#this is half the plot

[hexcii]

Hi guys

OG under the cut 👍👍

[kensatou]

deepthroating a gun without breaking eye contact...... he put his entire gongyussy into that | SQUID GAME 2

+ the video because the sound he makes when he puts the gun in his mouth? [redacted]

update: he improvised that. the man really said i'll go full slut.

[purpleangiie]

Damian: "Grayson, what are you staring at?"

Dick: "Sh!"

Tim: "Leave him be, D. He's emotional."

Damian: "Over what?"

Dick, staring at the two quiet figures in front of them: "Would you believe that? Jason and Bruce existing in the same space and not throwing a tantrum, but actually behaving like two adults? They're even working together at the same desk. Unbelievable."

Damian: "Wait, has father just ruffled Todd's hair?"

Dick: "And he didn’t even punched him back! I'm so proud of how far they both have come. *sniff* Now we could all be one happy family."

Damiam: *looking absolutely bewildered, gazing up at Tim who just shrugs*

Tim: "Give them 15 minutes."

Damian: "12."

---

Jason: "Bruce. Bruce WHERE IS MY PEN?"

Bruce: "Y-your pen, Jason?"

Jason: "Oh my god. You don't even remember it. My pen, Bruce. My personalized red and golden Montblanc you gifted me for my 14th birthday. I left it here, where is it? You threw it away, didn't you? LIKE YOU DID WITH ANY REGARD YOU EVER HAD FOR ME AND MY FEELINGS? DID YOU FORGET I WAS YOUR SON TOO? WHY IS IT SO HARD FOR YOU TO LOVE ME?"

Dick: "Damn! We got so close."

Tim: "And that'd be 10 minutes and 35 seconds."

Damian: "-TT- Pay up, Drake."

[baba-is-blog]

Baba like dragons?

DRAGON IS FAVORITE

[bluegiragi]

everything (part 3)

full version on patreon on bluesky

[masyaluk]

"a man with a briefcase was here to see you"

[weepynymph]

are people seriously not understanding that the whole point of colin's arc this season is him trying to be something he's not??

like sure the brothel scenes are a little weird and jarring but like they're meant to be??? because he's not actually that into it, he's just trying to do what all the other men his age are doing so he can fit in??

the writers aren't trying to 'turn him into anthony or simon' or make him a rake because that's what we're used to - HE'S trying to turn HIMSELF into anthony or simon or basically any of the other guys who this comes naturally to; who enjoy sleeping with lots of different people somewhat emotionlessly and don't get lonely because of it (and no judgement to that it's just not him)

he literally kisses Pen ONCE and absolutely loses his mind over it because its obviously never felt like that for him before. that moment is his 'oh so that's what that's supposed to feel like' moment and that's how he knows he's in love with her its literally so good???

i understand people feel like its rushed but honestly to me it feels perfectly in character for him to discover the solution to his loneliness he's been searching for all this time and immediately dive into it headfirst. that moment right at the end of ep4 where he asks her to marry him is the most authentic colin i think we've seen all season. he's sweet and funny and playful and passionate and impulsive - he's finally stopped trying to be someone he's not and now that he knows who he is and what he wants he's all in.

[arhvste]

“this is killing me.” kuroo mumbled as he tossed his phone to his side. “just trust me bro,” his best friend-turned roommate bokuto grinned. “this works everytime for me i swear!”

kuroo sighed before grabbing phone again to refresh his instagram story views once more. several people had already viewed the post-gym mirror selfie he’d taken in attempts to garner attention from one particular follower of his; you. “maybe it’s too cringe…” he muttered while over analysing the photo that had already gained a couple of likes within the twenty minutes it had already been up for. “nah.” bokuto reassured him and pat his friend on the shoulder. “you look sexy.” kuroo stared back at the two-toned haired boy. “… thanks bro.”

this isn’t something kuroo would typically post but times were tough and he was desperate. he’d seen you around campus but luck was not on his side when it came to scheduling and the two of you barely had class time together. yet the little class time you did share, kuroo hung onto it tightly and would let scenes of these weekly one hour classes replay in his head more often than he’d like to admit.

