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sceletaflores · 3 months ago

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working it out (on the remix)

pairing: art donaldson x patrick zweig x fem!reader summary: you sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. you should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t going to get the three of you anywhere.

—or: three tennis players walk into a hotel room.

word count: 5.5k contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, smoking, fighting as foreplay, mean!reader my beloved, the patrick and art gay agenda, threesome, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!), not quite hate sex more like angry sex, double penetration, oral sex (m!receiving), choking, finger sucking, degradation, creampies, lowkey sub!patrick coded, switch!art ofc, porn with a plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: oh em gee part three is here!!! i literally always say this but i had so much fun writing this one lol thank you so much for showing this series so much love right off the bat! i've loved loved loved reading all the ideas you guys have sent me for future chapters and trust when i say that i'll definitely be featuring as many as i can. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

tftw series masterlist!

Art is fuming. You keep glancing over at him to check that smoke isn't starting to blow out of his ears. It doesn't, but he's just as mad every time. Standing in the doorway huffing and puffing, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Patrick down from across the room.

Patrick is the complete opposite, all relaxed body language and easy half-smiles as he coolly stares back. You’d make a fire and ice joke if you didn’t think it would send Art over the edge.

He’s sitting in the room’s single chair, window cracked open so he can smoke. He’s practically naked, wearing an unbuttoned long sleeve and the tiniest boxers you’ve ever seen. His bare feet are propped up on the corner of the bed you’re sitting on.

You’re perched cross legged on the mattress, basically stuck in the middle of them.

You’re still surprised you even got Art to show up at all. You thought he almost flipped the table when you brought up Patrick at lunch, casually mentioning that you’ve been texting him for the past couple of days and you think the three of you need to talk. He was quiet for a long time before he finally asked if that meant Patrick was, has been, in town. You just shook your head yes.

You didn’t tell him you and Patrick slept together, you didn’t need to.

He went quiet again, stood up from his chair with an excuse of being late to class and stomped out of the dining hall. You texted him the address to Patrick’s hotel an hour later.

Art never responded, but his jeep was still waiting for you outside the biology building after your last lecture got out. He would always drive you back to your dorm since you’d get out so late, but this time he turned out of the campus lot and silently drove until you realized he was going to the hotel.

Now you’re here, and it's been almost ten minutes since you knocked on the door to Patrick’s room. And no one has said anything the entire time. No one has even moved, only Patrick every so often when he needs to flick his ashes out the window. A thick blanket of tense silence falls heavy over the three of you. It makes the room’s temperature feel that much hotter. The shitty air conditioner hums faintly in the background.

“So,” you say slowly, voice finally piercing through the quiet, “Am I gonna have to be the first to talk again or–”

“God, I don’t know,” Art cuts in tersely, not looking away from Patrick as he does, ”I can’t believe I don’t have anything to say to the guy that fucked my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Both you and Patrick ask sharply, opposing tones of shock and amusement blending together.

Art's eyes narrow, a storm brewing in the blue of them. He’s still looking at Patrick, talking about you like you’re not sitting right in front of him. "Yeah, my girlfriend. Did I stutter?" His chest is puffed out just enough for you to notice, his mouth pulled down at the corners in a deep frown.

You blink, caught off guard. Art’s never asked you to go steady with him, you’ve never even been on a date. Unless you count fucking in the back of his jeep at a drive in theater a date, then sure, you’ve been on one date. Regardless, the possessive timbre of his voice has something warm simmering under your skin.

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “Well, this is fucking news to me,” he says through a chuckle, eyes flicking between the two of you bemusedly, “I didn’t realize you guys were playing house, but that does makes a lot more sense now.” He gestures to your chest with his free hand, pointing out the dark blue sweatshirt you’re wearing.

‘Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy’ is stitched across the front in thin black thread; you'd stolen it from Art’s closet when you slept over at his dorm a few nights ago. He never asked for it back.

“It’s cute that you kept my shirt, Donaldson.” Patrick teases, lolling his head to the side lazily so he can look at Art through his lashes. A plume of smoke billows from between his lips, slipping through the open window slowly. “Even after you tried to turn my girlfriend against me and fucked her behind my back first–”

“Fuck you, Patrick–” Art starts, face twisted in a scowl. His hands ball into fists at his side, jaw ticking with anger.

Patrick doesn’t look deterred, leaning forward in his chair as he tries to talk over Art, “You’re such a fucking hypocrite–”

“I’m not anyone’s girlfriend,” you cut them both off, brows drawn together in frustration, “—and I’m not going to let this turn into some weird pissing contest between you two. We’re here to talk.”

Art scoffs agitatedly, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Looks like the two of you have done plenty of talking without me,” he says bitterly. “Do you get off on this shit or something? On sticking your dick where it doesn’t fucking belong?”

Patrick smirks, leaning back in his chair, arms draped lazily over the armrests. “God, you really do think you’re innocent in this,” he laughs incredulously, leaning back in his chair. “You’re acting like you’ve got some moral high ground, but you don’t. You’re just as guilty of playing the game as I am.”

Art’s face darkens further, anger threatening to boil over. “This isn’t a game to me, Patrick,” he spits, tone hard and low, “I’m so sick of you treating everything like a goddamn joke.”

Patrick’s smirk doesn’t falter. “I never said it was a joke,” he says with a shrug, tone easy and nonchalant. “I’m just saying, maybe you should take a good look in the mirror before you start pointing fucking fingers. I’m not the only one who’s played dirty here.”

“Patrick–” you warn, sitting up straighter. You can feel the way the air changes, the way the animosity gets turned up. The last thing you need is for them to start throwing punches.

Art cuts you off, shaking his head in contempt. “You’re so full of shit. You don’t fucking care about her. You never did. You just want to win, because you can’t stand the thought of losing to me.”

Patrick groans loudly, throwing his head back with it. “We’re really going back to this again? Jesus Christ, give it up man. It’s not like she was ever really yours to begin with.” He takes another slow drag from his cigarette, eyes never leaving Art.

The jab hits its mark, you can see it on Art’s face. In the way he physically recoils, the way he takes a ragged breath through his nose, the way the muscles of his jaw work furiously. For the first time since you fucked Patrick, you feel like a fucking bitch. The familiar feeling of guilt wraps its tendrils around you, weighing you down into the mattress like a physical force.

It gives you an idea, the guilt. It's a filthy idea, one that has heat stirring between your legs at just the thought. It’s a good way to make this whole situation up to Art, a good way to let him get under Patrick’s skin the same way he’s getting under his.

You sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. You should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t getting the three of you anywhere.

You sigh, overly dramatic and long suffering, scooting down until your legs are hanging over the edge of the mattress. Art and Patrick watch you the entire time, eyes finally leaving each other to watch your hands settle on the hem of Patrick’s sweatshirt.

“You guys are being so difficult. Why did I think that you could behave enough to talk this out like big boys?” You tug it off in one swift move, tossing it to the side carelessly. Two sharp gasps ring out, two sets of greedy eyes roam the bare expanse of your torso. You hadn’t worn a bra today.

You smirk, standing from the mattress and hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your sweats. You push them down your legs slowly, making a show of it until you're only in the pair of light purple panties you slipped on this morning. Patrick smirks, flicking his cigarette butt out the window and yanking it closed. He goes to stand, Art pointedly takes a single threatening step forward as he does but you stop both of them in their tracks.

“No.” Your voice rings through the small room, loud and commanding. Patrick sits back down almost immediately, his brow raising in confusion. Art does the same, freezing with one foot in front of him. They’re both hard, cocks tenting the fabric of their bottoms. Their boners point towards each other, you bite your lip to hide your smile.

“You’ve been so bad, Ricky.” you scold softly, voice syrupy sweet as you lean back on the bed. “Dressed up like an easy whore in here waiting for us, being so mean to Art, fucking his girl…” You trail off boredly, palms braced flat on the bed behind you so you can lean back as casually as you can muster. You let your legs fall open, spread enough to let Patrick and Art see the wet spot slowly seeping into the fabric.

You can hear Art’s sharp inhale from across the room at your words, his girl. You’re still careful not to say girlfriend, that’s a whole other talk. Patrick squirms in his chair, practically itching with the need to say something. You level him with a hard look, a firm shake of your head keeps him quiet. When you finally turn your attention to Art, he meets your gaze easily, eyes already blown out and glassy. Even from here you can see the way his pupils swallow the pretty blue color.

You smile, lips curling up in a wicked smile. “Art,” you coo softly, reaching your hand out in offering, “come here.”

Art’s walking towards you without a second thought, crossing the room in just a few large steps. You smile at him, patting the spot next to you. The bed creaks as he sits down, the mattress dipping under his weight slides you closer to him. ”I think,” you say slowly, resting your hand high up on his thigh, so close to the hard line of his cock straining against the fabric, “that we need to teach Patrick a lesson on manners.”

“What! No fucking way, that’s bullshi–” Patrick fusses from the corner, sitting up straighter in seat, the armrest gripped tight in his left hand.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, whipping your head to the side to glare at him. “This isn’t about you.”

He frowns, pushing out his bottom lip like an actual child. You just barely fight the urge to roll your eyes, an evil smile spreading across your face as you watch him honest-to-God pout.

“This is about Art,” you slide your hand up higher, cupping him through his loose shorts. You can hear his sharp intake of breath, a quiet ‘fuck’ falls from his lips as you apply more pressure to where your hand is steadily rubbing him up and down. “Plus, you’re already in the cuck chair,” you aren’t able to stop the small chuckle that falls from your lips, “you’ve got a perfect view.”

His pink lips part ever so slightly, eyes going wide and hungry at your words. You throw him one last devilish smile before you’re sinking to your knees in front of the bed. The scratchy carpet digs into your knees but you don’t care, not when Art is towering in front of you with the ceiling lights shining around him like he’s an angel.

You smile up at him, dragging the palms of your hands up and down his thighs. “Take your shirt off,” you encourage, slipping your hands up to toy with the hem of his shorts.

He complies beautifully, pulling his shirt up and over his head and tossing it aside, revealing the lean, toned muscles of his torso. You let your eyes linger on him for a moment, appreciating the sight before returning your attention to your task. Your fingers deftly undo the drawstring of his shorts, and start tugging them down. Art lifts his hips enough for you to drag them all the way down his legs, taking his boxers with them to free his hard cock.

Again, you slide your hands up the bare skin of his thighs, inches away from where he wants them. He’s so hard, cock standing straight up in an angry red line against his stomach. The tip drools pre-cum that leaks down the length of him slowly.

Art's breath hitches, his eyes locked onto you with a mix of anticipation and desperation. Your fingers brush lightly over his upper thighs, before you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the heat of his arousal pulse against your palm. His gasp is sharp, and you silently revel in the power you hold over him in this moment.

You glance over at Patrick, who is staring wide-eyed, his earlier irritation replaced with a raw, unfiltered hunger.

Your lips curl into a smug smile at the sight of his flushed cheeks and the way his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. “See something you like, Patrick?” you taunt, giving Art a slow, deliberate stroke that has him groaning softly. Patrick’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching, but he stays silent, his gaze locked on the two of you.

Art's hands grip the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning white. "Fuck," he breathes out, his voice strained, "you're killing me."

You laugh softly, a dark, melodic sound, and lean forward, letting your tongue flick out to taste the bead of precum at the tip of his cock. Art moans, the sound vibrating through you. You glance up at him through your lashes, seeing the way his head tilts back, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

You slide your lips up the length of his leaking cock, teasing and slow. Art stares down at you, not breaking eye contact as he breathes raggedly through his nose.

“Tell him how it feels,” you whisper against the pink tip of his cock, sliding it back and forth across your lips teasingly. Art swallows hard, skin flushing in embarrassment.

