#jealousy in technicolor

[girlboypersonthingy]

I NEEED possessive Blitzø after striker was flirting with reader in season 1 episode 5

maybe leading to yknow

can I be 💿 anon?

I’m literally screaming over this request, holy shit! Yes yes yes, been craving some Blitzø writing. I’ve finally made it 😮‍💨 of course you can be 💿 anon. You’re actually the first anon to claim an emoji! So yeah…thanks for requesting, nonnie. Enjoy! 🖤

Notes: gn!reader, established relationship

TW: not really smut but very suggestive, still gender neutral reader, making out, heavy touching, a little dirty talk, teasing, Blitzø using his tail 🤤 possessive Blitzø 18+ only please

Blitzø x reader - Jealousy 🥀

Watching from your spot in the bleachers, sat beside Moxxie and Millie, you let your pride and admiration for Blitzø burst out of you in the form of screaming, cheering and clapping. Of course Blitzø just had to participate in the pain games. You watched as he showed off his skills, stamina and strength all day during the pain games and, to put it simply, you were in awe of him. He and that shady farm hand, Striker, were neck and neck all day. Sure, you’ve seen him at work before, you’ve watched him take the lives of so many living people, you’ve watched him take on unexpected enemies with ease…but this was just a game. Some harvest festival bullshit, that’s what he called it. If that’s all it is, why is he trying so hard to beat some dumb farm hand? Regardless of his reasoning, you supported him through and through, cheering him on from the audience as Stolas announces him and Striker to be tied for first place. “FUCK YEAH, BLITZ!!! WHOOOO!!!”

Hearing his name bellow from your chest in a high pitched yell caught his attention, head turning towards the sound as his eyes lock onto you sitting in the crowd. A smile tugs at his lips as he lifts one of his big hands to give you a wave. Simultaneously, Striker shoots you a devious glare, smirking as he winks at you and waves his hand back at you. The sight of him looking at you with those eyes just…made you shiver. What a creep. Did he really think you were waving at him? As if! But now you notice Blitzø frowning, teeth bared and hands now balled up into tight fists of rage. He was fuming, looking as if he was actively growling and you could see him shaking slightly.

Finally, Blitzø stomps his way off the stage and is on his way to you. This prompts you to jump up and go to him. Carefully shuffling through the crowd, you find Blitzø still looking more pissy than usual. “Hey, you kicked ass, babe! You totally deserved first place. Fuck that other guy.” Your immediate shit talking brings a smirk to Blitzø’s face for just a second before it turns back to a bitter frown. “Blitz… You did your best and I think your best is waaaaay better than that stupid, tacky cowboy and-“

Without letting you get another word in, without even worrying about the fact that you’re in a crowd of wrathians right now, Blitzø grips your wrist and yanks you into him. His lips come smashing into yours, almost painfully at first, but it soon becomes a sloppy, soft, open mouth kiss. And then his other hand falls on your hip for a moment before sliding down to gently fondle your ass. As your lips move messily against his, a surprised ‘hmph!’ comes from your throat when you feel his hand give your butt a squeeze. Quickly pulling back and sucking in a breath, “Blitzø! What’s gotten into you?” You ask with a shy smile, watching as he stumbles further towards you, practically drunk off your lips. “I’m better than him?” He repeats what you had said just a minute ago, his eyes now hungry and darting all over your face and body. “Psh! Of course you are.” Responding with another quick kiss to his lips, you watch as his smile gradually widens, his eyes never leaving your now blushy face.

Then it dawns on you- oh my god he’s jealous. You think back to when you had first met Striker and Millie’s parents, the way Striker was looking you up and down, when he kissed the back of your hand and called you ‘gorgeous’. Yuck. Makes you cringe just thinking about him touching you. What was it he said to you? Something like... ‘You probably have a man, considering how good lookin’ you are…but you should forget about him and come visit me in my room tonight, little one. I’ll show you what a real man is like.’ That’s probably what has Blitzø so annoyed and needy for you…and so pissed that he was tied for first place with that asshole.

Suddenly, Blitzø is dragging you along behind him as you both push through the crowd and make your way back to Millie’s parents’ house. “You okay?” You question softly from behind him. “I will be.” He responds immediately, you can hear the smirk he’s wearing from his tone of voice. In a flash, he’s got you into the guest room he was staying in, flattened out against the bed with him on top of you, his lips unforgiving and desperate against your own.

“Oh~ Jeez, Blitz…Im only yours. You know that right?.” Your lips part finally but he moves back in fast, his lips meeting your neck and slowly kissing down your chest. “Mhm. Tell me more.” He commands between kisses then lets his long, forked tongue drag along your exposed collar bone. “Ah~! I’m all yours. You’re the only one I w-want…fuck.” You lose all focus as Blitzø’s tail slithers up and around your thigh, the pointed end of it gently swiping up and down your crotch. “Blitzzzzz…” Your own moan surprises you a bit but when you look down at Blitzø still enjoying the taste of your collar bone, he’s obviously enjoying this waayyyy too much.

“C’mon…tell me more.” He carefully but firmly grips your face in his hand, his face just inches from yours now and he looks deadly serious, his big eyes searching your face. He’s making you look at him, despite how red your face is and how badly you want to find another spot to rest your gaze. “Who do you belong to?” It comes out of him in a low growl, his mouth back against your skin. “You. You, baby. I’m all yours, Blitz.” You take a moment to enjoy the feeling of his teeth scraping against your neck. “Listen…If this is about when Striker hit on me earlier, you know I-“

“Don’t… don’t say his name. Ever again.” His tone is almost frightening but the expression of pride and satisfaction on his face makes you bite down hard on your lip, your legs quivering as his tail continues to tickle up against your inner thigh. “S-s-sorry…” is all you can mumble out before impulsively reaching up to grab his face and bring it close to yours, continuing the make out session. “Keep saying my name.” He groans into the kiss as your hands begin to travel his body, feeling up his chest and down his sides.

“F-fuuck~ Blitz. Oh! Hmmmm~ Blitz, I love you…I’m all yours, B-Blitzzzzz~.” And now he just can’t control himself, physically or verbally. He completely unravels right before your eyes, huffing as his hands grip your hips, tugging at the waist band of your pants. “Fuuuuuck~ you’re so hot. Yeah, baby. You’re aaaaalllll mine. Only I get to have you like this, only I get to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.” The dirty talk is starting to get to both of you, pulling whines and whimpers from you as Blitzø starts to literally rip your clothes- not fully rip them off of you but his grip on the belt loops of your jeans right now is almost scary. The tighter he grips, the more you hear the seams of the clothing popping.

Just when you thought he would finally yank your pants off and fuck the shit out of you, Blitzø pulls back, checks his phone, then uses the waist band of your pants to pull you up to your feet. He pushes you towards the door, placing a hard smack to your ass before again nudging you forward. “W-what? Where are we-“ You ask, confused and weak at the knees. He holds up his phone, showing a text from Moxxie about Striker and his plan to kill Stolas. “We got a tacky cowboy to get rid of.” You sigh and trudge forward, disappointed and extremely horny now.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you.” Blitzø grabs ahold of your hand and gives you a flirty look as he continues walking. He gestures back at the bed behind you two. “I’ll be sure to pound you into that mattress so hard you won’t even remember that piece of shit’s name.”

[noneorother]

Oh my god, season 2 is The Tales of Crowley Hoffmann

I guess this has to be a series now too. Part 1 l Part 2

When Aziraphale wants to perform a show-stopping magic trick in S2E4, he is shown the "Professor's Nightmare," a rope trick, and references "Prof Hoff himself" at the end of the minisode.

Because we love double meanings so much around here, I decided to actually watch the Powell & Pressburger epic opera film "The Tales of Hoffmann," assuming it was the another P&P easter egg and the other Hoffmann (not the magician) that was being referenced.

One, this movie is unhinged. Two, this season IS The Tales of Hoffmann. Allow me to explain...

There are shot for shot quotes literally everywhere throughout the season.

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Hoffmann watches Stella perform) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Clerk in Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia, Hoffman & Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue Crowley & Aziraphale"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Prologue) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the Zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Giulietta Banquet scene) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue Banquet scene" *By the way Hoffmann wears a goatee for this tale

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Prologue "Dragonfly dance") & Good Omens Season 2 Prologue "Before the Beginning" *This is Stella and un unknown devil drangonfly, NOT Hoffmann

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the Zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (End credits through Hoffman's glasses) & Good Omens Season 2 end credit scene.

Stella & Aziraphale. This one makes me laugh.

There are SO MANY MORE, but tumblr has an image limit. Seriously, it's nuts.

2. It seems simple and straightforward, but it's not at all

" Why would ambitious filmmakers simply film an opera? Many admirers of the work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger have assumed that their decision to make The Tales of Hoffmann (...) was in some way an admission(...) that they couldn’t go on making their edgy, over-the-top melodramas after the rejection and interference they’d suffered (but) there’s a case for considering The Tales of Hoffmann as one of the finest and boldest works that Powell and Pressburger produced, so far ahead of its time as a wholly “composed” film, combining visual and musical elements, that it has still not been fully appreciated... Late in his life, Powell himself said that he thought it was one of the best films that he and Pressburger had made. What makes the film so remarkable is a series of paradoxes: the fact that it virtually reinvented the freedom and fantasy of silent cinema while making full use of Technicolor and a stellar cast of dancers and singers..." - Criterion, The lives of marionettes

3. The structure of the story is the same as the show

Here is the story of the Movie** (Not really the Opera that inspired it) In the prologue, we see the dance of the dragonflies onstage at a ballet. Count Lindoff (very bad dude) is spying on both the principal dancer Stella, and the audience member Hoffmann (who's admiring her). Lindoff is behind the scenery. During her dance, Stella passes a love note to her assistant for Hoffmann. The bad dude intercepts it out of jealousy. During the intermission, Hoffmann goes down to the tavern next door, watched by his sort of buddy in red, Nicklaus. People ask him to tell stories to while away the time, and so he tells 3 stories (actually four but we'll get back to that).