“i feel like a modern jay gatsby,” the ex volleyball captain huffed. “my selfie is the equivalent of the wild parties he’d throw in hopes to get daisy’s attention except i don’t want to post every night, i’ve already made myself cringe with this one post.” bokuto stared back at his friend blankly. “yeah… whatever that means.” kuroo frowned back “it’s a classic, you should know what i mean!”

how much longer was he going to have to wait? bokuto had promised him quick results with this method and so far he’d felt deceived and lied to. if talking to you when he got the chance wasn’t enough to get a conversation going outside the classroom, then social media seemed like the next best attempt to start interacting more.

what were you doing? why weren’t you viewing his story? could you even see his story? did he accidentally block you?

these questions ran through his mind as he quickly rushed to check to make sure he hadn’t for some reason blocked you from seeing his story. he half wished he did because then at least he’d know what on earth was taking you so damn long to see the photo he was increasingly starting to hate more the longer it was posted.

“this is stupid.” he stated as he faced bokuto who had zero concerns in his method in gaining someone’s attention. “it works you just have to wait, trust me.”

kuroo frowned as the little red hearts of others who weren’t you fluttered from the bottom corner of the photo. “look!” his best friend grinned as he leaned over kuroo’s shoulder and pointed to the screen of his phone. “you’re getting likes on it!”

“what’s the point if they’re not likes from the person i posted this for in the first place.” kuroo grumbled back in response. he couldn’t believe he’d been subjected to such an attempt to gain some attention from you. it was ridiculous.

it had been about forty five minutes since he’d posted it and he was slowly losing his mind. sure, the post was going to be up for twenty four hours (if he didn’t give into the voices in his head telling him to delete it) so forty five minutes was nothing, but the minutes were beginning to feel like hours and he was dying inside. why weren’t you viewing it already and what could possibly be keeping you off your phone right now?

“this is stupid.” he decided as notifications from his old team mates started to flash up on his screen. the last thing he needed was lev replying with ‘looksmaxing’ to a post that was secretly dedicated to you. “no, it’s barely been up!” bokuto whined. “you look hot so you should get some replies anyway what’s the big deal?”

pinching the bridge of his nose, kuroo huffed. “the big deal is the person i posted this for hasn’t replied!” what was the point in making sure to go to the gym during a rest day just to take this photo if he wasn’t going to at least make his existence more known to you? he’d even worked his legs enough to the point of managing to achieve the sweaty but sexy look. the muscles in his legs were dying, but his dignity sure as hell wouldn’t.

the college student opened up his phone with the intention to end the mental war inside his head once and for all by deleting the post altogether. bokuto watched his friend in defeat but his eyes flashed. “yes they did!” he yelled and pointed to the screen as your name flashed at the top of his screen.

kuroo’s heart jumped at the sight of your profile picture he’d made a daily routine of staring at and the now blue dot indicating a message from your profile in his inbox. to think he was going to delete this post just a second too, what were the chances?

psyching himself up, kuroo took a few quiet deep breathes before letting the time next to your message pass for a few minutes. he wasn’t an instagram warrior by any means, but he knew enough about general rules in order to not look desperate online.

bokuto watched over his friends shoulders as the two stared in anticipation awaiting the message kuroo had been dying for. this was it. leg day two times in a row was gruelling and he’d regret it for the next few days but it would have been worth it. the countless messages from his old teammates mocking his attempts at a thirst trap could be looked past now that you had finally given into the bait he’d so carefully laid. this is what he’d been waiting for. days of preparing and deciding how to gain your attention had finally paid off and he was about to reap the rewards he’d sown.

clicking the message with baited breath, his heart raced as bokuto’s grip of his shoulder tightened. finally.

