooden bedframe, above which posters of your favorite bands and writers hung — Audre Lorde, Led Zeppelin, James Baldwin, Khruangbin. Across from your bed, there was an almost bulky yet fitting antique dresser. On top of it sat a 1935 Remington typewriter. In the corner, a leather armchair sitting beneath a scallop shade floor lamp, accented by a magnificent bookshelf behind it that was positively full. A desk, scattered with papers and pens and a pair of glasses, yet still tidy. And a vanity, where Art imagined you’d been just a moment before he came in. And dim, yet comforting lighting.

“Wow,” Art couldn’t help himself — he truly was an admirer of the details, the little things. And clearly, so were you. It had gotten you this far. He sauntered over to the typewriter on your desk, fiddling with the keys just a bit and tapping the top. You giggled at his nerdy lopsided smile. “This is sick.”

You smiled, placing two hands on your hips, beaming like a proud parent,

“She doesn’t work, but she’s beautiful. That’s honestly my most prized possession.”

Art grinned, truly touched. He turned to face you straight on, feet away from where you stood at the bed.

“I’m so proud of you, you know.”

The veritas in his voice rendered you bashful for just a moment, looking down and huffing an almost dismissive laugh,

“C’mon, Art, don’t go all soft on me now.”

Art rose to his own defense,

“I’m serious, YN! Look what you’ve done for yourself… I mean, I couldn’t expect any less, though.”

You waved your hand with a cheeky eye roll, and he started walking towards you, his footsteps causing the floor beneath to creak slightly. It was almost suspenseful, but you weren’t intimidated or in danger, just deeply intrigued and honestly, excited. You watched him, positively ensnared, as he closed the distance between the two of you.

He took two of your hands in his own like he was putting his life into your hands. That charming smile of his reared its head, accompanied by his blue-brown eyes, sparkling and wet and smiling too,

“We both are, you know. Proud of you.”

You smiled, genuinely at first. Then, it flickered. By the way he faltered momentarily, losing grip of the power trip that he dove into headfirst, you could tell he noticed. Your genuine smile turned slightly smug.

“Both of you? Why is Patrick not here, then, telling me how proud he is?”

Art did his best to keep smiling smoothly, cocking his head to the side slightly as if to say what can you do?

“He’s asleep.”

“Right… it is like, one AM. I’m surprised you’re even up, or that you assumed I would be," you kept on prodding.

“Hmm,” he smirked. He shrugged all too casually, so much so that it was cocky. “Guess I’m not that tired.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding sympathetically.

The both of you relished in this little game you were playing, a game of so few words but oh so much meaning. You held his gaze for just a moment longer, watching as his flickered from your eyes to your lips and back up. Then you sat down wordlessly onto your bed, never tearing your eyes away from his. You patted the spot next to you, and he followed, taking a deep breath that never seemed to exhale. You were sealing his fate in this one moment.

“I spend a lot of my time holed up in here. That’s why I make it as peaceful as I possibly can. Beautiful too, but not too beautiful. Otherwise, I’d just be distracted and a bit disgusted,” you chuckled at the end.

“Beautiful. Right,” Art replied, his gaze burning a hole into you.

A beat.

“So what’d you wanna talk about, Art?”

He knew he couldn’t be imagining the dulcet innocence in your voice that suggested anything but innocence all the same, nor the flicker of desire in your inquiring, wide eyes. All of it, combined with the slight pout on your lips, seemed to come together to create a face that was almost begging. His entire body softened. His eyes went heavy with the confession that was his utter, depraved need to have you. He slowly pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue and blinked slowly, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was leaning in more and more with every passing millisecond. You stayed put where you were, wanting him to chase you through and through. You kept that poker face, like you didn’t feel your heart racing too. As his face inched closer to yours, his hands started to roam as well, and you stifled a whimpery breath at the touch of those hands against your bare skin. For some reason, you’d always thought he’d have such baby-soft hands, but they were rough and calloused from the weight of the tennis racket that was forever stationed between them. It only made the touch that much better, made you realize how long you’d been waiting for this, his rough hands seeping into your skin like a scar of age.

“I don’t wanna talk,” he finally said, his voice lilted with need, and his lips nearly flush against yours.

Finally, he closed the gap between your lips. The kiss was slow and languid, but not for lack of passion. Years of distance would do that, would amplify the mutual pining. You thought, in this interaction that you knew would happen with one or the two of them, that you might be more calm and collected, still wearing that disguise of cool nonchalance, but you were on fire. Your hands were quick to wander as well, up to his face, gripping his jaw, one traveling up to his hair and finding itself tucked beneath the tufts of slight curls. And then his hands were traveling up from your knees to your thighs, to your waist, practically glued to the expensive fabric. The room was silent bar for the sound of the two of you panting like crazed virgins, and the wet sounds of your kissing.

You needed to gain control back, and quickly. So you pulled away, putting on your best smirk. Deep down, you felt like Art knew it was an act, like he was looking right through you. But at the same time, you knew he was far too ecstatic and anticipatory to call it out or really even notice it in full. And besides, you didn’t care. It was you who held all the glory, both back then and especially now.

“You two place a bet or something? That was quick.”

Art was still breathing heavily, gazing at you like you were the solution to all his problems. His hands were still roaming widely, like your body was an expanse of wild land, his hands gripping your shoulders and caressing your arms up and down. The confidence boost in him was visible and almost amusing.

“No bets… but Patrick was saying…”

“What was he saying, hmm?” you placed a hand on his chest and caressed the warmth there. “Why’d you come here, Art? Thought you should close the gap, huh? Answer the age-old question? Wanting to prove yourself?”

You slipped your hand between his legs, grasping the meat of his inner thigh and glaring into his eyes. You felt how he stilled, how his confidence stuttered. Both because he’d been called out, and because if he wasn’t hard before, he was raging now.

“No…” you squeezed his thigh, your hand ghosting over the erection that sat directly above it, forcing the truth out of him with your touch. He shuddered. “Maybe. Yeah, fuck. Yes. I-I wanted to prove myself.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, slinking towards him like a black cat. You placed one leg over his lap, straddling him. Positioning yourself so your clothed cunt was directly over his erection, which dared to rip through both his boxers and his shorts. You rolled your hips over his cock gently, just once. “This helping you prove yourself?”

You pushed him back, back, back, until his head rested firm on the pillow and you were directly above him, the shape of your entire body clear to him as you straddled him on your bed. He couldn’t speak, only stare up at you in awe, his heavy breaths loud and desperate. You only stayed like this on top of him for a minute before you shimmied down until you were at face level with his crotch. You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest and stomach over his white t-shirt, and then took the bottom of it in your mouth, pulling it up with your teeth in a motion so effortless and tigress-like that Art nearly came on the spot.

“Hmm?” you probed him to answer the question with a demanding hum, the soft fabric of his t-shirt still in between your teeth, gazing up at him from beneath wispy lashes. You let go once he was decently exposed, his tight stomach rising and falling frantically.

“Fuck, yes,” he rattled, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

You pushed his hips back down immediately and like a reflex, he started to apologize,

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

You ignored him and instead, you practically ripped the shorts off of him and started to palm him through his boxers, admiring the way his cock twitched and jumped beneath the small of your hand. You were attentive, watching as precum started to leak from his tip onto his boxers. You tsked.

“We’ll have to get someone to wash those.”

He squirmed and swallowed a wild grunt in his throat. His head was fully thrown back like he was in the most immense pleasure of his life, and you hadn’t even really started yet. You ground the part of your hand just above your wrist over his erection before peeling his boxers off. You watched as his cock sprung up in the air, thick and red and leaking. A tuft of strawberry blonde hair sat at his mound, but he was still put together. You sat up just a bit so you could place your hand on his cheek lovingly.

“Look at me, Artie.”

Your voice was so enchanting and soft that he almost forgot you were fucking his entire mind up, and he opened his eyes and looked down at you with the shaft of his cock enclosed in your hand.

“Fuck,” he huffed, resisting the urge to throw his head back again.

You maintained eye contact with him as you circled your finger over his wet, pleading tip, spreading the leaking precum around the head of his dick. He glanced away from you and looked at what you were doing, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. It was taking everything in him not to give in completely, and not to cum.

“No- no - I… I wanna make you feel good first. Please.”

Something in Art’s voice nearly made your heart drop — the wholehearted desperation and earnestness in it. It also made your pussy throb around nothing. The whole night Patrick and Art had been desperate, but now it was like you were finally seeing the extent of it. It was somehow endearing, a reminder of the love between all three of you. Art had always been a giver, and he sought out praise any place he could get it. It came as no surprise to you that he was the same now, but still, it made you indescribably horny.

You hardly realized you hadn’t responded. That wasn’t supposed to be part of your act, but Art was still pleading all the same,

“Can I? Can I just… taste you or — f-feel you, I-”

You kept your wrist moving in slow and controlled motions up and down his shaft, studying his face as you did: the way his eyes fluttered open and closed with a pleasured squeeze, his mouth perpetually open in gratification.

“It’s so fun watching you fall apart, though,” you replied, but you found yourself working your way up anyway, sneaking your legs up his body like a snake, one on either side of him.

He grasped onto your hips immediately, groaning at just the sight of you. The moonlight shone through the windows and brightened up the darkness of your room, illuminating your features and painting you under something like a spotlight.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, looking at you with hooded eyes. You steadied yourself, your hand reaching out to grab the bedframe and one of his hands gripped the fleshy underside of your thigh to help you. The more you inched up, the more he could see up the slip, catching a glimpse of your cotton panties, cream-colored with a tiny black bow in the middle. The print of your cunt through them was like an outline, a map to promised land. He sucked in a breath, almost like he was in pain. Your necklace dangled just inches away from your neck, like it was teasing him too.

“Wanna taste me?” you asked teasingly, lifting your hips above his face and hovering there, forcing him to tilt his head back and look up directly at your cunt, still hidden beneath your panties. You rolled your hips, letting your clit brush against the tip of his nose. He was enamored by the scent, had to physically stop himself from taking a deep sniff. “Hmm?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” he groaned, slightly arching his back up off the mattress just to get closer to you. “Please.”

He pressed a closed-mouth kiss to your clothed cunt, his eyes closed. It was such a gentle, delicate touch that you almost wouldn’t have believed how desperate he was if it weren’t for the longwinded moan that involuntarily escaped his lips when he made contact with your core. You bit down on your lip, breathing out from your nose, and started to grind your hips against his face. He kept kissing at your cunt over and over until it was almost indiscernible what was fabric and what was flesh— your panties had gotten so wet from his mouth and your slick. The wet trace made the friction unbearable, and your pussy throbbed through the fabric onto his face.

Through a mouthful, Art mewled,

“You taste so good. Please let me eat this pussy.”

This time, his lips peppered kisses around your inner thighs, soft but quick touches, taking in your musk. You decided to stop torturing him, that enough was enough. You lifted yourself up just a bit, and pushed up your slip. You were about to reach your hand down when you stopped and cocked your head with a smirk.

“Go on, then,” you said. Softly, like it was a suggestion more than it was a command. And Art took it in perfect stride.

He practically ripped your underwear off, pushing them to the side with a brute swipe of his hand that contrasted wildly with the gentle kisses he had given you before. Literally pushing your panties to the side. He looked for a second, eyes glazed over at the sight in front of him, taking in the sight of your dripping pussy. It looked so warm and wet and inviting, if he weren’t a better man he would’ve had to force himself not to bury his dick inside of you. When he felt he’d gotten a good look of it, savored the moment just enough, he wrapped his arms around your waist, smashing your cunt against his face. His mouth connected with your folds and you felt him sucking vehemently, before slipping his tongue in between your slit, pressing the tip of it against you. You cried out as he collected all the slick from your weeping center, keeping a hand on your stomach to stabilize himself, the other against your asscheek, squeezing every now and then.

