#AoL fic

[cxsmiicc]

iqet asain aso - lanfear/mierin drabble

It was horrifying in its splendour. The Sharom, split into thousands of pieces. The empty sky above Collam Daan, bare. Her, somehow still standing after all of the destruction.

lanfear drilling the bore because i was having thoughts

631 words, ao3 link in title

-

C’était ça. Das war’s. Iqet isain aso. This was it. At long last, she had found it. Well, found was a relative term. Does one find a metaphysical fraying in the fabric of the universe itself or simply detect it. This place was where the pattern was weakest. The new power source was clamouring for attention this close up, screaming as if a child wanting it’s mother to let it out to play. Fitting, somehow, that it should be here, in the Sharom. Let it out she would. This was her chance. Lews could deny her all he wished, but when this was done… She would be loved even more so than he, she would be revered. By all. That elusive third name would finally be granted to her, a symbol of her prestige upon first introduction.The days of him arriving at functions with her on his arm and later slipping away with that chit Ilyena would be long over, as would these of the opposite. The research he had been unable to quit with her could be more once again, more than a clandestine affair when he grew dissatisfied with Ilyena Moerelle Dalisar. No more of his denial of his continued infatuation with her. He would be hers again. The sooner the better, time to get this done. To open arms to a new age of power.

“Beidomon.” He rushed to her side after the utterance of his name, ready and willing to assist. Pathetic, truly.

Embracing the source, she saw him do the same. The two leaned into the familiarity of the One Power for what may well be the last time, drawing thick ropes of spirit to do the deed. Focusing on the True Source’s call, she accepted it, feeling Beidomon following suit. Twin weaves of saidin and saidar twined together, thickening before flattening in a flash that seemed to shake the magnificent building to its very core. Ignoring this, she kept channeling, the angreal tucked in her belt linking to its larger twin down far below and granting the blessing of continued power, keeping the flows growing and growing, and the rumbling to grow in congruence with it. She refocused on the call, emptying her mind of everything but it and her weaving, gently tying air and water into it as Beidomon did the same with fire and earth. Best to play to their strengths under such high stakes circumstances. She reached, and reality seemed to splinter. Shards of memory flashed before her eyes, nights with Lews assuring her of her value to him and the adjacent days of his constant neglect. Being used after their seperation, being ignored whenever Ilyena was present. Dread and anger and sickness and repulsion flooded her, but still she pressed on. Emotions were nothing but a hindrance to the goal, and could be dealt with when the straits weren’t quite so dire. The shards of existence seemed to rearrange themselves before her closed eyes, raising the question of how long had they been that way, how long since the horror of it all had forced the involuntarily attempt to shield herself from it.

This time, everything shattered. She was flung from the sky, barely catching herself in time. The pathetically weak flows of air righted her before she could hit the ground, and formed a protective dome woven with fire to defend against the debris raining down all around. It was horrifying in its splendour. The Sharom, split into thousands of pieces. The empty sky above Collam Daan, bare. Her, somehow still standing after all of the destruction.

“soon….” , A voice whispered against her ear and she whipped around only to find nobody there, and wonder how on earth she could hear anything that soft amid all of the screams.

[camellcat]

you guys I'm losing my MIND

I have NEVER seen this sort of thing in any other fandom I've been in and I LOVE IT

[writingnocturne]

Crestfallen, escape, memories, mist :))

For You, Princess

Notes

Sorry for the wait, @crazybananacakes! I absolutely loved your prompt and the angst potential - so much so that I ended up writing, like, 20 different outlines with different Zelinks and "what if" scenarios. I ended up going with Classic Zelink here for the anniversary today (38!!!), even if BOTW/TOTK Zelink was the obvious option... but believe me, now I have plenty of other angst and "what if" one-shots on the backburner. It's actually a little crazy. Here, both the Zeldas are one in the same - and there are plenty of other headcanons sprinkled in. I would love to make this a larger fic!