‘the label on your shirt is sticking out, make sure to cut it’

“a wins a win.” bokuto filled the silence between the pair as kuroo stared at his phone with a blank expression. “… a wins a win…”

[tojisun]

simon riley x f!reader; uhhh a wedding night kink au blurb or something like that idk anymore

it coalesces — the burning need; the hunger; the itch to touch and to claim. it is seeping into your pores, leaving you parched and heady, your breaths coming out in rasps as you stare at him heave from across you.

simon’s jeans are pooled to his knees and you trail your eyes down from his chest to his flushed cock where it twitches on his thigh. he hasn’t even touched himself yet but it is already an angry red, leaking, and so sensitive, that it has him gripping at the edges of the mattress.

simon has never looked so… debauched as he does now.

he has never looked more subservient to his desires and he has never acted like his hunger triumphs over everything, leaving him as he is now, all sloppy before you. his cold bravado and his walls that drive you out have crumbled. he is so putty now, and you haven’t even done anything. not a whimper, or a tease of a show. you just walked into the kitchen, in the pretty dress which johnny drunkenly confessed that simon bought for you, and talked.

you spoke about your day — about work and your meetings; about the recipe you wanted to try; about the trip to the grocery shop and the limited sale of the ribeyes that simon particularly loves.

you just told him how fun it is to be a civilian again. how it was so easy to fall back into the normalcy of a woman your age, amiably befriending the mothers at the park who shared their favourite recipes with you before ushering their chubby babes back home, or the butchers who were obviously trying to make you buy more cuts of meat than you needed, or even your short meeting with kate that had little substance as you two just fell into a quiet conversation about her wife.

it was a day full of banality, and you shared that with simon. but, somehow, something about it, about you, dragged his aches into the surface because the next thing you knew was that simon was slotting himself behine you, fitting you in the spaces of his arms, before breathing you in.

you stuttered out his name, only for your voice to warble even more when he rutted his hips along the plush of your ass, all purposeful and slow.

“si…” you gasped out, blinking the fog away.

this wasn’t the first time that simon and you fooled around, and you are sure that it would never be the last, but it was never this charged. it was never so—

intimate.

it always happened in quick bursts, like two beasts jumping at each other, snapping maws and showing fangs, like any sign of weakness would end with a throat ripped open. but never like this — at a safehouse, in clothes that are so ordinary that one would never mistake the two of you as spec-ops, and sensual.

it was never a needy rutting nor a slow fever.

it was always an all-consuming passion so this… carefulness left you—

well.

it left you aching.

like the rug had been ripped from underneath you, and you are thrusted into the abyss, only with the heat of simon’s body burning from where he’s caressed maps into your back.

“room,” you remember gasping out. you felt him nod before he planted a kiss on the side of your neck, making you jump, and then he was tugging the two of you to the bedroom.

then here you are now, by the door, watching as he dropped himself on his mattress, his scarred hands tearing into his buckles and his zipper before tugging his jeans down and leaving him bare while you remain there standing, heaving, and your eyes wide open as you drink him in.

“c’mere,” simon rumbles, his voice grave and heavy, and you follow his call because you are enchanted by him.

you fall to his lap, your dress ruffling as you scoot closer, closer, closer. you pause. simon clicks his tongue and pulls you even closer.

“s’right,” simon murmurs when your clothed cunt finally brushes against his leaking cock. “sit on it, pretty.”

he wraps you in his arms, and leaves searing kisses along the cut of your jaw and the slope of your cheek, and it is so, so drunken and clingy that you cannot help but mirror his affections. you cling onto his shoulders, nuzzling close, before humping at his cock, feeling its sticky pre- mussing the cloth of your panties.

“that’s it,” simon sighs, almost dreamily. “such a good wife f’r me.”

oh.

oh.

a mewl leaves your lips as your mind catches up to what made simon like this — you realize now that he’s envisioned something like this before. a life outside of the violence. a life where he dresses you up and you become his pretty wife; dolled up for him, cooking for him, coming home to him.

“yesss,” you keen. “thank you si.”

you hump at his cock faster, positioning yourself so that every brush of the head bumps into your hardening clit. “thank you, husband.”

simon’s hands clamp down on the meat of your ass, and he groans, loud and deep.

“gonna buy you a ring,” he grunts, his voice all sticky with his desire. “gonna make this permanent, baby.”

a soft hiccup leaves your lips, your eyelashes fluttering when he pulls back just enough to gaze up at you.

“y’would love that, won’t you?” he asks just for formality.

“yes,” you gasp out, feeling his hands slide underneath the skirt of your dress and into your panties, his palms rough against the fat of your ass. “love nothing more, si.”

his whole body shivers, like it is singing in pleasure, before he plants a chaste kiss on your lips.