“So good…” he whispers, eyes still locked onto yours. His blush goes from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, spreading pink and warm across the strong muscle of his pecs.

You smile, shaking your head softly. “Don’t tell me, tell him.” You jerk your head in Patrick’s direction once before you sink down until your nose is nestled against the soft blonde hair at the base of his cock, working your throat around the length of him.

Art moans loudly, his hands coming up to tangle into your hair. You keep going, fighting his grip on you as you start to bob your head over his cock in a steady rhythm, working your hand in time with your mouth.

He forces himself to look at Patrick, catching his eyes.

Patrick looks fucked, lips slick and dropped open as he stares back Art, hungry gaze not wavering. His cock is still hard, pressed against the seam of his boxers and leaking a steady patch of wetness around the head.

A silent challenge seems to pass between the two of them.

We doing this or what?

Art refuses to back down, hardening his resolve. “Feels so fucking good,” he groans, not looking away from Patrick, “her throat’s so tight, so– God, it’s so good. Best I’ve ever had.”

He’s rambling, not even making any sense but you hum in approval all the same, your tongue curling around the crown. Patrick doesn’t look like he minds too much either, pink tongue coming out to swipe along his bottom lip. "Please," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear. "Let me..."

You pull off Art with a wet pop, turning your head as best you can with his hand still tangled in your hair to fix Patrick with a steely gaze. "You don't get to make requests," you say, your voice hard. "You get to watch and learn."

Patrick's eyes darken, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he doesn't protest. Art lets out a low growl, his hand tightening its grip on your hair and dragging your mouth back to his cock.

“Stop fucking talking to him,” he demands, hips thrusting to fuck back into your mouth. You choke on the sudden fullness, wetness floods your panties as you moan around him.

Yes, you think, eyes squeezing close as you force your throat to relax around his cock, this is what I wanted.

You were waiting to see how long it’d take Art to snap, he lasted longer than you thought he would. The head of his cock punches against the soft, spongy part at the back of your throat. You fight to not gag around him, hands scrambling for purchase on his thighs. His balls slap against your chin roughly, sticking wetly to the drool that's starting to fall from the corners of your lips.

Art meets Patrick’s eye again, a smug smirk on his face as he jerks his head in a clear invitation, “Come here.” He grunts simply, dragging you up and down the length of his cock by his tight grip on your hair.

Patrick practically sprints from the chair, ripping his shirt off while he tries to kick his boxers off before he reaches the bed. He sits next to Art, chest heaving as he stares down at where your lips stretched obscenely over his best friend's cock.

Art pulls you off by your hair, holding your face a few inches away from his spit covered cock. He tuts at you sympathetically, tilting his head to the side with a tiny frown at the sight of you all teary eyed. “Bet you feel real empty, right?” he asks sadly, shaking your head back and forth like a dog. “That greedy pussy wants our cocks stretching her open, doesn't she?”

You whine loudly, nodding your head as best you can as the meaning of Art’s words sink over you. You feel far away, like you’ve already been fucked six ways to Sunday. You cunt clenches around nothing, aching for Art and Patrick’s cocks bullying their way inside you. You’ve never done anything like that before, taken two guys at once, but God do you need it.

Art nods back, brows pulled together in faux pity. “Pat and I will help baby,” he says sweetly, “You just gotta get nice and stretched out first, need to fuck yourself open on Patrick’s cock so you can take us.”

“Fuck yeah,” Patrick breathes, already moving up the bed to lay flat on his back agasint the pillows. His cock sticking straight out from his body, pointing to the ceiling desperately.

Art lets go of your hair, cupping the side of your face tenderly. His thumb rubs against the soft skin of your cheekbone a few times, you know it’s a question.

Do you want this?

You smile, nuzzling his palm and giving his thumb a playful nip. The answer to his question written all over your face.

Fuck yes.

Art smiles back, nodding his head once. You take the hint, rising from your knees to climb onto the mattress. You slide your panties off, tossing them aside as you crawl up the length of Patrick’s body, straddling his hips and wasting no time in sinking down on his cock.

Art settles next to the two of you, hand loosely gripped around his cock as he starts to lazily stroke himself to the sight of you and Patrick.

“Fuck!” Patrick hisses, his hands coming up to grip your hips fiercely as you start to ride him, not giving either of you anytime to adjust. The stretch burns, the lack of prepping before hand makes it sting. You don’t mind, too worked up to care.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” He tries, but you cut him off bringing your free hand to wrap around the column of his throat just like he did to you back in the shower.

“You’re the slut,” you growl, fingers digging into his skin roughly. His eyes widen, plush lips going slack. You speed your hips up, the loud smack each time you drop down onto him echoes through the room. “You’re the easy fucking whore that soaked your panties watching your best friend fuck my throat."

Art huffs out a breath, hand slipping over his cock faster as he watches you ride Patrick. His eyes are trained on the way your hand is wrapped against Patrick’s throat. He slips his free hand down, pressing two fingers against Patrick’s cock so you slide down onto them on the next bounce.

“Fuck!” You keen loudly, grip tightening on Patrick’s throat. Art’s fingers add to the sting of your cunt, but your hips don’t stop moving, even as he slips in a third just as fast.

You get lost in it, in the feeling of Patrick’s dick fucking into you so deeply you swear he’s hitting your cervix with every roll of your hips, Art’s fingers stretching you that much wider.

Suddenly, Art drops his cock so his free hand can latch onto your hips, his strong grip forcing you to stop your desperate bouncing. His fingers slip out of you, you immediately miss the stretch.

Patrick groans in displeasure, his hips buck up like he’s trying to slide back into the warmth of your fucked open cunt. His leaking head bumps against your sensitive clit a few times before Art’s dropping his hand down, gripping Patrick’s cock to line it up with his own.

Art slides up behind you, his sweaty chest pressing firmly against your back. “Should be stretched out enough,” He whispers into the nape of your neck, pressing both tips against your fluttering hole.

The shock of it has your hand slipping off Patrick’s throat to anchor onto his shoulders in a feeble attempt to brace yourself. He sucks in large gasps of air, chest heaving as he stares down to where his cock is pressed snug against Art’s, his hand big enough to almost wrap around them both. He throws his head back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut, “Fuck, I can’t watch,” he gasps, voice low and ragged.

Art laughs smugly, but it’s breathy around the edges and you can feel the way his hand shakes on your hip. “Close already, Pat?” He asks condescendingly, as his fingers dig in a little tighter. “You’re not even doing any of the work.”

You try to focus on the sensation of Art’s grip, but your mind is a haze of overstimulation and the throb of Patrick’s cock against you. Art’s mocking tone sends a shiver down your spine, making you acutely aware of how close you are to the edge yourself. Your greedy cunt clenches around them, trying to suck them in you.

Patrick’s breath stutters, his hips jerking up involuntarily, making a strangled noise that’s half-groan, half-whimper. “Fuck you, man,” he manages to grind out, but his voice is trembling and strained, the bite in his tone gets undercut by how wrecked he sounds. You can feel the barely there twitches of his hips, like he’s physically pained from having to wait any longer.

A sharp cry rips from your throat as they finally start to slide in, both heads popping into your tight hole all at once. Your eyes screw shut at the stretch, thighs shaking where they’re spread over Patrick’s hips.

“Someone kiss me,” you gasp desperately, chin lowering to your chest. Art’s moving before the words finish leaving your mouth, gripping a fistful of Patrick’s hair and dragging him up to your lips. You whine into his mouth, letting his tongue slide between your lips to claim your mouth.

The familiar feeling of his lips on yours relaxes you the tiniest bit, letting Art lower you down a few more inches. It feels like hours as you sink onto them, Art’s big hands gently massaging your hips while Patrick’s greedy fingers pull and paw at your thighs.

It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard Patrick. His lips going slack in awe against yours as Art’s cock slides up next to his, moaning into your mouth when your hips go flush with his.

They feel so huge inside you, so thick you swear you can feel them in your stomach. Bullying your insides into making more room for the both of them.

“Fuck," you gasp, nails digging little crescent moons into Patrick’s shoulders. Every inch of you is alive with sensation, a burning mix of pleasure and pain. Art’s breath is hot and ragged against your ear, whispering sweet encouragements, “It’s okay baby, you’re okay, taking us so fucking good–”

You nod, slowly starting to grind your hips back and forth, gasping when they rub up against the soft spot inside of you that has you clenching in pleasure– practically choking them off at the base. A high moan falls from your lips, hips swirling the tiniest bit faster that have both Art and Patrick growl out matching groans of approval.

“Just like that,” Art whispers into your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Gonna make him come first, or are you gonna beat him to it?” The challenge in his voice sends a jolt of heat through you, your thighs starting to shake with every pass of them over that spot.

“God, ah! Art– fuck, mh, Patrick–” You slur, head already starting to go fuzzy

“Fuck,” Art gasps out your name sharply, pushing you down onto Patrick’s chest so he can start fucking into your loose, sloppy cunt. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” his hand grips the back of your neck to pin you down, throwing all his strength behind the snap of his hips.

“Shit, look at you,” Patrick chuckles weakly pinching your hips hard, trying to seem less affected than he really is. “You’re so fucking gone. All that attitude needs is some dick to fix it, huh?”

You crack your eyes open, blearily searching until you zero in on his face. He’s smiling smugly, eyes blown out and hazy.

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit weakly, raising your hand to shove your index and middle finger between his parted lips. You push back far enough to feel his throat constricting against your fingers, letting him gag on you. Your eyes trace the side of his face, down the slope of his nose to where his cherry red lips are lewdly spread around your fingers.

You can distantly hear Art groan behind you, his hips speeding up impossibly faster. His hand squeezes your neck, fingers digging into your sensitive skin meanly. You hook your fingers behind Patrick’s teeth, dragging his face to the side to meet your eye. Patrick moans around your fingers, gazing at you pleading through half lidded eyes. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, drenching your wrist. His hot, wet tongue sliding along the pads of your fingers feels scalding.

Patrick's hands are everywhere, pulling, pinching, caressing, his touch a maddening mix of rough and tender. The feeling of him inside you, alongside Art, is almost too much to bear, making you gasp for breath. Your moans are a symphony of pleasure and desperation, each one a plea for more, more, more the closer you get the edge.

“Shit, ah, Art, ah!” Your feet scrabbled uselessly against the sheets, the fingers of your free hand twist Patrick’s hair roughly. “I’m gonna come— Mm, ah! I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Art goads, the rhythm of his hips not faltering, “Come on baby– fuck yeah– fucking soak these dicks–”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you come, your vision whites out around you as the entire world shrinks down to the stretch of your gushing cunt around Art and Patrick. The slight burn of them, the fullness, the unrelenting pace of Art’s hips stinging the skin of your ass on each thrust.

Patrick bites down on your fingers with a broken whine just as Art sinks his teeth into your neck, both of them groaning so loud it’s all you can hear. That and the faulty rhythm of Art’s hips snapping against the meat of your ass in loud ‘cracks’.

They come together, and you can feel it.

You can feel every twitch and jerk of their cocks inside you as they spray the walls of your cunt with their releases. Spurt after spurt of hot come claiming you as theirs, filling you to the brim. Art doesn’t stop, working the three of you through your orgasms. Each thrust fucks more of their come out of you, the lewd squelch of it leaking from of your loose hole to gather around the base of their cocks in two matching creamy rings makes your ears burn.

Just as it gets to be too much, when the pleasure starts to give way into biting overstimulation, Art stops. You’re slumped against Patrick, shaking like a leaf when Art starts to pull out as gently as he can. You hiss when the head of his cock slips out, thighs clenching together.