“Oh,” you moaned, immediately starting to grind your pussy against his tongue, your clit once again nudging his nose each time you moved up. Art kept up, positioning the tip of his tongue just right so you rode it each time you wound up, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Yes, Art, just like that.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, the vibrations causing you to clench over his face and around the tip of his tongue. Then he flattened his tongue so he could capture the entire surface of your cunt. This time the grip on your ass grew stronger, and soon enough both his hands were squeezing your ass, supplementing your movements. You kept the time you wanted, Art just assisted you in rolling up. You honestly needed it, the way your thighs were starting to shake.

Art hummed satisfactorily again, enclosing his lips around your clit and suctioning, keeping his tongue out just enough so you could feel both sensations. You nearly squealed, your hand flinging down to push your panties out the way even more. Your back arched in pleasure, creating a whole new angle for Art to lick at and please. His fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your ass, like he was leaving some imprint. Now it was you writhing and moaning, but Art never forgot who was in control. That is, until he took firm grasp of your hips and used that to flip you over so that you were on your back. It was like he never lost contact with your pussy, diving right back down before you could even register what had happened. He yanked your panties all the way down and threw them over his shoulder.

“Take your shirt off, baby,” you panted.

He obliged, throwing his shirt off too, and then leaning back in so he could get to work. His arms wrapped around the inside part of your thighs, spreading you apart for him. Before you even felt his mouth, you moaned at the sight of his back and shoulder muscles flexing as he worked. He placed sloppy kisses against your inner thighs and kissed closer and closer to your mound until finally, he was wrapping his lips around your clit once again, using what he could of his tongue to lap up your juices at the same time. You were nearly trembling in pleasure, your hand flying to the back of his head to keep him secure where he belonged. He moaned in response, and you squeezed tufts of his strawberry-blond hair.

“That’s it, I want you to feel good. Make yourself feel good for me,” he murmured, his nose buried in your cunt, eyes closed in satisfaction and concentration. You glanced down to see that he was grinding his hips ever so subtly into the bed — getting off by getting you off, and you threw your head back.

“Mhmm. So good, Art, you’re so good.”

This seemed to set him off into a frenzy as he placed open-mouth kisses against your pussy, kissing it like it was a mouth. His tongue lapped you up and sucked you in, making precise, timed movements with the close of his lips around your clitoris. He used his hands to gently push your legs back so they were angled slightly in the air, the new angle causing you to whine. He angled his neck ever so slightly so he was licking the lips, a slender finger prodding at your wet, tight entrance.

“This okay?” he asked, just dipping the pad of his finger in and opening his eyes to look up at you, as if you weren’t lost in your own world of pleasure, eyes shut tight. You opened them momentarily, looking down at what he was doing, the sight of his face engulfed in your pussy and his finger slipping up and down your slit now. You could only manage a moan along with a strangled nod, and he obliged, sliding a slender finger inside of you. Your pussy stretched and then collapsed around his finger, suctioning in like a glove, and now he used his tongue and lips to go from your lips to your clit, all spit and drool and your arousal as he worked his finger inside of you.

“Fuck,” a strangled grunt left your throat, your pussy tightening around his finger, which made him moan in response. “Art, fuck. I’m getting close.”

“Yeah?” he replied, muffled as it was. He slipped another finger inside of you with ease, wishing he could watch as he felt your pussy sucking him in greedily. Now the slow thrusts of his fingers became more forceful, pushing deep inside of your walls. You nearly screamed at the addition of his finger and the way he curled them inside each time they came to a stop inside of you.

“Y-yes, fuck, just like that, Art, don’t stop.”

He moaned something incomprehensible, or maybe it was a groan mixed with a sigh, as he continued the expert deft movement of his fingers inside of you and mouth against you, bringing you to rock your hips against his face. You were muttering to yourself now: “so close”, “gonna come” until his fingers finally hit that sacred spot, his lips closed just right around your clit, spit drooling from his mouth, and you fell apart. That devastating feeling peaked in your stomach as Art brought you to your high and you gushed around his fingers and into his mouth. Your moans were girlish and deliciously sweet, momentarily wiping away that facade you’d been playing so good at all night.

“Fuck, I’m coming!” it was like you were announcing it to yourself, squeezing your legs around his head and practically clamping down on his hair with your hand as you released. He helped you ride out that high, not stopping, but slowing his fingers and easing his lips against your pussy to keep you grounded.

When you’d finally caught your breath, Art pulled back, his chin and cheeks absolutely soaked.

“You taste so fucking good, YN,” he said it like it was a fact of life, as simple as “the sky is blue,” trying to ignore the fact that his load was prone to explode any second now.

“C’mere, I wanna taste,” you implored. Shakily, he pulled himself up and above you, letting you cradle him in your arms, one around his back and the other cupping the nape of his neck, as you captured him in an open-mouthed, sloppy, slow kiss. You could feel his cock sticking out of his boxers and poking your leg and in one swift movement you slipped your hand between the two of you and pulled him out, your hand wrapping around him. He couldn’t help but take notice of how your hand fit him perfectly, like a glove.

His hips started to stutter, quite literally, he nearly fell on top of you, gasping desperately.

“Fuck,” he drawled slowly, lips still brushed against yours, pinching his eyes closed. “T-this is s-so—”

He spoke between full-body twitches and spasms of his cock. You pouted slightly, running your fingers through his hair,

“Use your words, Artie. Whatsa matter?”

He chuckled, hanging his head low and shaking it slowly,

“It’s just I’m so — fuck,” his words morphed into a whine when you used your finger to circle around his tip, which was positively leaking with precum. “I… I’m so sensitive right now. I’ve been trying not to come for like thirty minutes.”

You both laughed, genuinely amused.

“You wanna come?” you entreated, gazing at him with a look that almost resembled concern.

His smile dropped as his face morphed into that of desperation, that of need, and he nodded earnestly,

“Yes, please. Please make me come, YN. Make me come h-however you want me to.”

“Yeah?” you implored, the palm of your hand closing over his tip to gather slick and then spreading it all down his shaft. “Want you to look at me while you come. Can you do that for me?”

Art felt pressure building in his chest as his breaths grew more and more erratic and he forced himself to look you in the eyes, responding with an affirmative albeit strangled whimper that was supposed to resemble the word “yes.” You rewarded him by stroking him faster now, your hand a tight grip around his shaft, the sound of his wet skin and your open hand slapping against his balls overwhelmingly lewd. His eyes fluttered closed for just a minute, and his head cocked to the right, his mouth opening while no sound came out. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his hips started to buck up into your hand, supplementing your strokes.

“F-fuck, YN, that’s– fucking incredible, Jesus Christ. Please, I’m gonna–” he stammered, looking up at you like he was pleading with you. You simply returned his gaze and smiled, that warm, all-knowing smile of yours, and he fell apart. His entire body, hot to the touch, seemed to shake uncontrollably as he burst, thick ropes of cum spilling out of him and splashing onto your hands and your thighs.

“Fuck!” he whined almost pathetically, his hips faltering to an unsteady stop as he released.

You kept your hand there, slowing to languid, gentle strokes as he rode out his high until you were sure he’d emptied the last of his cum in the crease between your thigh and hip. He tried his best not to collapse on top of you, but you knew he was weak.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, and he fell on top of you with a limp thud, groaning as he buried his face in your chest.

The two of you lay there catching your breaths, sweaty and hot to the touch. When Art finally got up, he laid next to you on his side. His face was red, and not just because of the exertion.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me, probably crushed you,” he laughed apologetically.

You replied by using two fingers to gather what you could of his cum, smiling writhely as you licked them clean. He watched intently, absolutely enraptured. You did it again, reaching down to your thigh and gathering up his cum. This time, your fingers prodded at his lips. He nearly rattled with arousal. Easily, he obliged, opening ever so slightly, and wrapping his lips around your fingers, sucking the taste of himself clean off. You smiled at him admiringly. He couldn't help but laugh around your fingers,

"Fuck, that's so hot. I'm so sorry."

“Don’t apologize. You did so well.”

Suddenly, Art sat up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You giggled, your eyes twinkling as you looked up at him, amused by this sudden display of responsibility.

“Do I seem that fragile?” you teased.

“Oh, on the contrary. I just, I don’t know. Aftercare is important.”

So you spend the next half hour being doted on by Art as he soaped down your body in the tub. It’s the most intimate you had been the entire night, and he realized now that this was the most detailed he’d seen your body. He wanted you like this forever, being carefully pampered under his adoration, gazed upon by his eyes only. For a moment, you worried that this was somehow crossing a line, but you swallowed those thoughts just as quickly as they surfaced. The line had already been crossed when you reached out to them. Sure, you wanted to see how your two favorite white boys were doing, and you were excited to rekindle the friendship that had molded your life for so long.

But like Art walking to your door, you knew what it was that you wanted, and you knew that you were opening up a can of worms. Besides, you really did love Art, and you loved Patrick too. It was the sort of platonic love that could only be understood by people who had been friends as long as the three of you had. The kind of love that was still there for the taking years later. It didn’t need constant stoking to keep the flame. So, neither of you made this routine— this gentle touch in the water, loofah running across your back and Art’s fingers digging into your shoulders to loosen you up — a big deal.

By the time the water drained, you were absolutely zonked. You didn’t realize how late it was and just how much energy the whole ordeal had taken out of you. Your orgasm was so strong you were surpised you didn’t fall asleep then and there. Art used a towel to dry you off and had to practically carry you to your bed. He was lucky you didn’t see the shit eating, self-satisfied grin on his face — he liked being a caregiver, and throughout all the years that you had been friends, it was rare that you ever let him take care of you like this.

You threw the sheets over yourself, lashes batting as you looked over at Art, who was kneeling on the floor next to you, at face level with you. He was smiling so wholesomely that you couldn’t help but reach your hand out and stroke his face, your thumb resting on his sharp jaw.

“You’re good to me, Art. You both are. I really did miss you two. I keep saying it but I want you to know it’s true. Didn’t just invite you guys here to live out some old fantasy.”

“I missed you so much,” Art could melt from the touch of your hand on his cheek. He tilted his head slightly to kiss your fingers gently, cupping your hand over his. “I know you, YN. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

You yawned,

“I’ve been a rotten friend, though. Don’t know what took me so long to invite you guys to one of these. I thought about it every year, but decided against it every ime.”

Art waved his hand, shaking his head in dismissal of your comments,

“You’re a perfect friend. We’re the rotten ones.”

“See? You’re just the sweetest,” you grinned, your eyes sparkling. “I’d let you sleep with me, but—”

“Patrick,” he concluded.

“Don’t want him to be mad you didn’t tuck him in,” you giggled.

In the back of Art’s mind, he wondered if it would’ve gone the same way if Patrick had been the one to knock on your door. He knew it would, but it was nice to pretend that it was something he had to think about. He wondered what you would’ve done if they’d both shown up. Almost laughed to himself at how little self-control he had, while you were like a rock.

“He’s asleep anyway, but I should be there in the morning so things aren’t weird… things won’t be weird, will they?”

You shook your head, though some part of you knew that Patrick would even out the scorecard soon enough. He always did, competitor that he was. He was so hard to resist, and it’s not like you were resisting him very much in the first place — you’d invited the both of them, it was just a quirk that Art had been the one to do it first. You’d half expected Patrick to show up by himself, if it wasn’t the two of them. But one thing about Art was that he wasn’t some stick in the mud — he could be a wild card, and if he was anything like that ball of energy he was back in high school, you knew he could get shit done.

“It could never be weird. It’s us,” you replied with certainty.

Art leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

“Go back to bed, Artie. I’ll see you at breakfast,” you grinned.

“Goodnight,” he crooned.

“Goodnight,” you replied.

He stood up and walked out the room, though part of him was longing to stay there for just a bit longer, if not the whole night. But he knew this was just a one-time thing, just a way to let out that pent-up tension. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already thinking about showing up to your door tonight, and the next night, spending each warm summer night here buried inside of you, pulling his name from your mouth in pleasured sobs, making you come undone with his fingers once again. But, dutiful as he was, he walked back to their room, careful not to make a sound as he pulled off his shirt and stepped back into bed— staring up at the ceiling while he replayed moments over again in his mind. Like high school all over again.