“say i do.” his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in familiar circles.

you hiss for a second, your eyes shutting close at the muted pleasure racing across your nerves.

“so beautiful f’r me,” you hear him say, and it is so breathy that you almost miss it but his benevolence sticks to you and not even an orgasm feels as good as hearing his devotion so you look back at him, your trembling hands cupping his cheeks, before you finally whisper, “i do.”

you lock your vow with a kiss, this one more hungry as hot lips devour each other. and, like a good husband, simon makes love to you all night long.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i vote that next year instead of reading Dracula we do a Jeeves & Wooster Book Club. those two never got the rabid tumblr shipping fandom they deserved (disqualified for the sheer technicality of being published a century too soon). we must correct this injustice

[steviewashere]

Modern AU Steddie that don't live in Hawkins together. They meet playing an online video game—honestly, I'm thinking World of Warcraft. And you may be like, but Steve wouldn't play that???

Listen. Steve would play World of Warcraft as a female druid night elf because he thinks the character is pretty, and also Dustin begged him to play the game, and then he gets sucked in so fucking hard. Like maybe not all day play, but a good chunk of his day. He's in community college, stressed the hell out over his major—I'm thinking he's majoring in secondary education, minoring in psychology (because he thought it would be fun), he's in a student math club on Fridays (because, listen, his interest in sports may also lead to an interest in statistics and then circled back to a math interest; plus I think he'd be such a math nerd anyway). He just needs to let out some steam, and that has been through World of Warcraft and also catching sports games on the weekend—his DVR is full.

And Eddie. I mean, come on. Do I need to tell you that Eddie would play WoW? I can picture him being a Dracthyr warlock. Like for sure. He's not in school like Steve is, but he's got a hefty minimum wage job, he's got annoying roommates, and (though this is definitely illegal) he also makes money by making WoW accounts that he gets high leveled and then selling them. Anyway.

One day, while Eddie is playing on his personal WoW account, he bumps into a high leveled druid night elf. And he's interested in becoming their friend, so he sends them a friend request all that good shit. They play together constantly—so much that Steve looks forward to his weekend where he can hop on and play, even when Dustin isn't up to gaming.

I feel like when they meet up, Eddie is exactly who Steve was expecting, but Steve was not who Eddie was expecting. They're wildly different in a lot of big ways. And they are playfully catty with each other.

Also, they find out they both play with Dustin. And now it's their life mission to annoy the hell out of him. Also also. Of course when Steve offers his spare bedroom—in a decent-ish apartment, rent is low, but the appliances often break—Eddie takes him up on the offer.

Kiss kiss fall in love.

[fury161]

portraits for a de au i think about a little bit

[galacticgoldfishart]

I got that brain worm that makes you make an AMV

This is kinda a proof of concept I made for myself of my vampire romcom Idea Vamp! (working title). It's been my silly-escape side project lately, very much inspired by early 2000s anime romcoms. The story would follow Jamie, a down on her luck college dropout who's been unknowingly cursed, and Alana, a bubbly vampire who's just moved to the big city. The two get stuck together due to circumstances and Jamie is made aware of the magical underworld around her thanks to Alana. Lots of cryptid hyjinks as the two grow together and fall for each other.

Song: Her by JVKE

cw: some blood

[lvrrgirlll]

Dublin in ecstasy // wanted to write something silly for st patrick’s day so here’s this (two days late...)

paring: artrick x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: oral m and f receiving, spitroasting, drunk sex, hastily proofread lol

a/n: this is highkey all over the place so keep in mind i am NOT claiming this to be my best work by any means lol... just something silly for the holiday (I say that and then I somehow ended up writing 3.5k words but that's besides the point)

The circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect. Art had decided to do a semester abroad in Ireland while Patrick conveniently was playing tournament in Dublin. And better yet, it all lined up over St. Patrick’s Day.

“C’mon man, it’s my fucking day after all,” Patrick insisted as he stretched out his arms as if basking in his own glory. The two men were holed up in Art’s dorm, a single, of course, since the Europeans always seemed to have more class when it came to university living situations.