We launch into 3 tales/minisodes in other times and places : 1. The Tale of the Ball of the Automaton where he falls in love with a robot. He is humiliated. 2. The tale of Venice (Giulietta) where he falls in love with a courtesan/double agent who crosses him. 3. The tale of Antonia, where he falls in love with a girl who feels trapped by her living dad, her dead mom and a mysterious bad dude (Lindoff). She is murdered in a ring of fire, but becomes a ghost and is resurrected and sent back to earth. At the end, we snap back to the tavern in the real world. Hoffmann reveals that these three women are all metaphors for how he feels about Stella, his true love. He's drunk and depressed now, thinking she never sent for him after the show. Stella arrives in the tavern looking for Hoffmann, ready to run away, but now accompanied by Lindoff (dressed as an angelic figure) who followed her. She looks to Hoffmann to save her, but he's too blinded by the fact that he doesn't think she loves him back to pick up on the signal. He gives up, and she goes back up the stairs guided by Lindoff. Her assistant (who was bribed by Lindoff at the beginning) is given the go ahead by Lindoff to go back to the tavern and taker over. They close the door to the tavern, while she walks up ethereal stairs with the bad dude. THE END.

The one story that doesn't fit into the minisodes and is told in the real world is Kleinzach. We understand by the end of this one that this is Hoffmann's self loathing about never being good enough for Stella, because Stella is perfect and Hoffmann is ugly and deformed. The main love interest attempts to steal Kleinzach's essence through a mirror by the end. 4. Powell & Pressburger recast four actors in new roles In The Tales of Hoffmann, P&P decided to recast four of the principal actors/dancers from the film The Red Shoes in new roles, wanting to recreate the magic that they brought to the first ballet film. Sound familiar?

5. Crowley is Hoffmann

"The Tales of Hoffmann" original 1881 costume concept for Hoffmann & Crowley costume sketch for S2E3 1827 Edinburgh. Glasses are a really important aspect for Hoffmann in both the opera and the movie versions of The Tales of Hoffmann. Hoffmann is gifted metaphorical magic glasses that he wears to be able to perceive his love in a way they aren't really in real life. In the opera, he wears dark glasses to shut out the real world, not just as a metaphor. Check out a modern day version of the opera's Hoffmann costume :

He's french and slamming a beer but you get it. Crowley also canonically loves watching movies. It would make so much sense that his minisode recountings with him and Aziraphale would resemble different styles of movie that he loves. Seeing as we see him drive away at the end as the last character, an argument could be made for him being the ultimate narrator of the story in season 2.

6. The original American release of The Tales of Hoffman had 14ish minutes cut out of it by the studio. So we all know by now that whole debacle about having the clocks jump 14-15ish minutes during the kiss?

"The Tales of Hoffmann found an audience far wider than expected, despite Korda’s misgivings about the movie’s running time and his decision to cut 14 minutes out of the film for its American release." - Criterion, The Tales of Hoffman

I have been unable to unearth what the difference between the American & British versions of the P&P Tales of Hoffmann is, if you know let ME know. I want to know! _____________________________________

And I HAVE SO MUCH MORE. This is long enough already so I'll save the more detailed stuff for a new post.

**The opera is a whole other beast. You can read about it here, but basically there's a lot more going on in the opera because the composer died before finishing it, and multiple versions exist after the original uncompleted score got lost IN A FIRE. Anyway. Here's part 2

[screams-in-writing]

When I hammer out another long one shot to an ask with a prompt:

I wrote this is in 1st pov, because I unabashedly enjoying writing Mr. Puzzles in this pov.

-

This was a disaster in the making.

I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to have you visit my home with me.

It only allowed let you to get close to Smg4 and his crew of miscreants!

You were even having fun with them!

Which I wanted you to, yes, and I loved the way you looked while having fun but…you were having fun without me!

Me!

I knew it was an eventuality that you’d meet Smg4 and the others in person, but I wasn’t prepared for all the dark thoughts and a tightening in my chest as I hung back and watched from a distance.

Jealousy?

Perhaps.

But wasn’t I allowed to feel that, when my only actual friend, someone who’d become more to me in such little time, was taken away from me, practically the instant you and I came to my home world?

Wasn’t I allowed to feel sucker-punched over the way you so quickly got along with so many of Smg4’s friends?

It didn’t seem fair.

Then again, you’d never caused them any psychological or physical harm, so of course Smg4 and everyone else didn’t seem to mind your presence.

But they certainly minded mine, if the mistrustful stares and accusing glares were anything to go by.

Because of this, I kept myself on the sidelines and just watched as you interacted as easily as I couldn’t after all I’d done with my past actions.

Apologies would only get me so far, and I doubted that Smg4 and many of his friends would be interested in forgiving me of my actions any time soon, if at all.

I was under no illusion that, were I to do anything that might be seen as aggressive, I’d be seen out of the showgrounds in an unflattering and likely embarrassing manner, no matter what you might say in my defense.

But I knew better now.

I knew that much of my previous interactions weren’t acceptable, while I was in your world, and was able to reflect on my actions and what I wanted to do going forward.

Here, I was very well aware that I had my work cut out for me.

When you went into the castle, I couldn’t help but want to follow, but remained outside.

I’d gotten the very clear message that I was I only being tolerated in the showgrounds for your sake. Though there was clearly distrust in that many didn’t believe I could ever have a real friend, let alone have an actual relationship.

Let them believe what they would.

I was more interested in your opinion than Smg4 or the others.

But therein lie one of my concerns.

What if your opinion of me changed if you spent too much time in the castle, talking to everyone else but me?

Despite me confessing to what I’d done, both behind the scenes as well as directly, I still held the low-burning fear that you might decide that the trauma that lingered with Smg4 and his friends might not be something you were willing to let slide after all, so long as I made an effort to make up for it, and apologize in my own time.

The longer I stood in front of the castle, the more I began to fidget nervously.

Would you stand up for me if I were to enter the castle uninvited?

I began to pace, the fidgeting and mumbling growing louder as static began to grow and layer over my voice when I spoke audible words.

Soon, I could simply no longer bear to wait out here for your return, so it was with a determined straightening of my posture, and squared shoulders, that I walked confidently to the front doors of the castle, and let myself in.

When I wasn’t immediately punched in my face, my confidence grew that I would be able to mask my presence, and be able to locate you.

Just to make sure you were all right, of course. 

One could never be too certain with that pesky plumber about.

Much to my pleasant surprise, it was so easy to find you, as you just so happened to exit one of the rooms.

By yourself.

A happy bounce entered my steps as I approached you, face flashing to a cheery technicolor smile and excited digital eyes. 

Oh, I couldn’t believe just how much I missed you just these past few hours. 

I was even happier when you smiled at me in return, even raising a hand to give me a little wave. I closed the distance between us, eagerly hoping that this meant that I could now spend time with you.

“Finally decided to come into the castle?” You asked, a slight reading tone to your voice.

“I don’t believe I’m exactly welcome here.” I replied with a soft sigh, reaching out to take the hand you offered to me. I pet the back of your hand with my fingers pensively.

“I do think that Smg4 is wary around you, but I can’t really say for sure about everyone else.” You move closer to give me a half hug with the arm that wasn’t having its hand gripped firmly.  “I haven’t exactly gotten to spend time with them before, apart from asking them about their…past interactions with you. So I’m just starting to get a feeling about who they actually are.”

I listened to you.

I really attempted to listen to you when you began to detail the things you’d noted in the past few hours, but all I could think was that I was slowly losing my time with you.

I needed to do something. 

I wanted you to pay attention to me.

I didn’t want to share you with the others if that meant that I would be spending less time with you, and therefore have attention from you. 

It was petty, childish, to think such things. 

You weren’t a toy to be stolen, and I knew that I had to respect that you wouldn’t spend all of your free time with me, as much as I loved having your undivided attention.

But I just couldn’t help myself. 

I needed some way to reassure myself that I wasn’t somehow losing you when you visited my home world going forward.

When you took a breath to continue on, and I saw that no one was in the area, I was quick to make my move. 

Using the hand around yours, I tugged you closer to my body, and in the same motion, hoisted you up and into my arms to lean into my chest. I chuckled when you ended up wrapping your arms around my neck with a gasp of surprise. 

Perfect.

And now, for somewhere to have a quick little heart to heart, before I ‘bottled’ things up and let the negativity in my mind get to me.

The closet.

Not the best place for a serious conversation, but it was a convenient place to lavish you my own undivided attention. 

“Mr. Puzzles, where are you-“ 

I hugged you closer to me, my television head crackling with static but unable to respond as I swiftly walked over to the door, and let myself into the closet. 

And locked it, the cramped dark room only lit by my screen, as I sat you down on a small desk in the corner of the closet.

I found myself unable to speak when you looked up at me, clearly exasperated with what I had just done, yet interested in what I had planned.

Leaning in closer, I braced my hands on either side of you, and rested my upper screen to your forehead as I just looked at you, my expression surely softening as you looked at me in return, with a bit of a squint from the light. 

Toning it down so you could look at me properly, my hands slid to press into either side of your hips. I pinioned you legs between mine as I boxed you in, curiously tilting my head to see if this was all right.