#challengers #challengers smut #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x black reader #patrick zweig x black reader #x black reader #x reader #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x patrick zweig #art donaldson x black! reader #patrixk zweig x black! reader

221 notes · View notes

kt-the-lee · 8 months

Text

No Longer Ruined - Hazbin Hotel Tickle Fic (HuskerDust)

A/N hi everyone!! this is my first fanfic on this account, i used to write a fair bit on my old deactivated account but I stopped for a couple years so i’m a little bit rusty, but i just love these two so much that i simply HAD to write for them! (this was also really self-indulgent for me to write so i hope you enjoy AHHHHH)

inspired by this post by @duckymcdoorknob : “We interrupt our usual programming to bring forth Angel Dust who is terrified of being tickled (bc of Val) until Husk shows him that it doesn’t have to always be torturous.”

Lee!AngelDust, Ler!Husk

warnings: very brief mentions of Angel’s job (not very much detail but important context to the story), sad!Angel

Word count: 2,133

One thing about Angel Dust is that he HATED being tickled.

Well, that wasn’t a complete truth. It was his favourite thing in the world once upon a time, but then it got ruined by various jobs that Val made him undergo. And that did make him quite sad, he wished he could have it in his life again, but he feared it was associated with one too many bad memories at this point.

And now, the thought of it terrified him.

This was made all too apparent when Charlie (the resident tickle monster of the Hazbin Hotel) decided to attack Vaggie in the middle of the lobby one afternoon. This was a regular occurrence, and everyone usually watched fondly as the usually stoic Vaggie let herself laugh (that is until the tables turned and Charlie then gets absolutely destroyed, she may initiate most tickle fights but usually ends up spectacularly losing them!). However, this was the first time Angel had witnessed this spectacle.

And he just couldn’t bring himself to watch.

The laughs mixed with screams, the squirming, the panicked breathing, it just sent him to a dark place. Where the masses chuckled and cooed at the girlfriends’ antics, Angel felt his breathing hitch and an unpleasant anxiety building in his stomach. Tears pricked in his eyes and he tried to inconspicuously leave the room, unnoticed. Or so he thought.

“Hey, what’s up, you okay?”

Angel turned around and saw Husk, head tilted, a concerned look on his face. Panic shot through him; “oh shit, did everyone notice me leave? That must’ve looked REALLY fucking weird, how am I going to explain-”

“Relax, nobody else saw you go,” Husk said gently, sitting on a nearby couch and directed Angel to take the place next to him. “Everyone was far too distracted watching those dumbasses wreck each other, although it’s a frequent occurrence it does never get boring!” he chuckled as the laughter from the lobby turned up a notch, but then frowned when he saw Angel visibly flinch at the sound.

“I’ve… never seen ‘em do this before,” he explained as he took the seat next to Husk, tensing up slightly as a paw was placed around his shoulders but immediately relaxed. He trusted Husk, perhaps more than anyone in this godforesaken place. But could he explain this?

Husk looked at the spider with concern in his eyes. He was triggered, clearly, but he couldn’t quite piece together why the girls tickling each other had caused this.

“Do you wanna talk about it, Angel? We don’t gotta, but you know I’d never judge you for anything. We’re both losers, don’t ya forget that, so nothing is off-limits.”

Angel looked up at the cat, debating for a full minute as to whether he was going to indulge. However, as he heard Charlie squeal from the room over from them and physically had to hide his head in his hands, he figured an explanation was desrved.

“I… just…” he stuttered, trying to find the words. “They’ve been ruined for me.”

Husk looked slightly confused. “What have? Tickles?”

“Yeah… there was a week-long shoot a few years back, and it always got taken too far. Lotta ignoring of safewords and not stopping even though I begged and begged and begged, my body felt like it was going to shut down-“ Angel shuddered as he remembered. “I’ve done a lot of weird shit for this job, Husk, ya know? And you know I love to relinquish control. But this, by far, was the one time I felt the most trapped and suffocated.”

The usually stoic Husk felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. Sure, tickling was torturous, that was the POINT. But it was also supposed to have an aspect of fun and trust and love behind it, and the fact that Val had taken that from him made him both upset and absolutely fuming.

“Fuck me, that’s intense.” Husk couldn’t find the words for awhile. “And also fully understandable as to why you’d be triggered now.”

A scream and a giggly “NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEERE” from Charlie in the other room made Angel tense somehow harder than he was before, and Husk tightened his hold around his shoulders.

“If it’s any reassurance, the girls’ dumba ass tickle fights are nothing like that, there’s a lot of silliness and love behind it and it would never ever get taken that far” said Husk, trying to reassure the spider. “Infact, I’m fairly sure they both love every second of it, no matter how much they protest in the moment.”

“Oh I know that, really I do.” said Angel. “ I know what they’re MEANT to be like, it’s like I said, they were ruined for me.”

Oh?

So that meant…

“You used to like being tickled?” Husk enquired, a slight grin in his voice as he enjoyed the thought of his sweet spider enjoying something so silly. That thought was fleeting as he realised how that was no longer true because of his job, and Val. God. the things he could do to that bastard for breaking Angel like this…

Angel nodded, cheeks burning slightly. “A whole lot, used to ask Cherry for it all the time. But I fear I’m too far gone now, I’m too scared it’ll go too far and people won’t stop.” Angel sighed, and flinched again as the laughter somehow got EVEN LOUDER through the walls (what on EARTH was Vaggie doing to Charlie?). “I want to like it again, I do think about it a lot still.”

“We can try now, if you like?”

Husk looked into Angel’s eyes to gauge his reaction. He couldn’t tell by that one sentence if he had just put the fear of god into him, or hit the nail on the head with exactly the best way to fix this.

Angel couldn’t tell, either. On the one hand, the thought of being tickled again terrified him. He had managed to avoid it as much as he could outside of work, and even in work he would try and steer the content towards other things. However, he knew deep down that he wanted this back in his life. He trusted Husk, so maybe this would be the perfect way to ease back into it? He deliberated, and made his decision.

“Yeah… okay.”

Husk breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t overstepped a boundary, and felt the grin returning to his face as he figured out the best way to do this.

“Anything I should know before we try this out? Now is the time for boundaries, my little spider-” said Husk, a teasing tone already etched into his voice which made Angel chuckle and roll his eyes.

“Stop when I tell you to-“

“That’s a given, dumbass, I was gonna do that anyway.”

That made Angel relax, he wasn’t used to people listening to his pleas. Maybe this would actually be okay…

“Oh… okay! Uhhhh, no foot stuff please, that was always Val’s… yeah. Favourite. So that’d probably send me into a panic.”

He thought for a second.

“Otherwise…. youregoodtogo-“ he mumbled as he buried his face in Husk’s chest, preparing himself. Oh god, what if this was a bad idea? What if he just hated it no matter what? What if he yelled at or hurt Husk? What if-

All thoughts in his head were silenced as the paw that was placed on his shoulder began to walk ever-so-gently around his bicep. Husk traced his entire upper arm slowly and delicately, before moving all the way round to where Angel’s underarm met his ribcage.

“This okay?”

Angel could only nod, a trace of a smile forming on his lips as Husk began to lightly scritch the spot. Nothing too intense, nothing that would overhelm him. But it couldn’t be ignored.

Husk felt the spider tense up below him as he used one claw to dance lazy, gentle circles around Angel’s ribcage. He glanced down to make sure he was okay, but it seemed to be more of a tickly flinch than an uncomfortable jerk away, so he persisted, adding more claws to slowly intensify the sensation.

It was then that he heard it.

The giggles.

And it was just the sweetest sound Husk had ever heard.

In fact, he got so distracted by the sound of Angel’s giggles that he subconsciously stopped tickling him to listen. Which, of course, stopped the giggles.

“Hey, ya didn’t need to stop!” said Angel, surprising himself.

“Oh I know… I just got distracted by something” chuckled Husk, beginning the movement of his claws again, as slow and as gentle as before. Angel tensed and giggled again, but didn’t seem to be protesting too much.

Angel had missed this. He had missed being in a safe place where he was free to be held and just let someone dote on him for a bit. Head empty, no control, no expectations, to just relax and feel happy. He couldn’t help his arm flinching against Husks gentle tickles around his ribcage, but he also noticeably lent into both Husk himself and his paws on his ribs.

Husk took this positive body language and gentle giggles to turn it up a notch, scratching with slightly more intent and pressure, making wigging motions with his paw. He also walked his fingers down from Angel’s ribcage to the sides of his stomach.

The spider’s gentle giggles quickly became slightly louder laughs as Husk did this, and initially felt a zap of panic. However, it was impossible to feel unsafe in the arms of the cat, so he let himself feel the sensations. It wasn’t TOO intense, but it was certainly enough for him to squirm and cackle, especially when Husk added a second paw to mirror his actions on the opposite side at the same time.

“Hehehehehey!!” laughed Angel. “Thahahahat was uncahahahahalled for!!”

“Oh was it now?” teased Husk, feeling a little more confident that he wouldn’t end up overwhelming Angel at this point. “Because I don’t hear you protesting, baby. Infact, I’d probably say you’re having a pretty swell time right now!”

“Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup” protested Angel, cheeks burning redder than the skies of Hell itself. “Teheheheasing mahahahahakes it wOHOHOHORSE-“

Upon the last word of his sentence, Husk moved both of his tickling paws to the front of his stomach, spidering the spider’s belly like there was no tomorrow. Angel SQUEALED, throwing his head back into Husk’s shoulder as he tried and failed to whine about quite how mean he was being right now.

Despite this, there was one thing that Angel couldn’t deny. Fucking hell, he could never deny how much he’d missed this. To be able to enjoy being tickled again without the fear of boundaries being disrespected and his every part of his body panicking as strangers took advantage of him, under Val’s perverted instruction.

“You doing okay down there?!” Husk chuckled, checking in as Angel arched his back and fell backwards onto the couch. Husk had one paw kneading into an armpit whilst the other made various shapes into his tummy. This seemed to be a killer combination as Angel snorted in his cackles and basically folded his body in half.

The cat slowed his attack to let Angel catch his breath, which may have been perfect timing as the spider managed to breathe out a “Stohohop nohohoho mohohore” through his depleting giggles. This made Husk briefly panic, thinking he had took it too far and this had all been for nothing. But the persistent grin and sniling eyes of Angel reassured him that he hadn’t put a foot wrong. Or, rather, a paw wrong.

“Thahahahat was fun” said Angel, residual giggles still pouring from his mouth as he sat himself up, rubbing the leftover tickly feelings away from his torso. “Might take a few goes and a bit of practice, but it certainly is an improvement to fifteen minutes ago!”

Husk felt his heart melt as Angel cuddled back into him and, as the room silenced, the laughter from Charlie and Vaggie’s ordeal STILL could be heard through the walls. However, now it made Angel smile fondly as opposed to being terrified for his life.

“How are they STILL going?” pondered Husk, shaking his head fondly at the sounds from the other room

Angel shrugged, and laughed as he heard Charlie let out a noise not too dissimilar to a squeal that he himself had produced moments earlier. “Shall we go and observe?”

Husk grinned and nodded, tweaking Angel’s side before taking his hand. Angel flinched and tutted at the cat, but couldnt hide the endearing look in his eyes as they ventured back into the lobby to observe the girlfriends tickle fight.

It certainly was a happy day in Hell.

#hazbin tickles #hazbin hotel tickle #lee!angeldust #ler!husk #tickle community #sfw tickle #sfw tickle community #sfw tickling #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #huskerdust tickles #tickles #tickle #sfw tk community #sfw tk blog

375 notes · View notes

fiendishfables · 7 months

Note

hello!! i saw ur blog and i was super excited to see another aroaceee is it alright if you do platonic adam x reader headcanons? he can be reader's friend, sibling, or preferably reader's father figure as long as its platonic, anything u'd like is fine! sorry if my request is kinda weird lol, i just haven't seen a lot of platonic hazbin hotel stuff (especially stuff with adam in it)

a/n: Always good to meet other aroace individuals, indeed. I personally love Adam, he is absolutely my favorite character. I’ve been dying to write for him more and thinking of him as a dad is just my favorite scenario-

warnings: cursing, Adam being Adam, brief mentions of sex, subtle hints at Lute x Adam (if you squint)

words: 944

additional notes: this was one of my first asks I ever got; I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. Enjoy~!