“You’re playing the day after tomorrow and I’ve got a mountain of assignments I’m behind on. We’re not getting drunk tonight,” Art retorted quickly, shooting Patrick a stern glance. This hard front, though, swiftly melted when Patrick brought his hands to Art’s shoulders, leaning down so he was at eye level as Art sat at his desk.

“You don’t wanna help me celebrate my day?” He gave him a puppy dog stare, really trying to break down his best friend’s cool exterior. And he knew deep down that Art could be like putty in his hands if he played his cards right. Art’s eyes scanned Patrick’s dramatized expression, leaving him sighing in resignation.

“Fine,” Art groaned, rolling his eyes. “Can we just take it easy though?”

“Yeah man, sure. Whatever you want.”

Art should’ve trusted his gut when he had even an inkling that they wouldn’t be taking it easy. It was St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin for fucks sake. Patrick had outfitted them both with hastily made (sharpied on) “kiss me I’m Irish” shirts much to Art’s protest.

“It’s gonna be a let down when girls see me in this shirt and then hear my American accent,” Art huffs, tugging at the ends of the shirt.

“Nah man, it’s a conversation starter. You just have to be a conversation continuer. Plus, it’s straightforward. It’s a holiday. Girls will kiss you if your shirt says so.” Patrick seemed very confident about that.

“I’m like one-sixteenth Irish man, this feels like false advertising.”

“Forget about it, it’s not like I’m Darby O’Gill or anything, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Art sighed yet again, feeling more and more like this was a bad idea. His mind changed, however, when he and Patrick saw you from across the pub.

They’d been there for about an hour now, standing off to the side, pints of Guinness in hand, trying to feel out what kind of night it’d be. Of course, Patrick was eyeing nearly every girl in the place, most of them with their strong Irish boyfriends, though, but he wasn’t really interested until he noticed you.

You were notably without a boyfriend, currently arguing with the bartender about the pour on your Guinness. Both Art and Patrick were awestruck. The way you were so passionate was admirable, and it definitely helped that, to the both of them, you were the most beautiful girl in the place.

“I’ll be back, don’t wait up too long,” Patrick murmured, slipping away from Art and towards you.

Art stammered, trying to think of a way to stop Patrick, but Patrick just turned around, reminding him how he wanted to “take it easy” tonight. Damnit. Art was eating his own words.

“You seem like you know your beer,” Patrick mused, trying to seem nonchalant from behind you. You turned and he had to physically restrain himself from letting his jaw go slack. From a distance you were already something else, but up close, even a ladies man like Patrick would be flustered.

“Not really. I just know when they’ve screwed me giving me more air than actual drink,” you joked, taking the handsome stranger in as you turned around.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” It was excessively bold, but Patrick had already downed two pints, quickly going on three, and was feeling ballsy.

He watched as your eyes flitted down then, reading the messily written words on his shirt. You giggled. “Are you really Irish? You don’t have an accent,” you asked then, an eyebrow quirking up as you looked up at him.

“As Irish as you want me to be,” he chuckled before shaking his head. “No, really, I’m like 10% Irish. It hardly counts.”

A smirk flashed across your lips as you shot him a devious look through your lashes. “So I shouldn’t kiss you then?” That left him grasping for words, unsure where to take this. Of course, he wanted to kiss you. But his desperation (and slight drunkenness) was getting in the way of his sarcastic, charming banter.

Just in time, though, Art swooped in, much to Patrick’s dismay. “Hi, uh… I saw you from across the room, I just wanted to come say you’re, uh, really beautiful.” Smooth.

Patrick stifled a chuckle, giving Art a skeptical glance from behind you. Art’s eyes narrowed briefly as he glanced at Patrick, a subtle sign that the game was on, but you didn’t miss it.

“Do you two know each other?” You looked between the two of them, brows furrowing as you took a sip of your drink.

They had to give in, of course. The pair formally introduced themselves, gave you the whole spiel about how they go way back and they both play tennis, and Art was sure to mention that he was there for school (selfishly hoping that would impress you).

“So what are you doing in Ireland,” Art asked, ever the gentleman.

“I’ve taken a semester off of school to travel. I guess I’m sort of seeking new experiences; new opportunities, y’know.” You couldn’t help but notice that as you spoke both of them seemed to be hanging off of every word.