“Sorry,” he whispers sweetly, giving your shoulder a gentle kiss. He practically man handles you off of Patrick’s cock, lifting your hips up and off of him.

Patrick groans, stomach twitching in oversensitivity as your slick walls slide against his spent dick. Finally he slips out, his drenched cock falling to slap onto his stomach. There come rushes out of you, dripping sticky and thick down your inner thighs.

There’s sweat dripping down your temple when you fall onto the mattress, your back sticks to the sheets but you’re too out of it to care. Art collapses next to you, sandwiching you between him and Patrick. The three of you are quiet, chests heaving as you catch your breath. Patrick’s hairy thigh is pressed to yours, firm and toned. Art’s got an arm slung over your waist, his breath puffs hot against your neck.

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” you say breathlessly, voice raspy and hoarse. “It could work. We could make it work, the three of us.”

Art and Patrick are quiet, their silence heavy with contemplation. You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling, more nervous bringing this up than you thought you’d be. The room is filled with the sounds of your collective breaths, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and sex.

Patrick chuckles, you can feel his curls brushing against your shoulder as he shakes his head in dry amusement. "Yeah, because everything about this screams 'healthy relationship,'" he quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Art lets out a soft, exasperated sigh, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he says, his voice low and steady. "Let's just...see where this goes."

You feel a rush of relief at his words, but Patrick’s hesitancy still gnaws at the edges of your mind. Patrick shifts beside you, his hand skirting lightly over your arm in a rare moment of tenderness.

"Guess we're in uncharted territory, huh?" he murmurs, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

You laugh, finally daring to glance at both of them, a tentative smile forming on your lips. "Yeah, but maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Art and Patrick look back at you with matching grins wide enough to show their teeth, blonde and black hair fanning around their faces like halo’s under the room’s shitty fluorescent light. Your heart swells under the intense stare of two pairs of eyes, one blue and one green. You can feel the room start to fade away until it’s just the three of you and nothing else seems to matter.

Art leans down, giving your right shoulder a quick kiss. “If we’re doing this, we have to be honest with each other.” He looks between you and Patrick pointedly, but he’s still smiling. “No more bullshit games.”

Patrick snorts, letting his head fall back onto the pillows, “Yes sir.”

You nod, not bothering to hide your smile. "No bullshit, no games," you agree, moving to squeeze Art's hand. He squeezes back in a silent promise.

The three of you lie there in a comfortable silence, the weight of your decision settling over you. It's definitely not going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it could work.

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 7 months ago

Text

The Alchemy

AU where Harry is the star quarterback at his college and y/n is an English major.

Based very loosely off The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

CW: Smut

Word Count: 6,871

Leaving my family to go to University was a bittersweet decision. My heart tugged at the thought of being away from them, but my passion for mastering the art of English pulled me towards my dream. My family had always been my biggest supporters and I wanted to make them proud by becoming an English professor. This meant leaving behind my comfortable life in a small suburban town in Florida to study abroad at one of the most prestigious universities. The campus was nestled in the very heart of where literary greats had once roamed and created their masterpieces. It was as if the walls exuded inspiration and creativity, urging me to chase after my dreams with even more fervor. Though I missed my family dearly, I knew that this journey would lead me to become the best version of myself and honor their unwavering support and love.

It was a whirlwind of experiences as I made my way through the unfamiliar streets. The currency conversion was a constant challenge, with every transaction feeling like a game of guesswork. And then there was the driving - on the opposite side of the road no less - which required all of my concentration to avoid any mishaps. But perhaps most daunting of all was the non-stop partying at pubs, a culture shock for someone like me who had grown up in a small town in America.

Thankfully, I was able to find a flat that was within walking distance from the school, and even luckier to have another American girl as my roommate. Mia was a sweet, bubbly girl from the middle of nowhere Kansas, embracing every aspect of British culture including the pub scene and the charming local lads.

Living with Mia meant constantly having people over, and it seemed like every night brought new faces into our home. I didn't mind too much, mostly enjoying the lively atmosphere and meeting new people. However, there were definitely some moments that tested my patience, like when one of Mia's friends named Arthur ended up getting sick and leaving his mark in our kitchen. Despite these occasional hiccups, I was grateful for this experience abroad and all the unique encounters it brought my way.

Though Mia's social butterfly nature could be trying at times, I appreciated her warm companionship in this foreign place. It was on one such night, after we had cleaned up the remnants of Arthur's ill-fated escapades, that we found ourselves cozied up with mugs of tea and watching the rain patter against the windows.

Mia was unusually pensive as she stared out into the drizzly Manchester night. "You know," she began softly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing the wrong dreams. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, something stereotypically successful, but I just wanted adventure. Now here I am, living it up in England, but it all feels...empty, like I'm still searching for meaning."

I nodded thoughtfully, sensing the vulnerability in her words. Though Mia put on a bubbly facade, there was more depth to her than met the eye.

"I think the great thing about being here is that we have time to figure it all out," I offered gently. "We're writing our own stories, not just following someone else's script."

Mia smiled, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly why I love being here with you."

As the rain continued to drum against the windows, Mia and I sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Mia turned to me with a curious expression.

"Do you ever have doubts about your dreams, too?" Mia asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

I considered her question for a moment before responding, "All the time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the right path or if I'm just going through the motions."

Mia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of uncertainty. "It's scary, isn't it? The idea that we might wake up one day and realize we've been chasing a dream all along."

I placed a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. "It is scary, but it's also part of the journey. We're allowed to question and evolve along the way."

She smiled weakly, her gaze drifting back to the rain-splattered window. "I guess that's what makes life interesting, right? The uncertainty of it all."

Our conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Mia got up to answer it, revealing a group of our friends who had decided to brave the rainy night for an impromptu gathering.

"Come in, come in!" Mia exclaimed cheerfully, ushering everyone inside. The room quickly filled with laughter and chatter as our friends settled in.

As I looked around the group, my eyes landed on a few familiar faces who have crossed paths with me several times before. Among them was Arthur, a friendly face that always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As everyone piled into the room, my gaze wandered to him - Harry Styles, the renowned quarterback of our school's football team. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement at being in the presence of such a well-known athlete. When I first arrived from the United States, I had assumed the term "football" referred to what we call soccer back home. But as I soon discovered, American Football was just as beloved and popular in the UK.

Harry noticed me looking his way and met my gaze. There was an intensity in his green eyes that made me quickly avert my own, focusing instead on my friend Grace who was animatedly sharing a story next to me.

I tried to tune into her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome footballer across the room. By all accounts, Harry was cocky, brash, and a bit of a player. And yet, I couldn't deny there was something magnetic about him. He carried himself with a self-assured swagger, his athletic frame filling out his clothes in a way that betrayed his strength.

I scolded myself internally. Just because he's nice to look at doesn't change the fact that he seems like an arrogant jock. Still, when our eyes met again, I felt a flutter in my stomach I couldn't ignore.

Harry said something to his friend that made the group erupt into laughter. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I quickly looked away once more, but the image of his smile lingered in my mind.

Get it together, I told myself sternly. Harry is off-limits. With his reputation, getting involved would only lead to trouble. I turned my focus back to Grace, pushing all thoughts of Harry's eyes, smile and broad shoulders out of my head.

For the rest of the night, I avoided looking in Harry's direction, though I could feel his gaze on me periodically as the hours wore on. By the time people started trickling out, I felt certain I had avoided any direct interaction with the dashing footballer.

That is, until I went to lock the door behind the last guest and found him standing there. He flashed that crooked smile again as he leaned against the door frame. "See you around, Y/N," he said, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing into the night. I stood frozen, my heart racing as I replayed those five simple words in my head.

As I stood there in shock at Harry's unexpected presence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. His parting words echoed in my mind, leaving me slightly breathless and unsure of what to make of the situation. Gathering my composure, I locked the door behind him and turned to find Mia watching me with a knowing smile.

"Looks like someone caught your eye, Y/N," Mia teased, nudging me playfully. "Harry Styles, huh? Quite the charmer."

I flushed slightly at her comment, trying to brush off any implications. "Oh, come on, Mia. It's not like that," I deflected, hoping to downplay the significance of the moment.

But Mia wasn't convinced. "Sure, sure," she replied with a wink. "Just remember, not all that glitters is gold."

Her words lingered in my mind as I bid her goodnight and retreated to my room. Sitting on my bed, I couldn't shake off the image of Harry's smile or the way he had looked at me in that brief moment by the door. The conflicting thoughts swirled in my head, leaving me restless and contemplative.

The following day at school, as I made my way through the bustling halls, I noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lockers up ahead. It was Harry, his usual confident demeanor on full display as he chatted with his friends. As our eyes met briefly, he flashed a grin in my direction before turning back to his conversation.

Feeling a surge of boldness, I approached him tentatively. "Hey, Harry," I greeted him, trying to keep my tone casual despite the flutter in my stomach.

"Hey there, Y/N," he responded with a smirk, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Didn't think you'd show up here again so soon."

I felt my cheeks flush at his words. Clearly he was referring to my abrupt exit last night after our brief encounter at the door. I scrambled to think of a clever response.

"Well, we do go to the same school," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice light despite the nerves I felt.

Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regarded me with amusement.

"True enough," he conceded. "But I got the sense you were trying to avoid me last night. Did I make you nervous?"

His bluntness took me aback. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Harry's eyes danced with mirth at my flustered state.

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased.

I took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get the best of me. "You wish," I retorted, hoping the bravado in my voice sounded more convincing than I felt.

Harry laughed, a rich warm sound that made my knees weak. Our eyes locked and in that moment, it was like the noisy hallway melted away and there was only the two of us.

"Feisty. I like it," he murmured. Before I could respond, the warning bell rang, snapping us both back to reality.

"See you around, Y/N," Harry said with a wink before disappearing into the swarm of students heading to class.

My body froze in place, heart thudding against my ribs as I gazed at the infamous Harry. He exuded an undeniable air of trouble, and yet, as our charged banter replayed in my mind, I couldn't deny the adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a determined stride, I made my way to class, refusing to let this boy be the cause of my tardiness.

I took a seat in my Studies of Shakespeare class, the one subject I truly loved. The works of William Shakespeare never failed to captivate me, and if you could understand the Elizabethan lingo, his witty humor shone through brilliantly. Unfortunately, this particular teacher seemed to have a talent for draining all the life and humor out of these masterpieces.

I tried to focus as the professor droned on about the themes in Romeo and Juliet, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Harry. Something about our charged banter had awakened feelings in me that I didn't quite understand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a folded piece of paper land on my desk as if taken out of a scene from a movie. I looked around furtively before opening it. In an unfamiliar scrawling handwriting it read:

"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." - H

I felt a thrill run through me and quickly tucked the note into my bag before the professor could notice. So Harry was in this class too? I scanned the room subtly until I spotted him a few rows behind me. He caught my eye and gave me a roguish wink.

I turned back to the front, trying to ignore the simmering exhilaration I felt. Over the next few days, the notes kept coming during Shakespeare class, each with a quote or two from the Bard himself. They were usually cheeky and flirtatious, hinting at some blossoming rapport between us.

I found myself anticipating each one, my heart skipping a beat when I would spot a new folded note on my desk. Our eyes would meet across the room, a hidden smile just between us.

After class one day, as I gathered my things, I sensed Harry approach my desk. "So when's our study session?" he asked nonchalantly, though there was a glint of something more in his eyes. I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, yet unable to deny I was intrigued.

I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, I don't know... I've heard you're not the most dedicated studier," I teased, giving him a playful smile.

Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I may not look like it, but I'm quite the Shakespeare aficionado," he replied with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we could arrange a study session... if you can prove your expertise," I challenged, a hint of challenge in my tone.

His grin widened, accepting the challenge. "Consider it done. How about we meet at the library tomorrow after school?" Harry suggested, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated for a moment, the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. "Alright, it's a date then," I agreed, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry flashed me one last grin before disappearing into the bustling hallway. My heart raced with both nervousness and exhilaration as I packed up my belongings, eager for our upcoming study session.

The following day at the library, I found myself anxiously scanning the room for Harry. My pulse quickened when I spotted him sitting at a table in the corner, a stack of Shakespearean plays spread out in front of him.

I made my way over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. "Ready to impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge?" I asked with a teasing smile as I took a seat across from him.

Harry flashed me a charming grin. "Just watch and learn," he said confidently, picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet and flipping to a random page.

As he began to recite lines from the play with passion and flair, I couldn't help but be captivated by his enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as he delved into each line, bringing the centuries-old words to life in a way that was both mesmerizing and captivating.

By the time our study session ended, I found myself completely enthralled by Harry's interpretation of Shakespeare's works. As we gathered our things to leave, he turned to me with a twinkle in his eye, he knew a lot more about the works than he let on to.

Harry turned to me, “So now that I’ve shown you i’m smart, I know Shakespeare, when are you coming to one of my games?” he asked confidently.

I was taken aback by his forward invitation. Attending one of his football games felt intimate in a way that made me nervous.

"Oh, um, I don't know..." I fumbled over my words, suddenly feeling shy.

Harry tilted his head, giving me a crooked smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll even give you a personal tour of the field afterwards," he joked.

I bit my lip, considering it. There was no denying I felt drawn to him, despite trying to keep my distance. And the thought of seeing him command the field sent a little thrill through me.

"Alright, I suppose I could stop by," I finally conceded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously.

Harry's face lit up. "Brilliant! Our next game is on Friday. I'll leave a ticket for you at will call," he said eagerly.

I nodded, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then," I replied softly.

Harry gave me a dazzling smile and I felt my knees go weak.

Friday night arrived and I found myself filled with nervous excitement as I made my way to the football stadium. I couldn't believe I had actually agreed to come watch Harry play. As I approached the ticket booth, I gave my name and they handed me the ticket Harry had left for me.

I found my seat in the packed bleachers and waited anxiously for the game to start. When the players rushed onto the field, I immediately spotted Harry's mop of curly hair. He looked focused and determined as he took his position on the field.

As the game began, I was immediately drawn in by Harry's commanding presence on the field. His movements were fluid and precise, each pass and dodge executed with passion and skill. With each successful play, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, mirroring my own excitement. It was impossible not to join in, jumping to my feet and cheering for Harry along with everyone else.

At halftime, Harry made his way over to the sidelines, sweat glistening on his forehead and tattooed arms, his chest heaving from exertion. As he scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his eyes locked onto mine and a wide grin spread across his face. He waved enthusiastically, causing my cheeks to flush as I shyly waved back in return.

In the second half of the game, Harry's presence seemed to radiate even more brightly. With each touchdown he scored, his fists pumped triumphantly in the air. The crowd roared and cheered as he ripped off his helmet and hoisted it victoriously above his head, his teammates swarming around him in celebration.

As the stadium emptied out, I stayed behind with a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see Harry once again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the locker room, his hair still damp from his post-game shower but his eyes shining with joy.

"So, what did you think?" he asked eagerly as he approached me.

"You were truly spectacular out there," I gushed earnestly. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face.

"Come on, let me give you that promised tour," he said playfully, offering me his arm. Laughing, I happily took it and followed him onto the empty field, my heart racing with excitement and admiration for the amazing athlete by my side.

Harry led me onto the empty stadium field, the night air crisp and cool against our skin. He pointed out spots on the grass where pivotal plays had happened, describing them with a passion that revealed his deep love for the game.

I found myself enthralled, leaning into him as we walked, his arm solid and warm beneath my hand. When we reached the middle of the field, he turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching my face in the dim glow of the stadium lights.

"You know, I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight," he admitted quietly.

I tilted my head. "Why's that?"

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "You never seemed to like me much before. I figured I wasn't your type."

Heat rose to my cheeks. He wasn't wrong - I'd unfairly judged him as arrogant and cocky. But tonight had shattered those assumptions.

"I guess I realized there's more to you than meets the eye," I said softly.

Harry's smile widened. He lifted his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught at his touch. Slowly, he leaned in. I let my eyes fall shut in anticipation...

But suddenly, the stadium lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. We jumped apart in surprise.

Harry laughed. "Guess that's our cue to head out."

He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and led me towards the parking lot. I walked close beside him, hyper-aware of his palm pressed against mine.

As he towered over me, Harry's eyes scanned the street, searching for a car. "Where did you park?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

I shifted nervously on my feet, avoiding eye contact. "Oh. Uh. I didn't drive. I just live around the street," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The thought of navigating English roads was terrifying to me.

A warm chuckle escaped from Harry's lips as he looked back down at me. "I can drive you home, love," he offered, extending a hand towards me. His scent wafted towards me - a mix of cologne and something woodsy - and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his closeness.

As Harry and I walked towards his car, our hands still entwined, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation build within me. "So, tell me more about this amazing game-winning touchdown," I teased, trying to break the silence that had fallen between us.

Harry laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced at me sideways. "Oh, you mean the one where I body-slammed the other team's runner into oblivion?" He pretended to flex his muscles playfully. "That was pretty epic, if I do say so myself."

I shook my head, feigning disbelief. "You're such a show-off," I said with a grin. "I bet you were the star of the school playground too."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. I was more of a loner growing up. Spent most of my time with my nose buried in books."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And here I thought all jocks were brain-dead."

He laughed again, his laughter echoing through the empty streets as we walked towards his car. When we finally reached it, Harry unlocked the door and gestured for me to get inside. As I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly he filled the driver's seat - broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. The image of him all sweaty and wet from a shower flashed through my mind, making my cheeks heat up again.

"So," Harry began as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "tell me more about yourself."

I felt myself blush even harder at his directness but decided to play along. "Well," I said slowly, thinking quickly. "I'm a huge bookworm too - Harry Potter is probably my favorite series ever."

Harry chuckled softly as he glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I can see why you fit right in here in England then."

We drove through the quiet streets in companionable silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "You know, you don't have to act all tough around me," he said quietly, his eyes still on the road as he slowed down at a stoplight.

I turned to face him fully now, surprised by his words. "I wasn't trying to be tough," I said defensively. "I just didn't want you to think that... well, never mind what I didn't want you to think," I muttered under my breath.

Harry's face softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear once again - a gesture that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the car interior. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly as he took my hand in his once more and squeezed gently before letting go when the light turned green again.

The rest of our drive was filled with more easy conversation punctuated by moments of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing and occasional traffic noises outside. When we finally pulled up outside my house I found myself hesitating before opening the car door knowing that this was goodbye.

Under the dim glow of the street lamp, I tentatively turned to face Harry. "Thanks for...for tonight," I stammered out, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.

His emerald eyes twinkled mysteriously as he simply nodded and began unbuckling his seatbelt. His eyes never left mine, setting off a simmering warmth between us that was hard to ignore.

"I should probably walk you to your door," he said softly, accentuating each word with an inexplicably seductive lilt. My heart pounded in my chest as we exited the car and made our way towards my apartment.

Once at the front door, we stood facing each other in silence, the air around us thick with unspoken words and desires. I felt his strong fingers gently cradle my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity of this simple touch sent sparks racing down my spine, pooling heat in places I hadn't even known existed.

"Can I come inside?" His voice was barely a whisper but it echoed loudly in my ears.

My mind screamed caution but my body had other plans. “Yes,” I breathed out, unlocking the door and pulling him inside.

Inside, Harry's lips found mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His tongue teased against mine, creating a warm and delicious friction that sent shivers down my legs. As he pressed his hips against me, I could feel the unmistakable hardness growing between us. Our hands roamed freely over each other's bodies, exploring new territory and seeking pleasure through every touch.

Harry's fingers made their way to the waistband of my skirt, pulling it down over my hips and letting it fall to the ground. He lifted me up onto the edge of a nearby table, spreading my legs slightly as he stood between them. The feel of his fingers brushing against my inner thigh caused me to gasp and arch my back in anticipation.

Harry pulled back abruptly,“I’m sorry,” He started, “that was really inappropriate.”

As Harry apologized, his eyes were drawn to the hint of my arousal peeking out from between my legs. His hesitation vanished as his fingers brushed against my wetness once more, this time without pulling away. He groaned in approval and leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine once more. I craved him in the worst ways.

Our tongues tangled as he pushed me back onto the table, spreading my legs further apart. His hands found their way under my shirt, skimming over my stomach before lifting it up, exposing my bra-clad breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling my scent and trailing his fingers lightly across one tight nipple.

"Harry," I moaned, cavinginto his touch. "Please don't stop."

He smirked wickedly down at me before pulling back slightly. In one swift motion, he yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. Grabbing hold of both sides of my bra, he pulled it down too with such force that my breasts were freed from their confinement.

I gasped at the sudden rush of air hitting my sensitive nipples but before I could catch my breath, he took one of them into his mouth sucking hard while pinching the other between two fingers, teasing it mercilessly.

"Fuck," I whimpered, clawing at the table underneath me as pleasure coursed through me like lightning. The intense mix of pain and pleasure sent waves of desire crashing over me as I felt myself becoming wetter with every passing second.

Sliding one hand down towards his pants, I slowly undid the button and zipper before slipping my hand inside his boxers to grip him firmly around his growing erection. He groaned into my breast at the contact sending shivers down my spine.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hoarsely against my skin leaving a trail of saliva along my collarbone as he ran his tongue upwards caressingly .

"Yes," I breathed out between parted lips unable to form complete words due to the intensity of emotions running through me.

My heart raced as his erection throbbed in my hand. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mixed with the desire that seemed to emanate from him. His other hand slid down my back, over my ass cheeks, and gripped them roughly, pulling me closer against his hardness.

"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? You and your little shy good girl act" he growled into my neck, nipping at the skin there softly. With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing my legs apart with his hips. His mouth trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat, and on my breasts.

I arched my back slightly offering myself to him more fully as he took a hungry mouthful of one of my nipples into his mouth sucking on it hard while pinching the other between his fingers causing a sharp intake of breath from me which made him smile devilishly before moving on to devour the other one.

My body trembled with anticipation as he bit my neck playfully, his rough hands sliding over my hips and ass cheeks before pulling me against him. His cock twitched against my wet core, making me whimper in want. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Harry," I moaned, my voice reduced to a desperate whimper as he continued teasing me with his words and touches. "Please..."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with our ragged breathing and the occasional moan. I could feel myself getting lost in the sensations, my body responding eagerly to his movements. His hands were everywhere, tracing over my curves and gripping me tightly as he pounded into me.

My own hands were roaming his back, digging into his flesh as I tried to hold on to something amidst the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through me. Every inch of my body felt on fire, and I couldn't get enough.

"Fuck," he grunted, his face contorting with pleasure. "You feel so good."

I whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words as he continued to move inside me relentlessly. My whole world had narrowed down to this moment – his body against mine, the sound of our bodies coming together in a perfect rhythm.

My mind was blissfully blank as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher and more urgent. I could feel my climax building up within me, like a fire threatening to consume me whole.

And then it hit me like a tidal wave – intense and all-consuming. My back arched off the counter as I cried out his name, my body trembling with pleasure as every nerve ending exploded with ecstasy.