Adam as a Father Figure

Headcanons

First of all, he never expected to actually have a kid of his own, but now here he was

By the time you turned 6, you knew about every single curse word in existence, along with a (disturbingly) decent amount of female anatomy

Lute gets promoted to babysitter

When Adam is off performing with his band or needed in the council/other Heavenly resides, Lute is responsible for keeping track of his child

Even if she lost you (which she has, multiple times) he won't be that worried

You were a kid and as far as Adam knew, kids needed food

Hence how he knew you would find your way back to him eventually

Okay scratch that, maybe he does get a little worried...a lot

Starts to doubt his ability as a parent

Once he even got Sera to send out a search party for you because you had been gone longer than usual

It worried him sick whenever you went exploring, but he was almost a bit prideful that his offspring had managed to inherit his sneaking around capabilities already at such a young age

Lute has had to console her boss many times in response to your random disappearances under her watchfulness

He has legit been facedown on the couch with his head in her lap whilst he bawls his eyes out, blabbering to her about his worries pertaining to you, and then somehow that stems to his hopes and dreams in life (he doesn't wanna talk about it)

Only for you to walk in with food from some random location about 10 minutes later

You'd be on the floor as soon as you enter the domicile because Adam would have jumped on you and then proceeded to hug the very life out of you (all while stealing your bag of food in the process and running off with it)

Calls you a bitch, dumbass, and 'a little shit' for worrying him

Though he would never openly admit he had been worried

He doesn't care if you have a social life, he wants you home safe before 9pm, sharp

── ･｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

Teaches you how to play guitar

He claims its because he wants to pass on one of his awesome talents to his only child, but he also really wants you to join him and his band on stage one day or another

You are in the starter stages of learning and are able to accurately get chords down and learn to read sheet music

A tear just may have come to his eye

The first song you two ever perform together is "Hell is Forever"

He did see someone try to give you a rose after your performance and nearly knocked them out

Trust him, he's a sex and relationship positive guy (for the most part) but he also can't help but feel like he wants to protect you at all costs

If you dare to call him over-protective, he will very gladly give you the silent treatment for a good 5 minutes

After that time mark, he will be groveling at your feet and whining about how sorry he is (rare that he actually says 'sorry')

His biggest fear is his own child having it out for him and not wanting anything to do with him

A clingy parent, no doubt

Wants to train you in the ways of becoming an Exorcist Angel

Poor guy is a bit insecure about everything and needs extra reassurance, though he would never ever outwardly ask for it

That's a sign of weakness in his eyes

Not for his child though

You come to him with even the smallest hint of watery eyes and he is already going full dad-mode

Determined to find the fucker who made you upset

Promises to give em' a good ol' kick in the balls (or vag)

Adam won't discriminate, he's just there to beat the ass of whoever hurt his precious baby

He will get in a fist fight with Sera in order to make you happy

Just expect to be the one he then blames when he gets demoted

── ･｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

Adam totally took lots of naps before he had a child, so this just makes for the two of you ending up crashing on the couch together and creating a melodic tune out of your in-sync snoring patterns

Anything the two of you can do together without constantly arguing is a miracle, so this is to be cherished

He has definitely given you some very creative nicknames (as he calls himself 'Dickmaster')

Lute has taken many pictures

She wants to make a photo album and give it to Adam one day just to piss him off

But as she knows how much he really cares for you, she does not want to risk him growing apart from you due to something stupid she did for a few momentary laughs

Let's you two have your moments without interrupting

The two of you always fight over food and who gets to pick where you go for the evening, if going anywhere at all

Lute claims that you are making Adam all the more emotional, but no one seems to be complaining

Especially not the High Council

Its nice to have him shut his mouth for once and remotely think about his actions and who they could potentially effect

Adam has something to lose now, and everyone in both Heaven and Hell alike knew it

No demon spawn would ever get to set even a foot near you

You were the first life he felt truly responsible for

He refuses to fuck it up and lose someone else he cares about

He would protect you until the ends of time, whether you liked it or not

186 notes · View notes

frozenjokes · 3 months

Text

long list of mcyt ships and my dumbass opinions this post was getting too long and I have so much more to say

skizzpulse: needed to write about this because I don’t ship them at all but something is deeply weird about them in a way that is neither platonic or romantic. They have transcended human definitions of Relationship to me. No they’re not a QPR either. They’re weirder. Whatever you’re thinking they’re weirder. Do not separate. Attached at the hip.

etho: etho is in a realm of his own where I simply can not ship him. he’s not doing the romance. he’s not doing the qpr. he’s not doing shit. And it’s not because he can’t pull bitches; he is swagless and a loser in a way that brings ALL the boys to the yard (as opposed to Grian who is similar except he can’t pull anyone), he’s simply getting weird with it. He walks right past any sort of relationship into something deeper; resident sopping wet animal. aro/ace also but this isn’t nearly as relevant as the autism

cubscar/convex: favorite hermitcraft ship and it is not even close. It is NOT EVEN CLOSE. in the way scarian are both covered in lighter fluid and holding matches, convex are also doing that except it’s become a game of who can set the other on fire without being lit up themselves, and they’re both having the times of their lives (ends with both of them on fire every time without fail and it’s usually scar’s fault). they’re insane about it. the vex shit???? insane. their minds are beautiful and deeply wrong. I think they should kill each other.

solidaritimes: I will never forgive Scott smajor for separating scar and Jimmy in secret life he has no idea what he took from me. In a world where Jimmy is often the butt of the joke (by his own volition, I understand) the sheriff deputy thing was fucking beautiful. Sunshine and rainbows, love and support and adoration and everything good and healthy. A massive breath of fresh air and easily my favorite part of the hermitpires crossover. They mean everything to me. I’ve never seen such losers be so in love. Failgirl power.

redscape: another banger. These guys are GOOFY and I think Scar hits a magical combination of being Completely Exasperating vs Setting Off Mumbo’s Bullshit Radar which makes them bounce off each other in a lot of fun ways. They are versatile as a couple between banter and shenanigans and dedication, it’s a pairing I generally think of as very healthy and fun and if you also like all of these things don’t read my Boatem Ghosts AU because I make redscape awful and Mumbo pays the full price! Whoops! I love to think about them falling fast if I am writing them as romantically/sexually inclined characters, where Scar is frustrating but at the same time charming and silly in a way that draws Mumbo in. Mumbo on the other hand challenges Scar and chips away at his facade in ways he finds exciting. I like a Scar that wants to prove himself to Mumbo, win him over, where Mumbo is just lightly exasperated about the whole thing.

cleo/cub: probably the only pair on this list that I think are friends normal style. I just really adore normal style friends cleo and cub feuding about their museums so I had to tell you. I need to write them as friends more often. I love thinking about cub helping cleo fix up her stitches as well as other maintenance on their body. guys who nudity doesn’t matter to they’re both just chilling with their shirts off. special platonic dynamic to me.

ranchers: I don’t care about ranchers

moonrot: I don’t normally ship cleo and pearl in most of the smps or whatever. However. The specific dynamic they have in my boatem ghosts au makes me a little insane I really like them together. Pearl is a little bit deranged in her Wanting Revenge On Scar but ougghg that pirate scar’s hanging out with… she’s so cool… and then Cleo brings them to the ghost island and Pearl thinks she’s even cooler cleo is So Awesome ougghggh and then she gets worried because Scar is a Ultra Murderer TM so she’s quite protective over Cleo and doesn’t like Scar being around them AT ALL but her ass is dead so she’s not doing shit about it. The pining once Scar is out of the picture is Out Of Control. I should write a one shot about this.

ethubs: I think this is the only ship I can honestly say has ever been too weird for me. I think they’re deranged in a way that makes my skin crawl. I am deeply afraid of them. They’ve never kicked it normal style in their lives. I look at them and I don’t know what I’m seeing. It scares me. I respect this ship deeply and leave freshly slaughtered sacrifices at an altar once a week in a hope that will be enough for ethubs to leave me alone.

#hermitshipping #skizzpulse #ethoslab #cubscar #convex #solidaritimes #redscape #zombiecleo #cubfan135 #tagging at random here #ranchers duo #moonrot #ethubs #goodtimeswithscar

74 notes · View notes

seeds-and-sins · 4 months

Text

Broken Shells

Pairing: Dementus x Original Female Character (Immortan's Daughter)

Rating: E (SMUT, very dirty and steamy)

Description: Dementus becomes desperately infatuated with Immortan Joe's only daughter.

"Mmm." Her head was throbbing, eyes crusted together with dried up sand. Her chest rose and fell, nostrils flaring as her steady breathing grew heavier with each inhale. Her blue eyes fluttered open, blurry vision taking in the foreign objects around her. Her body thrummed alive, fingers twitching, she brought her hand to her forehead with a groan.

"There she is. I told you I didn't hit her that hard." She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, too fast, a dizziness overwhelmed her and she had to close her eyes again.

"Maybe we should have tied her up, ya'know? She seems kind of deadly."

"Deadly? She's the daughter of the Immortan. 'Course she's deadly." Persephone shook her head, then in a burst of strength sat upright. Her leathers squeaked against the fabric of the couch beneath her, the heels of her boots thudding against the concrete floor as she swung her legs over the edge.

"Oh boy! We shouldn't had done this."

"Will you shut it?! Go outside. Give us some privacy." Rapid boot falls dissipated into nothing, followed by the slamming of a door Persephone groaned again, cupping her forehead. There was a pain between her eyes and if she concentrated hard enough she could feel the exact spot where an object had been thrown down onto the back of her skull.

"Jesus, fuck. What did'ya do to me?"

"Oh come on, don't be so sour. You wouldn't have come with us if I had asked ya'." Her eyes opened again, she slouched. She figured it must had been him: Dementus, the man that her father now despised with all his being. Persephone crossed her arms, pursing her lips.

"You're really an idiot." She huffed, eyelids fluttering as her vision faded in and out, her head dropped slightly to the side.

"Who? Me? How so?" Dementus raised a brow at her, completely oblivious to the mess he had just made for himself.

"You get the best deal possible with my father. But as you're leaving, you kidnap me." Persephone crossed her arms, then her legs at the ankle. This wasn't the first time she had been kidnapped and she was certain it wouldn't be the last. Although more often than not, she always fought her way out of these situations. Her father never really had to actually come and rescue her. She supposed it would be the same song and dance all over again.

"It's not a kidnapping if I bring ya' back." He snorted, pointing a finger at nothing in particular and then winking at her.

"No. It's still a kidnapping. You took me without consent, dumbass."

"You're an awfully smart gal." He stood up, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. "Can I interest ya' in a drink o'something? I don't know where anything is at the moment," He giggled as if he was telling a joke, "but I'm sure I can figure it out." A voice at the back of Persephone's mind told her that yes, she did know where they were and she knew exactly where everything was, giving her the distinct advantage. She was surprised that Dementus hadn't ransacked the Gas town tower after capturing its now deceased former resident, but then again he wasn't the smartest bulb in the bunch, now was he?

"Look," Without hesitation, Dementus began aggressively searching every cabinet, cupboard, container he could get his hands on. "I don't think you've realized what you've done." Persephone hid a flinch when he tossed a metal container over his shoulder, in her direction. "Once my father sees that I am missing, he is going to come after you."

"I'm counting on it." He raised a bottle of brown liquid. "Here we go! Hope it's not engine oil." He chuckled again, stumbling back to Persephone, her neck craned away from him when he came too close. "And when he shows up, I'll just pop ya' back out at the front gates." He uncorked the bottle, then tested a sniff with a scrunched up face, humming his approval. "Whiskey! Didn't even know they had that anymore. Won't last long I bet. Want some?"