WARNING: BLOOD.

Sneak Peek

《 Mist coats the air in a suffocating serenity. The world, under pouring rain, wears a mask as if it were at ease— but the rushing of footsteps through growing puddles of mud urges it to wake up. Trickles of red drop down to stain the layer of water.

The storm thuds against the earth in a rage-filled song the further on this trail goes, washing it away with further ferocity by the minute.

Two silhouettes seek some illusion of refuge in the merciless weather. They are outlined only by the occasional crack of ruby lightning.

An identical scar marks their intertwined hands.

Both fight to take the lead— not with hostility, but desperation. The taller of the two, a young woman, pulls along her companion for the majority of the time despite his consistent (yet silent) protests.

Tears draw out thin strings of velvet and cling the curls of her hair to her face, pale with something reminiscent of illness. Her eyes— a dull, silver-blue— droop with the look of someone already long dead. She shakily gazes back to the stumbling boy she leads onward, but this lowers her guard just enough for her legs to finally give out beneath her. 》

Ao3 Link

Word Count: 1,714

Prompt Post

This is for a little ask game I'm doing for short fics! Just send me three words and I'll write from them! See the full post here.

[tinyetoile]

Was thinking about the Lore™ adjustments/expansions for the timeline of my Zelda story and felt like drawing the Prince of Hyrule from Zelda 2

I imagine he was like. A normal person with normal person flaws and vices before the magician came along and started encouraging all of his worst impulses.

After he got his sister cursed, he refused to be crowned as king, and ruled with the title of prince his entire life.

[bluevaractyl]

Turned a page of miscellaneous sketches into doodles. No references used for sketches, but I referenced the AoL manual to finish Link and looked at various horse pics for the wonky horse. I never draw horses long enough 😅 oh well

[batrogers]

Summary:

Link has largely returned to his normal life since defeating Ganon a few years before, but there's been more monsters in Hyrule -- and smarter ones -- and when it becomes clear they're coming after him, specifically, Link doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to make anyone else unsafe, but who can handle the risk this entails? Worse, who could even tell him what's wrong?

Rated T, for mature themes and some violence. Blood curse discovery fic, plus Link and his Zelda's relationship building up.

POV character is also underage and works in survival sex work and that also features strongly in their discussions, even if its not explicit or happening on the page.

[loz-hero-reborn]

HERO REBORN

Prologue - The Tale of Hyrule

The Tale of Hyrule

In the centuries long gone, the Kingdom of Hyrule was founded around the light of the mystical Triforce.

Although why it came to the people has been forgotten, its three pieces have been the guides of the land.

The Triforce of Wisdom brought order and law, carried by royalty.

The Triforce of Power gifted them with unfathomable strength.

The Triforce of Courage, although hidden away, provided an era of life and peace.

With Hyrule's leaders possessing the pieces of Wisdom and Power, as well as knowledge of the third's hiding place, they were seen as a beacon among the kingdoms of the earth. It was often that they were turned to in times of dire need.

…

Unbeknownst to them all, however, a wicked creature lurked in envy– meticulously staging its own calamity.

One fearful night, the moon went awash with blood and the earth trembled.

From the quaking stone, darkness spiraled free. It formed into a horrible beast of Hylian legend… The Demon King, Ganon.

With an army of monsters at his tail, Ganon devastated all in his path. He rampaged to Hyrule Castle, stealing the Triforce of Power from the king and vanquishing him with its uncontrollable might.

With this, Hyrule was plunged into an era of decline.

…But the Triforce of Wisdom was missing.

Although the King did not heed her warning of the events to come, the young Princess of Hyrule stole the Triforce of Wisdom from its chamber in preparation for Ganon's arrival.

By the time the monster had reached her, he could only witness as she shattered the piece into fragments– sending them out into the horizon.

A torturous fate awaited the child, but she did not cave. She knew she had already set an unforeseen destiny into motion.