He followed soon after, letting out a loud groan as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed still for a moment, trying to catch our breaths and bask in the aftermath of our passion.

But eventually reality came crashing back around us. Panic started creeping up inside me as I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of what had just happened.

As I lay there, my heart still pounding in my chest, he gently pulled out of me and straightened up. His eyes, dark with desire just moments ago, now softened with a mixture of tenderness and regret.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of our heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."

I sat up slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me – confusion, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that refused to dissipate.

"It's not just your fault," I murmured, avoiding his gaze as I tried to gather my clothes around me. "I wanted this too."

He reached out a hand to touch my arm, but hesitated before making contact.

"We should talk about this," he said finally, his tone serious. "About what it means for us."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. What had started as a moment of passion had now morphed into something more complicated, something that demanded attention and discussion.

As we dressed in silence, the air in the room felt charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The intensity of our physical connection lingered like a ghost between us, refusing to be ignored.

We began to gather our clothes from around the room, now tainted with the evidence of our reckless choices. Harry buried his face into his shirt before pulling it on, perhaps ruminating on what just occurred, or maybe trying to drown out the reality with the lingering scent of his cologne.

"Y/n," he started after a long silence, pulling his trousers up. His voice sounded strained, an indication that he was struggling with the right choice of words. "I... I didn't mean for this to... I mean, I like spending time with you." He sighed heavily, rubbing his face between his large palms.

I remained silent as I fastened my bra. The finality in his voice was suffocating, making it harder for me to breathe with each passing moment. I felt my heart thumping loudly in my chest – a crude reminder of the complication we had willingly dived into.

"I like you, Y/N," he said finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air between us, hovering like a dense fog, obscuring any clarity that might lie beyond.

I stopped fumbling with my blouse, my fingers stilled by his confession. "Harry," I began, my voice barely audible. Fear clung to me, making my words tremble.

"I know," he cut me off before I could finish what I started. "I know we're both in different places... Me with football and you with your studies." There was a tingling silence after his statement, as if he was waiting for me to confirm or deny his declaration.

I sighed heavily, tugging at the hem of my blouse, feeling the cool fabric against my still heated skin. "It's not that simple Harry," I admitted, blinking back tears that had started to sting my eyes. "This," I motioned around the room, encompassing our discarded underwear strewn haphazardly around the room - a silent testament to the passion that had just consumed us, "this complicates things."

He ran his hand through his tousled hair and nodded solemnly. "I understand," he replied, a hint of resignation etching lines onto his face. His gaze was heavy with something akin to regret as it met mine.

My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted desperately to reach out and ease the burden that seemed to weigh heavily on him. But reality was an insidious shadow that lurked in our midst, reminding us of the impracticality of our desires.

"I think it's better if we keep our distance for now," Harry broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. His words were like cold water dousing the fire that our bodies had kindled only moments ago.

A feeling of sudden emptiness clawed at me. His words, though probably said in goodwill, felt like a punch to my gut. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I nodded, unable to bring myself to utter a word. He stepped towards me and for a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms one last time. But he merely extended a hand that I shook lightly, the gesture felt impersonal after the intimacy we had just shared.

Without another word, he turned and left the room. I stood still in the silence that followed, the sound of his departing footsteps echoing in my ears long after he was gone.

Mia came home later that night, oblivious to the charged atmosphere that still lingered, suffocating and heavy in the air. Her chatter about an extra credit assignment she’d completed was a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped the room just hours ago.

“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked suddenly, noticing my distant gaze. I gave her a weak smile in response before excusing myself to bed.

As I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Harry's words echoed through my mind. "I think it's better if we keep our distance for now." His voice was etched into my memory, roughened by regret and something else I couldn't quite place. His face bore an expression that told me this was as hard for him as it was for me.

The next day was a blur. My classes seemed trivial compared to the turmoil swirling in my mind. My interactions with others were mechanical and flat as if I was watching myself from outside my body.

Football practice was going on when I walked past the field on my way back from the campus library. My eyes instinctively sought out Harry among the sea of players. I found him focused on his game, every muscle in his body straining as he kicked the ball towards the goalpost.

His world seemed unchanged—still revolving around football—while mine felt like it had been knocked off its axis.

The following weeks were no easier. Everywhere I went, I could feel his presence like a phantom pain - a dull ache that refused to fade away. In every conversation, every song playing in the background, every corner of campus - Harry was there.

I knew we had made a rational decision, given our circumstances. But my heart couldn't comprehend what my mind had already accepted.

Months passed and winter set in, blanketing Manchester in white. Serene and beautiful yet so melancholy it mirrored my mood perfectly. The once familiar campus looked different under the soft glow of the snow as if to mirror the change that had occurred in my life.

One evening, as I was walking back from the library, I spotted Harry sitting alone on a bench, bundled up in a thick coat, his breath misting in the frigid air. His eyes were trained on the football field, currently blanketed by snow, and his hands were tucked into his pockets, his usual energy replaced by a pensive quietness.

I hesitated, weighing my options. We hadn't spoken since that night – the night when our worlds collided and then abruptly fell apart. But something drew me towards him – an inexplicable magnetism I had been fighting for so long.

Stepping tentatively closer, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. "Harry," I said softly, trying not to startle him.

He looked up at the sound of my voice, surprise flickering across his features before they settled into guarded neutrality. "Y/N," he responded with a curt nod, but made no move to invite me to sit.

Taking a leap of faith, I lowered myself onto the bench next to him, maintaining some distance while also bracing for the icy cold through my jeans. For several minutes we sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the snowy field.

"I've missed you." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He turned toward me then, his emerald eyes soft and searching as they met mine. His lips opened as if to say something but closed again as if reconsidering his words.

"Y/N..." His voice trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. "I’ve missed you too."

Relief washed over me at his confession but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sadness as I realized that missing each other wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us. Our realities were still the same - he was still the star football player with ambitions bigger than Manchester itself and I was still an English major trying to carve out a place for myself in academia.

“Do you ever think about…?” I started, swallowing hard as I tried to voice the question that had been eating at me.

“Us?” He completed my sentence, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was heavy but he held it steady, openly showing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden beneath his star athlete facade. “All the time.”

The honesty in his confession hit me harder than I expected. We were both stuck in our respective worlds, looking at each other from afar but never truly reaching out.

I took a deep breath, feeling the biting winter air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “We can’t keep doing this, Harry,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.

He looked at me then, his gaze filled with understanding and something else I couldn't quite place. “I know,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

The future was uncertain and full of challenges. But if there was one thing I had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that some chances are worth taking. No matter how daunting they may seem.

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ohnoitstbskyen · 1 month ago

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hello mr skyen... might i ask for opinions... for an elise thing im doing

Oh, this is interesting! I am not 100% sure what kind of opinion you're looking for - is this meant to be a skin idea or a full-scale redesign of the character? I'll give you some thoughts, with the caveat that these are off-the-dome impulsive reactions, and whatever I bring up is not meant to be prescriptive "this is wrong do it different" criticisms, they're just me bouncing ideas off of what you are presenting.

If anything I say is useful, then hooray. If it is not, or if it misses the point of what you are trying to do, please discard it without a second thought.

Bringing in some 1920s and 30s fashion energy is an interesting idea. Elise is meant to be this high society socialite who has literally been around for centuries and killing people, so there is definitely a solid idea in using an aesthetic which would be olde timey to modern eyes, but also a bit anachronistic and odd and instinctively a bit out of place in a high fantasy military state like Noxus. I think that's really interesting, and definitely more interesting than the somewhat directionless black leather lingerie her base design keeps her in.

We're playing around with gender presentation it looks like, which I think is a really solid play. Elise is generally presented as a fairly standard type busty sexy video game babe in League of Legends, with Legends of Runeterra opting to show her as a bit more spindly and flat chested. I think her general archetype definitely requires a level of sexiness, sensuality and seductiveness, she is an archetypal Black Widow character, but I don't think that means she necessarily needs to be stereotypically femme in body and presentation. Plus, the LoL universe has more than enough classic femme fatales already, anything that adds variety would be good.

I very much like the red and black fashion - she looks very credibly like an eccentric Noxian socialite, especially in the first two outfits.

I kinda feel like I'm missing something up around her collarbone and chest? A necklace? Tattoo? Cosmetic? I can see the idea of having the collar be exposed flesh for the allure of it, but I feel instinctively like it's conspicuously "empty" next to the highly made up and elaborate makeup and hair, and then the fashionable costuming.

Given that Elise is a transforming character, you could futz around a bit with her proportions? The shoes extend her legs by lengthening into points already, which is a good thing to carry over from the base design, but I think given the importance of long spindly legs to spiders, you could push it even further. think something like Bayonetta for example:

additionally, you could use something like a wrap-around collar, or a necklace, to play around with extending her neck, too, to make her even taller, and push a bit into the uncanny if you want. covering the neck up makes it easier, in my experience, to lengthen it without it looking too obviously odd.

it sort of depends on the impact you want her to have though. very tall, very slender, very long proportions are striking, and carry a vibe of the ethereal, maybe slightly mystical. height also often codes for power.

if you want her to be a more down-to-earth presence in her human form, though, especially if you want her to pretend to be harmless and/or vulnerable as part of her seduction and manipulation play, making her shorter is usually a better shortcut to achieving that vibe

hm... what else...

Well, the spider leg spikes on her arms are cool - I really like the idea of concealing them as some sort of high fashion eccentric accessory, although it's not 100% clear to me from the art here exactly how they are attached to her?

I really like the fashion design of the middle idea. I like giving her trousers and going right up to the edge of letting her have a naked upper body. It's a good way to play with the tease, I think, the allure of almost seeing what is hidden.

I'm not 100% sure about the green markings on the body. on the one hand, she DEFINITELY needs something Shadow Isles coded in her design, since that's where she draws her power from, on the other hand having it that much out in the open feels maybe a little... obvious? at least in her human form?

Of course, this again depends on the intention with the design. if you're designing this as a design to appear in League of Legends, whether as a champion update or a skin, then making her source of power obvious on her body is actually crucial, it's really important for in-game visual language. If it's for something like an appearance in Arcane, you could probably dial it back a couple of notches and make it more subtle.

Like, maybe the same idea of glowing tattoos that light up when she uses her powers, but they are subtle little spiderweb patterns on her skin that look like elaborate decoration when not in use? something like that?

anyway, that's all I can think of as a reaction just off the top of my head. this is really cool, I hope you keep working on it!

#tb answers #meybuyan #elise league of legends #elise lol #noxus #shadow isles #league of legends

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igotanidea · 8 months ago

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Judgement: Benedict Bridgerton x actress!reader

Requested by @jaysgirlx <3

***

She wasn’t the most beautiful.

Or the most talented.

And definitely not born in the best family.

Nonetheless, neither of us, no matter how much willpower we are endowed with, has the possibility of choosing the environment we are born into. That is solely up to fate.

What we can choose, however, is how we adapt to the circumstances, how we behave, who we become and how we cope with the opinions that are – more often than not – negative and critical.

Especially when a woman, regardless of standards of an ossified, prejudiced society decides to make a living by being an actress. For Y/N Y/L/N no work was dishonorable. For the ladies of the ton, such profession was almost equal with being a lady of easy virtue. For the men – well- the behavior of some of them was below any norms of decency.

Funny how the point of view depends on the point of sitting.

***

She was late again.

For the third time this week and it was barely Wednesday. Not a good scorecard she kept and it definitely got under the skin of the theater owner. Y/N could not quite comprehend why the gentleman was so irritated since from the moment she stepped foot in that sanctuary of art she has been doing every single thing needed. Not only acting, but also cleaning the floor if required, repairing the costumes, helping with the dialogues. Very versatile all things considered.