“New experiences, huh,” Patrick repeated, smirking before taking a heavy swig from his drink. He didn’t miss the wink you gave him from over the rim of his glass, but he decided to keep any more comments to himself for the time being.

Art kept the conversation going, mostly because he was drunk too at this point and he didn’t want you to leave. You talked for a while, the pub slowly getting more and more crowded (it was St. Patrick’s Day after all), until you were abruptly run into, causing you to spill your drink all over yourself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, the cold of the drink running down your body and soaking right through (and staining) your now see-through white shirt.

Neither Art nor Patrick knew exactly what to do, but Patrick ran to your rescue immediately, shouting at the guy who had run into you. Art had, more passively, made a break for the bathroom, getting paper towels. It was all no use, though. You were soaked; cold, wet, and uncomfortable. And it was looking like Patrick was on his way to a bar fight.

That’s how the three of you ended up stood outside the bar, you clutching your jacket around your body, Patrick pouting about getting you guys kicked out, and Art feeling sorry that he couldn’t help either of you more.

Patrick moved for his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and holding it in your direction. Though you didn’t typically smoke, you took one. It had been a night. As Patrick held his lighter up to the end of the cigarette, you two exchanged glances, still lust filled despite the unsavory events that got you here.

All of you sat in silence, taking steady drags off the cigarettes until you laughed, a dry, sarcastic little laugh. “Y’know what’s great?” You looked in their direction. “I don’t even live around here. I came cause I’ve got some friends here, but they all ditched me for their boyfriends and now I’ve got to take the bus home like this,” you spoke frustratedly, looking down at your state. That’s when a sneaky little idea came to Patrick.

“Well, my hotel’s only a 5 minute walk from here. Come shower there, you can dry off and then you can take the bus back to wherever it is,” he nearly insisted. Art shot him a look that you couldn’t quite discern, but Patrick didn’t seem moved by it. “What do ‘ya say? It’s not a bad idea…” he gave you those same puppy dog eyes he had given Art before, and damnit, they really did work. Patrick Zweig could convince the Pope to convert if he wanted to.

“Sure. Yeah, ok, lead the way.” Obviously, you knew deep down that this would not just be some sort of act of convenience and kindness, but hey, you weren't really opposed to that.

On the walk over, Art huddled up close to Patrick, whispering endless questions and concerns. "Dude, what am I supposed to do? Walk of shame back to my place while you get to fuck her?" He snuck a glance back at you trying to make sure you hadn't heard him. Patrick slung an arm around him, though, pulling him in closer.

"Don't you worry, Artie," his tone was mocking, but still somehow reassuring. "Let St. Patrick handle it. I have a feeling both of us will be getting lucky tonight." Art rolled his eyes, absolutely sick of the holiday related talk, but he took it in stride, trusting his friend (against his better judgement). It's not like they hadn't talked about sharing girls before. Maybe it really was that Irish luck that had sent you their way.

Back at Patrick's hotel, which was much nicer than you had expected (it was on his parents' dime, after all), you made a break for the shower, dying to free yourself from the confines of your drenched shirt. While you showered, the guys were talking strategy.

"So if it turns out she is only into one of us, then what," Art asked from the armchair in the corner.

"Then one of us gets to fuck her, obviously. If it comes to it, I'd get out of here for you." Art shakes his head at Patrick's crude words. "But like I said earlier, I think we could both luck out tonight. I mean, she did say she was looking for new experiences after all..."

"Right," Art quipped sarcastically. Both of them in their drunkenness had failed to realize that the water had stopped running, though.

"Imagine the noises she'd make...fuck man. And the way she'd probably give you the best head of your life. You saw her lips, right?"

"Jesus, Patrick, you've gotta stop,” Art sighed, a light laugh escaping though.

"But I'm right, right?" A silence lingered between the two before Art looked to Patrick, a goofy smile painted across his features.

"Yeah. Yeah, you are. I wouldn't make her do that, though. I mean, she seems like she'd be more into receiving than giving anyways, y'know..." And Patrick nodded. He knew exactly what Art meant.