As she had hoped, a servant had escaped the castle and located a child with boundless courage. Despite his age, the boy braved the monster-ridden regions and slayed whatever creature came in his way. He restored the Triforce of Wisdom and used his built strength to destroy Ganon once and for all.

The young Princess deemed the boy a hero, but knew what Ganon had caused could not be undone. She was forced to take the throne of her late father. Even so, her hero stayed by her side.

When the two grew up, they went on to rebuild the Kingdom of Hyrule and return prosperity to all.

To this day, their legend lives on.

To this day, Hyrule heals.

Update:

Hi! I did not forget this amongst my other projects! However, since the comic is taking some time, I decided to put the story in novelized form as well like I did over on my Untold Myths blog.

Chapter 1 - The Boy's Left Hand

About:

Hero Reborn is a fan reimagining of The Adventure of Link. If you are interested in reading more, the pinned post of this blog has further information.

(#loz hero reborn)

Obligatory Disclaimers:

I, quite obviously, don't own LoZ II: The Adventure of Link. This is simply a fancomic that serves as a loose narrative adaptation of the game, which has little storyline beyond the backstory given by the manual. It is meant to function similarly to the LoZ mangas (which you should read at the next opportunity) and doesn't entirely operate within canon. I wanted to tell a story from one of my favorite games in light of newer installments. You will find a lot of differences between the story and the game itself, but also similarities for obvious reasons. For instance, this Link is a reincarnation of the Hero of Hyrule, rather than the same boy. But this is all just for fun and isn't meant to be taken too seriously. I highly recommend you play the original game, too! It was my first LoZ game and holds a special place in my obsessions. :)

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Hopfully comprehensive list about things in Zelda 2 that might be important for folks doing fan stuff for the game but don‘t wanna play it for expected reasons cuz tbf, yea the game is hard!

(because if I read "8bitrule is a deadly wasteland" one more time I‘ll delete my save file and go join the Yiga Clan XD /lh)

It got VERY long so I sorted into different categories for some semblance of order lmao. It goes:

Backstory

Plot

General info on Hyrule

Towns

General info on Link (+ move set)

Spells

Items

Collectibles

And other funky stuff

Hopefully this will be of help/interest to someone. And if not, oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Not enough Zelda 2 stuff out there anyways, so more is always good!

I do like talking about this game so for extra info pls feel free to ask :3

Backstory:

2 Zeldas, the new Zelda is actually a great-great-smth aunt of Zelda 1, and the reason it‘s called "the Legend of Zelda“

Long ago, her bro (and his wizard buddy) pressured her into telling them the secrets of the Triforce she got from their dead dad. Zelda didn‘t tattle, wizard buddy tried to strike her down via spell in anger

Spell went out of control, put Zelda into eternal sleep and killed wizard buddy in one swoop

Prince lost sis and buddy, fell into remorse, locked her in a tower Sleeping-beauty style in hopes the spell would be reversed one day and decreed every princess shall be named Zelda from now on

Plot:

16 old Link chillin his life when a triangle starts glowing on his hand?? Asks Impa for help, she brings her to the magically sealed door where Zelda the First sleeps, cue Backstory

gives him crystals he needs to put in statues in palaces to unlock a seal on the temple that holds the Triforce of Courage (because he did not have that before)

All the bosses are guardians of the statues + Dark Link is his actual shadow that he fights against to prove his heart is pure enough to hold it

It was brought to life by some old guy hanging out there (never explained but he’s probs supposed to be a sage and looks a lot like the Old Man from Zelda 1, though much like all Wise Men in this game do)

Ganon has literally nothing to do with any of that, his monsters just really want Link dead so they can sprinkle his blood on Ganon‘s ashes and bring him back. (Since they need him dead, it probs needs a lot of blood)