"What do you want?" His arm dropped and he fell into the couch across from her with a hard thud, arms dangling between his legs.

"Well." He paused, licking his lips, then lounging back and crossing his legs. He held the bottle of whiskey in the pit of his palm, held eye contact with her as he downed a swig. "There is no easy way for me to say this." Persephone's silver brow raised, she blinked her eyes at him, clearly not impressed. "I thought that maybe..." He waved his hand. "We had a connection." Persephone ducked her head into her hand, exhaling a disgruntled sigh. Dementus stayed still, eyes shifted around anxiously. "I'm just saying, you're beautiful and I'm stunning, why wouldn't we be attracted to each other."

"Stunning isn't quite the word I would use to describe you." Dementus winced at that, his free hand running over his beard.

"Now that's not a very nice thing to say."

"I'm not a nice person."

"And that is why I love you." He took another swig of the whiskey, then extended it to her once more. "Come now. Don't you want to have a little fun? Let loose?" Persephone eyed the bottle with a reluctant glare. "You seemed all locked away up there." Was it that obvious that her life was miserable? Every day she woke up to the same monotonous routine. Even her eldest brother, Scabrous, was growing antsy over it.

Before Dementus came, roaring in with a Biker Horde at his tail, things had been quiet for years. And all their father cared about was siring a full-life heir. Persephone had long ago given up the notion of impressing her father. From the time she could walk, she was being trained in the ways of the wasteland, in all manner of fighting styles, in all manner of weapons and mechanical skills. By the time she was a teenager, she had conquered entire regions, coming back with the severed heads of her father's foes. Not once did he break his stoic expression, not once to admire her or tell her that she was awaited.

Persephone was resentful over the fact that if she was a male, maybe her father would care for her differently. She had done everything right, would do everything right. She was clearly smart and tactical and strong and fierce, but because she was female none of that mattered. It didn't matter that she was a full-life, free of complication. It didn't matter that she would make a better leader than any of her brothers. When she entered his chamber, he didn't even so much as glance at her anymore. She knew that her very presence was a nuisance to him.

She needed something to distract herself from this imprisoned lifestyle. War was the only thing that soothed her thoughts. To be in a battlefield, to taste and smell the gasoline in the air, to feel the wind in her face and fire at her back. So when Dementus arrived, of course, her brothers and her were quick to jump to the plate. But the Immortan was ever so resourceful, he made no move that wasn't necessary and that didn't benefit him. A war was not in his best interests at the moment.

"Or did I guess wrong? Because if I did-"

"My father isn't going to trade anything with you for my life. I'm just not that important." Persephone stated in a monotone voice, attempting to hide the hurt that came from making such a statement. But it was the truth. Even as a little girl, when she ran to her father and hugged his leg, he did nothing more than pat her on the top of her head.

"Family Issues?" Dementus nodded, "Yeah, I understand that. Although mine is sort of a found family thing-"

"So you brought me here to fuck?" She hissed, growing tired of this round about way of conversation. Dementus seemed not quite all there. And she didn't blame him for it, he was out in the wastelands for who knew how long. She just found it annoying when people didn't act the way she wanted them to, a product of being her father's daughter. Dementus' eyes widened, he wasn't expecting her to be so forward. He was trying hard to beat around the bush on this.

"Yeah. I did." Persephone rolled her eyes, staring off for a moment in thought. She hadn't had a good lay in a while. Last time was about six years ago, with one of the Imperators, and she was just trying to get her father's attention at the time. She eventually did, but not in the way she wanted. The Immortan only warned her not to get pregnant, it would have been an embarrassment for him.

"Very well. Drop your pants." Dementus sputtered to find words in his shock. Persephone stood up and began undoing the many latches on her black cargo pants.

"Wait! What?! What's going on?"

"If you want to fuck me, take your goddamned pants off." She stepped closer, snatching the bottle of whiskey from his hand and bringing it to her lips for a sip. She sloshed the burning liquid in her mouth before taking a huge gulp, then placed it on the nearby end table.

"Yes, ma'am!" He hurriedly unbuckled his pants, having to remove various chains before finally loosening them enough to shimmy the clothing down his legs. An amused grin cracked Persephone's stoic exterior. She kicked her boots off to easily kick her pants away. Her lower half bare to him completely. "Don't you think it would be better if we had nothing on altogether?" He matched her grin, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Stop talking..." Her hand cupped his cheek as she stood over him. "Or I'll change my mind." Her eyes followed the plains of hard muscle that were his chest, a bed of thin chest hairs traveling down his taut stomach. At the end of the trail, his semi-hard cock was rested against him. "When was the last time you did something like this I wonder?" She teased, climbing onto his lap, Dementus' body wracked with a shiver that made him groan. His hands lifted to her hips and she swiftly slapped them away.

"Hey-" He protested, his lips closed with a pop when her finger pressed to them. She smirked, that same finger caressing down the length of his beard. "Not long at all." Her fingers wrapped around his beard and tugged, he growled.

"Not what you're supposed to say."

"What am I supposed to say then?"

"Oh," Her voice took a deeper tone to mock his own. "It's been so long, Persephone. I crave you." He flashed his yellow teeth, he brushed a few loose strands of blonde hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.

"Do you want me to say that? Because I can say that."

"No. Don't say that." She laughed, her palms flattened against his chest. Eyes flicking between the pads of muscle beneath her fingertips and his expectant gaze. "How does a man get enough protein to even look like you?"

"I eat people." He plainly said, her nose twitched in disgust, but it was brief.

"So you're a cannibal?"

"Yes-well-No," He cocked his head from side to side. "When the need arises, I should say."

"So you're a cannibal?" She repeated, knowing the answer already.

"I mean..." His teeth clenched and he squinted. "Maybe." His eyes ran down the front of her body, down to her bare cunt. She was straddling his spread thighs, opening herself up to him. "Ya'know..." He began, a short evil cackle rising from his chest. "I could eat you if you wanted." Now it was her turn to feel on the spot, he could hear her swallow. Her brain processing what he just said, slowly, deciphering each word.

"No." She commanded, "I like it fast and rough. Nothing before, nothing after. Let's get this over with."

"Alrighty' then. Hop on." She watched his expression as she slid forward, the length of his cock now nested between her sacred lips. His sharp intake of breath at the contact against his length told her everything she needed to know.

"I think you were lying, Dementus. I don't think this is something you do very often at all." He bit the inside of his cheek, training to keep as blank an expression as her. She grabbed him, he tensed up. "You're a lot larger than I thought you would be." It wasn't something she thought about, more an impulsive exclamation, and she hated how it boosted his ego. She knew she shouldn't have said it as soon as she did. His eyebrows wiggled again, hands returning to her hips with renewed confidence.

"Having second thoughts about going in dry?"

"I'm not letting your ugly face anywhere near my cunt, so drop it."

"Ah, yes, 'cour-" His head fell back as she pressed him inside her, bit by bit, taking his cock. Her lips parted and her face wrinkled with discomfort. "Fuck." When he bottomed out inside her, his balls nestled into the crook of her ass, she released a whimper dropping against his chest. "Ah, there we go..." He spoke through clenched teeth, his hand cupped the back of her head. His brow furrowed when his nose brushed her scalp, realizing that she smelled nice. She smelled much nicer than any woman he had ever shared a bed with. Not to mention, she was cleaner. The citadel had great luxuries indeed and Persephone was proof of that. "All ya' needed is a bit of cock. Doesn't that make things better?"

"Urgh, you are the most annoying piece of shit I ever met." She lifted her hips, grabbing his shoulders for leverage and withdrawing just enough to look him in the eye.

"I think you like me, you just don't know what to-"

SMACK!

Her palm collided with his cheek and his head whipped to the side from the force. Slowly his head tilted back to her, his jaw going taut with irritation. "Little brat." He mumbled, his grip tightened on her hips and he forced her to start moving. Persephone released a gasping moan, her body lurching forward into his. Her head tucked into his neck, hips rising and falling, meeting his own guided thrusts. "Fuck. You're tight." Persephone knew she made a mistake in turning down the foreplay. His cock was burning against her insides, her spongey walls whining for something to give way.

"Wait! Stop." She breathed, lifting from his cock. They both winced at the absence.

"Ha! I knew it!" Persephone spit into her hand, focusing on evening out her ragged breathes. Her hand wrapped around his cock, Dementus hummed in response. "You're not a very pleasant person."

"Stop trying to get to know me and fuck me." Persephone squeaked when Dementus flipped her around, planting her on her back. In a single thrust, his cock was buried inside her. Her nails dug into his shoulders and his lips mouthed along her throat. Persephone cried out in pleasure, her hips lifting in desperation to meet him. "Harder!" Dementus grunted, hips pistoning that much faster. He guided her legs to close around his hips and slightly lifted them so he could go that much deeper.

"Fuck, that's it!" Persephone ran her hand down his chest, tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, but they were good tears. This felt so good. She couldn't think about anything else but his cock. He was tearing her apart, bringing her that much close to an edge that she hadn't been upon in far too long.

"Dementus! Please!"

"Oh fuck, got'ya all whiney now. Is that it, honey? Ya'like that?" In retaliation, she raked her nails down his chest, leaving red in their wake. He clenched his teeth, holding her glare. His hand connected with her ass, hard enough that she screamed. "We can play like that. You wanna' play like that?" He husked out, hunching down to lick his tongue up the base of her throat to her ear. "So tasty, wouldn't hurt to 'ave a bite." His teeth locked around her throat.

"Ah!" She wrapped an arm around his neck, holding him in place. Her body trembled as her cunt locked tight around his cock. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She wheezed out, Dementus didn't let up till he could taste blood on his tongue. With red smeared around his lips, he kissed her jaw, then her cheek, then her nose, leaving red lip tracks with each peck. His forehead pressed to hers, his eyes squeezed and a lengthy groan escaped him as his seed emptied into her weeping hole.

"Ahhh, yesss~" His voice rumbled, hips twitching as they kept a slow and choppy rhythm. He stopped, heated breathes exiting his dry lips, chest heaving from exasperation. Their bodies stuck together, drenched in sweat, the smell of sex permeated in the humid air. "Fuck. That was good." He sat back on his haunches, weaving a hand through his hair while the other steadied himself against the backrest of the couch. "Would have liked it if ya' let me eat ya' cunt first, but this is good too."

"You can." Her eyes fluttered open, a bliss filled expression on her face. "If you want." She yawned, propping her hands behind her head. She sent him a dopey smile. "I won't mind now." She was fucked out, he thought, that was the only explanation he had for her being so comfortable looking. And damn, did she look perfect just like this. He wished he could keep her like this forever.

"What happened to ya' never lettin' my ugly face near yur' cunt."

"I changed my mind." He shot her smug look, then scooted back enough to where he could lower himself to the space between her legs. "Just think," She grinned, "If you try anything, I could kill you like this. With just my legs." His eyes darted between her two thighs, which were now perfectly closed around his head.

"You're welcome to. I would die a happy man." He wasted no time. He easily manipulated the skin of her folds to reveal her abused cunt, their mixed juices trickling from her. His finger collected them, stuffing them back inside her. "Bet you tasted good before I tainted ya'." He was certain that way up in her cushy little citadel she had access to all of the sweet tasting fruits. To taste all of that through her would be a dream.

"Nothing you can do 'bout it now."

"Maybe next time, you let me taste you first?"

"Who said anything about a next time?" She spat, and he knew his time was limited then so he dove in. It wasn't unpleasant. The salt of his seed, the sweet of her arousal, it mixed together nicely. He groaned against her pussy, tongue flicking up to her clit. Her stomach tightened and her back slightly arched. His palm pressed gently down on her pelvis to keep her still.

"Uh, Dementus?" A voice called timidly, even with the door out of sight, the both of them could hear the door creak open. "Are you-"

"He's busy! Now get out!" Persephone snarled, the man cowered out of her sight.

