#do you smell that? it smells like silent hill in here...

[son1c]

Been thinking about Snowpoint...

What if... What if Starline considers Shadow to be too much of a problem? Like he's making a lot of progress into bringing Sonic back. What would Starline do about Shadow then if he realized how big of a problem this was?

starline in canon is a bit baffling because he kinda. ignores the rules? idk. what i mean by that is like... it takes him hundreds of tries to hypnotize surge and kit, but it only takes him 1 try to hypnotize rouge. and he also bests shadow by smacking him over the head with a log, despite shadow being the unbeatable ultimate life form.

that's what makes him so tricky to write. he's simultaneously extremely powerful, while also being able to... be beaten to death by eggman. just eggman. not even one of his robots.

do you see what i'm saying?

for snowpoint i've tried to balance these differences, with sonic being extremely difficult for him to wrangle, while the rest of the town was relatively easy. given his track record, shadow should also be easy to deal with... right? i mean, he beat him once before.

but i don't know if i'm really happy with that?

like, sure, i COULD say that starline jumps shadow while he's in snowpoint, and he captures him, and it's as easy as hitting him over the head with a big log. but that's not fun. i don't like that.

i'd be much more inclined to have starline try to turn the townspeople on shadow by altering the radio broadcast, so they start to attack him during the endgame, and he has the additional obstacle of All Of Them Chasing Him Zombie-Style in addition to having to track down the radio transmitters, and fighting sun in her beast form.

at its core, the drama would come from... the people in snowpoint being civilians. like. jack is one of the VERY FEW "powered" mobians who live there. the majority of them will die if shadow fights back. instantly. like tissue paper.

and does he really want that? shadow wants to save these people, not slaughter them. they don't want to fight him, anyway--they're being forced to. is it fair to punish them for that?

plus, jack and sonic getting slowed down by this new itch that they have to fight off is pretty compelling. thinking back on how they teamed up against shadow wayyyy back in the beginning just for fun, to teach him a lesson about how cool they both are or whatever, and they successfully overpowered him TOGETHER, only now, if they did that again, it wouldn't end with shadow's head shoved playfully into the snow. it'd end with him dead.

[silkscream]

bullfight of love

ੈ✩ choso x reader

ੈ✩ tags: flirting, masturbation, porn watching, vaginal sex, riding, soft sub!choso, 2000s au, coworkers, workplace relationship, film bro stuff

ੈ✩ wc: 4.7k

ੈ✩ a/n: i wanted to write choso being a weirdofreak pervert boy that's all. this is part of my fics for gaza <3 there will be a part two for this. do not ask me about a part two because it's already being made

Maki could kill you for being late again. Five missed texts, the final exaggerated with periods and exclamation points – and she never used proper spelling, let alone punctuation. It wasn't serious the way she made it out to be. 

Toji never cared about your track record. The bastard was never in the shop anyway, probably high off his ass in whatever shed of a place he lived in. Maki already hated her cousin enough for the rest of the crew, running that stupid video store like it was a real family business. It was a summer job to you and nothing else.

She sighs when she sees you walk through the door, handing you your name tag without a word before fucking off to the storage room to look at the new shipments.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment!” you yell after her. In response, you only get a middle finger, chipped black nail polish with half a skeleton decal hanging on.

It’s always slow on Mondays. Considering the new cinema that opened across the street, it's slow every day. You should’ve taken a job there, scooping buckets of buttered popcorn instead of telling off porn-stached men who continually mistook the shop as the old adult video store. 

You mindlessly watch Reservoir Dogs on the CRTV, shaken by the sudden flood of middle school students paving their way to the used video game section. Fumbling with the remote, you meet a hard-faced Maki once again. 

“You can’t put on Tarantino, dude. Kids are in here.”

“It was already on,” you shrug. 

Maki rolls her eyes and points to a small stack by the register – some John Hughes VHS tapes. Sixteen Candles. The Breakfast Club. Most shit that both of you hated.

“Gotcha.”

“Can you deal with the new kid, today? Toji didn’t scan all the new shit in like he was supposed to last week.”

“New kid?”

“Uh, yeah. Goth-ish. Like he got spit out of a Hot Topic or something,” she snorts. “No hazing.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

She scoffs at you before rushing back. You’d had a crush on her when you started working there, back when she still had an eyebrow piercing before she let it get infected. She had that Silent Hill look about her for lack of better words. Resting bitch face with a raspy pout. 

Your head swims a little, pounding from dehydration. The morning joint didn’t help, either, nor did the fact that you had to train a newbie today. 

It’s quiet after the kids leave, snatching up some forbidden R-rated movie that’ll traumatize them during a basement sleepover. You nearly doze off once the clock hits three, but loud footsteps bring you back to life. 

A boy that couldn’t be much older than you stares into you, narrowed eyes boring into your soul. You see the dark birthmark across his nose first, as if someone had slashed him with a blade in one straight swoop. He smells like cigarettes and his eyes are decorated with some reddish eyeshadow. Either that or he had the complexion of a sickly Victorian child. 

“Hey,” you deadpan. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the new hire,” he says. His voice is low. He reminds you of the goths that would hit on you at high school parties. He's prettier, though. 

You give him a once-over quickly – he’s taller than you expect, for some reason, and you notice the blooming swirls of abstract tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves.

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” you smirk. 

He rolls his eyes and introduces himself. Choso. You repeat his name, tasting it on your tongue. He has half a mind to shake your hand but pulls away awkwardly. You take note of the silver rings adorning his fingers.

You tilt your head. “I like your, uh, space buns…”

“Uh, thanks,” he narrows his eyes.

“Okay, so… have you ever used a cash register?”

“Yes.”

“Great. That’s basically half the job.”

You show him the ropes – how to make sales and deal with teens. Cash drops and tracking inventory. You ask him what attracted him to the idea of working at a run-down video store and he says he likes movies and easy money. His brother liked the place, too. 

“You got the Human Earthworm series, boss?” he drones, bored.

“Yeah, think so. You like romance-horror or just terrible practical effects?”

He snorts. “My little brother likes it. Wants to have a marathon with me.”

“Cute.”

Hours pass and he’s gotten the hang of it. If anything, there are more customers than usual today, because you suppose that Choso is conspicuous in appearance and the teenage girls that hang around at the food court need something new to play with. 

It stirs something uneasy in your gut, the waft of saccharine perfume in the air. Girls with tongue piercings, lollipops staining their lips as they bend over the counter to talk to Choso. Ripe girls.

They probably thought he could buy them alcohol, take them for a joyride. He’d only offer them an aloof, blank stare in return. It makes you almost giddy. By the time night comes around, you tell them to fuck off like flies.

“Closing time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Choso mock-salutes, an amused smirk on his lips. Half-lidded eyes like a cat, maybe a stoner, though he didn’t smell like it. You saw him on his break anyway, sipping down an Asahi Super Dry in the back as if you weren’t looking.

He already knew his place, knew that you wouldn’t rat him out. It was the way something flickered in his eyes when you caught him. A taunt, a quiet challenge. 

You watch him count cash. Chipped black fingernails looked odd on his veiny hands like they were painted in a rush by a child. You notice scrawled pen on his pale skin. Smudged phone numbers.

“Getting hit on already?”

He glances at you and shrugs, hiding a smile. “Half were just from bored teenagers. Other half bored single mothers.”

“Any takers?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You narrow your eyes. 

“Ha. Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not,” you snort. “As long as we get customers I guess.”

“Oof. You’re cold. You don’t care how I get these people to buy these movies as long as they buy ‘em, huh?”

“You’re not whoring yourself out by being a cashier. Relax.”

He shrugs on his jacket. Crumpled leather, the kind that held the smell of smoke over generations. It made him look like Takuya Kimura in that way, maybe if his hair was down.

He grins when he finds you staring.

“We done for the night, then, boss?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname. “Uh-huh. Night, newbie.”

He smiles sardonically, looking out and noticing the rain. He curses inwardly, knowing that skating home would be a bitch, and the next bus to his side of town wasn’t for another half hour. He clears his throat.

“Leaving already?”

“Yeah. What, don’t have a ride home, kiddo?”

“Fuck off. I’m not a damn kid. I’m just not someone with a car,” Choso mutters dryly. “I work at a movie rental place for a living. I take the bus everywhere.”

“Sucks to suck then,” you smirk, saluting him goodbye. You throw him the keys. “I trust you to lock up then, yeah? See ya.”

He lets out a frustrated scoff but doesn’t bother to convince you, opting to watch you go. Once you’re out of reach, he sighs and turns, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking around the dim store. 

Yuuji was probably out with that sea urchin–haired punk again. He had to remind himself to save up for a car instead of constantly having to share their parents’ beat-up Toyota.

He could take advantage of the shitty TV in the office, maybe. Watch a stupid re-run while he waits, because he sure as hell isn’t going to wait out in the rain. He walks in and settles on the black leather couch straight out of an amateur porno. He snorts and looks through a fat stack of DVDs in the corner. 

His mouth twists when he picks up something with a racy title. His eyes widen when he realizes it’s an adult film.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, scoffing. He lets out a low whistle, glancing around the office as if someone’s out there, ready to jump him. It’s eerily quiet. He can’t even hear the pitter-patter of rain from in here.

He skims the back cover. It looks crude, but Choso has never really been one to turn down something raunchy. He liked stupid movies, gory ones, art films with weird unsimulated sex. He’d gotten off to In the Realm of the Senses when he was thirteen. Skimming through something this cheap shouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t arouse him — it would be as entertaining and silly as watching a sitcom for him.

He inserts the disc into the DVD player and waits for it to load. There are no cameras in the office, he notices. Figures. The way you talked about the owner made it seem like the place was barely being held together if not for you.

And then, he thinks of you. He immediately thought you were pretty, not that he’d ever let you know that. Plainer than his usual type, but something was alluring about the curve of your mouth, the way you spoke. He liked that you didn’t take shit most of all. It was probably the hottest thing about you.

He knew better than to fuck around with a coworker, however. It never ended well and resulted in petty drama. He was too old for that shit, wasn’t in high school anymore — he was a man.

When the intro to the film finally loads, a woman in a skimpy, barely-there dress appears on the screen. It’s something vintage, for sure, given the grain. She’s in a love hotel. 