Just then, the bathroom door clicked, making the boys' heads snap back in your direction. Now in only Patrick's t-shirt, which he had promptly stripped off and offered you when you got to the hotel, you padded out of the bathroom.

“Shit, did you hear that,” Art asked, embarrassed. Clearly, he couldn’t have been that embarrassed though, his eyes raking down your bare legs hungrily. Patrick, similarly, took no discretion in ogling you, leaning back and smiling like a cat who got the cream.

“You look good in my shirt, babe.” The nickname was maybe a bit much, but then again, when was Patrick ever afraid of too much?

Taking a seat on the bed, you smiled, looking down at the shirt again, chuckling lightly to yourself.

“You’d look better with it off, though…” he mutters under his breath, loud enough so you could hear it.

One thing led to another and now you, Art, and Patrick were all on the bed, Art kissing your neck and along your jaw while Patrick had lifted up your shirt and was paying close attention to your tits. It was unfamiliar, feeling two sets of lips on you at once, but there was something so euphoric about it too.

“Have you guys done this before-,” a slight gasp escaped your lips, cutting you off. “Shared the same girl?” Art hummed a quick ‘no’ against your skin, but Patrick didn’t even move to speak, only shaking his head ‘no’ as he continued to mouth at your hard nipples.

Patrick pulled away, taking a second to watch the way his best friend sucked at your neck, sure to leave a spot. Call him a cuck, but he felt harder than he’d ever been.

Nestling in behind you, he pulled you in away from Art so you were leaning against his bare chest. He dragged his hands up your waist to your tits, massaging them while placing little kisses along your shoulders. “C’mere Art…” he beckoned. Patrick’s big hands reached down, spreading your legs and holding them open.

Art practically scrambled up to you, a hopeless look in his heavily lidded eyes. You’d lost your shirt long ago, now only in a pair of lacy (soaked) panties.

He pulled them to the side, running a finger through your folds. His fingers were cold causing you to inhale a sharp breath. “Fuck…” he sighed, looking over your shoulder at Patrick. “She’s perfect.” Art slipped your panties down your legs, you helping a bit to kick them off your ankles, and pocketed them, not missing Patrick’s look of impressed approval. He leaned down, then, his fingers returning to your slick heat. He prodded at your hole, pushing one, then two fingers in, the feeling of you tightening around him sending a rush to his cock. He pumped in and out at a rapid pace, making your chest heave and your eyes flutter shut.

He leaned in closer to you, tonguing at your clit, absolutely obsessed with the way you were moaning with your head settled back against Patrick’s shoulder. He licked thick stripes along your pussy, fingers so deep inside you that it was hard to keep your legs spread, squirming and whimpering like a mess. “Fuck, Art… t- too much. M’ gonna… fuck, gonna cum.” That only encouraged him, pressing his face into you with so much dedication. You could feel his nose rub against you as he tongued around your hole, still filled by his fingers. Your hands tangled in his hair while Patrick kissed your neck feverishly, still holding your legs open for Art.

When you came, it was ecstasy. You felt like you were melting into Patrick as you leaned back into him, hips bucking up against Art’s face. Your legs were shaking as Art pulled his fingers out, still sloppily licking into you.

“Okay man, don’t get greedy,” Patrick murmured, pushing Art’s head away boyishly and pulling you up to sit up a little more. You giggled, still a little blissed out but wanting more, wanting to impress them.

“Here,” you started, moving onto all fours. “Let me return the favor.” Art was now in front of you, hard as a rock, while Patrick was left behind you, staring at your glistening pussy. You arched your back a little, ass in the air as you looked back at Patrick. “Well don’t just stand there…”

Patrick found his place behind you, the sound of his zipper coming down music to your ears as you worked on ridding Art of his pants. When you looked up at him, he was blushing, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol doing it to him or the situation at hand. He let out a shuttered breath when you slid his boxers down, his length slapping up against his stomach.

You bit you lip, eyeing his cock and noting the way his tip was pink and leaking precum. "Artie," you say, looking up at him doe eyed as if you weren't about to get spitroasted by two best friends.

"Y- yeah..." he replied, looking down at you pathetically, mouth hanging open as he waited for your reply.