"B-But is he alive?" Dementus withdrew from his ministrations for a moment to answer.

"I'm alive. Everything's okay down here! Jus' gettin' a meal in. Long day." He chuckled at his own joke, looking back at Persephone to get caught in her glare. He frowned, then pressed his lips back to her. Her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed.

"I better hear that door shut, you sicko!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" And the door did shut, Dementus's man left them be. Her fingers curled in Dementus' greasy hair, one hand left to cradle her head. He worked his tongue through her folds, eyes shut in concentration as if he was enjoying a delicacy. With the slightest bit of teeth, her hips pushed upward, her body begged for me. Dementus held her in place, muscly arms wrapping around her thighs to bury his face completely into her. His own hips began working against the leather of the sofa, cock hardening at just the taste of her.

"I knew I could get you to-" His two fingers dipped inside and her mouth fell open in a moan. She didn't know where they had been, but part of her didn't even care at this point. Within a matter of seconds, he was bringing her to completion. Her body fought his hold on her, his lips pulling back into a pleased smile as he continued licking and sucking, pumping his fingers. She deflated into the leather cushions of the sofa with a sigh. Through crescent lidded eyes, she watched him sit upright once more. He popped his dirty fingers into his mouth, making a show of licking every bit of her juices from his appendages.

"Ready for a second go?" Her eyes travelled down to his twitching cock, pre-cum leaking from the head.

"I have a better idea." She got up, shoving him to lay on his back. He was like puddy in her hands now. She could do whatever she wanted to him. Her fingers wrapped around him, she could feel and visibly see the abs in his stomach clench. "How 'bout this, Dementus?" She whispered, lowering her face to his, lips teasingly brushing his own.

"This is good. Yeah. Very good." Her hand moved up and down his shaft, thumb pressing to the slit at the bulbous head. "Yes~" She smiled at him. The suns rays came in from the balcony, blanketing half of her in bright light. Her blue eyes sparkled, her long curly blonde hair pitched over one shoulder. And it looked like she was made of the stuff used for the clouds, her skin looked delicate and pillowy and glowing. The afterglow of her pleasure suited her. Dementus hoped it would never end.

"It must be so much trouble." Her eyes feigned concern, bringing forth a sadness in his own and his eyebrows furrowed.

"W-What?" He asked, cocking his head at her.

"Being a leader. Having to take care of so many people." She squeezed his cock and he grunted, inhaling deeply through his nose, his chest rose and fell.

"Yes. It can be hard."

"You just want someone to take care of you, you poor thing." He licked his lips, tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth.

"I do. I need that."

"Aww, it's okay little baby. I'll take care of you." His eyes slid shut as her lips pecked chastely to his cheek. His eyebrows lifting at the softness of her touch. Her hand kept a slow pace on his cock, which was red and hot and pulsing. She knew he was close. "It's such a shame. You've got a really nice dick."

"Why thank you. 'Didn't expec-"

CLICK!

Persephone withdrew, amusement in her gaze.

"What-" He yanked his arm, the one that was hanging over the edge of the couch, and there, wrapped around his wrist was a chain bracelet, that was attached to a metal hook imbedded in the concrete floor. "Wait a second!" He growled, yanking aggressively at the chain. She attempted to climb off him, but his opposite hand grabbed her wrist. "Come here. I don't think so!" She easily maneuvered out of his grasp, calmly walking to her cargo pants. An uncharacteristic whine left him, his eyebrows flying up into his scalp. "How did you even know about this?!"

"I've been here often with my father. And the guy that you killed used to keep slaves here." She finished fastening her cargo pants with a victorious smile. "And the funny thing is, I don't even know where the keys are." She chuckled, "I did give you a hand though. You might want to finish yourself off before your people come in." She was bent over, pulling her boots on lazily, not even bothering to tie them.

"You'll never make it outta' here!" He yanked hard at the chain, muscles flexing.

"Your people are idiots. I'm sure I'll be fine." Persephone winked at him. "I'll see you around, Dementus. Have fun."

"Wait! Stay! Just stay, don't leave. You don't have to leave." She didn't pause on that offer, exiting out of the door.

...

One grueling step after the other, the sun beating overhead. It was foolish but Persephone kept to the road, the concrete scraped beneath her boots. In the distance, through the fumes that radiated off the hot desert surface, she could see a black dot. It was growing closer and closer. She didn't fear who it could be. After a few minutes, the Gigahorse came to a screeching halt beside her, Scabrous's head poked out the window, Rictus jumped down from his place at the truck bed.

"You look like shit. Do we need to kill anybody for ya'?" Persephone ignored Scabrous's tease, dragging herself into Rictus. Her forehead dropped to his abdomen and she allowed his strength to keep her upright. Rictus gently patted her head.

"There, there, sister. At least you aren't dead."

"Father didn't even have the decency to show up himself. Lovely."

"Don't complain. Get in the truck." Scabrous reprimanded with a scowl, Rictus lifted her onto the truck bed and she squeezed in through the rear window, plopping into the passenger seat. Rictus hopped onto the back and hit his hand on the top for them to go. The Gigahorse kicked dust out behind it as her brother turned it around, driving it back toward the citadel. "Wanna' talk 'bout it?"

"Dementus is an idiot."

"We knew that already." Rictus popped his head in through the small window. His brother had half a thought to elbow him out.

"Can't help but think that father messed this one up."

"You think it'll be that bad?"

"Might be good for a while, but he's not sustainable."

"Well lets tell'im then. Go over there, take that fucker out."

"He won't listen." She pressed her forehead into the window with a sigh.

"What's gotten you all bitchy?"

"Nothing." She huffed, looking back at her brothers. Scabrous was the smarter of the two of her brute brothers. The less brutish one was back at the citadel, occasionally she would rather spend her time alongside him. Corpus was the smartest out of all four of them.

"You fucked him didn't you?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Gross!" Rictus said in a biting tone, ducking his head back out of the window to signal his leave form the conversation.

"You want us to go kill him?" Scrabrous's tone taking a darker turn.

"I mean, we could, but I don't think father would like that so much."

"When father finds out you two fucked, he'll want to kill him too."

"Nah." Persephone looked back out the window again. "Father doesn't care that much."

And sure enough, Immortan Joe did not care.

...

"So, she just walked out?!" Dementus yelled, his neck clenched, his face red with irritation. Two of his men were attempting to break the chains on the shackles that Persephone had clicked on him. His top bosses surrounded him as they deliberated over the recent development.

"No one wanted to stop her. She's terrifying." Smeg said, chewing anxiously at his fingernails.

"I don't see what her worth is anyways." Octoboss deadpanned, the others muttered their agreement, Dementus fumed.

"No one wanted to stop her?!" He shook his head, relaxing back into the couch. A thought crossed his mind, he let it be known.

"History man, what does Persephone mean? What kind of name is that?" Everyone looked to the eldest man in the corner of the room, who straightened and gripped his staff. And when he spoke, the room went silent.

"Persephone. Greek. Bringer of death. Goddess of the Underworld. Goddess of rebirth. Daughter of Zeus, the God of all Gods."

"Bringer of death?" He whispered, nodding his head. "That's a sign. Definitely a sign."

"Don't be a fool, Dementus." Octoboss hissed through clenched, already fueling a hatred for the man after Dementus had discarded Octo's own men as if they meant nothing.

"Persephone is going to be the one to get us to the citadel." He declared, announcing it to the others, a confident grin rising to the corners of his lips. He was met with confused faces, some even defeated expressions. All of them were sick of his bullshit, but no one else wanted to step up to the plate. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

#furiosa #mad max furiosa #dementus #octoboss #immortan joe #furiosa a mad max saga #dementus x oc #original female character

66 notes · View notes

tonixe · 1 year

Text

"Whats your favorite scary movie?"

n.o.t.e.s - 🌊Randy is seriously underrated, like give him some love <3

w.a.r.n - 🌀 penetration, oral (m receiving) p in v, creampies, non-con to dub-con, protected sex.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - 🌠Randy Meeks x Ghostface!female reader

w.c. - 1.7k

The phone ranged throughout the Meek's residents. Randy was home alone, the perfect time for you to sneak up on him and ruin his geek logic.

It was the perfect time to use your new voice changer to suit your character; it was easier than the boys. It was a more feminine, high-pitched voice, but it was still tangible to hide your identity and gender; it was sexier. It suited your character. Billy and Stu were questioning the change, but you managed to persuade them.

It was the perfect time to at least kill him but in a way that he'll never forget; you were gonna wear black lingerie over the already black cloak, and the mask would be better soak in his dork blood.

You hid a hunting knife to a butcher knife inside your cloak, turning on your voice changer.

As the phone ranged, you saw Randy pick it up, muttering a "Hello?"

"Hello, handsome!" you said seductively through the line as you saw him puzzled by the simple that came out of your mouth.

"Who's this?" Randy asked curiosity evident in his voice.

"Your secret admirer," you said, as you played with the phone cord, "My secret admirer?" he repeated your sentence.

"Your more handsome than you think, baby~."

"Is this a prank, Stu," he dismissed whatever you said as you saw him got angry through the window from his stance.

"I'm not Stu, darling."

"I swear to god Stu, if this a fucking prank, I swear"

"IM NOT FUCKING, STU DUMBASS," you yelled through the phone, "I'm more than that, Randy."

"Whatever, I'm just gonna hang up the phone-"

"Hang up the phone, and I'll slice your throat open just like fucking Casey."

"Wanna play a game?"

"Do I even have a choice?" Randy muttered

"You don't, baby~" it was amusing seeing Randy in fear; it made you feel arousal.

"I'll make the genre about Horror movies, since your such a horror geek"

"Question 1, What is Danny's nickname in the shinning?"

"It's Tony"

"Wow, You really do know your stuff."

"Question 2, In Sleepaway Camp, What was Angela original name?"

"Peter"

"Oh my, I can see why they can you such a geek," you giggled,

"Okay, Last Question Mister, Where am I?"

"Wait what?" you heard the fear evident in his voice, "Where am I Randy~"

"How the fuck did you know my name?" he asked as you saw him looking around him and in the rooms.

"Answer the fucking question, Randy."

"I don't know where you are, psycho. Whatever it is, I'm calling the police"

"They will never make it in time, babe."

That was the last time you said before hanging up the phone. You pulled down the generator, cutting off all the light sources in his house. It was an eerily sight; you saw his face plastered with fear.

The perfect opportunity to kill; everywhere was dark, pitched black.

You grabbed your knife, doubled, wheeling both of your weapons, walking down the hallway; it was obvious that your little Randy was hiding.

You walked into the living room, wheeling your knifes in a circular motion. "Come on, Randy~."

"Where are you?" you spoke through your voice changer; turning your body around, you heard his heavy breathing. Stepping forward near where he was.

"I found you, Randy~," you said, throwing one of your blades at Randy before he dodged it and started running off. You pulled off the thrown knife that landed in the wall, forceful with your leg.

"Come on, Randy. I don't like to play with my toys before killing them~" you cooed out. You followed him upstairs, quickly looking around at the surrounding before destroying some doors.

"Come on, Randy. I don't wanna fuck around, just come out and fight like fucking man," you yelled, your voice getting erratic by the second. You started chopping down the doors, turning around before your lungs were contradicted from oxygen, as you turned your head around to see Randy; he was close to unmasking you before kicking him in the knee, taking him by surprise, and then kicking him in the face.

Successfully getting him on the floor, straddling him with your legs, before swinging your knife at him, before he dodged your violent strikes, kneeing you right in the abdomen, making you fall on the floor, dropping your weapons.

Holding your abdomen, groaning in pain. "Y-you bastard" Before you regain your balance, He pins your arms on the floor.

His heavy breathing on your cheek, you straddled him between your legs, trying to get him off you. "I-i'm going to fucking kill you," you barked at him.

"Not when your in fucking jail," he yelled out.

"Like hell," you manage to knee him, picking up your weapons and straddling him forcefully, "Im going to make sure you'll have a horrible death, putting up your guts like Christmas lights, bitch" holding up your knife over your head.