Choso fast-forwards through blurs of messy kissing, colored lights illuminating a heart-shaped tub. He pauses on a frame of the girl riding, her mouth wide open in ecstasy. He presses play.

After about ten minutes, he finds himself in a trance watching with rapt attention at the way the actress moves. His cock twitches when he realizes that she looks a little too much like you. 

She moans particularly loudly and his mouth parts. Something snaps inside of him. 

He has to pause it again. Jesus.

Choso feels like a pervert. No, he’s a man with urges, needs. It’s a pure coincidence that the actress in the porno looks like you of all people. It’s not like he sought her out himself. A movie like this shouldn’t even be in here.

He grits his teeth, hands clenching around the couch leather until his knuckles are white. He takes a breath before pressing play again and his eyes widen when the girl gets even louder.

Ah, fuck it.

He mutters under his breath, shifting on the couch. Glances at the blowjob lips on the screen, soft and plush. He thinks of you and swallows. He bites his cheek, conflicted.

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Then again, no one has to know.

He lets out a shaky exhale, trying to resist the pressure building inside him. It feels like trying to contain a geyser with a cup, and he hasn’t even touched himself yet. 

After contemplating for a beat, he sighs and unbuttons the fly of his jeans, using his other hand to press play again. A gasp escapes his lips as he watches the girl on the screen. The curve of her back, the bounce of her tits. She looks soft. He wonders if you’d be as —

No. No. He’s not doing that.

He spits in his hand and strokes himself, his breathing starting to come out in short, uneven pants. There’s a rush of heat in his gut as he watches. His head tilts back slightly, eyes roaming the ceiling before closing them as he attempts to calm himself down. It’s no use.

His breath hitches, eyes glued to the screen. He’s memorized by the slick flowing out of her. Fuck, he hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. It’s killing him.

It’d be okay if he pretended it was you. It’s not like you would find out. He could imagine fucking your face the way the guy was doing right now in the video, making the bitch gag and moan. Whimpering at being called a good girl. 

“Oh, god–” he mutters, his voice a strangled gasp. She really did look like you. Disturbingly so. When he’s done, he’ll have to wash his hands for five minutes straight from the shame. 

He pants, his grip on himself firm as he squeezes his shaft. Precum smears over his tip and he groans at the sound of the woman’s whimpers getting louder and louder. It makes his lungs seize. He’s getting close.

He doesn’t even register the jingling of the doorknob.

Choso’s head jerks up, his eyes widening in shock as his head turns to see you in the doorway blinking at him. 

“Oh.”

His throat’s dry. What a cruel fucking joke from the universe. There’s no coming back from this. Not when the video’s still going and he’s still half dressed, hand on his fly in mortification.

You tilt your head, smirking. “Nice cock.”

Choso’s at a loss for words, staring at you with embarrassment and utter daze. What the fuck?

“I, uh…” he chokes out, his voice rough and more high-pitched than usual. Face burning. 

He’s going to get fired. No – he has to quit before you even get another word in, save the little dignity he has, maybe convince Yuuji to move to another shitty town with him so he never has to see you again —

“Forgot my wallet,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

You walk into the room, peering at him. Your eyes fall on the TV, which is still going. The moans feel cheap and tacky now that he’s back in reality. 

Choso scrambles to press the stop button on the remote, his other hand moving to put a pillow on top of his leaking dick. His eyes flicker wildly between your face and the screen.

“You find that in here?”

“Uh… yeah… I, um—”

You snort. “Forgot to tell you that this used to be an adult video store.”

“That explains the selection,” he mutters sheepishly. 

You eye him carefully. He blushes. “Didn’t finish?” you taunt.

He feels too fucking humiliated to say anything, so he mutely nods instead. He fumbles with the zipper of his jeans underneath the pillow.

“Need some help?”

He gapes at you for a moment before looking away. You look amused as you scan his face. Was he hearing you correctly? Was he dreaming?

“Are you— are you offering?” he gasps out, dumbfounded. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something like that in here.”

Choso’s jaw drops. 

He stares at you for a moment at a loss for words. Curiosity begins to win out over embarrassment.

“With… who?”

“None of your business,” you chuckle.

He doesn’t like that answer. His jaw clenches, knowing that it’s stupid that it hurts his ego a bit for no reason at all. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t press the issue as his gears turn back to your previous offer.

“Then you… uh… want to…? With me?”

“You want to, right?”

He swallows nervously, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks at your body shamelessly for a bit. He’s still so fucking hard. Finally, he nods shyly.

“Okay. Take your clothes off, then.”

For a moment, he wants to protest. This is the last thing he expects from you. Maybe it was a blackmail situation — if he doesn’t let you fuck him, would you fire him? 

He realizes that he doesn’t care either way if he gets to fuck you.

He pushes his jeans down with his boxer briefs, shoves the pillow in his lap away with a blush. Slowly, he strips off his t-shirt, leaving him completely exposed. He can feel your gaze on him, raking his chest and arms, the tattoos on his skin. He looks up at you again almost desperately. 

“I meant it,” you drawl. “You do have a nice cock.”

“Th-thanks…” he croaks. 

“Why so nervous?” you tease. “You were flirting with me all day.”

“Yeah, but–” he mutters, huffing defensively. “I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“Wanna fuck you?” you finish for him.

You say it so bluntly that it catches him off guard. He hadn’t really given it too much thought. You were somewhat receptive to his advances if he could call it that. It was mostly him being himself. His sarcasm was meant to be flirting, but none of it was that serious. He found you hot and interesting. He liked that you could keep up with him. 

When he started touching himself with you in mind, everything was thrown out the window. He wanted you, and would probably dream about you when he got home, but the guilt and shame of doing something so depraved in his place of work made him embarrassed. He wouldn’t have been able to face you on his next shift, and then you decided to barge in and ruin everything. 

And now, you’re offering yourself to him on a silver platter. It was absurd.

He narrows his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“I think you’re hot. Isn’t that enough?” 

“You… you actually wanna… uh–”

“Yeah, Choso,” you roll your eyes. “I wanna fuck you.”

He shifts on the couch, eyes roaming hungrily over your body as his breaths grow labored. He swallows a lump in his throat.

“Then… do it,” he mumbles.

You grin, moving to straddle his lap. His hands flex and he has to remember to not appear so eager. This is just a casual hookup with a coworker. One born out of bizarre circumstances, sure, but he needs to play it cool. He grips the edge of the couch.

“Don’t wanna touch me?”

He feels even more meek, if that was possible. He hesitates, throat bobbing as he swallows. He’d had girls in his lap before. Bouncing them on his cock until they cried. For some reason, he feels like the submissive one here just because you’re on top of him. 

“Uh,” he stammers. His voice is quiet, nervous. You think it’s cute. “I didn’t know if I was, uh, allowed to—”

“Go ahead.”

He holds back from kissing you. Instead, he smoothes his large hands over your hips, the curve of your waist. He lifts his hands to the edge of your shirt and hooks his fingers into the hem, slowly tugging it upwards. The reveal of skin is tantalizing, makes his mouth water like a man stranded in a desert. 

Sparks jolt the length of his spine as his fingers brush over the bare skin of your stomach. Fuck, you’re soft. He knew you would be. He pulls the shirt over your head and ogles stupidly at your chest. 

“Someone’s worked up,” you tease, playing with his hair. You undo his buns, leaving his hair down.

“Of course I am,” he mutters, his voice strained. “You’re sitting on my lap, looking like that—”

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes widen. 

“Please,” he breathes. It almost comes out like a desperate whine. “I mean— yeah—”

You raise a brow, laughing. It makes his face heat up down to his neck. 

“Begging already? Thought you’d be more of a dominant type.”

You’ve thought about me?

“I— I am,” he grumbles. 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you prove it later.” You lean in.

“Promise?” He looks at you with something eager in his gaze and your eyes soften. 

“Mhm.”

Finally, he captures your lips with his. You sigh into it and it makes his cock throb underneath you. He takes that as an invitation, his tongue immediately pushing past the plush of your lips. He reaches up to grab the back of your head and tangles his fingers in your hair as if he’s done it all before. It makes you moan a little in his mouth.

He moans back, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. You pull back slightly, leaving him to chase your lips for a moment as he lets out a small huff of protest. When you look at him, his eyes are half-lidded, lips slightly parted and shiny with spit.

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. “Real pretty.”

He flushes, unable to form words. His expression immediately floods with disappointment when you get off his lap to stand. 

“Where are you going?” His voice would be whiny if it wasn’t so gruff from desire. 

“Relax, idiot.” You unbutton your pants, sliding them down slowly. He assumes you’re teasing him, which he doesn’t particularly mind. You’re a sight to behold. His cock twitches as his eyes look at your smooth thighs. 

“Get over here,” he huffs. You laugh, moving to straddle him. 

He doesn’t have time to react before you lean in to immediately nip at his neck. He lets out a moan, hips bucking involuntarily. You can feel his pulse quickening, the vibration of his moans underneath your lips. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. His fingernails dig into the meat of your waist. 

He can’t stay still. It takes him everything in him to not rock his hips up into you. It doesn’t help that he can already feel your wet heat hovering over his cock. His brain nearly short-circuits. He preens under you, grabbing at you like you’re going to fly away. 

“Be patient. Wanna play with you first,” you mumble.

Choso’s eyes flutter closed as you speak. You sound so fucking sexy right now, he can’t stand it. It’s better than the stupid filler plot he scrubbed through in that damn porno. Miles better. 

“Play with me,” he grits. “Fuck — later.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot you were pregaming this before I walked in.”

He glares at you. It’s entertaining watching the expression melt off his face when you lift your hips and immediately slam down on him. The moan he lets out is guttural. His hands immediately find your hips.

“Hah – fuck,” you breathe. “You’re bigger than you look.”

Choso lets out a strangled chuckle, head falling back on the couch. It makes him look even hotter, the way his tattoos flex with his collarbone. 

“Told you I wasn’t a kid.”

Your laugh tapers off into a moan when he gives a small, tentative roll of his hips. Testing the waters. You’re so fucking tight that it’s making it hard for him to even think. When he hears you gasp at being filled by him completely, his eyes widen.