"It's really pretty," you lilt before licking from the base to the tip. His eyes screw shut immediately and he makes a sound unlike any you'd heard before.

Patrick, clearly over the praise for Art, though, thrusts into you with no warning, bottoming out quickly and leaving you gasping for air. "Fuck, warn a girl next time..." you sigh as he stills, the feeling of being completely full overwhelming, but exciting.

"I'm so good I need a warning? I haven't even started moving, babe." Patrick speaks with a mocking tone, but you eat it up. Art, feeling left out then, reaches for your jaw, guiding your lips to his cock again. Everything he does, he does with a gentle, polite sort of touch, and you can admire that, especially when it's so starkly contrasted by Patrick.

When you finally take Art into your mouth, it's hard to miss the way his abs ripple while his cock twitches. You could tell he was long when you looked at it, but you realize just how long when his tip is forcing itself against your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, the two boys exchange looks, Patrick mouthing a '3...2....1' before they both started moving in tandem. Patrick's pace was quick and you could feel just how big he was by the stretch. Art, as if he wanted to outdo his friend, was now uncharacteristically bullying his cock down your throat. Though in true Art fashion, he combed a hand through your hair slowly, sweetly, as if he wasn't practically defiling you.

You couldn't help but gag, the sound only encouraging the two men. "She's so tight, man. You've gotta feel her pussy," Patrick huffed.

"You...were...right..." Art panted, lost in the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. "It's like she was made for this..." He almost felt guilty for being so crass... almost. But he was nothing if not easily influenced by his friend.

"Oh- she definitely liked that," Patrick slurs. "She's squeezing me so tight man -fuck." His hands were firmly holding your hips in place as the sound of skin slapping filled the room, his pace unrelenting.

And with each thrust from Patrick, you only pushed further down onto Art, now a drooling, gagging mess beneath him. You could hardly tell now, unable to focus in light of the mess being made of you, but Art kept a hand holding your jaw, caressing it even, as if to silently say 'good girl'.

Noticing your squirming, Patrick knew you were close. He reached a hand around to your clit, thumbing at it in swift circles and grunting like a mad man when you tightened around him. "Fuck, you like that baby? I know you're close... shit- I can feel it."

With Art still stuffing your mouth, all you could do was nod rapidly, pushing back onto Patrick now. Feeling him hit that spot over and over again, you lost yourself a bit, legs getting shaky as you moaned and whined around Art's cock. And then it snapped, that tight feeling in your stomach released as you came hard around Patrick's cock.

Patrick, reveling in the feeling, kept thrusting in and out, each thrust getting sloppier and more shallow. "Shit, don't worry babe," he breathed out heavily. "I'll -fuck- I'll pull out." But right as he moved to do so, you pulled off of Art abruptly, turning to face Patrick shaking your head. Your lips were swollen and glimmering as you shook your head desperately at Patrick.

"I'm on the pill," is all you said, turning back to Art then. You kissed at his tip before taking him back, deep down into your throat. When Patrick pushed back in, it was like the first time again. In pulling out for even a few seconds, he'd forgotten how good you felt, how tight and warm and wet you were.

And when Patrick's hips began to stutter, the feeling of him completely overstimulating you, he made sure to look Art right in the eyes. "Fuck," he gasped, staring right at his flushed, sweating friend as he came inside you, filling you up.

The image of Patrick, jaw slack and making eye contact, drove Art over the edge. Without any sort of warning, you could suddenly feel hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. He pulled out a bit prematurely, some of his cum spurting onto your lips too, but you made sure to look up at him and lick it up like a champ.

"Holy shit..." he mumbled.

"Holy indeed..." Patrick hummed, pulling out and settling on the bed behind you.

Once you were cleaned up, the three of you nestled into bed, you drifting off in their arms quickly, completely spent from the night's activities. Before either boy could fall asleep, though, Patrick startled Art by ruffling a hand through his hair.

"What's that for," Art asked, bewildered.

"I told you St. Patrick would deliver."

[yoosung-ah]

Mystic Messenger - a perfectly sensical, grounded, and normal romance game - out of context

[jinror]

buncha old worm doodles.. i stopped at like 19.2 but ill get back into it at uhhhh some point