My answer was hands rising to either side of my metal head, and you turning your head to leave a lingering kiss to my screen.

Eagerly, I returned the kiss with a gentle spark of fuzz from my screen. 

When your arms went around the back of my wired neck, I growled low in my throat, the area of the spine still there with vocals, as well as my speakers. I hunched over you and slowly moved my screen to lay a series of kisses from your lips to either of your cheeks, and then slowly down the side of your neck. Just to tease you, I gathered enough static and concentration to layer the fuzz of my screen enough to make it feel like I ‘licked’ a stripe along the side of your throat.

“What’s wrong?” You asked me, a little breathlessly, as your fingers lightly dig into my wires. 

“Nothing.” I said a little too quickly.

“Puzzles.” You sighed into another quick kiss, before you let go of my neck to push me away enough to stare at my face. “You don’t usually do these unprompted make-out sessions unless something is wrong.” A pause. “You also wouldn’t normally want to do this unless there was no way someone would come to interrupt us.”

“They won’t.” I said. 

“We are in a castle that’s full of people. One of them is bound to notice I’m not back yet, and someone is likely to realize that you’re not outside anymore.” You pointed out, dropping your hands to press down into my one to prevent them from shifting to your thighs. “Please tell me?”

“I-“ Looking away, my shoulders slumping, I look back to you, with an admission. “I don’t want them to take all of your time away from me.”

“I’m not replacing you with them or anything, Puzzles.” You said after a moment, expression showing that you realized what exactly I feared without me even knowing that was what it was, in the end.

Being replaced.

Moving on.

Leaving me behind 

Alone.

I didn’t want to be alone.

“You won’t be alone.” You said, voice softening. 

I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. I didn’t like to admit that an old fear of mine was coloring my interactions with others, even after so many years had passed. 

“We can spend time together alone when you come to my home again. We could even hang out later today, here.” You tell me. “It would be kind of rude of me to be invited to hang out with smg4 and everyone but then not do that for at least a little while longer.” You sounded so reasonable.

And yet. 

And yet-

“I think several hours seemed to be enough time with them all.” I said immediately, desperately attempting to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I wasn’t jealous. I was jealous. “Why can’t you spent time with me right now? We’re already out of sight.”

“You’re doing it again, Puzzles.” You said in a firm tone, implying that I ought to pay very close attention to your words. 

I already was, because you were with me.

“The possessiveness over me and my time with you can’t go out of control like before. Remember? I can’t spent all of my free time with you every single day. We both need space for ourselves, and we need to be able to meet up and hang out with other people. Please don’t make me have to make those boundaries clear again by having us have to spend time apart for us both to cool off.”

I’m so torn.

“I know that.”

I don’t want to give up the extra time I had to spend in your company and yet-

“I know it is wrong of me to want to take up more of your time. To want to have all of your attention on me, and me alone.”

I was afraid. 

“I just don’t want to lose you.”

Afraid to be left behind.

“I…must admit that I do find it difficult to accept you interacting with my former adversaries, even if I was at fault for making them adversaries to me with…with my own actions. My plans.”

To be alone.

“I can’t…I can’t let that happen.” I found it harder to form words as I dissolved into the start of a panic. That perhaps I was overreacting to you hanging with Smg4 and his friends.

“Mr. Puzzles.” You cut in before the doubt could fully sink in. “Take a moment to breathe.”

I let out a hitch of an unsteady laugh.

“I know that you don’t actually need to breathe like I do but please take a moment and take some slow breaths?” You asked while I continued to let out unsteady breaths and little hitches of not so sane laughter. “I know you’re having trouble right now, so take some slow breaths, for me?”

That helped draw my attention back, enough that I freed one of my hands to rest on your thigh, while my other cupped one of your cheeks to trace my fingertips lightly along. 

A breath.

Another. 

I leaned my head to the side so that o could rest it lightly on your shoulder to do as you asked. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Slow.

Breathe. 

I ‘closed’ my eyes, focusing on slowing my breathing down to acceptable levels while I felt you begin to curiously pet me along the back of my shoulders. 

I let out a final noise of frustration, but breathed it out soon after while my breaths leveled out with facsimile huffs of breath in and out.

Once my breathing finally went back to normal, if one could call it that with someone who didn’t actually need that breath, I finally began to calm down.

Slowly, I lifted my metal head up, and leaned back so that I could gaze down at you. At the same time, you lifted one hand to rest over mine cradling the side of your face. I issued out a rather interested hum when your other hand moved to lightly grasp the fabric of vest and shirt just beneath my bow tie to give it a little yank as you met my digital eyes.

“Oh? What’s this?” I instantly gained a leer as I made as if I were biting my ‘lips’ with technicolor teeth, fixing you with a hooded look. “I thought you said that you ought to be handing out with those losers in the other room?”

“You’ve calmed down.” You pointed out while tugging the fabric again. “Do you feel a little more steady now?”

I gave it the thought it deserved from the concerned furrow in your brow. Then, I gave my metal head a tiny jerk of agreement. “Better, yes.” I issued out a moment later.

“Good.” 

You surprised me when you moved your hand from mine over your cheek, using it and the one fisted in my clothing to yank me closer to the desk. 

I leaned further in without further prompting as you planted a kiss that was much more heated than the one before. A kiss that lingered on my screen as I froze up briefly in surprise. 

“You can enjoy about five minutes of my presence before I go back and join the others” You said when you took a breath.

I couldn’t help it when my expression shifted to an unhinged one before it quickly flickered to heart eyes with a heart rate monitor. 

And a flush my technicolor grin widened and curved up in a stupidly happy manner.

Then, your words sank in and I shifted ever closer to you, as I uttered in a low tone that ended on a slight growl. “Oh, my dear, five minutes in a dark closet all alone with me, and I’ll be able to convince you to not leave me for the other’s company.”

Most unfortunately, I was unable to follow through with my promise. 

As it turned out, my luck had run out when it came to a certain Italian ruining my plans. 

The door to the closet bust open despite being locked. 

“Hello?” Mario peered inside curiously. “What’s-a going on here?”

I froze, as did you.

Even Mario went silent as he presumably took in the scene he’d walked in on.

Me, bracketing you in against a wall of the closet.

You, sitting on the desk in front of me.

I was currently leaned over you, crowding in to press into you, one hand lightly gripping your thigh while my other carefully cradled you behind your head, so you didn’t hit the wall and hurt yourself. 

Right before Mario had so rudely kicked the door in, I’d been eagerly  kissing you in return as best I could with little lingering static zaps. 

But the moment I processed Mario was there, interrupting me?

My metal head snapped to the side in a distressing angle on my wire neck. I fixed the plumber with an expression of upmost loathing that went ignored, much to my mounting exasperation.

“Ooooo.” Mario let out, as his face shifted from confusion to one of sly amusement. A smile beneath that damned mustache of his began to grow bigger by the moment. “Somebody’s-a being hands-on.”

I wondered, at times, just how stupid Mario truly was, or if he was acting like an idiot to not disrupt the status quo. In this very moment, I didn’t particularly care to pursue the thought, because I was much more concerned and irritated by the interruption than the comment.

Mario’s smile became a smirk as he suddenly lifted a phone, and, before I could move, or you could even say anything, the flash of the camera flared brightly in the dark closet, backlit by the light of the castle behind Mario himself. Humming his theme song, Mario pocketed his phone nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just taken a rather compromising photo of you and myself in a closet together. 

A photo…

I abruptly let go of you as Mario’s actions quickly sank in. I lunged for Mario without a word; just a furious expression and a warning static growl of wordless fury for Mario daring to intrude on alone time with you.

Unfortunately, so caught up in catching the culprit, I failed to notice you flail your arms and wince as you dropped backward into the wall.

Mario was wise enough to keep well out my grasping range. I continued to laser focus on attempting to catch the shorter man anyway. But because of this, I again failed to notice the way you emerged from the closet with a flushed face and the way you made a beeline right for me. 

I didn’t notice, until you finished sneaking up behind me and then yanked me backward by where my suspender straps met at the middle of my back. Futilely, I attempted to twist my head to one side then the other as you proceeded to walk, forcing me to follow or risk falling over and being dragged along the floor. My dignity wouldn’t allow that, so follow you I did.

“Bye-bye.” Mario said unnecessarily, waving. 

I was torn about easily slipping out of your hold to go continue to pursue that irritating Italian. But I relented and just matched your steps with my own, at least until I realized with a jolt that you had come to a halt outside of the room you’d emerged from earlier. 

“I don’t. I.  This likely isn’t the.” I stood in place, resisting your tugs for a moment as I attempted to explain why me in a room with Smh4 and all his friends want a good idea. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell you no when you opened the door, let go of my suspenders, and grasped one of my hands tightly instead. 

You might have given my shaking hand a reassuring squeeze.

But I was much too caught up over the reception I may receive. 

Keeping my gaze, and in turn my screen, on the floor meant that I didn’t have to focus on Smg4 and his crew’s initial reaction to me entering the room.

I kept quiet as you led me over to the couch and, remaining mute in the face of your expression between disappointment and pleading, sat down. I was pleasantly surprised when you end up on my lap, but not so happy that you won’t allow me to wrap my arms around you to hold you closer. Restlessly, I  grasped the couch cushion on either side of my legs, because as much as I’d like to hold you, I’d rather you stay near me instead. 

It appeared that this was done on purpose, as if this were your way of letting Smg4 and the others in the room know that you did want me around. 

That was how I chose to interpret it as. 

Mario reentered the room, going over to where Smg4 and 3 are, as well as Meggy and Tari, who were competing on some game. Mario glanced to you and I, then, in a loud whisper and a mischievous grin and in a loud whisper. “TV man is-a whipped, yes?”