“Shit,” he gasps. “Wanna make you do that again—”

“H-Huh?”

His eyes lock on your face as he grins, grinding into you slowly. 

“That noise–” he groans, his throat taut and dry. “You made this little gasp—”

“Ah–”

“There it is,” he snickers. His eyes gleam. “Just like that.”

Your eyes roll back, mirroring the roll of his cock inside you. Your cunt clenches around him and it feels like fucking heaven. He can feel all your wetness drool into his lap. He had the urge to push you into the leather, cant his hips up like something rabid. 

It feels like his brain was going to fall out of his nose, the head rush in tandem with the blood pumping into his cock. Impossible tightness. Snug cunt, petals closing into a bud. 

When you wrap your arms around him, it almost feels romantic. It’s dangerous.

He kisses you, then. Quivers when he feels you getting lost in it, tasting nicotine in your swapped spit. He whimpers as you start to move your hips with more intention. You smile wryly at his reaction, pulling away, eyes fixed on where your bodies meet.

You’re a fucking wet dream while you’re riding him. The way your hair brushes messily over your jawline, the way your mouth parts with a gasp every time he feels you pulsate on his cock. Choso grabs your ass greedily and kneads it, mesmerized at the softness of your flesh. 

“God, you look so fucking good right now—”

His eyes flash as he watches you move. He tries to match your tempo, rutting up into you with frenzied effort. His cheeks are flushed as he nearly unravels himself for you, his expression raw and hungry. He leans in to suck on your tongue, descending his wet mouth down to your jaw, your tits. Oral fixation.

You can feel him deep in your stomach, buried in you. It’s as if he could pierce you through the throat. You’re sure that you’ll ache everywhere by the time you get home. You’d never taken a cock quite this big, never been this wet, your insides swirling around like a washing machine. Your guts all muddled with something that felt too warm for just lust.

“So fucking hot,” he mumbles, hands pressing into your bare thighs. 

All his preoccupations with you had disappeared. He didn’t care if you thought he was a pervert, since you were one too, in a way. Letting him fuck you like this when he barely knew you at all, yet a repressed part of his brain made his heart flutter at the thought of you. It didn’t help that he could practically feel your heartbeat with his cock.

It isn’t romance — it has to be the sex. He can’t think about it too much right now. Not when he’s in a state of delirium inside your cunt.

“Choso, I’m close,” you whine.

“Yeah?” he rasps. “Fuck, me too.” 

His hair is tousled and sticky. Eyes glazed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He grabs at your hips, guiding them to grind on him faster. Your wetness makes it all so smooth — all buttery, no resistance. You feel full.

He feels like he’s being squeezed to death, to heaven. It sends him over the edge at the same time he feels your pussy clench around him. You tremble in waves as you gasp out a moan. It’s more like a choked breath. He can’t stop watching you as you come, the way your eyes roll back. 

A whine escapes his throat as he cums. Everything that seeps out is slick, feels like something new and primordial at once. Seraphic, he’d say, if he happened to be drunk. He certainly feels drunk.

Choso doesn’t expect you to kiss him so sweetly after such a vulgar affair. He lets out a long exhale into your mouth with eyes closed, letting his head fall back a little while your hands cup his cheeks. His body is all melted limbs, languid sex. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. 

“Hey.”

He opens his eyes and gazes at you through sleepy lids. He lifts a hand lazily, brushing the hair away from your face.

“Yeah?”

“Did you pick an actress that looked like me on purpose?”

He freezes. His hands tighten around your waist as he looks away.

“No,” he scoffs. “Just thought she was hot—”

You chuckle.

“I didn’t pick it, I found it,” he gruffs. “I’ll admit that… she looks like you… I guess.”

“Was I as good?” 

He scoffs again, his eyes flashing with a mix of playfulness and irritation. You were as much of a little shit as he was.

“You’re better,” he rolls his eyes. “I already told you what I think, dumbass. Real pretty.”

“Oh, did you?”

There’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “I’d be pretty pissed if you weren’t better than some stupid video—”

“Idiot. Those girls are probably like, Olympians at fucking. Porn isn’t like real sex anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grins. He pauses for a moment, suddenly looking timid. “It’s just… a decent placeholder for when I… y’know.”

“Just call me next time.”

Choso’s eyes widen slightly, unable to hide his surprise. He sputters for a second.

“What? I’m, uh— not gonna call you every time I—” he groans, “That’ll be way too many times.”

You raise a brow.

“Wait, no— that came out wrong. I’m not some horny freak or something—”

“I mean, given how I found you…”

“That’s—” he stammers, unable to complete a sentence without his brain completely blacking out every millisecond. “That was a one-time thing.”

“Hope so. I don’t wanna fire you, newbie,” you grin.

His pulse quickens at your smile. 

“Like hell, you will. You’re too understaffed to fire me.”

PART TWO

[honeyynymphh]

| The Wager |

Cardinal Copia x FemReader rating: E words: 4k tags: dom copia, oral sex (m receiving), confessional sex, choking, rough sex, copia is a sneaky shit AO3

Summary: A new Sister of Sin, you feel you are not living up to the expectations of your new church and seek out confession to unburden yourself. Little do you know, that the Cardinal has something he needs to confess to you.

I started writing this ages ago and its been so close to finished for ages. Seeing the new movie made me feel motivated to complete it.

Not my best work but hey, I did some writing :)

It's a bit silly but c'est la vie!

Your hands grip the edge of the pew as you take a steadying breath. You’d been sitting here for nearly an hour, watching sibling after sibling as they entered and left the confessional box. It seemed so large and imposing in the low light of the abbey’s candelabras. You knew you needed to speak, to confess. Yet you were anxious. A new Sister of Sin, and not just any new Sister—but one that had converted from the local church.

A few months have passed since you left your old life behind you to join the strange, yet welcoming, abbey upon the hill. Everyone had accepted you without question—you were not the first to leave behind an old god and you would not be the last—yet old habits and the lingering guilt were hard to forget. Your hands tighten their grip on the pew and you watch as another sibling leaves the confessional. They give you a brief smile before they pass and you realise you are the only one left, the only sound is their fading footsteps before the chapel is silent.

It was now that you had to go before the confessional closed for the evening, it was so late already. You could wait until next week, yet you felt you couldn’t keep this bubbling away inside. You needed to speak to someone—and you had spoken with Papa Terzo before. He had been charming and kind, and very flirty, something that made you flush quite a bit. But he never made you feel silly or stupid for not knowing the customs of your new home. You were sure this would be no different, yet the anxiety still lingered.

You made yourself stand, sliding out of the pew and walking over to the confessional. Your hand hesitates before you gently knock on the side of the detailed wood.

“Enter.”

The low word is muffled but you hear it and step inside. The door shuts quietly behind you and you take your seat, glancing at the shadowy outline of Papa on the other side. It smells like chapel incense and some other scent that has you taking a deep breath as the scent comforts you in the warmth of the confessional. 

With your hands clasped in your lap, you speak, “Forgive me, Papa, for I have sinned.”

“This must be your first time, Sister.”

You pause. The voice is not Papa Terzo as you had expected but Cardinal Copia. You grip the fabric of your habit in embarrassment. While you were too busy worrying, you had not noticed that Cardinal Copia was the one taking confession and not Papa.

“Forgive me, Cardinal,” you say.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he says. “And we do things a little differently here. Sinning is very much encouraged.”

“Sorry, Your Eminence, I am still stuck in my old ways,” you reply hesitantly, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

“Does this bother you, Sister?”

You nod and then realise he can’t see you. “I’m finding it hard to adjust, it is so similar yet so different to my old life.”

“That is to be expected, change affects us all,” he says. “It will improve over time, you haven’t been with us long.”

You know that’s true. You also realise this is the first conversation you’ve ever had with the Cardinal. He always seemed to keep to himself or haunt the library. You’d only ever exchanged greetings with him before. He made you nervous, Papa Terzo was so much more approachable than Cardinal Copia. Anyone was…well, perhaps not Papa Secondo. But Cardinal Copia was so silent and quiet, he only ever really seemed to come alive during sermons or when he taught classes. His intensity was intimidating and the way he would sometimes cut down a fellow sibling during a lesson could be nerve wracking. But how his impassioned words held your attention, it was impossible not to be drawn to the Cardinal. You wanted to be noticed by him yet never have his gaze upon you. So you’re surprised at how kind his words are, though you know it is his job. It’s much easier to talk to him when you aren’t forced to look at his imposing expression.

“I know, Cardinal,” you say. “I just worry I’m not…meeting expectations.”

“How so?”

You shift in your seat. This had been much easier when you’d been imagining it in your head. And while the Cardinal words were polite, there was still an edge to his voice that made you shift on the wooden seat.

“In my worship,” you say, feeling your face flush. “I know many siblings prefer to do so, er, together.”

“Ah.”

“All forms of sin are encouraged, mia cara, not just the ones of the flesh.” His voice is low and you scoot a little closer towards it, unable to help but smile at the endearment. “You do not need to be writhing upon an altar while someone feasts upon your divine sex to please the Olde One.”

Maybe not but it’s suddenly all you can think about. It was one thing to leave your old life behind because you did not wish to live a life without pleasure, yet to have it fully thrust upon was hard to contend with. The abbey lived life to the fullest and held no shame, but you were not ready to participate in certain rituals. Though, you had certainly thought of them with the Cardinal in mind. But you knew he never attended such things.

How you wished that he did.

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” you reply, sensing it was time to leave. “Siamo con il nostro Dio Scuro,” he says and you can dimly see his gloved hand move in the darkness to make the sign of the grucfix. “Nema.”

You stand and make to leave but he speaks, making you pause.

“Sister.”

The sharp word hangs in the small space and you glance at his shadowy figure on the other side of the confessional.

“Yes, Cardinal?”

He clears his throat and his words are short, awkward. This has your brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Do you have time to stay a moment? I know it is late.”

“Yes, I can.” You sit back down, apprehension knotting in your stomach.

“I feel I must confess something to you.”

Confess? To you? Cardinal Copia? The apprehension knots even further. What could he possibly confess?

“Oh?” is all that manages to escape your mouth. Your head twists so that you are facing the latticed partition. Your hands grip the edge and you lean closer without even realising your face is nearly touching it.