Desperate for a job and survival? No, not entirely, maybe a little.

Enamored and passionate by the employ that gave her a bread and a questionable opinion. Yes, absolutely.

Rushing through the busy London streets, miraculously avoiding respectable matrons and their equally respectable lord consorts was not the best of the ideas of reducing, even to a small extent, the extent of her delay.

Y/N did not pay much attention while crossing the street either, obviously missing the speeding carriage and the moment she looked to the right, finding herself mere inches from the hooves of spooked horses, her entire life flashed in front of her eyes.

She let out a embarrassingly high cry of shock and freeze on the spot, mentally preparing herself of leaving the globe and letting her spirit fly away to some better world just like Julia Capulet did after her beloved Romeo—

“Watch out!” a man’s voice, a firm yet gentle grip of hand on her waist and a second later she was safely back on the pavement, sustaining no permanent injuries, save for rapid breathing and slightly flushed cheeks. “Are you all right, my lady?”

“I am not a lady.” She retorted automatically shaking her head and slowly raising her gaze to give thanks to her lifesaver “Mr. Bridgerton!” the second son of the late viscount was definitely not the person she expected to see and it made her take a step back immediately.

Almost ending up under another carriage if it wasn’t for Benedict Bridgerton’s reflexes and a bright, teasing smile.

“You don't learn from your mistakes, my lady” he teased “am I this repulsive to make you step away upon noticing my face? Is this how women behave this day?”

“Forgive me my Lord, I was blinded by all your glory” she almost rolled her eyes, saying the words before biting her own tongue. “oh…” the gasps that came out of her mouth a moment later only caused Benedict to laugh wholeheartedly.

“Not the usual reaction I get from a woman.”

“I can tell, my lord. I am sure ladies do swoon at the sight of you. And now that Viscount Bridgerton had tied the marriage knot you sure are looking for a wife so –” she sopped in the middle of the sentence realizing she was babbling again.

“Oh so you are a woman after all. Gossiping.” Benedict smirked.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he tilted his head examining her face trying to assess the possibility of them meeting before.

“No, my lord. I do not believe we have met.”

“May I have your name then, my lady?”

“Not a lady, my lord. And you should not preoccupy the place in your head with remembering my name.” she bowed, lacking skills a bit and – suddenly remembering that she was late – rushed to the theater.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Of course they have met before, but why would she remind him of the circumstances of the event happening so many weeks ago?

He was a student in the art academy, lately enhancing his skills in the portrait area, polishing the subject of anatomy. Both male and female, with the latter obviously much more involving in many hands-on way and that was not a secret. Those models were beautiful and fragile after all and being confronted with the harsh reality of XIX century London they had nothing more to offer than their bodies. Y/N almost ended up the same, but her talent for acting changed everything.

Regardless, her older brother was earning some additional funds by assisting the students, providing canvas, brushes, paints, wine, measures of various kinds. Whatever the domineering might wish for. And one day she was visiting him, entering the classroom without the knowledge that the lesson was still in progress.

And so she ended up in the middle of the room full of men with a naked model on the platform, under the barrage of astonished glances.

“Oh look, we got another one to help us study today!” one of the men cried out and the entire room started laughing. “You ought to wait for your turn, sweetheart. Do not fret though, we’ll take proper care of you.”

She blushed like a peony, her hands trembling a little.

“I was eagerly awaiting the moment when the Academy will provide us with a full shaped, average of beauty woman and here we are! My prayers have been answered, gentlemen!”

She blushed even more at the clear invective threw her way. Men could really behave like animals in their own company. Zero decency, respect for others or moderation. And the worst part was that all the ton knew about this open secret and gave their universal consent to that. Men were supposed to have their flings before marriage even if that meant a lot of improper things.

Her half-furious, half-hurt eyes scanned the room, taking in all the men gathered their and their attire, not paying much attention to either before landing on that one person who actually looked like having at least a little self-reflection.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Frozen with the brush in his hand and slightly unbuttoned shirt, torn between joining the common laugh on her expense and putting an end to this merciless, ongoing teasing. Before he could do a thing however she put an end to his misery and left the room with the solemn resolution to never interact with any of those debauched animals.

Judging Benedict as quickly and easily as all the society judged her.

***

“Quickly! We’re almost starting and you cannot seem to be on time even once!”

“I am—”

“do not interrupt me girl, put on the costume and get on the stage! I swear one of those days you will make me do the thing I will regret!”

***

That woman spurred some memories in Benedict’s mind even if couldn’t fully put all the pieces of the picture together. At least not until Eloise playfully smacked his side.

“What?”

“Do you know who you just saved?”

“That girl back there?” he massaged the sore place giving his sister a reproachful look “no idea. Should I know her?”

“That’s Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Uh… okay?”

“She’s an actress!”

“Um…”

“She’s a self-made, independent woman not looking for marriage and free of societal expectations!”

“You better not let out mother find out that a woman with no title is your role model.”

“Oh I’d be more than happy to let her know that. I believe that the amount of injustice put on women-“

“I do realize the amount of your thoughts in the subject.”

“Since when are you judgmental?” Eloise scoffed

“I am not!”

“Fine then Come see her performance with me.”

***

Y/N was almost pushed on the stage, without having any time to gather her thoughts or to revise her role, forced to improvise by putting on a bright fake smile and subjecting the audience to a minute or two of suspension, before realizing what she was supposed to play that day.

Clearing her throat and fixing her costume she stepped into the light, joining the rest of the cast on the stage and started giving her lines.

Any other time she would be focused solely on the scene and words coming out her mouth making sure each of them were perfectly accentuated and spoke just the right way.

So what was this inexplicable instinct that made her scan the audience?

Spotting him.

With his eyes fixed on her, showing something that could not be mistaken for anything else but sheer admiration.

And she did not like it at all.

to be continued? ;)

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton fluff

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razbrry · 2 months ago

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Grell's reaction if she found out that her s/o painted several oil paintings of her and walked in and seeing her s/o in the middle of painting a VERY huge one. Grell being her s/o's muse is just so cute!

(also can i say that you're cooking a BUFFET and that grell lovers including me and my friends, really love your headcannons?)

note— babe… you have no idea how late i am to this. BUT ANYWHO SHE’S BACK AND #READY! thank you so much for the kind words, it was a greatly needed boost! MWA!!!!!—☆💋🍰

having her as your muse— ft. grell sutcliff

she’d flip out

i just imagine her doing a backflip in surprise

jkjk…

she’s definitely capable of doing so though.

besides that, jaw DROPPED.

heart DROPPED.

you must’ve done this on purpose! what do you want?! SHE DOESN’T KEEP HUMAN CURRENCY!

“you— you made these?!”

with that tiny voice from her butler persona.

did you make these? i dont know, but you just happen to be painting on one of them.

the BIG canvas.

such BEAUTY! such TALENT! what PERFECTION!

(sorry, but if these paintings weren’t lf her, she’d think otherwise.)

she pushes you OUT OF THE WAY

to get a closer look!

we could swear she’s teleporting from painting to painting

and from one end to another of the center piece you’re currently progressing on—

a whopping 33 x 45 of her pointing her death scythe.

she is SQUEALING!!

down to the point of her teeth, to the shading and spike of the combination to her hair stands…

dashing, elegant, flashy!

mind you, she’s still skipping from piece to piece

look, you even gage her baps on this one! such generosity!

“aah! paint me like this next!”

and she’s strike some tacky in-the-moment pose that looks straight off of vouge.

besides her pitiful attempts, you cant help but feel a pooling warmth at your heart.

seeing grell so worked up and genuinely euphoric about your dedication to her is all you could ever ask for and more.

you’re going to give the poor lady a heart attack. she’s so worked up.

unfortunately for you, dearie, you’re set to be doomed for eternity after this discovery.

following after this incident, you’re cursed and bound to make art of grell and grell only.

and if she catches you painting anything else…

you better have those excuses ready to whip out!

“why are you painting a bloody plant?” “this is the plant that you uhm— lightly touched with your index finger yesterday… darling.”

#black butler #grell sutcliff #black butler manga #kuroshitsuji #grell sutcliff headcanons #grell x reader #black butler fanfiction #grell #grell black butler #black butler hcs #kuroshitsuji grell #black butler fandom #black butler headcanons #grell sutcliff scenario #grell kuroshitsuji #black butler grell #grell fanfiction

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omppupiiras · 6 days ago

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my long & rambly thoughts about People's Champion the album 🍄‍🟫

Ready To Go.. ahh, first I have to make a confession that my first impression of this song was basically "..that's it?". But in my defence it was in the middle of the night & I was not maybe in the most receptive mood. 😂

but then over the course of a few days I went from "ok maybe i like it actually" all the way to "WAIT. it is a bop and also WHY AM I GETTING EMOTIONAL OVER IT? 😭😭" I could write a whole ass post about all my ready to feels and thoughts. It is, of course, about how Jere's ready to go. He doesn't care if the shoes he's stepping into are too big for him, he doesn't care that people don't believe in him. He knows that people only want to see him fail and are waiting to say "I told you so" when it happens. But he doesn't care about any of that because HE believes in himself. He's not giving up and he's going to give it his all and hell, this whole thing COULD blow up in his face but he doesn't care. He's ready to GO.

(and there's also something very naive and bittersweet about ready to go to me, he's giving this thing his all and throwing himself into it with eyes wide open, believing and trusting and full of expectations, but he doesn't actually know or understand where this road will take him. he will actually succeed beyond his or anyone else's wildest dreams, but there's no way he could have known before it happened how much it would cost him)

and ofc CCC coming immediately after ready to go is absolutely PERFECT placement!! I immediately became obsessed with the idea of the story this album was going to tell when we got the album art and title, and OH BOY. They did not disappoint!!

Because speaking of this album telling a story, next we have Tavavoltti. On first listen it's kind of a light-hearted funny song with fun sounds. But it following CCC makes one realize that hey. Wait. Oh. It's actually saying so much about his experiences after CCC. Like with ready to go i could write a darn essay about this song but.. it's about him being unable to say no. It's about him being the funny guy, and hey, funny guys can't not be happy, right?

(Täst roolista ryydyn, mut hymy ei hyydy

Oon syypää suun hymyyn, siks rooliini tyydyn

Everybody wants something from him and they don't mind tearing him apart to get it. And he's got everything a person could want, right? Surely? He's definitely not supposed to complain, so he resigns himself to the role of a circus monkey, the masochist that he is, and pushes himself to his absolute limits. (not to say that this song is all sad bc it's not! the chorus IS hopeful though maybe in a slightly melancholy way) but ONCE AGAIN a song that sounds like a bop is actually way more deep and meaningful than it has any right to be!! 😭

playing this role exhausts me, but my smile doesn't slip

i'm the reason for your smile, and that's why i accept my role)

and whew speaking of being a masochist, next we have ruoska. damn. DAMN. this album, man. i love ruoska moving on

Kot Kot, kot kot. This song boldly starts off with "mayday", and isn't that a choice? To me Kot Kot is about Jere needing help but he hasn't admitted that to himself yet. He has given away so much of himself yet he doesn't understand why he feels so empty now. The partying and drinking don't really help but it's all he knows how to do.

Skit immediately following Kot Kot kills me DEAD. It makes both of these songs desperately sad. In Kot Kot, he needs help. In Skit, he's asking for it and being dismissed. My theory is that the therapist in Skit represents how difficult it was for him to reach out for help or even to have people who understand. How could he even explain to someone how something so amazing can be so terrible? Does anyone even care to hear that, to listen to him talk about it? His problems aren't normal people problems, anymore.