“Yeah.” Smg4 agreed, without even having to look. “That tracks, with no one getting sucked into another Puzzlevision show lately.” 

“‘course he is.” Smg3 concurred. “It’s obvious.”

I twitched as if to get up to correct them, only for you to suddenly flop back into me. I was completely sidetracked as you comfortably rested yourself against my chest and shoulder, and even dragged one of my arms up to grasp my hand with one of yours. I gripped couch cushion harder with my other hand when you began to lightly pet me with your free head along the side of his metal head, lingering on the vent area.

“Totally whipped.”

“Yup.”

“Mmhm.”

A light scritch under my head’s casing had me  sagging forward into your touch, a soft sound into the touch. My digital eyes closed so that I could pretend, for a short time, that it was only you in this room with me.

I could handle the jabs at me, so long as you kept lightly tracing the outside of my metal tv head so gently.

And while I’d honestly rather just be all alone with you, this day turned out to not be as bad as I expected it to be, especially when no one demanded I get out, and I got to spend time with you, even in questionable company.

[dangermousie]

God, this sequence was BRUTAL and I adored it. Basically, he can't help himself and keeps throwing jibes about her and the painter and she finally has had enough:

And so she loses it, and hits back and in her attempt to protect herself, draws blood! (The thing is, she has NO idea that he is still in love with her; hell she still has no idea he lied in jail. She is angry and vulnerable.)

And that hits him straight in the heart - all his barely controlled, unacknowledged terror that he's missed his chance, that she won't ever like him again, that she's moved on.

So he addresses it in a mature manner in a private measured discussion. Psych!!! She drew blood so he goes for the jugular ten times worse. The man has only two defense mechanisms when hurt - to retreat behind his walls (tried, didn't work) or when that's impossible, to lash out to make the other person back off and/or to hurt as he's been hurt. And so this utter and complete mess pours out of him, in front of the whole office...

The thing is, what he doesn't realize (and she doesn't realize it either, she's too emotionally compromised) how utterly this rant proves he's so so so in love with her - it doesn’t just show he's out of his mind with jealousy, it's like him reminding her, in the most dysfunctional way possible, see you liked me me me meeeeeee meeeeeeeeeeee! And the fact that he talks about all these little things she did back way when means he actually remembered the supposedly insignificant to him things for YEARS in glorious technicolor. He has revealed himself completely and neither of them is together enough to realize it.

And then he brings this up as his finishing comment and I kinda flail like Kermit because this is the crux, isn't it - this is him, telling her in the world's most dysfunctional manner that he is feeling betrayed, that she should keep her word and choose him and just - he was never great at communicating or showing his feelings in a functional way but he got better (his sister shortly before she died even commented that he learned to express love) and then jail happened and all the progress was undone and then some. This is a man mere weeks out of jail, any hope of him processing and expressing himself in a functional manner would be deluded.

I mean look at them, both equally heart broken and such a total mess.

The thing is, the fact that it makes sense for someone with his issues and his personality and his background to lash out like this, does not negate the fact that he hurt her terribly and she deserved none of it. If you think about it, in his whole life, she's the only person who's ever fought for him - everyone else was either unable or unwilling. I mean, I am sure his mother didn't want to die and leave him but the fact remains, he was the caretaker between the two of them; he feels his sister picked her abusive husband over him, Gao betrayed him, dancer friend couldn't do anything, teachers didn't care (look at her mommy expelling him), cops didn't care (his sister's accident) etc etc. And here is this beautiful, kind, warm, brighter than the sun young woman who fights for him and fights for him - fights for a place on his team, fights for his friendship and his heart, fights to provide a place for him after his life is wrecked. She just doesn't give up and not even he can make her give up permanently. And then he thinks she's dating painter dude and logically so what - she has every right to do so - but that pushes all his jealousy and abandonment issues and he just implodes.

I love so much that the office is on her side btw (man, they must view the real life soap as a hell of a bonus to their working life) and the thing is, the moment after he said what he said, you can tell it sink in for Li Xun how unforgivable and heinous that outburst was (and not like in jail for a good cause either.)

Poor girl! Yes, your ex boyfriend is an idiot, I am sorry.

[emeritusemeritus]

Do you have any fics that you would share or recommend to read? Whether it’s Weasley Twins or Eddie? 🙌

Hi my love! Yes I can certainly do that; sorry it took so long I was trying to comprise my top favourites to share 🖤

Eddie

Jealousy, Jealousy by @theoreticslut {Perfect light angst and Henderson!Reader (my fave)}

I’ll be home for Christmas by @eiightysixbaby {Oh the angst! You know when you suddenly realise that all the fics you’ve been loving are written by the same author and haven’t realised until later, that’s eiightsixbaby for me!}

Okay for you by @roanniom {Absolute chefs kiss. I’ve followed roanniom since my Clyde logan/ ADCU days and my god every single fic hits the spot!}

Move Me, Baby by @cryptidcasanova {Jealous!Eddie and best friend/cheerleader!reader, absolute perfection.}

Twins

Technicolor by @weelittleweasley {the soulmate fic I didn’t know I needed and now never stop thinking about}

Summertime at the Burrow by @fangisms {one of the first Fred fics I ever read and I always come back to it!}

Something that we’re not by @sergeantbuckybarnes {one of the first Fred fics I ever read and I re-read it constantly when I need cheering up!}

Literally anything by @lumosandnoxwriting {every single work is phenomenal and the twins are always so well written, in keeping with their characters.}

My personal favourites are:

Doing me right (Fred)

Get your head in the game (Fred)

A christmas surprise (Fred)

My hot wife (George)

Underwater secrets (George)

A quick thank you to all the authors mentioned here, your works have inspired me to finally post my own writings and without your wonderful works I would never have had the courage or the inspiration to share my work so thank you 🖤

[abby-the-druid]

Technicolor 6

In which Sasuke discovers tongues and Sakura is met with a supernova.

read on ao3 and ff.net.

prev. chapter

Preview:

Then.

Sakura, Sasuke found as the days blended into weeks, did indeed share smiles with strangers as if it was as easy for her as breathing. Small talk came to her as though it were second nature, effortlessly offering feedback to their fellow classmates about their art, providing analysis linking past and current events in their history class, and asking clarifying questions during calculus. It made Sasuke’s head spin, thinking about how many words she shared with people she didn’t know, how often she slipped into a smile and offered support to someone she only recognized as an acquaintance.

He understood that he fell into this latter category, though reflecting on that fact made his stomach twist uncomfortably and a bleak pit to bloom under his navel.

He found himself sitting in front of her in their history class, contained in another musty room with subpar lighting. But with the way the professor valued active learning, their desks were often pushed together and he sat across from her radiation green eyes as she smiled and shared her ideas with the other two members of their four-person squad. He refused to admit that a flicker of jealousy licked at his gut every time she blessed their idiot classmates with a smile or her attention. The boy who was partial to wearing green jumpsuits with a severe bowl cut and thick eyebrows had the ability to make her laugh, a sharp yet pleasant sound that bubbled from her chest, and Sasuke felt himself drowning in the noise, desperately wishing he had the ability to share that part of himself so freely or the skill to draw such mirth from the elf girl.

Their calculus class was bursting at the seams with students, so many were crammed into the small space that as Sasuke sat beside Sakura, their shoulders brushed, which seemed to regularly catch the quiet attention of their silver haired, navy masked professor. The first forty-five-minute period she apologized softly every time she bumped into him, a light pink color dusting her cheeks as her green eyes fluttered between Dr. Hatake, Sasuke, and her notebook. The second-class period she lost some of this embarrassment, simply sent him a lopsided smile as an apology. By the third class, she nudged closer to his side to avoid the sharp elbows of the student to her right.

Sasuke did not take this as a small victory.

He assumed Sakura just didn’t want to be constantly jostled by her other seat mate.

Telling himself this did not stifle the warmth that tinged his ears when she pressed softly against his side, smelling like daisies and coffee.

[pennyserenade]

three's company

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

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

“I’m not alone.”

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

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

“I know.”

“Actors have never been my favorite company.”

“I know.”

“And I just don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ha ha,” you deadpan.

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

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

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

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

“Two weeks is not so long.”

“No,” he agrees quietly.

——

Two weeks is a prison sentence.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you tell him simply.

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

“I read, watched a movie. You?”

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

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

“Lots of things.”

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

“Do you ever think about me?”

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

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

“Oh, never.”

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

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

“You sound like my mother.”

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

“Mine hates you.”

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

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

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

“Do you want a lie or the truth?”

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

“Oh, a lot more than I should.”

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you high?” you ask him.

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

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

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

———

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

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

“That your boyfriend?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you working on the movie?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I bet not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ex-wife-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.

He fucking hates Hollywood.

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you do?”

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

“Did you cheat?”

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

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

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

“We’ve got a kid.”

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

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

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

Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”

“I listened.”

“But you didn’t like what you heard.”

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

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

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

“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”

“Have you done that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you? If she did?”

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

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

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

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

So crumbles the olive branch.

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“

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

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

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

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

“I know! God, I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”

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

“Go to bed,” you tell them.

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

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

“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”

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

“I never thought of you like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You love him. You fool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have any rules?” he asks.

“Don’t cum in her first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.

“Huh?” he grunts.

“Dustin.”

“Mm, what—what about him?”

“Let him fuck me too. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a no,” you confirm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did it right.”

“And you don’t regret it?”

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

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

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

“Like a friend?”

“No.”

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

“No. Something more than all of that.”

“I can handle that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”

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

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

—-

A YEAR LATER.