Hyrule:

different areas : fields, woods, beaches, caves, swamps, mountains, deserts, graveyards, and one Lake Hylia

2 continents divided by sea, west and east + a small island that is one big labyrinth (named maze island)

different towns, all of them have the names of Oot sages plus Harbor Town Mido and Kazuto Town

the locations/"elements“ of towns do not match their future sages in the slightest (Saria gets water. Ruto‘s in a valley. Nabooru‘s by the sea, fully green and far away from the desert sands).

towns in West Hyrule are well connected via roads

East Hyrule has broken roads (if at all) and Kazuto is even completely ransacked by monsters

there‘s a new Kazuto Town hidden in some woods, while Old Kazuto is an actual Ghost town

Stonehedge is not only a thing but appears in multiple locations

Big Fairies are a thing, but they come without Water Fountains. Instead just hang out in the woods, stonehedge, wherever

streets are always safe. You will never see a monster as long as you stay on it. If you stray, monsters will spawn (though sometimes its fairies instead). If you run back on the street and a monster gets you there, the "battle“ will be empty and you can just walk out. Streets are always safe.

the main graveyard got the King‘s Tomb in the middle of it; has a secret tunnel to one of the palaces

there‘s a smaller graveyard near Death Mountain by Spectacle Rock that‘s apparently supposed to be the Zelda 1 graveyard -> Zelda 1 played in a small part of West Hyrule

third graveyard near The Valley of Death (name is accurate gameplay wise too ._.)

Towns:

very lively communities

different styles of houses, some have bushes, fountains (with drinkable water), different sections separated by gates, etc.

you have to climb on roofs and jump through windows to get into some buildings

Link can get multiple things here: free healthcare from a lady in red, filled up magic from an old lady in orange, a side quest that usually leads to either a new sword skill or magic spell. Those can always be obtained from a knight/wizard in the basement of the main building.

pretty much all villagers can be talked with and either give: generic Hi‘s, vague hints about the next goal, the sidequest, some praise him as the hero and wish him luck

Sometimes they also turn out to be Aches (monsters that look identical to villagers until you talk to them, upon which they turn into bats and attack); pretty much exclusive to the later/Eastrule towns

Link:

16y old and left his equipment at home, only got a sword and shield

Zelda 1 was years ago for him

learned to wear pants between Zelda 1 and 2 (they‘re brown, same color as his shirt. You could make it a onesie if you want to)

hair color‘s somewhere between brown and ginger

Left handed gang

certified recorder player

silly goober

given that Impa got to him so fast, good chance he‘s at the castle often enough

if botw Link is a parry god, he‘s a blocking god

shield is only small enough to cover half his body, hence him learning how to move it at hyperspeed

unnamed sword but the Magic/White Sword from Zelda 1 is on the cover so it’s most likely that one

gains new equipment throughout the game via dungeons

can gain exp and level up, but unless you specifically set him up pre/during his quest, you wanna treat this lad like he‘s maxed out

skills: stab, crouch stab, up jab (like the one from smash), jump/down jab (also like the one from smash, this is where it‘s from)

Spells:

Shield (turns his tunic red and up‘s defense),

Jump (lets him jump high),

Life (restores 3 blocks of HP; your max possible HP is 8 with all Heart Containers. Doesn‘t start out the most expensive, but unlike most other spells barely gets cheaper with higher magic levels, making it the 2nd most expensive in the log run.)

Fairy (turns him into a fairy; small, no fighting but flying, and lets you skip through locked doors! 3rd most expensive.)

Fire (shoot fire from your sword; some enemies can only be defeated this way)

Reflect (reflects magic attacks, lets you block spells that would otherwise go past your shields; basically magic defense)

Spell (turns some enemies into slime + unlocks a secret area in New Kazuto)

Thunder (rains thunder on the whole screen; needed to defeat a boss. Most expensive spell in the game, regardless of magic level.)

the other spells are all dirt cheap in higher levels

if you wanna be real detailed: one magic meter block = 16 MP, totalling for 128 with a maxed meter. A fully leveled (in mp) Link will use 60mp for Thunder, 50 for hp, 40 for fairy, 8 for Jump and 16 for all others. Otherwise, here‘s a table for MP usage across levels.