“I heard that Papa Terzo and Papa Secondo have a wager, in regards to you,” says the Cardinal.

“A wager?” you ask, confused.

“Si,” he says, his words still sounding oddly stilted. “There is no polite way to say it, Sister, but they’re betting on who can fuck you first.” He sighs. “They do it after every initiation of a new group of siblings.”

“What?” it comes out as a squeak.

“They pick someone and whoever fucks them first wins.”

You’re shocked but also strangely thrilled at the thought. You haven't really spoken to either Papa. Secondo was so…Secondo, you don’t think you can recall ever having spoken to him. And Terzo was always surrounded by admirers that you had only really spoken to when you first joined or after Dark Mass, since he was the reigning Papa. While he has always been so friendly to you, you did not think he even knew your name.

“Why me?” you can’t help but ask.

“You come from the village church,” says Copia with a sneer. “They think it would be quite the challenge—” he pauses and then quickly asks, “are you a virgin? Is this why you are reluctant to worship in such a fashion?”

“No!” you say quickly. You hadn’t had much as much experience as your new siblings but you had some. It had been one of the reasons for leaving your old faith behind. You feel your face colour in embarrassment.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of if you are. We are not heathens… not completely. You are not forced to do anything you do not wish to. You are not required to join the rituals if you do not wish to.”

“You don’t participate,” you say hesitantly. It’s not a question but you desperately want to know why he doesn’t join them.

“How could I compete with Papas?” he gives a short derisive laugh. “Pretty Sisters do not want a cardinal when they can have a Papa, eh?”

You say nothing but can’t help but smile. He called you pretty! How could someone not want him? Perhaps he was a little quiet and somewhat intimidating. But you can’t deny the way you have had to press your thighs together when he would sometimes speak. Your thoughts return to his earlier words of worship upon an altar. You shiver at the thoughts, feeling the warmth of arousal begin to burn low.

“Sister?”

“Sorry, Cardinal.” You take a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me this. You are wrong though, many would want you.”

“That is kind of you, mia cara. But I am well aware of my reputation.” You hear a low chuckle, you’d never really heard him laugh before. “Which you best not ruin just because I have chosen to share this with you. I’ve merely had enough. And you didn’t seem like you would be one for their stupid games.”

You sat there. You were surprised that the Papas would even have such a wager, it didn’t seem like something these people would do. But Terzo did seem to always be surrounded by fawning siblings and had such a charming air about him. And Secondo…he always seemed to have someone—or several someone’s—with him. And his gravelly voice was quite enthralling. A silly brotherly game, you supposed.

But, why you? It was true you’d come from the local church, having had your doubts for quite a while until you’d spied the strange abbey upon the hill and felt drawn to it.

The partition suddenly slid across revealing the Cardinal in his splendid red robes. He looked like the Devil himself standing there while you remain seated. He quirks an eyebrow at you in question.

“Sister?”

You stand quickly and the small booth means you are so very close to him. The spicy yet woody scent you had smelt earlier was not the chapel's incense but him. The warmth of his body seems to amplify it, along with the fresh scent of clean linen and the tang of sweat that clings to his cassock. It feels far too warm here in the confessional. Why did he open the partition?

“Are you alright, Sister?” His low voice is overwhelming when you are so close, a hand gently grabs hold of your shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I hope I have not misspoken nor upset you by telling you this.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. His hand is gloved—as always—yet the heat radiates from it. It feels so large on your shoulder and you can’t help the thought of that hand touching you elsewhere. You hastily look down as you feel the blush spread across your cheeks.

“No, Your Eminence,” you say. You steal yourself when the thought hits you. quickly leaning forward to kiss his cheek before you can talk yourself out of it. “Thank you, again.”

You risk a glance at his face and his expression hasn’t changed. But he doesn’t look disgusted so before you lose your courage, you move again and press your lips briefly against his, feeling his moustache tickle your skin before you’ve already pulled back.

He speaks, voice a low growl that makes your stomach flip. “Don’t do that, Sister.”

Oh. Instantly any hope you had is crushed. It was a stupid thing to do! You look down again and mumble an apology under your breath. You move to leave but his hand is still on your shoulder and it holds you in place, the other hand coming to your chin so his fingers can tilt your face up to meet his gaze.

“You can’t tease an old man like that,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Go kiss a Papa, mia dolce.”

“I don’t want to kiss a Papa,” you say. “I want to kiss you, Cardinal.”

Suddenly he seems different, more how he appears during sermons with that raw intensity you find so alluring. His touch is firm and sure as he pulls you into his side of the booth. Effortlessly he sits, pulling you into his lap so that you’re straddling him. His hands glide up your legs to then grip your hips so he can pull you flush against him.

“Give me a kiss then, dolce.”

Heart racing, you eagerly lean forward and press your mouth against his again. This time he responds, lips moving under yours. You can taste the bitterness of the paint on his top lip but it’s barely noticeable when his tongue is trying to slide into your mouth. You’re swept up in the taste of him and the insistent way he devours you, teeth occasionally biting and pulling at your bottom lip. It makes a thrill run down your spine and you press yourself closer to him.

When he pulls back, you’re breathless. His eyes are nearly the same, both so blown wide by lust that you can barely determine the colour of them in the dimness of the booth.

“Grazie, Sorella,” he says.

You feel like you are on fire. Your entire body is singing from one kiss. Lucifer, you want more. Without even thinking you move your hips forward, so you are sliding even closer to him, nearly falling off him in your desire to get closer. His thigh is right under your aching sex and you can’t help but grind down on it.

His moustache twitches as a small smile appears on his face. “You want more than a kiss, si?”

“Yes, Cardinal,” you say breathlessly as he pushes his thigh back against you making you pant out a moan.

“I thought you did not wish to worship this way?” he asks though he doesn’t sound concerned like he did before, his voice is edging on teasing. As if he already knows why.

“I—” your words fumble as you feel another flush suffuse your face. You are already in his lap and he just had his tongue half way down your throat—now was not the time to be the ignorant village girl. You swallow your nerves and say, “I want to worship with you, Cardinal.”

A sly grin unfurls on his face and that makes your heart race.

He brings up over his laps properly so your hips are slotted against his. The position makes you moan as you can feel the hardness of his cock through the layers of his cassock

“I worship a little differently to what you may be used to, dolce,” he purrs against your ear while a hand wraps around your neck. He squeezes, not too tightly but enough to get the point across. “You can leave now if you wish.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to leave, Cardinal.”

“Good girl.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his praise, which he clearly notices. He thrusts his hips up against yours and your hands grip at the fabric of his pelegrina. The friction feels far too good but you want more and press down against him clumsily, making him let out a low laugh.

He brings his face close to yours, his nose pressing against your temple and his breath ghosts against your ear.

“Will you get on your knees for me, dolce?”

It’s so warm in the confessional that any sane thoughts have left you. It’s like he managed to bewitch you—you’d do anything he asked. And so you nod and slowly slide off of him to the floor. There isn’t much space in the confessional and it’s all stuffy but you feel even hotter as you watch him lift the fabric of his cassock. Underneath are his usual tight pants and you can see the large bulge straining against the fabric. Dazed and body singing with lust, you can’t help but lick your lips when he unzips them, letting his cock free.

You stare at it and you feel his hand reach for your wimple and yank it off so your hair can spill free. The leather of his gloved hands is soft as a finger traces your face before a hand winds tightly in your hair to bring your head closer towards his flushed cock. Your hands grip his thighs as you lick the head, the groan that leaves Copia’s throat emboldening you so that you lick it again before gripping the base to take it into your mouth.

The hand in your hair tightens further and you lick the underside of his cock as you suck, teasing him as best you can. Every sigh and moan that comes from him feels like a prayer and you increase your movements even though your own sex demands attention. You can feel the wetness seeping through your knickers and you desperately squeeze your thighs together, the hand not pumping his cock digging into his thighs as you moan around him.

“Do you need help, dolce?” he growls from above you.

You feel him shift, forcing your mouth to leave him, as the toe of one his boots finds its way between your knees to press up against your cunt. Immediately you grind down against him, desperately trying to ride against the leather while your hand still fists his cock.

It’s not enough though and you feel he can sense your desperation in the way he laughs.

“You need more from your Cardinal, si?”

“Yes, please, Your Eminence” you breathe, grinding down against him again.

His hands move to pull you up on your feet and when he commands that you remove your panties, you do. Stepping out of them hurriedly and leaving them on the floor before he is tugging you back into lap and pushing the skirt of your habit up to bunch around your waist. He makes no effort to be gentle, gripping your hips tightly and positioning you over his slick cock before he is bringing you down. You are more than ready for him but it has been so long since the last time you had fucked anyone.

“Cazzo,” he hisses, one of his hands coming between you to circle your clit.

The jolt of pleasure has you sinking onto him further, opening you up to him so that he is fully seated within you. You moan as he continues to rub at your bundle of nerves, your hips grinding down on him as you try to take your pleasure. Your blood is boiling with a neediness you have never felt so acutely before and when you begin to ride him in earnest, he is matching your thrusts with his own.

“Good girl,” he says, the low voice making your cunt throb in response.

A gloved hand is back at your throat, holding you tightly and making your head spin. You feel lightheaded and your own movements become disjointed in the delirium surging through your veins. But it doesn’t matter, as Copia’s grip on your hips and throat have you held in place with ease as he fucks up into you.

You know you are going to come soon, you can feel the delicious tension low in your stomach and your spine tingles with anticipation. The easy slide of his cock in your cunt is addictive, and you can feel him swelling further, bringing you even closer to the edge.

When his hand leaves your throat to hold both sides of your hip and bring down against him so he can fuck you hard and fast, you come fast. Your hands grips at him, hands fistings in the fabric of his pelegrina as you lean forward to bury yourself against his neck. He keeps fucking you as your ride the wave of your release until you feel him spilling within you. You cling to him as he takes his own pleasure, muttering unintelligible Italian. Sweat is damp on your neck as his movements start to slow and the only sound left is both of your heavy breathing.

“Grazie, mia dolce,” he whispers, his moustache tickling your cheek.

You lean back to see the smirk on his face before awkwardly standing, suddenly embarrassed at what had come over you. You just fucked Cardinal Copia in the confessional!