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

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

—-

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

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

—

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

Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?

[theboywithburninghands]

Hello yes hi I’m not dead. Sorry, I got tangled up in playing Kingdom Hearts III and my birthday along with the usual mental struggles… But I got a new story. It’s longer than the others, and it also dabbles in another ship that I’m quite fond of along with Funnybunny. I enjoy Buttonblossom as well, I’ve always been of the opinion Pomni is bisexual. Not me projecting… anyway, this one is a little bit more dramatic. But I like it, even if it’s got a ton of ellipses, but it’s also got a big snake in it. Big snakes are cool. Enjoy, hopefully.

Jealousy, Thy Name is Rabbit

Today was a game of capture the flag set in a virtual jungle, girls against boys (boys and Zooble, just so it was 3 on 3). On the girl’s side, Ragatha was elected flag guard on account of being the tallest and widest, not that she had much in the way of competition from either of her teammates. Pomni and Gangle were the scouts sent to find the boys’ (And Zooble’s) flag. Pomni had spent the last half hour on all fours, clambering through some cartoony underbrush. The various brambles may have been gaudy shades of orange and purple, but their thorns still hurt to climb through. Caine really needed to focus less on hazards and more on… well, fun.

Pomni: OW! F@&$! *Pomni covers her right eye as a stick jabs into it* Urgh… Gangle? Where are you?

Pomni poked her head cautiously out of the canopy of plants. Her teammate was nowhere to be found. Had they already gotten separated?

Pomni: Peachy…

Pomni ducked back down into the underbrush and continued to crawl forward as best she could. Her coxcomb hat kept getting tangled in the briars, and leaves and bits of twig stuck to her hair. Caine had even gone to the effort of including irritating little bugs the size of pinpricks that crawled on her face and buzzed in her ear, which she routinely had to stop and swat. Thank god she had no nose or one of them definitely would have crawled up it by now. She peeked out from the underbrush again, spotting a small clearing up ahead. It looked like it could be the entrance to the enemy base. If she crawled, she could get there in about 10 minutes. Then it was a matter of getting past whoever they had guarding it, then getting back to her base and ending the game so they could go home. Apparently there was some sort of reward for whatever team won the round… Knowing Caine it would probably suck hard.

Pomni took a deep breath and dove back into the brush. If Jax was the flag guard, maybe she could convince him to give up the flag peacefully in exchange for some extra “alone time” that night. It was surreal to think that she had gone from hating the rabbit’s guts to him being one of her closest friends… just friends. Just friends that kissed and hugged and cuddled. Friends could do that. It had been Jax’s idea to not use any words like “relationship” or “romance” or “love” to describe what… whatever they had going on, in case of disaster. And they were both free to have “alone time” with other performers… at least that’s what she assumed. Not like Jax was close with anyone else.

Pomni came to a large, fallen tree, black and flecked with neon colors. There was no way around it without adding several minutes to her already onerous trek, so she rolled her eyes, stretched, and began to clamber over the tree. The trunk was oddly squishy, it must have gotten soft from the moisture of the jungle floor. That was a pretty impressive detail for Caine to add… As she slid over to the opposite side, her bare legs touched the trunk. The texture was odd as well, smooth and oddly bumpy… no… scaly?

hhhhhhhhssssssssssccchhhhh…

Pomni: Oh sweet f$&@.

The “tree” slid forward on its own, a good twenty feet of shiny, technicolor-on-obsidian mass emerging from the underbrush, a stone’s throw from where Pomni was just crawling. The snake turned its refrigerator-sized head to look at Pomni. Its fishbowl eyes were different colors, each appearing to slowly change hues, its left eye yellow shifting green and its right eye purple shifting brown. It flicked out its tongue, pink with electric blue stripes and thick as Bubble Tape.

Pomni: Nonononononono-

Pomni took off running towards the clearing, but found herself hopelessly slowed down by the overgrown floor of the jungle, brambles snagging her legs and tripping her to her knees every few steps. The giant snake slithered up beside her before lazily, yet gracefully gliding in front of her and cutting her off, forming a loop around her with its body.

Pomni: -nonononononoNONONO! NO! NO! NONONONO!

Pomni tried to climb over the snake as it began to pull right around her, but only succeeded in sticking one arm out before the rest of her puny body was squeezed into immobility by the black rainbow serpent. She was so small that the snake barely needed to wrap around her once before she was trapped.

Pomni: NOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOO!!!

Pomni screamed blue murder. The panic of being cornered by a large predator and her phobia of being touched formed a cocktail of primal terror she hadn’t experienced since first arriving at the circus. She shrieked and pounded on the snake’s body with her one free hand, even trying to bite into its flesh, anything to get it to stop squeezing and let go. The snake’s scales were far too hard to bite through, even chipping one of her teeth, and the reptile continued to squeeze tighter and tighter and tighter. Pomni felt her body begin to flare with pain as it was constricted to its limit… if she still had bones they probably would have been crushed into splinters by now. She didn’t even have enough room left to scream, only managing a choked rasp…

And then there was a reverberating crack.

Voice: Let her go! I said let her go!

Another smack against the snake, and it hissed irritatedly this time. Pomni saw a faint purple and red outline out of the corner of her watery eyes, coming into clearer view as it strafed around the serpent.

Ragatha: Y-You want to lose an eye, Jafar?! Let her go, I said!

Ragatha had a sturdy tree branch in her hands, twigs sticking out of her hair and her dress stained with dirt. She took on the stance of a major league player and swung her makeshift bat with all her strength, cracking the snake on the chin. The reptile hissed, revealing fangs of all colors, and struck at Ragatha, who managed to stumble out of the way with a hair’s breadth between her arms and the snake’s teeth. Ragatha put one hand at the top of her branch and the other in the middle and wound back.

Ragatha: I’m sorry-!

Ragatha drove the branch into the snake’s right eye, and it snarled, thrashing about in pain. Its coils loosened enough for Pomni to squirm free, landing on the jungle floor with a dry plop and scrambling backwards. The snake threw its head about a few more times before hastily slithering away into the jungle, frustrated but trounced.

Ragatha: Yeah! Get out of here! I’m sorry, but get out of here! *much quieter* I’m sorry… *she stiffens* Pomni! *She looks about before finding Pomni seated on the ground, and she hurries over to her* Pomni, hun- are you okay?!

Ragatha crouched down to Pomni’s level and looked her over. The jester was breathing rapid, shallow breaths, her usual red and blue roulette eyes replaced with black squiggles.

Ragatha: Pomni…! *she puts her hand on Pomni’s shoulder, but the jester reacts like she’s been shocked and slaps her hand away*

Pomni: NO!

Ragatha: Woah heyheyhey! Pomni, it’s me, it’s Ragatha! It’s gone, the snake is gone! You’re safe..!

Pomni: Do-Do-Dooo-Don’t touch me, don’t… don’t touch me…

Ragatha: Okay sweetie, I won’t touch you, but are you hurt? Did it bite you?

Pomni: N…..No….

Pomni’s eyes, though now back to their usual colors, soon swam with tears and she buried her face in her gloves, beginning to sob. Ragatha, resisting the urge to hug the poor girl, took a moment to check on herself.

Ragatha: *examining her arm* Ohhh, I must’ve popped half my stitches… I hope I don’t lose any stuffing… *she turns back to Pomni* I can’t imagine how scary that must have been for you… are you afraid of snakes?

Pomni: *in between sobs N-N-No… I… I uh… I… I don’t… I-I-I-I-I-

Ragatha: Hey… hey… match my breathing. Are you ready? In. *Ragatha takes a long, deep breath in* Out, like you’re blowing on a dandelion. *she lets her breath out.* Not too hard, right? Try it with me.

Pomni managed to slow down her sobs long enough to match Ragatha’s breathing exercise. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it at least helped her get her words out

Pomni: Thank you… *sniffle* You-You… I’m sorry I didn’t… save you…

Ragatha: Save me?

Pomni: On my first day… w-when Kaufmo…

Ragatha: *smiles* Oh, hun. It’s okay. It was your first day. I would have done the exact same thing in your shoes.

Pomni’s eyes welled up with new tears.

Pomni: I-I’m sorry… I was so… I didn’t… I didn’t deserve to get… saved…

Ragatha: Nooo, no, Pomni, don’t say that! We’re all we’ve got… I wouldn’t let you or anyone else get eaten, okay..?

Ragatha placed a hand on Pomni’s shoulder unconsciously, and the jester girl flinched.

Ragatha: Oh shoot, I’m sorry! *she takes her hand away* I forgot-!

Pomni: …N-No… if it’s just… I-I calmed down… I can… handle it… I-I just I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting it, I… I… I’m sorry…

Ragatha: …Can you handle a hug? It’s okay if you can’t, but- OOF!l

Pomni threw herself into Ragatha, wrapping her arms around the ragdoll woman and hiding her face in her chest. Ragatha smiled and hugged the newcomer back, rubbing the back of her head.

Ragatha: Don’t worry now…

They remained like that for a while. Pomni had never actually touched Ragatha before, and it was… odd, but pleasant. She felt much the same as a cloth doll, dense and tightly-knit fabric wrapped around a soft filling like cotton or polyester. But she was unmistakably warm, the same way Jax was. Although Pomni still felt sick with fear, the sensation of a friend holding her helped ease the churning in her belly.

Pomni: …Thank you, Ragatha.

Ragatha: What are friends for, right…?

The two performers locked eyes. Both of them became acutely aware of a not-unpleasant heat glowing on their cheeks. Ragatha broke the pregnant silence by chuckling nervously.

Ragatha: Hahaha… soooo…

Caine: CON-GRATULATIONS TO TEAM ZOOBLE!