Items:

Candle: equivalent of the magic lantern, infinite light source. Unlike Zelda 1, this one doesn‘t let you commit property damage :(

Hammer: breaks giant boulders on the road, letting you access shortcuts. Also lets you cut down any tree tiles on the overworld, turning it into fields- Property damage is back baby!

Handy Glove: Lets Link crush blocks with his sword. Even more destruction and a good compromise for the lack of vases imo.

Raft: used to cross from West to East Hyrule.

boots: let you straight up walk on water, but only in certain places.

Whistle/Flute: is actually a recorder (flutes are held sideways, recorders forward. That‘s like. The biggest difference between these two instruments, bar the reputation.) Used to make a monster blocking the road disappear and summon a palace, similar to how you shrink a boss and drain a lake in Zelda 1. Doesn‘t let you teleport though. Does play the same tune, though. It‘s the one also heard in the oot intro!

magic key: the key to end all keys, lets you open all the doors in every dungeon forever (despite the name does not need MP)

Cross: regarless of what some more zealous fans of the series claim as a means to justify their unjustified bigotry, Christianity is not canon to the series. But much like other Japanese media, it sure likes borrowing from its aesthetics! Case in point, this item is just the Kirbo meme. It lets you see invisible ghosts so you can kick their ass. (you don‘t need it to hit them, but they‘re a pain to dodge/ hit even with it.).

Collectibles:

magic jar: same as ever. Blue fills 1 mp block, red fills all. Doesn‘t fill instantly, so if your meter’s got points left you can wait till its half full, use a high mp spell, and still get the rest of the points that‘d otherwise go to waste. Dungeons sometimes contain statues, which drop one jar (or start attacking you).

treasure bag: holds exp (money doesn‘t exist in this game)

key

doll: weird but surprisingly cute doll that looks exactly like a miniature version of Link and gives you an extra life. (The game has lives- if you get a game over, Ganon gets resurrected on screen.)

Bowl of Hearts: Looks, acts like, is a Heart Container. Gives you 1 block of HP; you start with 4, for a max of 8. Can be found wherever Heart Containers would be.

Magic Container: Looks like a filled jar; Heart Container but for MP.

Other funky stuff:

you rescue a kid that got lost in caves

has instances of Link talking in 1st person; one appears by looking under a stranger’s table in a house: "I found a mirror under the table“.

Everyone knows the man the myth the legend, the npc named "Error“, but there’s actually a 2nd guy named "Bagu“. As in, Bug. Game bug.

Bro has a pet Bot (this games‘ version of Chus) sleeping in his house. You can annoy it into waking up and it‘ll tell you where he is so you‘ll finally leave

the waters are NOT poisonous in the slightest (seriously, where did that come from) …but they are infested with jumping Piranhas.

Saria Town only lets people use the bridge connecting the 2 sides of the river if you‘re a citizen or get a permit from Bagu. Vaguely remember you could also take a long road around it tho

With 9.5 towns, a lot of greenery everywhere, and ACTUAL. FUNCTIONAL. ROADS :O This might be one of the most well-off Hyrules in the series (ironically >v<)

Aaaand *looks at length of this post^ ok yea that is enough lmao, I might genuinely hit the word limit here, oof. I‘m a rare Zelda 2 enjoyer can yall tell XD

[englishpaperpieced]

Stranger Things ‘90s Heist WIP snippet

A bit from the current WIP, working title: The Stranger Things ‘90s Heist AU That Nobody Asked For (Now With Bonus Space Program Geekery).