“I—” your words falter and you look down on the floor, grabbing your wimple and trying to find your knickers. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

You pin the wimple back on your head while the Copia is waiting, not a hair out of place, as he smooths down the front of his cassock. You notice something in his hand—your underwear. You go take it but he tuts at you and pockets them with a smirk.

“Penance, Sister,” is all he says before opening the door for you.

It is much cooler in the empty church, a welcome relief on your heated skin and you can’t wait to return to your bed, unable to look at the Cardinal while his seed drips down your thighs.

You nearly jump when you hear a voice echoing in the silence. “Buonasera, I was locking up.” It is Papa Secondo, a set of large keys in one hand as he stands at the other end of the church by the large doors. You walk with Copia towards him, holding your hands in front of you. 

“I was just holding confession with our new Sister, Papa,” says Copia smoothly. “But we are finished now.”

You don’t trust yourself to look at either of them and so you hurriedly offer a goodnight to both men before scurrying down the hallway and towards your room.

The next day feels like any other, though you are sore and bruised, you can’t help the anticipation of seeing the Cardinal again in your next lesson.

“Sorella!” 

The voice startles you and you turn to see Papa Terzo heading your way, a bouquet of flowers in his hand as he comes down the hallway. He stops in front of you, gives an overdramatic bow that you cannot help but smile at. He proffers the flowers with a flourish.

“For you, bella!” he says. “I saw them out in the garden and had to pick them for you.” They’re dozens of red roses all neatly wrapped. “Did you wrap and add the card yourself too, Papa?”

“Si, si,” he says seriously but then he winks, earning a small laugh from you. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl!”

You spy Secondo heading your way as well and try not to let any embarrassment mar your features. There is no way he could possibly know what happened last night. He's scowling but he always looks like that so it’s hard to tell if he is actually upset or not. He gives you a polite nod.

“Sorella,” he greets with a small nod at you before glaring at his brother. “Idiota.”

“Secondo,” replies Papa Terzo, “as you can see I am busy talking to the lovely Sorella, andare via.” The older Papa sighs. “Non si disturbi.”

“Eh?” “Il ratto ti ha battuto.”

Terzo’s face immediately goes from charming to enraged. “Il ratto?”

It feels like both men have suddenly forgotten you are standing there. You do not wish to simply leave and so you stand there awkwardly, wondering if you should tell them you know of their ridiculous bet.

“Si,” says Secondo as Terzo starts to go red around the ears, “quel bastardo l'ha fottuta nel confessionale ieri sera.”

“Pah! Sta mentendo. Non può farmi questo... di nuovo!”

Secondo ignores his brother’s outburst and looks at you. His voice is much softer than how he addressed Terzo when he asks, “Sorella, I trust your confession last night with the Cardinal was rewarding?”

Your face colours immediately and you stammer out a reply. “Yes, Papa, it was.”

“Vedi,” he says to Terzo with a half hearted shrug. “La ragazza sembrava completamente fottuta e lui ne era completamente compiaciuto, il bastardo. Inoltre, entrambi puzzavano di sesso, Terzo. Non userò il confessionale finché non sarà pulito.”

Terzo glares at the ground. “Cazzo.”

“Mmm. È sempre molto più bravo con quelli silenziosi di te, quella piccola merda.”

They both look at you and you stand there awkwardly. Maybe you should say something and tell them you are flattered but they should not be betting on such things. But before you can even muster the words, Terzo gives you a tight smile.

“Forgive me, bella, but it seems there is a rat problem I must deal with.”

You watch them walk away, bickering in fast Italian to each other, as you stand there utterly confused.

andare via - go away Non si disturbi - Do not bother Il ratto ti ha battuto - The rat beat you Si, quel bastardo l'ha fottuta nel confessionale ieri sera. - Yes, that bastard fucked her in the confessional last night. Sta mentendo. Non può farmi questo... di nuovo! - He’s lying. He can’t do this to me…again! Vedi - You see? La ragazza sembrava completamente fottuta e lui ne era completamente compiaciuto, il bastardo. Inoltre, entrambi puzzavano di sesso, Terzo. Non userò il confessionale finché non sarà pulito. - The girl looked thoroughly fucked and he was utterly smug about it, the bastard. Also, they both reeked of sex, Terzo. I am not using the confessional until it’s cleaned. È sempre molto più bravo con quelli silenziosi di te, quella piccola merda - He’s always much better with the quiet ones than you are, that little shit.

[sparklingblu]

Parádeisos

Miyeon X Male Reader

(Wrote this one based on the tale of Calypso in the Odyssey, bear with my obsession of mythologies)

People call Helen of Troy the face that launched a thousand ships.

That's because they have never seen Miyeon.

Not like you have any idea what Helen looks like. But if a hundred thousand people go to war for her, she must have been a pretty big deal. You would do the same thing for Miyeon. But there isn't anyone who will steal her to start a war or rather, no one can't. That's her problem.

As you stared at her amidst the lush grass under the shade of the trees, you couldn't help but admire how she looked so ethereal, almost inhuman. The way her hair fluttered in the breeze, the delicate fabric of her dress hugging her frame, her eyes that reflected the color of the summer sky. All seemed perfectly orchestrated to capture your attention like a snare and pulled you in deeper like a vortex.

She plucked a flower with her slender fingers and a faint smile crept across her face. You were glad because she rarely smiled, always foreboding with a mysterious expression with her brows furrowed. You wanted to help her except that when you tried to talk to her, she became silent. A few words here, a few words there. Never enough to make a conversation. At this point, you are certain she hated you.

As if to prove your point, she met your gaze with a scowl and tured her attention back towards another organism that wouldn't bother her unlike you. You sighed, shifting your body to turn towards the wide blue sea that seemed to stretch endlessly. The occasional waves rising and falling, sweeping away the white sand of the beach, glittering in the sunlight like diamonds. The crest of the hill surrounding the slopy geography of the island on either sides slithered down smoothly to encircle the beach at either sides.

It's an absolutely panoramic view and you could stare at it for hours. But that's what you had been doing for god knows how long. "Time flows differently here" Miyeon had said. For the love of god, you could have been stranded on this island for a millennia. Everyone in the outside world you know gone forever.

Considering, they even remember you exist. You have never been much of a social type. You were sitting in a corner at prom, sipping on coke when others danced around with their dates. That doesn't mean you are a nerd either. Sure, you studied and your grades weren't bad but not enough to be considered a geek.

You grew up, graduated with a major in Classics and through highs and lows became a professor at a relatively young age. Things were starting to look good when you got a call from a University in another city, telling you you have been chosen. You got on a plane a week later, headed to a new start. Nothing could go wrong, right?

Except that everything did. The first thing you remember is the way the plane suddenly jerked. Then came the sound of the air hostess on the intercom and the flashing emergency lights. You held on to your oxygen mask and prayed to whatever god is out there as the jet spiralled to a free fall. Your internal organs felt like they were on fire.

The sound of the aircraft colliding to a surface of water is the last thing on your mind before you passed out.

Dead would have been a luxury compared to the agonizing pain that accompanied your wake. The first thing on your mind, of course, I'm alive. Then you opened your eyes and started doubting.

The warm glow of the fire in the hearth and the crackling firewood sent a wave of relief over your psyche. You were lying in a bed so fluffy it could have been a cloud. Pulling down the sheets, you sat up.

The faint smell of a stew brewing greets your nostrils, churning your stomach. How long have you been out without food or water? You were clueless.

The rest of the room is circular, the walls solid rock. Countless little crystals the size of your fist glowing like fireflies were embedded in the ceiling, casting an eerie gloom over the cave, making the shadows dance. You have watched in a tv show that Heaven is where you stay in your happiest moments forever. This was not so far from it.

You have always imagined living in a little house by the ocean, free from the hustle of the outside world. Just reading a good book and basking under the sun everyday. Is that it? Have you achieved that?

Out of the corner of your eyes, a shadow slithered across the wall, making you jerk your head to the other side.

And god, you finally believed you are in Heaven. Because there was an angel.

Near the foot of your bed stood a girl. Her doe eyes slowly studying you like an interesting specimen. She blinked and her eyelids flattered gracefully. The smell of the stew got stronger and you realized she is holding a tray with a bowl in it, which, no doubt, contained the stew. She held it far enough not to stain her white column dress, which accentuated her curves in the most elegant way possible. Her long blonde hair was swept to one side of her shoulder, up to her collar bones. Her rosy lips unfolded.

"You are awake"

Just three words but melodic enough to pull you back into reality.

"Yeah...where am I?" You uttered, hoping the answer is Heaven.

"Ogygia" she mused.

"Ogygia? Like the one where Odysseus..?"

"Yes" she nodded.

"But it's not real" You protested.

"It is" she retorted with an expression like she was offended. "You are at the heart of it"

"So...that means you are...?"

"Enough questions" she snapped, placing a bow on a low stool that had somehow magically appeared.

"Have some. It will heal you" she said, though her tone didn't sound so enthusiastic. "I will check on you later" And just like that she walked out from an opening at the corner.

You might as well have been dreaming. You are in Ogygia? That's impossible. It doesn't really exist. Or does it?

The story from the Odyssey, an extremely long poem by Homer that you learned back in university rushed back to you. So basically, there's a hero name Odysseus and he went on quests and all. Then at some point, he got stranded on an island called Ogygia where he met a nymph named Calypso, who was punished by the gods for a reason(it will be too long to explain so let's just skip it) and damned to stay there forever. Immortal but unable to leave.

Calypso kept Odysseus on the island for seven years, trying to win his heart but he was either faithful to his wife or just in general hate nymphs. He rejected her everytime until he was finally able to leave the island.

A tragic tale. But that's all to it. It's a tale. If this island is Ogygia, does it mean the girl is Calypso? She doesn't look much like a nymph but god, she is beautiful. Maybe Odysseus was stupid enough to turn down such a beauty.

But that's a matter to deal with later. Currently, your stomach was growling like a wild beast and the smell of the stew is the only thing on your mind. You picked up the bowl and took a spoonful. A warm feeling spread through your core, easing the pain earlier. It tasted a bit like chicken but you couldn't be sure. You dug in, until the bowl left no evidence of the stew and your hunger was qenched.