Out of nowhere, Caine exploded onto the scene, a neon-marquee sign emerging above him that wanted to spell out “congratulations” but appeared to malfunction and sputter, spelling out “crodulates” instead.

Ragatha: Oh no, the flag… I completely forgot!

Pomni: *automatically* Who gives a s#%@…

Caine: THAT’S RIGHT, RAGATHA! WHILE YOU WERE OUT HERE, JAX ESCAPED WITH THE FLAG YOU WEREN’T GUARDING! AND POMNI! *he points his cane at her, causing the jester to flinch* CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU FOR FINDING ALGER, THE RAINBOA CONSTRICTOR! I was wondering where he went…

Pomni: It has a name…?!

Ragatha: Uh yeah, Caine, about that snake-

Caine snapped his fingers, and all of a sudden, the six performers were back in the tent. Zooble, Jax and Kinger looked about the same despite some odd leaves and sticks stuck to their clothes. Gangle landed with a wet slap beside Pomni and Ragatha, groaning and dripping wet.

Ragatha: Gangle, there you are… where’ve you been?

Gangle: I-I fell in the river and got washed downstream…

Caine: SO, FOR WINNING THE GAME, TEAM ZOOBLE WINS…!

There was a drumroll that went on for far too long. Pomni made eye contact with Jax, but neither of them smiled. She was still getting over the encounter with the Rainboa Constrictor… but what was wrong with him?

Caine: ……………AN ALL DAY PASS TO THE DIGITAL AMUSEMENT PARK!

Zooble: Yippee-skippee. Not like we haven’t gotten that prize at least three times before. Can I go now?

Ragatha: Yeah, Caine, I ripped some stitches, can I go back to my room…?

Pomni: *to Ragatha* Are you okay?

Jax: Oh yeah, I’m sure she’s fine. You got a pretty close look back in the jungle, didn’t you?

Jax’s usual brand of sarcasm came out as oddly venomous, not even sporting his typical snarky grin.

Pomni: What are you talking about..?

Jax: I don’t know. You tell me. Anyway, f@&$ you all. I’m going back to my room.

Jax walked away from the group, stunning even Caine into silence. Jax almost never swore.

Caine: Boy, you give a guy a pass to an amusement park and he thanks you like that.

Bubble emerged from Caine’s hat with a toilet brush

Bubble: We should wash his mouth out, Caine!

Zooble: Whatever, dinner without Jax sounds good to me.

Gangle: Uh… h-has anyone seen Pomni..?

—————————

Pomni marched down the hallway to Jax’s room, pounding on his door.

Pomni: Jax! Open up!

Silence.

Pomni: …Oh for… *deep breath, gentler tone of voice* Jax, it’s Pomni. Can we talk?

Silence.

Pomni: …You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Fine. “Oh great Jax, may I please enter your…” *cringes* “…your humble abode.” Eugh… *she glances around to make sure nobody heard that*

Still more silence.

Pomni: Okay, he must be somewhere else if he’s not responding to that…

A voice came from behind the door

Jax: It’s unlocked.

Pomni: Oh. Then why the h@&$ am I knocking? *she opens the door* Jax! What was… that…

Pomni’s anger trailed off as she saw Jax laying in bed, covers pulled all the way up to his chin. He faced away from Pomni, looking at nothing in particular.

Jax: Come on in.

Pomni: …What… Why did you blow up like that back there?

Jax: You really don’t know?

Pomni: No..?

Jax: …That’s fine. I guess I’m being the irrational one.

Pomni: Yeah, you are. I was attacked by a snake… A huge f@&$-off snake that almost squeezed me to death!

Jax: What?

Pomni: Oh, did you miss that part?! Lemme say it again. *shouting* A! BIG! SNAKE! NEARLY!-

Jax: *shouting right back* ALRIGHT! I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THAT, BUT- I saw you with Ragatha.

Pomni: *genuine confusion* What?!

Jax: In the jungle, stupid! I saw you and Ragatha!

Pomni: …She saved me from the snake. You heard Caine talking about it… she saved me!

Jax: …You were blushing.

Pomni: Who cares?! I- wait you were watching us for that long?

Jax: You were right outside our base.

Pomni: …Oh my god. You’re jealous.

Jax: What..?

Pomni: You’re jealous! You thought me and Ragatha were- OH MY GOD.

Pomni laughed incredulously, which made Jax shoot up in bed like a snapped wire.

Jax: Don’t you laugh at me!!!

Pomni: I’m not-! I never thought you’d take it seriously!

Jax: What, my first relationship?! Yeah, I can see how that would be HARD to take seriously?!

Pomni: What are you- wait. I’m your first?

Jax: …

There was a long period of silence before Pomni swallowed.

Pomni: Well… look, you said you didn’t want a relationship, so… I mean… I didn’t mean to make you mad, but I was attacked. So I’m not going to apologize for hugging Ragatha… she helped me.

Jax: Okay.

Pomni: …Um. But… it’s… it’s okay. To be mad… I guess? I don’t know. I guess you thought I was cheating…? Right?

Jax: I guess.

Pomni: Well, I wasn’t.

Jax: You were blushing, though.

Pomni: Yeah, so what? She’s… *swallows and turns slightly pink despite herself* She’s pretty. For a ragdoll. It doesn’t mean you’re any less… nice to be around. Or look at. For a rabbit.

Jax: …What are you, gay?

Pomni’s words caught in her throat as she looked at Jax, who had finally managed his usual toothy smirk.

Pomni: *small snort* God, shut up…

Jax: …I’m sorry though. I didn’t know about the snake.

Pomni: You didn’t hear me scream?

Jax: You scream a lot.

Pomni: …Yeah. I guess so. So… this is more than just a… “friends who kiss” thing, now? It’s a…

Jax: Nah. We’re still just “friends that kiss.” But if you want to go be “friends that kiss” with Ragatha… at least tell me before you do, okay?

Pomni: I will. I’m sorry.

Jax: Relax. You didn’t do anything. Apart from almost being snake food. …Do… you want a hug? Or something?

Pomni: …Uh… honestly, not really? I-I’m kinda iffy on being touched anyway and the snake squeezing me like that… it really screwed with me. But uh…

Pomni closed the distance between them and planted a kiss on Jax’s lips, having to lean on his knees and stand on her tiptoes to reach the lankier rabbit’s face.

Pomni: *blushing* It’s really sweet to know you take this seriously. I’ll see you later, okay..?

Pomni headed back to her room, shutting Jax’s door behind her. The rabbit licked his lips. He then laid back down on the bed, staring at the door.

Jax: You hugged Ragatha.

—————————————

[josephseedismyfather]

my OC as a Greek deity

Thank you @raresvtm and @simplegenius042for tagging me! 🥰 Gonna do it for all 3 of the babes!

bold = applies, italics = somewhat applies, strike = does not apply

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has (had?) a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily (Johnny's fault) • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

Opt-in/out of tag list here.

@wrathfulrook, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @trench-rot, @ladyoriza, @cassietrn @redreart, @inafieldofdaisies, @hotmessteaparty, @g0dspeeed, @voidbuggg @malefiquinn, @strangefable, @noodlecupcakes, @chazz-anova, @aristomal @ocdemon-747, @evilvvithin, @carlosoliveiraa, @la-grosse-patate, @omen-speaker @3llisarts, @grimmylover7, @scorpiosleeps, @cloudofbutterflies92, @direwombat @walder-138, and anybody else who wants to play. Tag me! 😘

[hiveruled]

MINOR DEITIES OF GREEK MYTHOLOGY   :

bold what   applies   . italicize what   somewhat   applies .   tag   some friends   to   play   along   !   repost ,   don’t   reblog .

EROS :   scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-colored glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie  • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous

HECATE :   prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings  

PAN :   enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire  • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry

NEMESIS :   angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words

HYPNOS :   serene demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxation is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry-eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory-based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes  

IRIS :   life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always travelling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person  

tagged by: @chaoswon <3 tagging: anyone else that sees this and wants to do this!

[allegra-writes]

"The Green-eyed Monster"

"The Claim" Part VI

Armand x Daniel Molloy

Mature

Warnings: Destruction of private property as an aphrodisiac. Look, these two got issues and also are perfect for each other, alright?

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

It had been a stupid fucking idea. A shortsighted, imbecilic, juvenile, dumb fucking idea. But after three weeks, twenty-one whole fucking days, and nights of being holed up in one of Armand’s apartments with only his vampire lover for company, Daniel was ready to gnaw his own leg off. Surprisingly enough, there was only so long he could stay chained to Armand’s bed without starting to feel, well, trapped. So, he had asked, no, demanded to go out, to someplace with music, with people. Somewhere alive . 

Of course, looking back, he realized he could have worded his request a little better, Armand had looked positively startled by Daniel’s shouting, but the human was not about to acknowledge, let alone admit to this, not even to himself. Not after what Armand had done, was probably still doing, back in the club. 

No, Daniel very much rather freeze to death roaming the streets of some godforsaken Nordic country’s winter, cladded in just a pair of skin-tight jeans and a tank top, than to go back into the club and watch Armand get his face sucked off by some slimy businessman that liked to impress twinks by bragging about his Lamborghini. He felt nauseous just thinking about it.

Or maybe that was the booze, he had drunk a copious amount of akvavit, and while he wasn't sure of the alcohol content of the spicy drink, he could guess it was on the higher side. The cold air had managed to clear his head a little but did nothing for his blurry vision, or the acidic bile rising up his chest any time his traitorous brain flashed, in vivid technicolor, the image of the blonde asshole's hand on Armand’s knee, of his smirking face as he leaned closer to him to whisper fucks knew what in his ear. 