Before you could, you felt something hard on your nether regions. You were taken back and lowered your weapons. "You're getting hard off of this you sick bastard," you said with a smile in your voice.

He didn't respond to your teasing; you saw a faint blush on your cheeks.

You hooked your weapon back on in your cloak. "If you do a favor for me, I'll keep you alive," you lean in, whispering into his ear, grinding down on him.

He remained silent, the tension between you both growing by the second before he hesitantly shook his head.

"Good Boy~" you cooed at him

You slide back, pulling down his pants, getting a glimpse of his hard cock and wet stain staining his briefs. "You really did get hard off of this" you teased.

His face was red, pure red.

Before pulling down his briefs, his length sprang up, his precum dripping down his shaft. He was medium size, not average though, but overwhelming big.

"I wasn't expecting this from a virgin, big though~," you said, cocking your head to the side getting a glance at his red face and whimpering.

"Close your eye, Randy, don't peek. You don't want me to kill Ran" Your comment seemed to bring him back, as he immediately closed his eyes from the threat before you wrapped a blindfold on his face.

You took off your mask, laying it on the side. Combing back your hair with your fingers. Jerking him down and up, his whimpering coming out of his lips. The pace of your hand was unbearably slow as more whimpers and moaning came out of his lips.

More precum was drooling out from his length before you started playfully licking the tip of his cock. Sucking on the tip, swirling your tongue around it.

Before you took him inside your mouth, swirling around before bobbing up an down on his cock, holding his hips down.

"F-fuck" he moaned out.

You forced yourself down, gagging on his length. Your eye is watering before withdrawing. Your saliva connected to the tip of his length before unbuttoning the top of your cloak, unclasping the top of your bra.

Putting your boobs between his length, holding both sides of your tits, lapping at his length, sucking down on him, before jerking him off with your tits. You glanced up from him, and through your eyelashes, you saw him gripping the carpet, the feeling between your legs pulsing.

His legs were trembling, and you felt his cock twitching inside your mouth before you felt hot, salty liquid flowing into your mouth, before swallowing down his cum.

As Randy groaned out from his orgasm. You still felt his length still hard after his orgasm. "God, your still hard?" you smiled.

You took off your panties, positioning yourself over him as you sink onto his length. As his cock split you open, Randy groaned from tightening cunt.

You placed your hand on his shoulders, riding down on him, as you rocked your hips on his. You bit down on your lips, hiding your moans from being audible. Leaning down on holding his shoulders, biting on his neck, your bites blossoming into fresh love bites.

"D-damn," he groaned.

"You feel better when you are inside of me," you purred; you felt his hand around your hips, and your hips and his collided as he plunged his dick inside you.

As his pace turned erratically, feeling his balls slapping onto your ass as he thrust in, as you broke out from biting your lips as your moan ranged out. Feeling twitching inside you, you felt your orgasm near, his hands gripping onto your hips, forcefully thrusting inside you.

You felt warm liquid pouring into you as your sense of relief washed over you, seeing white.

His groaning and your moaning came in sync, as you took out his limp length from you, his cum escaping from your cunt. "God, you did well" you cooed, as you put on your panties back on.

Buttoning on your cloak, wearing back your mask, Crouching down to his level, "I guess you broke a rule; you had sex~" you smiled as you took off his blindfold from him; his face was still fully red; you got up and broke the window jumping out of the house, giving him a wave.

Randy's face was still red, as he just thought what he just did.

Walking down the school hallway wearing your backpack, going to the area where your friend's group was, near the lockers. "Wassup guys," you said gleefully.

You saw Billy glaring at you, maybe because you went off the plan; Stu was busy flirting with Tatum. You glance to the side, seeing Randy plastered with a smile, "Whatcha smile for Ran?" you ask, cocking your head.

"Did you finally get a girlfriend~" you teased, pointing at him.

"Kind of" He rubbed the back of his neck; after he said, everyone got silent just staring at him. "Randy got a girlfriend; how much did you pay her" Stu teased.

"Nothing, dipshit," Randy snapped, getting a laugh from Stu. "I'm surprised you got someone, Randy," Tatum said with a surprised face.

"Surprised as to what he does in his free time," Billy muttered, earning him a nudge from his girlfriend, Sidney.

There was tension in the air as you broke the ice, "Well, it's good that Randy is finally being a man," you said as you ruffled his hair. You glance to see him with a red hue on his face. I guess he still remembers that night.

#randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks x y/n #scream #scream 1996 #stu macher #billy loomis #sidney prescott #tatum riley #randy meek imagines #randy meeks x fem!reader #casey becker #scream 1 #scream movie #scream franchise #randy meeks x you

611 notes · View notes

admiral-mason · 21 days

Text

SAGAU x Ultrakill Part 2

Comment from the last post:

Okay @bk-4-trash-fire here's some more gremlin content

This is part 2 to my original SAGAU x Ultrakill post

Gender neutral reader

SPOILERS AHEAD!

In Inazuma

After visiting and causing enough shenanigans in Liyue, you received a letter from the Raiden Shogun detailing that she desired you to visit Inazuma.

So you two hitched a ride on the Alcor with Captain Beidou and the Crux, but V1 thought the ship was too slow.

"...V1, why do I feel like you're gonna do something drastic again?"

"Because I am!"

Right after that sentence, V1 fired a frozen rocket with the Freezeframe rocket launcher yet again (it's quite the useful mobility tool at this rate) before deciding to carry you bridal-style and unfreezing the rocket to fly to Inazuma.

"WHEEEEEEEEEEE"

"AAAHHH V1 DON'T DROP ME!!!"

Timeskip brought to you by:

After a while of flying in the air and your constant worries of falling off, V1 safely landed on his two feet before placing you down.

"Rocket riding is always great-" You then stared at him directly in his eye with an expression that screamed a mixture of anger and distress.

"Never pull that shit again on me V1."

"I cannot guarantee that but okay!"

Walking into Inazuma, you and V1 made your way to the Tenshukaku, taking in the sights and getting your friend some more blood until you heard dashing noises followed by running in Inazuma City's streets.

"Lmaoaoao can't catch me you spear-wielding dumbass humans have too many skill issues!"

You two saw V2 being chased be what appeared to be a group of Shogunate soldiers until he stopped.

(V2's voice from this video, V1 added as well)

"Okay I'm actually getting tired of you guys so here."

V2 jumped and ground slammed to knock the soldiers back before knocking a few out with his right arm before switching over to his left Knuckleblaster arm; the same one that V1 stole. Somehow he managed to get it back.

"Hey V1 how the heck did he get his arm back??"

"I'm about as confused as you-"

V2 then turned his head to you two and crossed his arms.

"You know, V1 I really would fucking kill you right now."

"Likewise here, glorified security drone!" V1 replied with a snark before taking out the Slab Piercer revolver and pointing it at him.

"But I'm not going to, because I finally have my original arm back! Oh and who's your friend?" V2 said as he pointed to you with his Knuckleblaster.

"Oh! This guy helped me take your arm!" V1 said, still holding the revolver.

You just stared at V1 with a deadpan face since being around him desensitized your danger senses. "Bruh V1 you really had to do me like that-"

V2, however, was surprisingly calm about it. "Meh, okay. The past is the past, I have my arm back so no need to continue my murder spree for it."

V2 offered his hand for a handshake and you did so hesitantly. V1 lowered his revolver in result.

"So, wanna join us?" You asked.

"Sure, before those guys wake up and murder me." He said, pointing at the knocked-out guardsmen.

It didn't take long for you and your robot friends to make it to Tenshukaku where Ei resided. Upon entering the palace and finding Ei she smiled at you and your mechanical dyad.

"Greetings, your grace. It is an honor to meet you in the flesh. Uh, who are your friends though exactly?"

"This is V1, and this is V2." You pointed the two of them out respectively.

After some introductions, you all spent a bit of time with Ei, mostly just chatting about various things and the Electro archon just eating away at an egregious amount of desserts.

It was mostly peaceful, until this part.

"Hey, I got a question," V2 said, raising his hand a little.

"Hm?"

"If you are a shogun why the hell do you have that boob window?"

You could visibly see Ei taken aback by that statement. "Pardon?" She replied.

"I mean what I said. Why do you have that large boob window?"

"...I-"

But V2 continued. "Actually no better question, why the fuck are you a woman?"

Ei looked both bewildered and slightly angered at this point while you and V1 just looked at each other. Then you took a couple of Tricolor Dango whilst V1 made sure to figure out how to save these memories in his hard drive.

Then, the argument truly commenced with V2 kicking it off.

"Weren't great leaders of nations always men or something? Because I never expected that you would be outside of the fucking kitchen."

"You insolent red thing-! I will have you know that I lead with the interests of my people in mind!"

"First, I am a machine, not a thing. Second, didn't you like fuck up your society after you placed a machine to lead? I know that we machines are great at warfare but we're shit at leading lmao."

This statement got the three of you taken aback, but moreso you and V1. You both knew that V1 and V2 originated from a different universe; how did V2 know about Ei's blunders? Thankfully, V2 looked at you two and provided an answer.

"I asked the locals here about any recent conflicts and they told me about the Vision Hunt Decree. They did seem very off-put about it though."

Ei looked frustrated, and not the 'anime girl-esque' type of frustrated. "Listen here, V2. I am a changed archon-"

"You still suck ass lmao" Ei slammed her hands after that.

"Will you let me speak?!"

"No, also you are fucking out there in that with all that fabric like a skate out of water. Just disgraceful. Back in my day, humanity dressed with some semblance of modesty. No flanges, no tassels, no wack shit just good ol' functional garbs to get us through our days. That's not even mentioning those thigh windows. Now go make me a sandwich woman."

That statement was the final straw for Ei and when she reached for her chest you knew that it was over for V2...

"TORN TO OBLI- Hey!"

...At least, until V2 literally used his Knuckleblaster arm to prevent Ei from taking the Musou Isshin out of her chest.

"Oh shit V2 how are you doing that??" You asked with a bewildered expression.

"You forget that I'm a blood-powered machine far more capable than a human in destructive combat, human."

Thankfully after a very long talk, you managed to get Ei and V2 to calm down.

You had to cuddle with her for the rest of the day though.

#ultrakill #ultrakill v1 #genshin sagau #sagau genshin #sagau #crossover #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #ultrakill v2

37 notes · View notes

greeneyedsigma · 1 month

Text

Here are some quotes from One Piece Navy Doctors being generally exhausted while being fueled by caffeine and spite:

“I don’t wanna know why Vice Admiral Onigumo bit you, dumbass, but you’re not dying. His venom is only mildly toxic. Stop crying, have some antivenom and get out of my office.”

“Well, of course, there’s an entire unit of fighting marines suffering temporary blindness; Admiral Kizaru was there. If we’re really lucky, there might be some more permanent blindness, too.”

“I’m sorry, Fleet Admiral, Aokiji froze the key witness solid and even if we get him thawed out I’m 80% sure he’s dead...what do you mean why? He’s encased in a block of ice and there’s no way the air pocket Aokiji left would have had enough air for more than a few hours. Fucking ‘why?,’ I mean really.”

“Akainu and Aokiji have been fighting for seven days already...dibs on not being one of the doctors who have to treat their injuries when they get back. They’re both gonna be cranky as shit.”

“Garp’s training the new batch of recruits? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea? ‘Welcome to training rookies, here’s some severe head trauma to start your careers.’ Fucking hell.”

*heavy sigh* “Bastille’s ship had a run-in with a group of Beast Pirates, and King the Wildfire was with them? Prep the burn ward.”

*Marineford’s resident pediatrician* “With as fucked up as most of the higher ranked officers are, their children are some of the sweetest, most well-adjusted little things. I assume we have the non-marine parents to thank for that. Couple of little psychopaths in the making, of course... shockingly not Onigumo’s or Akainu’s girls.”

“I am a patient, empathetic man...but if one more marine comes to me too worried that they’ve caught something from a prostitute, I may start forcing people to wear fucking chastity belts.”