Wednesday, September 24, 1997

AIM’s distinctive three-tone alert startled Steve out of his coding reverie. He took the opportunity to stand up for a minute from the desk in his guest-bedroom-slash-office and stretch. Felt a few vertebrae crunch; welcome to your thirties. The messenger window popped up on his monitor.

SpaceDust: Steve! Are you there?

Dustin, of course. That’s why Steve kept AIM running, even while he was working. The kids favored it over walkie-talkies the last few years. He sat again, started typing.

WorldsBestBabysitter: Yeah, what’s up?

SpaceDust: I need to talk to you. CODE RED, Steve.

The last code red had been Suzie breaking up with him for good, a couple of years ago. His current girlfriend — Stephanie? No, Stella — didn’t seem to be serious, but Dustin falls hard every time, poor kid. Steve took a deep breath, let it out, and prepared himself for the post-breakup sympathy talk.

WorldsBestBabysitter: Sure, buddy, go ahead.

SpaceDust: No, like TALK to you.

Steve raises an eyebrow at the screen. Dustin has had his phone number every place he’s lived since he moved out of Hawkins.

WorldsBestBabysitter: So call me.

SpaceDust: No, I need to TALK TO YOU, Steve, ohmigod.

Downstairs, there’s a knock on the front door.

[surreality51]

I think it’s because I read @branch-and-root‘s seminal Challenge fanfic series from the Japanese anime/manga “Prince of Tennis” so many times in my formative 20s that every time I read a Fedal fanfic now where Mirka or Mery are sidelined in order to make way for Fedal, my gut reaction is, “no, honey, why do we need to break up Roger/Mirka or Rafa/Mery when we can just make it a triangle?”

[cxsmiicc]

hi im writing again and its everybodys problem

[wishitweresummer]

Anyways guys don’t forget to check me out on the best fanfic website aol

[rainbows-fanfics]

Regarding the Fanfic.net thing, my fanfiction is available via AO3, Wattpad, Quotev, and even deviantART, should something happen to FFN. I have been wanting to make a Document archiving my stories as an extra backup, which I will do soon.

You're free to save/download/even print out my fics, if you'd ever like to. I am also fine with them being posted for archival purposes, just so long as wrongful credit/ownership isn't claimed.

[tinyetoile]

The perks of having a near-identical long-forgotten great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great aunt suddenly wake up is that you can get her to sit in for you during your portrait-painting sessions and go do something else instead.

This will in no way confuse future historians about your appearance, or spark a conspiracy theory that you swapped places with her and ran off to journey through the kingdom once her existence is revealed after your death.

[molliehaswords]

I hope when we switch to the other party I don’t become insufferable like the people who only have one favorite in Team Wildemount. And that The Thing I Really Don’t Want But Other People Seem Convinced Is Perfect doesn’t remotely get touched.

Fingers crossed for completely new PCs as guests who are connected to Ashton and the Hishari more than anything else. 🤞🤞🤞

[sceletaflores]

slippery when wet!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”

—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.

word count: 4.3k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

psst! tftw series masterlist!

You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals. 

Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.

The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.

You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.

It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.

Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.

Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.

Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?” 

He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”

You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”

He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”

There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.

You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin. 

Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.

Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”

“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”

Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.

A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling. 

Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”

“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy. 

It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.

Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.

“You’re a child.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry. 

It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.

You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”

Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”

“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.” 

For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.

You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”

Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr. 

Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find. 

He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.

“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”

Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you. 

It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court. 

“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.

“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”

The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.

Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”

He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.

Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.

The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.

The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base. 

Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”

You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.

Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.

His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”

Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.

It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.

“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”

“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you. 

“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.

Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.

Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.

He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.

“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.

Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.

You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.

“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.

The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you. 

You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.

They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.

You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”

“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.” 

Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.

You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”

“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”

The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“

“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”

You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.

You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.

His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.

Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.

An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.

You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art. 

“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”

“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.

You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”

Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy. 

He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear. 

You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”

Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain. 

You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.

He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”

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