Wait. No, that wasn't the jealousy burning up his insides, no. He was actually about to get sick, managing only a couple more steps in the direction of the construction site he had the presence of mind to aim for, before he doubled over and, with a sudden retching, vomited all over the sidewalk. Maybe it was a good thing, after all, that Armand hadn’t followed him when he stormed out of the club, he thought as he was forced to brace on a pile of cinder blocks to push himself upright again. At least that way, he didn’t get to see how much of a pathetic mess Daniel was, shivering in his puke-stained wife beater, snot running down his nose as he cried his eyes out because of his serial murder of a… a… He didn’t even know what he was to the vampire. “Boyfriend” sounded so mundane, so unfitting for the ethereal, impossibly majestic Armand. Daniel ought to be thankful he even wanted to spend time with a disheveled, grungy brat like himself, ought to treasure every drop of attention he decided to bestow upon him, every touch, every caress. It was selfish and ungrateful of him to want more . Armand was too huge, too otherworldly for such a primitive human notion as monogamy. Wasn’t that how he had met him, after all? Literally stumbling into him as he and Louis cruised the bars for a threesome? It just hadn't occurred to him that he could be just as easily replaced. 

And wasn’t he such a jerk for it? For never even giving Louis or his pain even a second thought? So caught up in the euphoria of Armand to even consider the potential heartbreak he could be causing Louis? Granted, he had only met the other vampire once, but he had been… nice. Kind. Up until the moment he had attacked him, of course, but in hindsight he was kind of justified, Daniel was the other woman in this situation, was he not?

Fuck, what would his mother think of him if she saw him now?

Suddenly, he wasn’t as mad at Armand anymore. Daniel probably wouldn’t pick himself either. 

Oh, but that man… that sleazy rat currently holding Armand on his lap, he wasn’t all that better than himself either. After all, he had clearly seen them walking in together, had seen the possessive hand Daniel had slid into Armand’s back pocket as they stood by the bar waiting for their, well, Daniel’s, drinks. Yet he hadn’t hesitated to come and swept Armand away with tales of his luxurious new car, so modern and fast it looked more like a spaceship than a car. A Lamborghini Countach, he had said, as if that was supposed to mean anything to Armand. But it had had the intended effect, the vampire had looked infinitely more interested after that, forgetting all about Daniel as the man told him all about valves and cylinders and horsepower. A new toy to play with, the old toy lackluster and dull next to it. 

Daniel was already numb to the cold, still wallowing deep in his self-pity when a gleam at the corner of his eye caught his attention. There, a mere few yards away from him, all sharp lines and lustrous red paint, sparkling like a burning coal in the night, was a brand new sportscar. A quick look at the grilles confirmed it was the Lamborghini of discord, after all, what were the chances of two such cars parked in the vicinity of the very nightclub where some jerk was bragging about owning that very brand and model? In any case, those were chances that Daniel, whose double vision had gone as crimson as the car, was willing to take. 

He was almost regretful, as he grabbed one of the heavy cinderblocks he was leaning onto: Had the circumstances been any different, Daniel would have probably been all over the car, would have loved to take it for a joyride. But alas, things were the way they were, so he shook the thought away like an annoying insect, and continued his determined stumble towards it. With only a little difficulty, due mostly to the weight of the block of cement almost throwing him off his already precarious balance, he raised it, eye level, and sent it flying right through the glossy windshield, shattering it into a million shimmering pieces. 

A dark satisfaction washed upon Daniel, but it was short-lived, as Armand’s voice, knifelike and disapproving, cut through him,

“Daniel, what do you think you’re doing?”

For a few, seemingly eternal moments, Daniel simply stood there, petrified with his hand still up in the air. He considered lying until his alcohol-drenched brain caught up with the fact there was no use trying to deceive someone who could read his every thought as it formed. Deflated, he turned to face Armand, jumping back as he found the vampire standing just a couple of inches away from him. 

“Jeez, warn a guy next time” Daniel laughed, nervously, as his undead lover steadied him with an abnormally warm hand. 

"You are jealous" He whispered, tone almost reverent, amazed. "You destroyed the property of that man because you feel possessive of me"

Despite the cold, Daniel could feel the heat rising up his cheeks. He tried to pry his arm off Armand’s grasp, but it was unyielding. 

"Let go of me" He demanded. Armand simply smirked.

"No"

Daniel intensified his struggles. 

"Let me go!"

"Never" His lover breathed out, before grabbing Daniel’s face in both hands and crashing his mouth to his. 

Daniel hated it. He hated the way it sent shocks of electricity straight to his broken heart, instantly starting to mend it. He hated the way the taste of Armand comforted him, scratching an itch he didn’t even know he was feeling until it was finally relieved, like going hours and hours without a cigarette and suddenly finding himself with one between his lips, realizing that was what he was needing all along. He hated the way he melted into the kiss, like putty in Armand’s deft hands, reshaping him to his will. He broke the kiss, but all it did was leave Armand free to attack his neck, licking it up and down, scrapping at the long and taut column of muscle with blunt teeth, tearing an involuntary moan from Daniel.

“That- fuck!.. That’s cheating” He accused. 

“Is it?” Armand obviously didn’t care, as he flattened the palm of his hand to the curve of Daniel's ass, holding him in place as he ground their hips together. 

“You know damn well it is, you bastard!” Daniel growled, but kissed Armand again anyway, deciding to stop pretending that it wasn’t what he had been craving, what they both had been craving all night. The floor disappeared under his feet then, as Armand made use of his supernatural strength to manhandle him until his back made contact with something icy and hard. The vampire had him trapped against the side of the stupid car, firm thigh between his, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. He didn’t have to be ordered to start doing the same, giving into the feeling, the rough friction of the denim against the delicate skin of his cock. Armand always made sure to give him pants that were too tight for him to wear underwear. He enjoyed watching him squirm every time he moved, didn’t even try to hide it. 

“If you had behaved yourself, I’d be fucking you inside this car by now,” his demon lover spoke straight into his head, evil, wicked tongue busy doing something equally evil and wicked to that spot under his ear, “I guess now I shall settle for fucking you against it…”

“Wait, what?” it physically hurt to part from Armand’s warm body, but somehow, Daniel managed. “Boss, we can’t!”

“And why ever not?” Armand demanded, petulant as a schoolboy. Realizing the vampire thought Daniel was rejecting him, he made sure to soften his voice as he replied:

“Armand… I’m cold” As if on queue, a violent shiver shook Daniel’s entire frame.

“Right,” There was a faint look of surprise on his face, as if it had only now occurred to him that the sub-zero temperatures could be a nuisance for a human. Pupils blown wide and breathing hard, Armand took a step back, “Of course.”

He licked his lips, aware of the way Daniel’s eyes instantaneously zeroed in on the movement, a moth to a very dangerous flame.

“Then perhaps just the blood for now…” 

Felling the heat rise again, Daniel echoed,

“Just the blood?”

“Just a little taste” Armand confirmed, already leaning in, letting his unneeded breath nuzzle Daniel’s neck.

“Just a little- ah!” Daniel cried out at the exquisite pain of Armand’s fangs penetrating his flesh, the erotic, carnal pleasure flooding his veins as the vampire pulled his very life essence and took it for himself. 

Yes… just like that, don’t stop… More… Take it all…  

But the vampire was breaking the embrace, licking up the last droplets with the tip of his tongue, letting the wounds unhealed for once: A physical mark of ownership, a reminder that the human could fuss and run, throw as many tantrums as he pleased, he was still Armand’s . 

“If I am yours, then you are mine” Daniel murmured, resting his forehead on Armand’s warm chest as he bundled him up in his own jacket. He never noticed the way his lover’s arms froze around him, or that he had never uttered the words aloud.

“I noticed” Armand commented, casually, his nonchalant tone not giving away any sign of the turmoil his bright, exceptional boy had just stirred inside him.

“I don’t want you to make out with or fuck anyone else as long as you’re with me…”

“Then I shall not” 

Daniel stood up, looking into his… partner’s? That’s what they were, wasn’t it? Partners. Exclusive. Daniel searched his partner’s eyes for any sign of deception or resistance. He found none. 

“I don’t need anyone else’s touch, my beloved. Only yours.”

Daniel tried not to look too relieved.

“Good. that’s… good”

“Besides” Armand explained, a positively impish gleam in his citrine eyes, “I enjoy watching far more greatly…”

As always, Daniel Molloy had no idea what was coming to him.

[siderods]

OC Post 8 - The Traveller

Another possible Doozy, The Traveller is an episodic anthology universe where every "Episode" centers around its own self-contained story, with the linking factor being a mysterious steam engine known only as Mutt. Because of the nature of this universe, i'll jot down a description of each "Episode" and then describe the characters. So let's begin!

"Chomping At The Bit" - The introductory episode. A Sharknose diesel has somehow found his way to the Rio Grande, and he desperately wants a promotion from his current lowly position. Mutt decides to help the poor engine by mentoring him on some basics for a few days, but also not letting the shark grow attatched to him. The episode contains a few vauge hints to Mutt's mysterious past and why he's a drifter.

"The Amazing Technicolor Paint Job" is a very loose adaptation of the musical of a similar name. Joseph gets a new coat of paint with some interesting properties, but it leads to him being exiled by the others out of jealousy until it saves them all big time by providing a temporary tourist draw when the freight work dries out. In the story, Mutt consoles the exiled switcher and helps him take pride in himself once more, before leaving with a mysterious warning about the upcoming crisis.