Autiomaa, autiomaa, autiomaa. I loved Autiomaa from the first snippet he shared and the full song did not disappoint. Bye bye my old favorite Käärijä song Menestynyt Yksilö, Autiomaa has taken your place. 😭 Seems like I have a theme going on lol, I love songs where he gets real and personal, and in Autiomaa he does that on a whole new level.

I love that he was brave enough to write Autiomaa and bold enough to make sure people understood Autiomaa is a big deal to him. He wanted to share his feelings and be understood and heard. The music video is such a piece of art and besides being so emotional this song is just so damn GOOD. He's such a master of the finnish language in the way he writes lyrics.

I love sex = money and of course in true käärijä style it's a bop but it also says something very real with its lyrics. but hey! sex sells! better get selling then

bananas is the song i have the least feelings & thoughts about haha. I like all the foodstuff lyrics but that's about it 😂 maybe i will have more feelings about it when i hear it live

next we have Huhhahhei and I must confess.. it's not for me fam. I don't like it. 🙈 I can't put this into words in any way that makes sense, but to me Huhhahhei is different to every other Käärijä song. The lyrics are generic in a way that almost makes it feel like this song is about nothing at all. I don't see it as a love song either, to me the lyrics are just saying words to say them without really meaning anything. so for that reason to me Huhhahhei is the song that fits on this album the least.

icip kind of feels like a breath of fresh air in the album - it's crazy it's party, life is life. things aren't so doom and gloom anymore. with its placement in the album it feels like jere accepts all the good and the bad and now he has learned to enjoy being an artist again. he's had a hell of a party that he couldn't escape, maybe he lost his mind a little along the way, but he made it out to the other side. ta-da, ta-da, ta-da...

and lastly, People's Champion. It's a lovely song and a perfect song to end the album with. but i have written so many words now i dont have much left for people's champion dgdfgldf but i love it a lot and im so glad jere won the battle for this to be included bc truly, what would this album be without this song??

#käärijä #HAHA did anyone read this whole thing i doubt it but if you did kudos to you #i have a million things i should get done but i had to write some of my thoughts down #bc i have so many thoughts about this album!!!#i love it a lot i love jere i adore his music he's such an artist #i love the way he bends the finnish language to his will in his lyrics

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capybonara · 24 days ago

Text

More personal thoughts under a cut

I’m not trying to think about the other day’s rude message but here I am trying to get my thoughts in order. I was vague in my last personal posts because I want to air out my grievances but not in a way that spreads negativity. But for clarity's sake, this message was a private tumblr dm from someone who didn’t follow me. Like, I think they felt they were trying to be helpful, but everything about it screamed "passive aggressive I-know-better-than-you" energy. And the implications it had is what I keep dwelling on; that my characters in my friends comic are/will be terribly written. And I’m like THAT'S MY WORK, THAT’S OUR WORK 😤 and that’s when I spiraled with thoughts like “oh so people who viewed the comic disliked them the whole time? Are my contributions/ideas that bad?”

I've been talking with @semirampant-dwickery and @smackins about this, and how these collaborative projects with zora characters reminded me of CDN. For context, that was a mass effect RP forum I was part of that focused on the lives of OCs. @werewolfsister added this nice response to a comic of mine, and all of this got me thinking about past projects and the kinds of things that worked, did not work, and the troubles we had in the forum.

The basic definition of a collaboration is a project between two or more people to work to create something. Using my own experiences, it was common courtesy to ask others if they were interested in joining in on a project/story. After someone said yes, we started talking about our characters to give each other a basic insight on their personalities, and hopefully we got a rough outline of the idea we wanted to execute and then wrote it out, drew scenes, or both!

The roadblocks I've come across are sometimes characters (and people) don't mesh well. Their ideas might not vibe with mine, and vice versa. As an example, I really enjoyed a lot of slice of life scenarios and many others wanted to do action related plots! And try as we might, a middle ground couldn't be reached so while it was a shame, no harm no foul! The community had mods to keep the peace, so if someone went too far with crossing lines they were given the boot!

You never want problems but at times they happen regardless. One example for myself involved a former writing partner who didn't want to do any work, but they still wanted the rewards of the end game. We talked about developing a ship between characters, but they didn't want to work on the in-between details. Details like first meetings, going out on dates, the realizations, etc. It was difficult to push anything along, and their personal end goal was for our characters to have sex (I guess in accordance to mass effect tradition of “we’ll bang, okay?” haha). I didn't feel comfortable with that and wanted to have the characters build a rapport first. Despite asking questions about their OCs, it usually ended up like this:

“Let’s start with something basic. What’s your characters fav thing to eat” “Your character 😏” “Ew dude cmon” “Lol I dunno, just food”

which made me go AUGH! 😂😅

So, I started chatting with other forum members who were more than happy to brainstorm and make ideas happen. My character started making friends with other OCs, I joined other threads, but my other writing partner was feeling left out. And I sympathized because I wanted to work on the ship, I wanted them to feel included. Every time we talked though it was like hitting a wall. I was slowly getting the impression they didn't want to write. But they sure didn't complain with the art I drew of their OC!

There’s a lot of details regarding that experience that's still ick to discuss openly. In the end, they unfortunately got banned for their behavior and it took a while to recover from it.

The happier side was, in time, I began collaborating with other, kinder people again. But after bad experiences I learned how important communication was. My characters got to engage in all kinds of adventures because all people involved were willing to talk. I learned it was important to let others know that I wanted to join something. I couldn't sit in my corner and hope someone noticed me. It was hard, and it still can be now because I'm shy, and bad experiences make me wary to try again. Though later I found out everyone I worked with had the same anxieties so we would discuss how we can help fight those insecurities. @smackins and I would build each other up to make posts because we were so worried we came off as dumb or annoying. And sometimes that's all you need, a little support and the courage to speak up.

@semirampant-dwickery and I ran into each other by chance via an “in character” argument and his OC challenged mine. Originally, I wasn't going to accept because I was scared and I thought it'd just annoy him. Whenever we talk about it now, he always expresses how happy he was that I accepted his offer to write a thread with our characters meeting. Said meeting ended up being one of my favorites, a lot of improv that included musicals, a hologram room, feasts and a hammer to his OCs face xD

Werewolfsister’ss response to my comic got me waxing sentimental! This method of collaborating is a little different from CDN because it's more art focused but the same process applies. You chat with folks, you work on outlines or do fun improvs on the fly!

The other difference I noticed is how small cameos can turn into stories of their own! Characters who appeared in her comic regularly are usually because communication continued between people. Some surprise art pieces prompted other people to reply with their own art. Like werewolf’s response said, it's how we ran into each other! I remember a few months back they were asking folks if they had diplomat characters they could include in their comic, and originally I wasn't going to join because of my own anxiety. But I realized nothing ventured, nothing gained, created Kaska and said “here's my submission!”

They later sent me a message asking if the zorca could participate in assisting other characters in a scene, and asked me questions regarding scenarios, and I answered to give an idea of what they could or couldn't do. I was excited for even the smallest role xD so when they asked more questions I gave more answers and ideas! The person who sent their “warning” to me the other day made an assumption my characters were being controlled by her, but everything dealing with them has my hand prints on it as well. Like with my friends on CDN, I offered suggestions, helped when they hit a roadblock and asked if I could contribute with my art!

Thinking on CDN, I know the roadblocks I personally hit was the lack of communication between parties involved. Like with my writing partner who didn't want to help do the work. I ran into others who came and went and the one complaint that stuck out for me was how I formed a “clique” with semirampant-dwickery, but the thing was, I sought their help the most because I knew they were fun and easy to speak with, and they helped me when I hit my own roadblocks. They proved to be a trustworthy and supportive partner! So of course I worked with them often! He’s done so much to write stories to get other members involved.

I've received messages years later from people who admitted they made assumptions about us, and how anxiety kept them from joining our threads. I still grieve over those missed opportunities at times because I personally thought they were heckin cool! It is what it is though 😔

Because of those experiences and how difficult it can be to organize projects; I want to give werewolfsister praise for their hard work, their positive attitude, and welcoming presence. It's not easy communicating with a number of people, making outlines for the plot, and then drawing a comic where I've literally witnessed you dish out TEN+ PAGES A DAY. And you've been doing this since MAY! It's a lot of things to juggle alone.

To the casual onlooker, it might look like a simple project with guest appearances she has full control of. But cameos remain cameos unless someone speaks up and offers more info and help. And characters who've had longer appearances were all discussed with her in chats; from permissions, to story outlines and boundaries. I've had the privilege to watch and be part of these discussions 👍

I kept thinking about disengaging from the zora community, because of how that message had me focusing on the negative. It was one harassment message but honestly that's enough. I know why it came about, and I hate how that kind of negativity made me want to cut off from everything. Wanting to isolate is my knee jerk response because it made me paranoid. Who else am I upsetting? Who else will send more “warnings?” I'm an old millennial, I'm not here to have beef with strangers on the internet.

The paranoia has been an issue for me and that message “cemented” some other worries I had. For example, I made a previous post asking folks if they had characters that played instruments, then tried to clarify if anyone would be okay with their OCs interacting with Cironus. I got a few responses, but the tumblr dm responses I received, however, were details of who not to associate with, along with a fatphobic remark about Cironus. It left me feeling on edge: one wrong move from myself or my character, one piece of art that didn’t depict every detail correctly, and I was guaranteed to set something off.

I understand there are folks who have extremely personal connections to their characters, and I sympathize and respect that. And for the sake of everyone’s mental well being, I’m going to avoid them. Characters carrying that level of weight need complete control by the creator, and collaborating with others by definition means you have to relinquish some of that control. It requires that you retain a modicum of trust that other players are acting in good faith and not out to ruin your character. No one else gives over that control but you.

Collaboration is about trust, communication, and teamwork. CDN thrived when people came together, but if someone didn’t find the idea appealing, they chose to go solo and found other outlets. I came to this community with the hopes of creating stories with others. And if they don’t want that, like it was with the forum, we move on.

I know we can curate our spaces so we are surrounded by the things we enjoy, and choose to be around those who are supportive and understanding, but I’m not feeling very confident about finding more folks to work with. That’s not an invite to say you want to either. I need to think, and writing this helps me think. My original plan was to post about my zorca and Cironus to give what audience that's out there a better idea of my characters.

As I write this I realize what I’m tired of is having to set things up like I’m preparing for an audition. I just want to draw, I want to include people and make them happy with the things I draw. This is a hobby I’m trying to have fun with. Outside of my friend group, I don’t think I’ve been able to casually share ideas about my characters with other people. I want to be seen, and connect with others. In turn, that usually became a chain of helping others feel seen too.

The negativity makes you feel powerless at times, but we have the ability to build the kind of communities we want. It takes time, it takes people you trust. I don’t want to say “be the change you want to see” because to me it always implied you have to do it alone. And we don’t. CDN had a set of rules when working with others that allowed the community to last for years, and the one I try to follow the most is don’t be an asshole. Be kind, be respectful, uplift others when you can, and when you take, give back to others as well.