Calypso or whoever the girl is didn't seem too happy with your arrival but you felt thankful. She took you in afterall, though you were not sure how you ended up here in the first place. You doubt you were worthy like Odysseus to be saved by the gods.

The stew seemed to be working its magic because you started to feel drowsy. Your eyelids felt weighted down by hundred pounds of iron. You set the bowl back on the stool and submerged yourself back in the warm embrace of the sheets.

-

You didn't know how long you slept but when you open your eyes again, the fire in the hearth had been put out and the crystals in the ceiling have sheathed their glow. A ray of sunlight poured through a hatch in the ceiling.

All your fatigue had been replaced by a new kind of energy. You felt like you could outrun a stallion. (Well, not literally) You got up and stretched. To your surprise, you were wearing the same clothes before your plane crashed. They looked no different from before, cleaner even.

Maybe the girl have washed them? A tinge of excitement ran through your spine. But it quickly disappeared when you remembered she didn't even seem to want to be near you, much less took off your clothes.

You walked through the opening through which the girl had went out before you fell asleep. It opened up into another part of the cave. This one much wider.

A small bed almost identical to the one you slept in lied on one side and a loom on the other. On its side laid stacks of fabrics of different textures and colors. So she's a weaver, you thought.

There was an opening at the end of the cave, giving way to an endless plane of green. You emerged, and the view left you breathless.

As far as your eyes could see, the ocean stretched all around the island. The cave was on a hill, which descended to another hill then to a beach of sparkling white sand.

The most intriguing of all, however, was the garden which stood atop a nearby hill. Filled with vegtation, orchards and endless variety of flowers you had never seen before, it looked like something straight out a fairytale.

You walked down the hill, breathing in the fresh breeze blowing from the sea. You were thinking things couldn't get any better when your eyes caught sight of a slice of heaven.

The girl was on the beach, laying on a blanket, her eyes closed. The two piece swimsuit woven of velvet hugged her body perfectly, outlining every trace of her curves. Her bosoms rised and fell with each breath she took, her flawless skin glowing luminously in the sunlight.

Did she weave that swimsuit herself? You would never know. But you are enjoying the view too much to care. Each breath of hers seemed to fuel your impulse just to walk to her, rip off that swimsuit and-

"Men are all the same"

The words snapped you out of your fantasies. She sat up and turned her head slowly to you, her brows creased.

"Stop staring" she snapped.

"Ehh....I wasn't..."

"Save it" she cut you off. "You slept like a baby"

Was that a compliment? You doubted it.

"Yeah..thanks for you know...saving me"

"I didn't have a choice" her expression turned gloomy. "Sometimes, I don't understand the gods"

"Eh...yes..." you muttered, suddenly remembering the question that has been on your mind. "So you are Calypso..?" you finally dropped it.

She scowled. "God...they still called me that" she picked up a seashell from the sand and twisted it in her fingers. "I grew tired of that name long ago"

"What should I call you then?"

"Miyeon" she answered, throwing the seashell away into the waves. "And you?"

"Gabriel" you answered. "Well, my friends call me Gabie though"

"Gabriel it is then" Miyeon said. A drop of sweat rolled down her temple and god you just wanted to-

"How do you know about me?" Miyeon asked again, crossing her legs smooth as silk.

"Someone named Homer wrote this really long poem and you are featured, you are pretty popular"

"Popular?" she scoffed. "Not for good reasons, I'm sure"

"You did keep Odysseus all to yourself for like seven years so-"

"Oh, shut up" her expression darkened on the mention of her old flame and you knew you had hit a sore spot. "That was like....three thousand years ago, I'm amazed people still talk about it"

"Well, actually I studied all about it"

Her eyebrows raised, like your words made no sense.

"You are a fool" she said. "And a pervert"

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Look, I know you have been staring at me, just because my eyes are closed doesn't mean I can't sense you"

"Can you blame me?" you asked, and now you did sound like a pervert.

She let out a chuckle. "You do have your way with words, Gabriel. However, I won't yield" She stood up, brushing off the sand from her thighs. "I guess you are stuck here with me, feel free to explore this dump. If you are hungry, there's something I made" She pointed to a wooden table in the garden. As she bent over to pick up her blanket, you were blessed with the sight of her toned ass.

"So, I can't leave....?" you asked.

"Well, you might...but it's never sure" she replied. "Enjoy doing nothing everyday"

As she walked back up the hill, your mind was left in a state of disbelief and awe.

-

So, your days on the island of Ogygia begun. And just like Miyeon said, you did almost nothing. Well, it's hard to do anything else except nothing when you were stranded on an island with no electricity or internet. If you were Miyeon, you would have died of boredom long ago even if you were immortal.

Your daily routine consisted primarily of naps and more naps. Whenever you went to your room in the cave to sleep, you never saw Miyeon in her bed. Even when it's nighttime. When you woke up in the morning, she's already in the garden or sometimes at the loom, weaving different dresses of every color. You had to admit her handiwork was impressive but you wondered what's the point of making such dresses if there's no one to show it off to. Well, there's you but it's highly unlikely.

You didn't need to worry about food. They were always on the table in the garden when you needed them. Or you could pluck a fruit from the orchard. Miyeon didn't mind.

You had gone around the island in circles. Mostly, it's hills, trees and grasses. There's a small forest at the east end but you didn't explore it just in case something dangerous lurk there. You have never been much of a fan of dark, secluded places anyway.

That left you with only one option. The beach. You would either sunbathe or just walk around idly, picking up seashells sometimes (which you threw away back into the sand later). The ocean is not bad either. The water is always the right temperature, not too hot or cold. But even swimming, one of your hobbies, become another another gruesome task to get the day by when you did it every single day.

The only silver lining is the ocassional views you get of Miyeon. When she was either sunbathing or swimming, you would sit in a shade and watched her like a film. Maybe she didn't know or she just didn't care because she never gave you a single glance.

Once, the wind blew strong, lifting her skirt up just enough for you to see her cheeks and you praised the gods.

But that's it. You just get to watch. Until now, you had never realized how internet porn is one of the greatest inventions made by humans. Jerking off to your thoughts all the time isn't really doing the job.Thankfully, you have an active imagination. Sometimes, you imagined Miyeon, riding you, sucking you off.

That lead you to wonder, does Miyeon have those urges too? Probably, seeing how she was head over heels for that Odysseus dude. So maybe, she did find a way to relieve them.

You didn't know if someone who have been imprisoned since the dawn of time knew how to masturbuate. Maybe you could teach her. If she didn't turn you into guinea pig first.

You try ticking a mark on a tree nearby with a gardening knife for each day that pass but it got hard when you sometimes fell asleep on the sand under the morning sun and woke up to be greeted by the same warm rays, feeling like you had been out for at least a week.

All this time, Miyeon and you barely interacted. You tried to start conversations, asking her if she needs help in the garden or trying to get her to teach you weaving. But of course, she simply shaked her head, not bothering to waste a word on you.

Apart from being in the middle of nowhere, you thought being ignored by the only person accompanying you is bad enough. Until the events of one night changed it all.

- × - × - ×-

The wind whistled in your ears. The pressure of the air so strong you felt like you are gonna be crashed flat. Darkness ruled every corner of your vision. You were falling, deeper and deeper into the eternal abyss. The growls of beasts echoed from the depths.

You thought you would never stop falling, until something sharp speared your chest.

You woke up with a start. You were sweating like crazy despite the breeze blowing through the hatch in the ceiling. The first dream you had had since you were here. Or rather, the first nightmare.

Feeling thirsty, you looked around for water but had no luck. Usually, Miyeon left a jug on the bedisde table but there wasn't one that night. So you got out of the bed, wiping away the sweat on your forehead.

You found your way out of the room from the glow casted by the crystals. As usual, Miyeon wasn't in bed. You looked around. No water here either. As if to mock you, an unfinished shawl in the loom depicted the shapes of blue waves.

You walked out of the cave, maybe there was some on the garden table. The night was quiet other than the chirps of cicadas. The full moon shone brilliantly on the canvas of the night sky.

Was the moon always full here? You couldn't remember. The distant sound of waves crashing and falling pierced the night.

You headed towards the garden, which beauty never ceased to amaze you. Certain types of flowers bloomed and glowed silver and gold along the path that lead straight across the place. Trees that don't exist in the outer world cast shadows across the shorter plants. It would always be a mystery how Miyeon managed to took care of all of them without fail. You were near the vineyard when you heard a faint sound from the center of the garden.

Beneath the willow tree in the heart of the garden sat a humanoid figure. Your heart skipped a beat. The fear that the nightmare earlier gave birth to still clouded your mind. You never believed such absurdities like ghosts exist but if Ogygia is real, what else could be?

Taking careful steps, you slowly approached to the source of the sound. The moonlight casted a faint glow and the scene in front of you unfolded clearly.

The person beneath the willow tree was no other than Miyeon. But a different version you have never seen before. She sat there, laying against the trunk of the old tree. Her whole body bare. Her legs spread out so obscenely yet so ethereal. The depths of her pink cavern being sown by her middle and ring fingers. She lets out a moan as equally melodic as a sonata with each thrust of fingers into her pussy. Her tits rock hard and heaving with each breath. Those doe eyes of hers that were filled with elegance were now rolled back with pure lust. Her fingers that brought life to her loom now became nothing but a mere tool for her pleasure.

As if under a spell, your gaze was rooted to the scene before you, your heart racing faster with each passing second. If someone came and make you and offer to trade immortality for this moment, you would have rejected it.

Miyeon's body started to shake violently, her toes curling and uncurling. The dripping juice from her pussy start forming a puddle on the grass. Finally, her body jerked, spraying her sweet nectar all over the green plane. She panted softly, sweat trickling down her temple, her blonde hair a messy nest.

That was when you knew you were fucked. Even if you tried to turn now, you would be in her range of sight. If you tried to hide, she could sense you. So you just stood there like a statue, not daring to breath.

Miyeon's eyes slowly opened then focused on you. An expression of pure awe formed on her face which quickly turned into one of disgust and fury.

"You!" she yelled, her voice still hoarse from the moaning earlier. "How long have you been here?"