“You think the supply commanders would approve the purchase of a metric shit ton of condoms to hand out during a mandatory safe sex seminar?”

“If you’re scared of what Akainu might do to you if you tell his wife about any of his injuries, you’ve obviously never met his wife. You should be far more frightened of her than him.”

“If your patient is being difficult, just offer them some candy if they start being a pain in the ass during treatment. Buncha overgrown fucking toddlers...no wait, that’s an insult to actual toddlers.”

“Dalmatian, sweet puppy, I’m gonna need you to stop picking fights with raccoons. I don’t give a shit what instinct is telling the part of your brain that was fried by your devil fruit. The rabies isn’t gonna be worth it.”

“I hate every single one of you.”

#one piece #one piece au #incorrect quotes #sigma's one piece au #marines one piece #op marines #funny

30 notes · View notes

blankieghosts · 1 month

Text

i just thought these photos really encapsulated me as a person.

hey, your resident dumbass here. my name is octavia and one thing about me is that i am a yapper. i will yap. and i will yap about anything and everything and sometimes even nothing. yapper or not, you can find me @ wisteriabundle. :)

#farmers daughter.#linc.intro #body image

23 notes · View notes

momo-t-daye · 2 years

Photo

“Uh, Professor, er, sir,” Harry stumbled over the seldom-used honorifics in his bafflement. “Uh, on your mouth…?”

“Lipstick, Potter,” Snape sneered, the expression all the more pronounced with the cosmetic assistance.

“Oh, uh, it’s, um, it’s black?” Harry hadn’t known lipstick came in anything other than his aunt’s subdued pinks or the vivid shades of red that Petunia considered sinful and salacious (and intolerably reminiscent of Lily to ever be permitted back into the precariously normal life of Number Four, Privet Drive).

“Very good, Potter,” Snape said sarcastically. “Twelve years old and you’ve learned your colors.”

That was pure nastiness and entirely unfair.

“I’m fifteen!” Harry protested, which earned him a merely sardonic eyebrow. “Almost fifteen,” he amended. “I’ll be fifteen on Monday.”

Harry longed to surpass Snape in sheer churlishness and considered pointing out that muggle men generally didn’t wear skirts. Certainly not in Little Whinging. Definitely not when Dudley and his gang were roaming the streets.

He’d seen plenty of oblivious wizards sporting spiffy new dresses as their muggle disguises at the Quidditch World Cup the previous summer (a lifetime ago, before Cedric was murdered and he hadn’t been able to stop it from happening). But there was something peculiarly well-tailored and suspiciously well-worn about the Potions Master’s garb that suggested less “disguise” and more “daily wear”. He found that his brain was oddly unwilling to acknowledge the existence of Snape’s psychedelic cardigan. His mind kept trying desperately to wallpaper something sensible over the bizarre image his eyes insisted on perceiving.

“…nice skirt,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” Snape drawled the false gratitude out with a smirk. “It has pockets. Dipshit and Dumbass there were too excited to get on the road this morning and didn’t give me any time to do laundry.”

“Am I ‘Dipshit’ or am I ‘Dumbass’?” Sirius whispered loudly, grin gone well past manic.

“I believe Severus called me a ‘dipshit’ among other things for forgetting to take my Wolfsbane last year,” Remus replied thoughtfully, “So, Sirius, that probably makes you the dumbass.”

“I’m more of a hot piece of ass, but okay,” Sirius said with a wink. “Hi, Harry!”

“Hi, Sirius,” Harry said weakly, glad for the excuse to sidle past Snape. “Uh, what are you doing here?” The Daily Prophet hadn’t said anything about Sirius being pardoned and news like that, while less of an urgent headline than Voldemort’s return, wouldn’t lurk about in the society pages or behind an advice column.

“Dumbledore told me to lie low at Lupin’s place,” Sirius beamed with an innocence so intense it could only be artificial.

“And, er, well, what with one thing and another, it really hadn’t seemed like a good time really to mention that I’d been, ah, evicted,” Lupin added, “…again.”

“Renting really seems like such a bother,” Sirius opined. “So I bought a house for Remus here.”

“Oh,” said Harry, who had witnessed Aunt Petunia compulsively twitching the curtains as she tried to discover how Mrs. Number Seven had eluded neighborly surveillance and, somehow, managed to sell her house to a person or persons unknown to the remaining residents of Privet Drive. “Isn’t that supposed to take a long time?”

“Building a home takes a lifetime,” Sirius said sagely. “Buying a house just takes money.”

Snape’s scornful snort brought Harry’s attention back to the least welcome visitor to Little Whinging.

“So, uh, why did you bring,” Harry gestured vaguely, unsure if the word ‘him’ could accurately encompass the snidest professor present, “Snape?” He’d rather noticed that Snape hadn’t lifted a finger to help Sirius and Lupin move any of the large boxes from the lorry into Number Seven.

“Severus knows how to drive,” Lupin explained gently. Sirius’ mouth opened, prepared to protest.

“Severus,” Lupin repeated, louder this time, “Has a valid muggle license to drive.” Sirius’ subsided.

“And I know how to hot-wire cars and lorries,” Severus added smoothly. “And,” Lupin echoed wearily, “ Severus knows how to ‘hot-wire’ muggle vehicles.”

“I’m learning to do that,” Sirius said helpfully, “I’m going to figure it out too. I’ve nearly got it.”

“Talk is cheap, Black,” Snape scoffed starting to stroll in the last direction Harry wanted him to go, “I’ll believe you when I see some tangible results.”

“Wait! Stop!” Harry wondered if he’d get in trouble for tackling a professor outside of Hogwarts. It would be worth it, to try to alter Snape’s trajectory towards the front door of Number Four. “Stop, stop, stop!”

For all Harry’s desperate scrambling, Snape maintained his lead.

“Please stop!” Harry begged as the professor hitched up his skirt slightly, “Use the bell! You don’t have to kick the door in!” Aunt Petunia was probably at the door, surely she’d spied them across the street at Number Seven.

Snape kicked the door, already unlatched in Petunia’s nosy anticipation, open.

Aunt Petunia let out a shrill little scream.

“Hello, Piss-Tuna,” said Severus Snape, far more gleeful than he’d been even when Harry and Ron were facing the threat of expulsion after flying a car into the Whomping Willow. “You look as awful as ever.”

Piss-Tuna, Harry thought as his world tilted on its axis, Snape, Professor Snape, just called my aunt Piss-Tuna. This can’t be happening.

“You—!” Her face was white, her eyes were wide, and Petunia Dursley, née Evans, practically growled in her outrage.

Harry found himself thinking that Brazil might be a very nice place to live. It was far away from Privet Drive, for a start. He wondered what it would take to get there.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Tuney?” Snape’s foot had blocked the door from closing. “I’m more than happy to have this confrontation on your front step if you’d prefer.”

“We, ah, brought some biscuits,” Lupin added. “Store bought. Assorted. With chocolate. Er, I’m, ah, we’re the new neighbors. So nice to meet you again.”

Petunia goggled at the lot of them.

She also stumbled back, which Snape seemed to take as an unspoken invitation. Harry found himself dragged along in the professor’s wake, with only Sirius’ hand on his shoulder to steady him in the swift tide of strangeness.

“I can’t believe your taste in interior decoration deteriorated into this level of disgusting kitsch and doilies, Tuna,” said the man who decorated with floating dead things in jars. Severus surveyed the photos on the wall, on the mantle, on the little side table. So many perfectly posed pictures of a happy family of three- mother, father, son- and a lock on the cupboard under the stairs. Narcissa had been absolutely right.

“Is that my jumper?” Harry jumped. Petunia’s voice was high and thin and quite peculiar.

“You’ve really done a terrible job of raising Potter,” said Snape, and Harry bristled. Of course Snape wanted to criticize him, Harry had been expecting the criticism, but he loathed the thought of his two biggest critics were now sharing notes and combining forces.

“Not only is he, like the majority of students, a careless menace in the laboratory, but I have also wasted entirely too much of my already limited time deciphering his atrocious penmanship to correct insipid essay after insipid essay only to see the same flawed reasonings repeated week after week.” It was news to Harry that he was supposed to read the sea of spidery red notes Snape deposited on every essay. It seemed rather unfair, given that Snape could fit five lines of text for every one line Harry wrote. The single “P”, or the occasional and welcome “A”, was more than sufficient in Harry’s view.

“That’s my jumper.” There was a touch of hysteria in Petunia’s tone now.

“He will be taking his O.W.L.s this year, his O-levels if you prefer,” Snape continued, demonstrating more confidence in Harry’s continued survival than Harry typically expected to hear from the Potions Master. “Unfortunately, his current record of scholastic mediocrity, his stubborn refusal to revise, and a peculiar incuriosity about magical theory does not bode well for his continued academic career.”

“You little bastard! That’s my goddamn jumper!” Petunia’s shriek derailed Snape’s momentum. The unexpected profanity from his aunt made Harry’s brain stutter to a halt.

“Tuna,” Snape frowned, “We’re not here to discuss my sartorial decisions and I will never take wardrobe critique from you. I only deigned to enter this suburban hellscape to discuss your horrendous failure to raise and parent Mr. Potter.”

“Biscuit, Harry?” Sirius offered, retrieving the tin from Remus.

“You stole my jumper!” Shockingly, Petunia’s epiphany failed to shatter glass. Yet.

“Didn’t,” sniffed Snape.

“I thought it was Lily who stole my jumper!”

“She did. I just hid it for her.”

“I bought that jumper myself! I’d saved up!”

“Yes, I know.”

“It was for an interview!”

“We wanted to spare you the humiliation of being seen in public wearing such a hideous thing. You even got that position, even if you didn’t keep it for very long.”

The biscuit was rather good, even without tea, and it was beginning to dawn on Harry that Snape and Aunt Petunia were more inclined to tear into one another than join forces against him. He felt oddly inclined to cheer for Professor Snape, despite the ranting about Harry’s scholastic shortcomings. Perhaps it was because Harry knew so little about his mother that every glimpse was a pearl he treasured.

“I want my jumper!” Did she learn that tone from her little Diddykins or had Dudley inherited that petulant demanding pitch from Petunia?

“And I want you to understand how your failure to nourish any academic inclinations Mr. Potter may have shown before the age of eleven may have rather dire consequences for futures beyond his own, but I fear we can’t all get what we want.” Remus handed Harry another biscuit before he could think to protest.

“Give me back my jumper!”

“Fine!” Snape finally snapped, fingers tearing at the buttons in wrathful haste. “Fine, here!”

Petunia caught the cardigan with her face and a squeak.

Severus Snape looked like a stranger again, in the ratty, oversized band shirt, hair disheveled from the jumper’s passage. Harry hadn’t seen the Dark Mark his professor had shoved under Minister Fudge’s nose in the Hospital Wing those few weeks ago, and he found himself oddly glad that the mark was concealed under a peculiar leather bracelet with metal studding. A wand holster, perhaps.

“Are you prepared to face your shortcomings now, Tuney?” That dangerously silky tone was entirely familiar, and Harry took another biscuit before he was told to go serve detention during summer vacation.

“It smells like Cokeworth,” Petunia’s complaint was bitter, for she dreaded the day her neighbors discovered the lingering taint of the Cokeworth streets sullying their Surrey security.

“Hey,” said Sirius, who had gone oddly still.

“I wasn’t going to take it to Hogwarts, was I?” Snape said. “It’s acrylic, you know that sort of stuff doesn’t hold up around magic.”

“Hey,” said Sirius. “Hey.” His face was a rictus of delight, as pleased as Petunia had been put out. “Snape. Isn’t that, isn’t that my shirt you’ve got on?”

“Oh, oh,” snarled Severus. “Not you too!”

#Severus Snape #Harry Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Petunia Dursley #Moving into Number Seven Privet Drive #Severus 100% wore the stolen sweater for the exact purpose of winding Tuney up #self-indulgent AU #My art #ficlet

414 notes · View notes