#personal #nothing else to add in the tags everything is under a cut #but i just needed to get this out

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sopuu · 1 year ago

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I was wondering if you have any tips for your perspectives? i dont really know how to do them that well but it seems you have a great handle on them! Btw I love your art! its soft and happy, I really love your stuff :D

thank you sm!! i love hearing that my art looks happy it's such a nice description 🥺

and for the tips! you've probably heard of vanishing points and horizon lines a bunch of times so i'll try to just give a quick run down of how i understand them + their uses

[2024 edit: just wanted to clarify that this third pic isn’t like a definite rule (none of these are tbf)- the horizon line can be placed at the top and still be close to the ground if you draw the grid right, same goes vice versa!]

tbh once you get the idea of how they work it gets easier to figure out where the points should be. it might help to think that the subject is what determines where the points are instead of the other way round if that makes sense? i learned a lot just by looking at storyboards for fun bc they're everywhere in them jhfkdg

also these grids aren't restricted to being only for the walls or the floor of a room- you can rotate it, put them anywhere you think you might need clarification on where the space around them is etc. just use as many as you need for whatever you need

having multiple grids (like ^ where its above and below the character) especially close together narrows the focus to what's in the middle of them as well!

another way to do this is to think of the subjects being in a box and looking at them from an angle-

and if you want you can break them down to simpler 3D or 2D shapes to see which parts have to get smaller

if you were looking for more perspectives on poses i talk about it a little at the end here

i hope this was clear enough! it's a bit hard to explain but once i learned not to be too hung up on accuracy (ofc to an appropriate degree) and freehanded the grids it makes it a lot more fun to play around with :)

also take everything i say with a grain of salt bc i too am still learning 👍

#ill be real with you i still don't fully understand vanishing pts sometimes and most of the time i just. dont think of them LOL #just as long as i have an idea of approximately where it is then ill freehand it until i get it looking right #asks #my doodles #obligatory sorry for the long wait i’m still absolutely swamped with work 😔#good news tho my summer course is on its last week! i’ll have free time again soon wooo!!! (losing my mind)#sopuuart #souup ingredients

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teez-the-time · 10 months ago

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dear may, i had to stop reading your san warrior fic a few times because my eyes are just filled with tears. 😭💕

excuse my wordings as i am not a writer but more so of a reader instead but your whole writing was done in such a wonderful way that i was left speechless and of course, in tears once again.

sannie written as such hopeless romantic and absolutely brave warrior is so accurately depicted that i truly believe he definitely can be one in his past life! 🙈

i guess as i am typing this, i just want to thank you so much for this brilliant piece of art that you decided to share with us here. 💖

hope this is just the first of many from you! 🥹

- ✨anon

MY. HEART. STOP.

No but, ever since I posted "Choi San, Wolf Warrior" I've received so many heartwarming messages and reviews that I literally had to sit down. You really have no idea how much a little support means to someone who never expected any kind of reaction from others. While I planned to continue posting my stories even if no one saw them, these kind of messages encourage me to keep exploring my potential.

I was SUPER nervous when I posted the story. For a moment, I even thought of deleting it and never having it see the light of day. I'm glad I didn't. I also contemplated making a second part, but ultimately decided to leave it as it is and not wear off the magic. Nevertheless, seeing that you like it so much...I present you a little story of Y/N and San before the big events of the story.

Lastly, dear anon: I obviously don't know you, but thank you for that beautiful message. Keep supporting ATINY authors with your sweet words, since many will appreciate them.

XOXO -May

Pairing: Warrior! San x Chief's daughter! Fem! Reader

Genre: fantasy, action, romance

Warnings: some cursing and metions of sex, but nothing explicit, Y/N and San are both whipped pt. 2.

Wc: 1.8k

Taglist: @darkdayelixer

You could barely see the ground in front of you as you walked through one of the furthest parts of the village in the middle of the night. It was way past the usual time you would have been home asleep, but one of your friends had come to you begging for your help. Apparently, San had come back with the other young men of the village from a successful hunt and was celebrating with some of your friends.

The problem?

Choi San, the fearless warrior, had lost to alcohol and now refused to stop drinking despite being pretty drunk. Seeing that no one was able to make him desist on his attempt to become a rum barrel, your friends resorted to an infallible plan: getting you to take him home.

That’s why you now found yourself walking on a dark path, alone, cursing his name to all the gods above.

May god curse that lightweight idiot, you thought to yourself.

You heard the laughter before you saw anyone. Partially hidden by a dense patch of trees and bushes, the young people of your village used the clearing as a meeting spot for this type of gathering. Consumed by your duties as the chief’s daughter, you had to excuse yourself from attending the party with your friends.

Well, I guess not anymore.

Your friends were scattered around the place. The majority stood in groups in different parts of a small clearing, others sat down on stools. A small group sat on the floor, listening to one of the boys play a guitar. At last, you saw San sitting with some mutual friends around a small wooden table. He couldn’t see you, as his back faced you (but you could recognize his blushed ears anywhere), and nobody seemed to have noticed your presence so far. You walked towards him, trying to be as silent as possible in case someone saw you. It’s not like you didn’t like this type of gathering, but it was pretty late and you had to get San back to his house and then go back to yours. You couldn’t stay for much.

As you approached the group, you could hear San talking, and from your friends’ expressions, he was talking nonsense.

“I am telling you,” he was insistent, but the slur of his words wasn’t very convincing, “no one can compare. Fucking impossible. I witness it with my two eyes every single day. The standards are so high it’s fucking ridiculous”.

You wondered what the hell he was talking about, but as you got closer, you caught your friend Wooyoung’s eyes. He showed you his mischievous smile before turning back to his drunk friend.

“Sanie, but what the hell are you talking about?” he asked San, who made an exasperated gesture.

“Are you dumb or deaf, Jung Wooyoung?” San sloppily motioned for his friends to listen carefully. “I’ll repeat it one more time ‘cause apparently y’all have been hit in the head enough times to become stupid. Y/N is the most perfect human being to ever exist”.

Your eyes widened, and the people that had noticed you started laughing. San didn’t like that. “What the fuck are you laughing at? Listen to me. Liiiisten. Wait, I got dizzy. Okay, I’m good again. So, listen to me”.

“Y/N is literally sooooo perfect sometimes it gets ridiculous. Like, she is so beautiful it doesn’t make sense. None at all. And it’s all the time. Not once in her life has she ever been ugly. No, wait. One time, when we were eleven, she slipped on sheep shit and got covered in it. She smelt horrible and cried like a baby. But now that I think about it, she looked so cute even though she was embarrassed. Goddammit!”

He covered his face, as he couldn’t bear the flutter of his heart. San dragged his hands through his cheeks and continued talking. “And that’s, like, just from the outside. From the inside, she is sooooo smart. Way too smart for her good actually. Hongjoong hyung, you are clever, but you look dumb compared to her. Sometimes, I feel like I’m too stupid to be with her.” He interrupted his speech with a gasp of horror. “Oh my god! What if she leaves me for someone more intelligent?”

His friend, Seonghwa, swatted his arm. “Yah, Sanie! Don’t even think about that!”

San downed the whole mug of beer he had been holding despite everyone’s protests. “But I’m right! She’s so much fucking better than me. She’s beautiful, smart, kind, responsible, and everyone loves her! Hell, I think my parents like her more than me. I mean, I don’t know, but I don’t blame them. Oh, and there’s nothing she can’t do. I’m not joking. She knows medicine, she helps her dad, and she even cooks. Her kimchi, hyung!”. He let out a hiccup and a sniff. “Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Y/N. Yes! She’s even good at sex-”

That was your cue to stop his drunk rambles. “Woah, woah. Time for me to stop this party for you, sir.”

San didn’t pay you attention and kept rambling. “Oh no, I promised her that I wouldn’t talk about her like that. Forget the last part. I didn’t say shit about sex. It’s just…it’s just…I haven’t seen her since we left and I miss her sooooo much”. He stopped, his eyes widening. “Gods, I think I even heard her voice just now”.

If your friends weren’t laughing at San’s drunken antics before, they certainly were now. You put your hand on his shoulder. “Sanie, I’m here. It’s time to go home”.

San looked at you as if he had seen a ghost. “Oh my gods! I’m starting to hallucinate”.

In any other circumstance, you would’ve been rolling on the floor with laughter, but you were getting more and more frustrated with him. “San. You are drunk. Time to come home”.

“No!” he refused, holding the empty mug to his chest and pouting, “I won’t follow a fake Y/N. Get out, you impostor!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. “Sanie, I’m not a fake. It’s me Y/N. I came here to take you home”.

San narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Hmm, I still don’t believe you. Tell me something only the real Y/N would know!”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the first time he had pulled something similar. You sighed and answered his demand. “Your name is San and your family name is Choi”.

With that simple answer, his entire face lit up. He grinned from ear to ear and grabbed your hand. “You are my Y/N! Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

You had to fight the urge to knock his teeth out, as it would be too bothersome to explain to his parents how his son lost them. “Yes, I am Y/N. Come with me”.

You didn’t have to repeat yourself. Without letting go of your hand, he grabbed the few things he had brought with him and stood up from his seat. His smile was unwavering. “Let’s go home, darling. It’s way too late for you to be out!”

Drunk San was more ridiculous than normal San, so you made no effort to point his logic out. You just slung his arm over your shoulders to help him walk and said goodbye to your friends (who weren’t also totally hammered and didn’t make some colourful suggestions about home activities).

Even if you were annoyed by how drunk San was, you had to admit he was pretty funny when he was in this state. It wasn’t usual for him to drink this much, or at all, which was something you would have to inquire later. But, for now, you enjoyed the nonsense he was humming and muttering. The warmth of his body comforted you in the middle of the night chill.

“My love,” he called out to you. Lately, he seemed more comfortable calling you that in more public settings. “My love, Y/N. I have to admit something”.

“What is it, Sanie?” you inquired.

“I am drunk,” he said dead-seriously, “like super drunk. I don’t know why I drank so much. I am sorry”.

You held back a laugh, hearing how upset he sounded by the end of the sentence. “It’s okay, Sanie. You don’t have to apologise. I’m not mad.”

“Are you sure?” he asked and you repeated your answer. “You’re literally the best ever. I was gonna say best friend, but you aren’t my best friend anymore”.

“Oh?” you played along, knowing there was something he wanted to say, “then who is your best friend now? Wooyoungie? Yeosangie?”

San shook his head energetically. “Nop. They can’t compare to you. You are my best friend, but, like, you aren’t my friend. I don’t like any words for you. You…you are…my love. My Y/N”.

In the middle of that night, on the road you both took together to go home, you choked at San’s confession. You were always impressed at how he wore his heart on his sleeve, never afraid of judgment or rejection. You, on the other hand, were more reluctant to let others in, your guard having been broken by only a few; one of which you carried on your shoulders at this very moment.

“Me too…” you said barely above a whisper, “I can’t find a word for you, my love…”

For a few moments, neither of you said a word, letting the silence speak for yourselves. You could feel he was regaining sobriety, although a throbbing headache would be waiting for him in the morning. His house stood at the end of the road, and yours wasn't too far away. It was time to say your goodbyes for the night, but you were already planning on stopping by again to leave him some medicine.

"Y'know, we're already twenty," San stated the obvious once again, "we only have to wait two more years".

You didn't dare to say anything. You both arrived at his door, and San removed his arm from your shoulders, but he didn't let go of you. Instead, he placed a hand on the small of your back and pulled you closer to him. His other hand found nest on your cheek. From that distance, you could see speckles of moonlight in his eyes, who looked at you with intensity.

"Gods, I can't wait for those two years," he whispered before capturing your lips with his. You reciprocated the kiss, tangling your hands on the hair of his nape. It tasted like alcohol but, somehow, San made it sweeter.

It was perfect, just like him.

You broke away for air, but it wasn't enough for San. He pecked your lips twice more before removing himself from you. You helped him open the door to his home, as he still struggled with basic coordination. He turned around to look at you for one last time, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"I love you~," he grinned and waved at you excitedly as he closed the door slowly. San's figure disappeared from your sight, but you heard a couple of stumbles and curses from the inside.

You smiled to yourself.

I can't wait either.

#ateez #teez-the-time #ateez fanfic #atiny #choi san #san #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez x reader #san x reader #san fluff #san smut #san angst #ateez fluff

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