"Don't get me wrong! I was just trying to-"

"You fucking pervert" she yelled, trying to cover up her assets with her hands. Her brows furrowed and If looks could kill, you would have been dead a thousand times.

"It was an accident, ok? I'm not trying to peek on you. I was justrying to get some water"

"That's your excuse!?" she shriek, her tone no longer mellow. "I should have left you to die on the beach if I have known you are a creep"

"Look, Miyeon. I swear I wasn't trying to-"

"Oh, then what's that?" she pointed below your waist.

You looked down and notice the bulge. Your cock so hard it feels like it's gonna pierce your trousers. You shouldn't have but you blushed.

"Look, I can explain"

"You don't need to explain, get out of here. Leave my island!"

"Wait but how-"

"Leave me alone!" she yelled so loud you thought the ground is going to crack open.

"Fine fine" you replied in a rush and walked out of the garden as swift as you could.

However, the scene you witnessed was embedded in your memory for as long as you live. The way the moonlight showered on her skin, the pure baloney of the hidden side of Miyeon that you never knew exist. The way she reacted was totally opposite from her graceful and tranquil manner. She looked like she was about to kill you and you believed she could.

The silver lining? You knew she did masturbuate now, which meaned she has sexual urges just like anyone. This would have made you hopeful but after what happened, it didn't seem to matter. She hated you now. If you were to wake up as a guinea pig the next day, it wouldn't be a surprise.

With a heavy burden on your mind, you sighed and headed back to the cave.

- × - × - ×-

Your train of thoughts were cut off by a melody that graced your ears. Miyeon was singing. You had heard her sweet voice many times but it never failed to grip your heart. It was just the perfect balance of harmony and rhythm. Most of the times, you don't understand a word she is singing. But you can swear you heard her sang Love Story by Taylor Swift once. You have no clue how she even knew the song.

Miyeon continued her song while she picked flowers of various colors from the garden. A tulip here, a lily there. And another one you don't know the name of. Regardless, her movement were as poised as ever, which brought back the memory of that night.

Since the day of the incident, Miyeon have not uttered a single word to you. She still made you food and occasionally weaved new clothes for you but whenever your gazes met, she would either avert her eyes or scowled.

As the time went on, the silence became unbearable. Sure, she didn't speak to you much before. But it wasn't total silence. Now, you felt like she had ignored your existence which she probably did. It's true that you had been staring but it wasn't intentional (though it was a nice surprise). She was too consumed with rage to hear you out. At least she didn't burn you or turn you into an animal.

You thought of attempting to clear the air between you but you are worried it would push her away even further. You sometimes felt homesick, wanting to return back into the human world. But no one could help you with that, not even Miyeon. According to the myth, the gods had saved Odysseus from this island by sending Hermes, the messenger god, asking Calypso(or Miyeon, whatever) to free him. But Miyeon isn't obsessed with you like she was with Odysseus to even keep you captive. So, there isn't a need to free you. Maybe you can try building a raft and sail away. But staying here seems better instead of dying of hunger and thirst in the middle of the ocean. This island was made by the gods themselves and it can't be escaped in an ordinary way.

You are not so happy with the idea that this island made its inhabitants immortal. What's the join of being immortal if all you do is sleep, eat and swim everyday? You are stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Miyeon's singing had stopped and now her gazes were back on yours. She scowled again but this time her eyes didn't waver. She beckon you with her hand to the cave. A jolt of excitement run through your body. Is she finally forgiving you? Or she's planning to kill you in the cave.

Nevertheless, you sat up and followed her across the hills, her shapely hips swaying with every step. You entered the cave after Miyeon and found her sitting on her bed. The expression in her eyes was unreadablele.

"Look" she spoke the first words in a long time. "Maybe I overreacted"

You wanted to say "Of course, you did" but you forgot about it. "Yeah, I'm sorry too" you apologized, though a part of you didn't want to.

"I was just...you know..." A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. "Trying to...eh..."

"I get it" you said. "That's a very normal thing, humans do it too"

"I know.." she said in a low tone. "But being seemed by someone else, it's embarrassing....and..." she paused and bit her lower lips.

"And?" you asked. You expected another word of resentment but what she said surprise you.

"Hot" she replied and looked down.

You can't believe your ears. She thinks being watched is hot? Her mask of innocence was starting to unravel slowly.

"Hot...?" you mused. "So you like me watching you?"

"In a way, yes" her fingers ran along the bedsheets. "You don't know how it feels to be alone for so long without anyone. Anyone who can satisfy my urges. I try to do it myself but I'm never satisfied. I need something else.....I need...."

'A cock' you thought. All these times, she had never been anything but a cockhungry slut. You shouldn't have been intimidated by her right from the start. Afterall, you are the only one who can give her what she needs.

"I know what you need" you said. "And I have it, don't I?"

Miyeon swallowed and nodded. You had never seen her so vulnerable it give you a sense of superiority. The tables have turned.

"Look, I'm desperate. I'm sorry for the way I acted. But I can't help thinking about your....cock. Since I saw that bulge, I have been in heat" As those filthy words left her mouth, her face turns so red it could have been a tomato. "So, you know, can you...?"

"Eh....I see..." you said with a hint of mockery. "I thought you think I'm a pervert"

"That was long ago!" she quickly retorted. She's that desperate, huh? "And I apologize for it, so if you can just give me...your cock..."

"It's not something that I can just give easily. I have my pride too, you know" That's bullshit. You were just as desperate as her. But you masked it better.

"Please, I will do anything" she begged again.

"Anything?" you started imagining scenarios.

"Yes"

"Like what?"

"I...I can suck you off..." she murmured quietly.

"What was that, Miyeon?"

"I will give you a blowjob" she said, much louder this time.

The corners of your mouth twitched into a wicked smile.

"Hmm, I don't know....is it really worth it?" you pushed her even farther.

"Please, I will make sure you are satisfied. You can cum wherever you want"

The idea of her perfect body covered in cum finally lead you to your decision.

"Alright but I will leave if you are not good"

"I promise!"

"Fine..."

"Please lay on the bed" she said, gesturing towards her bed.

You follow her orders, sinking into the feather bed. Miyeon slowly crawled up your legs until she reached your crotch area. She traced her fingers along your already bulging cock like it's something delicate.

"Finally..." she murmured dreamily as she slowly pulled down your pants and it sprung up to hit her in the nose.

"This smell..." she brushed her nose against the underside of your shaft. Then she pressed it to her cheeks, making her head look so much smaller. "So big..."

Finally, she started planting wet kisses along the side of your cock, sending a jolt to your spine each time. Those rosy lips of hers brushing against your unholiest place. After she pestered your shaft with kisses, she moved to the tip, where she trailed her tongue slowly across the sensitive slit then swirling her tongue.

"God, Miyeon, don't stop..." you tried not to sound desperate but it gets harder with each dance of her tongue.

She slowly started to take your tip into the warm embrace of her mouth, moving her head in a constant pace. Her fingers stroke from the base to her lips, then back again. The way her fingers move is just as masterful as the time she weaved, tracing every pulsing vein.

Her lips opened up to take more of your cock, half of it now being licked and gobbled in her warm cavern. Her pace increased, matching the rhythm of her fingers. The sound of spit squelching echo around the room. Each time your cock disappeared into her mouth, she would hum, sending vibrations across your shaft.

With each twirl and twist of her tongue, her pace increased even more. She had swallowed most of your cock now and her hands were on your thigh, holding on for support.

"Mmmphh" she mewled as your whole manhood disappeared into her mouth and her nose pressed right against your pelvis. She held you in her throat for a moment before she comes up for air, gagging and spilling spit. After a second of rest, she went down again, swallowing you like a vulture. Her blonde hair bobbed with each movement of her head. You realize her mouth does more than just sing. Her tongue is no less masterful as it traced along the underside and dance on your tip.

You fetl like your body is floating. The pleasure of her mouth made you yearn for it more and more. You didn't want this feeling of pure bliss to stop.

Her cheeks hollowed, sucking the life right out of you as her tongue greedily lapped up your precum. You were not a virgin and you had had your fair share of experience but the way her mouth worked is out of this world. (It literally is) She came up for air again, her chin dripping with her spit mixed with your precum.

"Ugh......so... juicy....." she panted s she looked at you with eyes full of ecstasy. And that look reminded you, you need her mouth back on your cock right now.

Without warning, you grabbed her hair and impale her mouth on your cock, stuffing her throat with your length. She struggled at first then calms down, as you hold her there, your fingers tangled in her locks. Her throat pulsed against your own pulsing cock, squeezing your tip.

"You don't stop unless I tell you to, ok?" you demanded.

She nodded furiously, feeling the lack of air as your cock blocks all her pathways of oxygen. You jerked her head up from her hair, look at her ruined face, then pressed it onto your cock again. You repeated the motion rapidly, using her like a fleshlight.

As he throat constricted around your mamba, you started feeling the familiar sensation of the finale approaching to this act. There's so many ways to fill Miyeon up or paint her. Then an idea came to your mind.

You stop thrusting Miyeon's mouth on your cock and let go of her hair. Her head tilted ninety degrees, gagging loudly then coughing.

"Miyeon. lay on the bed sideways but hang your head off the sides" you ordered as you get off the bed and Miyeon complied, shifting her position so that her head now hanged loosely from the side of the bed.

"Good slut" you praised as you take your position in front of her, gripping her throat and shoving your dick all the way in. Your balls slapped her nose and her eyes widened but then relaxed. You started thrusting your cock into her wet vulgar hole, admiring how her thraot bulged from the foreign object entering it.

Miyeon let you use her hole without complaint, lying there still as you get closer to nirvana with each thrust. You pulled your cock out all the way then back in with so much force, Miyeon's body jerked.

"Miyeon. I'm gonna..."

Your flood gates broke open. You shoot load after load of thick cum into Miyeon's throat, which she gulped down eagerly. But it must have been too much, because she started to cough, which is hard to do with a cock in her throat. She could drown in your cum, she asked for it. You kept thrusting until you finally came down from your euphoric high.

You pulled out your cock and the mixture of spit and cum flowed down from her mouth to every part of her angelic face. She murmurs in a ragged voice. "Thanks..."

"You are welcome" you said, admiring the beauitful mess, which is Miyeon. Her chest heaving and her mouth gaped open like a fish. Her face covered in spit.