"Brotherly Love" - A PRR M1 named Maxwell is being followed by one of his deceased siblings for no apparent reason. Maxwell unravels the mystery behind his deceased sibling, and confronts him on the bridge. Mutt shows up as cameos throughout the episode but most notably appears near the end when he pushes a line of cars into the posessed M1, stunning it and saving the MC, who was about to get cronched. After that, the Entity is banished and the dead M1 is properly put to rest.

"High Class Pooch" - When Mutt comes across a particularly rough-riding P30CH, he takes it upon himself to help the poor engine out, while also accidentally revealing some interesting truths about his own past.

"Hound Dog" - A 50's story of a bitter rivalry between two Union Pacific giants - a Big Boy and a first generation GTEL. The two engines are very competitive over the concept of modernization, with Mutt initially helping the Big Boy as the two try to prove the other as a fraud. However, when the Big Boy tries to get Mutt to directly sabotage the GTEL, it reminds him of some of the reasons he gave up his old life, and Mutt, seeing the writing on the wall for both of them, leaves to two to quarrel on their own.

Some of the characters appearing in these stories are as follows:

Mutt - This engine is like a weird stray that keeps turning up in random places, a mysterious drifter who usually does a valiant act before disappearing somewhere else before he can be fully identified or rewarded. Some say that he has a secret hideout or a home base to fall back on, but nobody has found it yet.

Reese - An enthusiastic but troubled diesel that Mutt comes to the assistance of, this Sharknose becomes a fish out of water upon inexplicably ending up on the Denver & Rio Grande Western. While eager to prove his worth, he has issues applying himself to his work, which he ultimately overcomes.

Joseph - A small diesel switcher graced with a unique paint scheme that has interesting properties around cameras. Despite being humble and agreeable, his coworkers eject him from their shed until he proves his worth when a decline in goods traffic makes his unique draw become the only thing to keep their railroad afloat.

Rueben & Simeon - A 45 tonner and a Model 40 respectively, these two were rather jealous and stand-offish when Joseph received his new paint, going so far as to kick him out of the roundhouse they lived in.

Maxwell - A rather regular M1 still reeling from the sudden loss of his brother, Maxwell soon finds himself entangled in a plot of posessons, ghosts, and demonic entities. He soldiers his way through and is ultimately able to find peace for himself and his brother.

Marley - Formerly Maxwell’s closest brother, Marley unfortunately suffered a catastrophic internal mechanical defect and passed away suddenly. After becoming a restless spirit when his dead body was taken over by a strange entity to stalk his brother, he is eventually able to pass on in peace when the entity is banished and his brother is able to come to terms with his passing.

The Entity - An entity taking on Marley’s body, preventing his soul from being properly put to rest. His motivations for stalking Maxwell are unknown, but he is swiftly vanquished regardless.

Papillion - Another troubled diesel that we see Mutt assist, this P30CH is very eager to work but struggles with getting excited and distracted, leading to derailments.

With all the charactes out of the way, have a super duper secret lore moment!

"..."

"Y'know, I was a high-class pooch once."

"Wasn't the life for me. Too many.. fake people."

"I don't mind my current lot one bit."

"Because what I do now is real work."

To end off, have a Cronchy photo of Mutt.

I hope you enjoy these guys. I have so many ideas with this concept.

P.S: Very ironic that the character who canonically does funny things to cameras is also messing with tumblr's formatting lol

[pathologictwo]

tagged to do a little Greek mythos oc game by @raresbaby and decided to do it for Valentine since my new copy of 2077 with the dlc (finally !!!) is in the mail. this one was fun!!

bold = applicable, italicized = kind of applicable, strikethrough = not applicable at all

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie• milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed• relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers •feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

[redheadspark]

& here's the 2nd one!!

Christmas Prompt

21. Secret Santa

20. “Please don’t make me wear this, I look ridiculous.”

With Oliver

Happy Writing!! 🙂

A/N: I love this for Oliver! Thanks for the request, Stella!!

Sweater Weather

Summary: The Gryffindor Quidditch Team holds their Annual Secret Santa in the Common Room.

Warnings: Just some magical fluff :)

"Go on, George, it's your turn!"

George went over to grab the one present he was eyeing for some time, a small sized box that was nicely wrapped with a silver bow on the top. The Common Room was warmly lit from the fire, calming the bustling wind outside Gryffindor Tower that was bringing the cold front that was coming through. Thankfully, you and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had the whole Common Room to yourselves since most of the other students were down at the Great Hall and getting some extra studying in at the Library.

The Quidditch Team was holding a Secret Santa party, an annual tradition that has been going on for some time. Since it was the end of the season with only a few games left, it was a great break to have and to not worry about practice or the upcoming match against Ravenclaw.

Even your boyfriend and the Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood thought it was a good idea to have Secret Santa that Friday night.

"Wicked!" George said in glee as he took out a rare pair of Kaleidoscope glasses, the rest of the teams gasped and looked in wonder as he threw it on over his eyes. Instantly, the lenses were moving in a technicolor rhythm, almost in rotation and the view of his eyes twinkling behind the lense was almost magical.

"Those are rare!" Fred said with a hint of jealousy, George chuckled as he took off the glasses and handed them to his twin, "I've looked all over to these. How do you get them?!" "I think revealing the secret will loose the concept of Secret Santa, wouldn't it?" You asked back at Fred, seeing him stick his tongue out at you as Katie Bell was going next to get the gift under the Gryffindor decorated tree. You looked over at Oliver, whom was drinking a bit from his mug that was filled with Butterbeer before he eyed you and gave you a small wink.

Being able to see Oliver being languid and relaxed in this state was rare, most of the time he would be worried about the next match for a new set of practice routines that he made up. You loved him to death, but you almost knew he was a workaholic when it came to Quidditch. He worked hard in his schooling too, but it was nothing compared to his favorite sport. Sometimes you had to remind him to relax and take a break, which worked some times and other times his stubbornness would show.

Still, having those pockets of moments when he was calm, leaning back in peace, it was something you cherished and wished he would have all the time.

"Alright, you're up, Wood!" Oliver snorted as he got up to inspect under the tree to see what presents were left. He finally found a medium size present, walking back to his spot next to you on the scarlet couch. Everyone watched on amusement and intrigue as he was unwrapping the present with his nimble fingers. Once he opened the top and looked in, his eyes were raised in shock.

He took out a sweater, deep maroon in color with a snitch embroidered on the front.

"You gotta admit, it's a great sweater,"

"Come off it,"

You giggled as Oliver placed the sweater down on his lap while you grabbed a leftover Chocolate Frog on the end table next to the loveseat. The rest of the Common Room was deserted, only you and Oliver staying as the rest of the team went off to bed in their dorms.

Breaking the chocolate frog in half, you handed him one piece as you both were snuggling together as you took a massive bite from your chocolate.

"I think this year's Secret Santa was a huge success," You voiced to Oliver, "Everyone's gift was great, plus it wasn't like last year when we almost accidentally set the couch on fire,"

"George was so close to getting that armrest near the fire with his trick," Oliver snorted as he then reached into his pocket and pulled out a smaller gift, fitting in the palm of his hand as he handed it to you.

"Here's my Christmas gift to you," He explained, having you take it willingly and you started to unwrap it as he kept talking, "It's a bit more on the sentimental side and....and I figured you would like it,"

it was a pair of earrings: two small crimson gems that were nestled in the velvet pillows of the box. You grinned widely as you looked from the earrings to Oliver, seeing him look at you sheepishly to see your reaction.

"I didn't wanna give it to ya in front of the others since it was mostly meant only for ya," He said to you, "And I know they're ya birthstone, and you look good in red,"

You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, feeling him blush madly as you pull away and put in the earrings in front of him. Not a lot of people knew this gentler side of Oliver, which was not a bad thing since you mostly saw it yourself. He had a heart of gold, both on and off the field.

"You're far too sweet, Wood. Thank you," You thanked him, seeing him rub the back of his back with a hint of nervousness as you then moved your head around to show off your new earrings, "How do I look?"

"Very beautiful, and now you look extravagant with them on," He said to you coyly. You grabbed his sweater that was still perched in his lap, Oliver eyed you suspiciously as you gesture to the new garment.

"And if you wear this, we can match and look adorable!" You said to him, now Oliver glaring at you.

"Please don’t make me wear this, I look ridiculous.” He somewhat pleaded to you, "I can outrun you, you know,"

"Oh, can you?" You asked back, challenging him as Oliver glared. Within a second, he flew off the couch and bolted to the stairs, you were right behind him in a shriek of laughter as you had the sweater in hand.

The End.

Winter Prompts

[noodlecupcakes]

My OC as a Greek deity

I was tagged by @josephseedismyfather, thank you so much <3

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has (had?) a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has (had?) a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life���s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

Tagging: @g0dspeeed, @la-grosse-patate, @3llisarts, @cassietrn

[arty-ffxiv]

Lesser Deities; Ohka & Kupa

[ R U L E S ] Bold what applies. Italicize sometimes. Strikeout never. Tag some friends to play along! 

[ E R O S ]: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

[ H E C A T E ]: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

[ PAN ]: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

[ NEMESIS ]: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

[ HYPNOS ]: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

[ IRIS ]: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

[ E R O S ]: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

[ H E C A T E ]: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

[ PAN ]: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

[ NEMESIS ]: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

[ HYPNOS ]: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

[ IRIS ]: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

Tagged by: @zenmai--jikake--no--komoriuta ty sis ♥

Tagging: @azems-familiar, @hinganskies, @this-is-ris, @gatheredfates for Seelu, @thefreelanceangel for C'allie and @riftdancing for X'issi ♥