She started to get up from her position, her hands pressed against the bed for support, but you had other ideas. As she was just getting off the bed, you pushed her head back down into the mattress, her lower body dangling from the side of the bed.

You pushed her head deeper into the mattress muffling her scream. With the other hand, you pulled up her white dress from the hem, exposing her round ass.

"Gosh, you are already so wet"

You saidbas you collected the juice within her folds with your middle finger and shoved it into her asshole, which clenched it down in a vice grip. You pull your finger free from her grasp then shoved it into her ass again.

As you finger her asshole, her pussy dripped even more, flowing steadily down to her bedsheet, staning it with her juice.

"Are you turning on from getting your ass fingered?" you asked. She replied in something that sounded like "Mmmf....umff".

"You must be desperate, huh? How long has it been since these holes are filled?"

You pull out your finger and slaped er ass, making her cheeks jiggle. You groped her ass some more, before you shove two fingers into her wet folds, extracting another inaudible sound from Miyeon.

You started pumping your fingers, gliding them in and out of her cavern. It clenchednon you tight like it's worried your fingers will stop thrusting. But she didn't need to worry because you were not going to leave the wet goodness of her hole anytime soon.

Miyeon let out more muffled moans and her body writhed like she was being tasered. But that's not so far from the truth because your fingers are sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through her.

With your free hand, you slapped her ass again, the way it wriggle almost hypnotic. The white backdrop of her skin marked with your handprints. You brought your palm down again and again, until her ass becomes nothing but a crimson plane.

"Look how much you are dripping. Do you like being spanked that much? No wonder Odysseus ignored you. You are such a whore"

Miyeon is no longer protesting, not even muffled sounds escaped her mouth anymore. She just lays there, face down ass up and let you toy with her body. The movement of your fingers became swifter, spraying juice each time they collide with Miyeon's depths.

Her pussy squelched happily each time your fingers enter, as if showing its gratitude. And it should. Miyeon had called you a pervert twice. Maybe she's right. But that pervert is the only one who can save her from her eternal damnation of the denial of pleasure. She should be thankful.Her legs started to quiver and you realized she was close. But you wouldn't be too hasty in giving her release.

You stopped, pulling out your fingers. You pulled up Miyeon's head and turned it a 180 degree, looking down at her eyes, far gone.

"Why..why do you..?"

Her protested are quickly cut out by your tongue which entered her mouth, swirling and tasting every inch of her another hole, which you just filled up with your cum a while ago. But you didn't care. Her lips feel velvety, just like all those fabrics she weaves. The tenderness of it got you asking for more. Miyeon returns the action by wrapping her own tongue around yours. It took two to tango after all.

Your other hand reached for her clothed boobs, pushing out from the textile of her dress. Miyeon's bosom is not one you can call big but they are not tiny either. It's just perfect enough for you to grope and pinch her nipples, already rock hard from the stimulation.

You pulled back, a trail of saliva glistening between her lips and yours. She looked at you with those needy eyes of hers, begging you to give her the release she desperately needs.

"Please...I....I need to cum..." she mummuredm She looked so pathetic you almost felt sorry. But after the treatment she had given you all those time, why should you be?

"Look at you, begging to me" you mocked. "Miyeon, you are nothing but a cockhungry whore, admit it"

Her face flared up. Then she tried to hide it and fails.

"I'm not a whore....I just need..."

"If you keep lying to yourself, you will never get the reward you seek from me"

"But I'm not a whore..."

You chuckled. "Aren't you the one who asked me for my cock? Beg me to taste it. Hell, you have been a whore since the beginning of time, falling for every man who ends up here"

Her expression turned confused, like she's debating with herself on your words. Finally, she spoke again.

"I.....I'm not falling for you. I don't even like you"

Oh, now she wanted to play it rough.

"Is that so? Then I guess you don't need me"

You turned to leave, which is all a trap to lure Miyeon to your dungeon of lust. And she fell right into it.

"Wait!" she called. "Don't leave"

You turn your head and raised an eyebrow. She was sitting on the bed now, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

"I....I will say what you want me to, so please don't leave"

"And what will you say?"

"I...I'm a....whore" Her voice reduced to a whisper at the last word. She looked own, her face burning with shame.

"I can't quite hear you from here"

"I'm a...whore" she said again, a bit louder than the last time. But you were not satisfied.

"Still can't hear you"

"I'm a whore!" she shrieked much to your surprise. "I need your cock so please use me"

You had done something that no one had ever achieved. You had ripped Miyeon of whatever remnanta she left of her pride, dginity and grace she had feigned all this time. Now she's no different from a typical whore who will let you use her for money. In Miyeon's case, she didn't need money. She needed your cock.

"That's more like it, no need to be shy" You walked up to her and hold her chin between your thumb and index fingers, admiring the angleic features of her face, from her aquiline nose to her sharp chin. A drop of cum from earlier still hanged on one of her eyebrows.

"Show me that ass" you ordered and she doesn't complain, getting on all fours and raising her ass for your eyes, her dress becoming nothing but an added luxury for you to feast on.

You got behind her and hiked up her dress to her waist, giving you full access to her ass. You dug a finger into her pussy, retractedband licked her juice off it. Maybe it's a nymph thing or you are just overwhelmed with desire but it's the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

"Please, I need your cock inside me" Miyeon whined again, no longer hiding her desperation.

"Patience, slut" That came out so lame you promise yourself not to say that ever again.

You lined up the tip of your cock to her pussy, which was already convulsing with anticipation. In the beginning, you just pushed in your tip, testing the waters. Her pussy was wet enough you don't need to put any extra effort. You don't know if she is a virgin with the way her walls hugged you and gripped you like they are familiar with the alien object entering it but that's a question for another time. For now, you only have a single task to complete, filling her up.

"More..." Miyeon pleaded. That breathy voice of her with a hint of melancholy is what ignited the flame inside you.

With no further words, you pushed you whole length into her opening and she letbout a guttural moan. The way her walls swallowed your manhood leaves you struggling not to make a sound.

"Fuck, Miyeon, you are so tight..."

"Yes, fuck my tight pussy, I need your cock pounding me"

With each vulgar word that left her mouth, Miyeon push her hips back, trying to fuck herself on your cock. But you were going to be the one in charge. You held her tiny waist, stopping her from going further.

"I'm gonna fuck you, not the opposite, remember?"

"Yes..yes, sorry. I just need it...Hhng!"

Her apology was cut short when you start bucking your hips slowly, getting your cock accustomed to her wet cavern. Each thrust left you feeling breathless, the friction against her slick walls like no other feeling you have experienced. At this moment, you feel like you are the luckiest (and only) person on Ogygia.

Miyeon's moans grew louder with each pump of your cock, occassionally begging you for more. But she didn't need to because you are going to give her your all, satisfying the needs of her pussy that haven't been fucked properly for eternity.

So you picked up the tempo, waves rippling across her ass each time you thrusted into her. If her pussy was wet before, now it's a river, juice flying everywhere with each thrust you gave her. And she tool it like a champ. You think you eere going fast enough but she kept begging for more, to ruin her, to pound her into oblivion.

And who are you not to comply when you were held captive in the most heavenly place of the most beautiful woman(or nymph, whatever) you have ever seen. You channeledbevery single ounce of energy into pounding Miyeon's pussy and the effort started heating your body up, your hair slick with sweat.

Miyeon's not so different. Her dress is sticking to her skin with her own bodily fluid while she closed her eyes, drinking up the ecstasy only your cock could give her.

You wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her back against your chest, tracing your tongue across her ear while the rhythm of your cock remained unwavering. She tilted her neck to one side, beckoning you to taste her even more and you obliged, licking across her jaw up to her temple.

"Mhmm....yes, just like that....god, don't stop.."

You helpee her pull off her dress completely to have full access to her goddess like body. You cup your hands on her boobs, which are so soft they can melt from your touch. You squeezed and kneaded, adding a side dish of pleasure to the main course of your cock against her pussy.

You let a hand travel down between her legs and there you attacked her weak spot, rubbing her clit. Miyeon's eyes widened at your ambush and her body start to shake violently. You pinched her nipple and she lets out the most euphonius of squirms, which graced your ears like a melody. Miyeon was so overcome with pleasure, she no longer seem to be aware of her own actions. She bucked her hips back each time you pull back your cock, wanting to be filled up at every millisecond. Her milky white was now glistening from all the sweat dripping down from the heat of the moment.

The deadly combination of your fingers and cock finally let her to her orgasm. She moaned at the top of her lungs, juice spilling out of her holes like a dam breaking open. Through her high, you keep fucking her, bringing you closer and closer to your own climax.

"Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me"

Miyeon cries as your cock kept burying into her to the hilt and back even after she had cummed. Her body twitched and writhed with each thrust her now sensitive pussy took. You were not so far from following Miyeon, the clench of her walls driving you to the finish line until...

"God, yes, fill me up. Cum inside me. Fill your slut with cum"

Miyeon screams as you finally deposited your load into her cunt, sending shots after shots of thick white liquid into her. Your hips bucked wildy, filling her up with each movement. The bliss that you felt is phenomenal, out of this world. Arcs of pleasure coursed through your veins like electricity. You finally come to a halt, panting. You slapped her ass one last time and pull out.

"Oh, god....." Miyeon panted as she lays there on the bed like a broken doll, her face that of pure satisfaction. Her pussy leaked a steady stream of your cum down to her sheets, which were already filthy enough with her spit and juice. But that's what she wanted. She's a slut afterall.

"You are welcome" you said as your body suddenly grew tired from the intense session you went through. You sat down at the foot of the bed, closing your eyes, steadying your breathing. Your mind was still in a state of bliss, imagining what to do with Miyeon next after you recharged again. But for now, you needed rest and you were too tired to walk back to your own bedroom. So, you rested your back against the bed, dozing off.

- × - × - ×-

"Mister?" a female voice rings in your ears.

You open your eyes, an air hostess is looking at you like a pest, unwanted.

"What..what?" you mutter drowsily.

Her eyes glitter with amusement when you yawn.

"We have landed, we have been trying to wake you for fifteen minutes. We thought something happened to you. We have even called the medics"

"Fifteen minutes?" you looked around the empty aircraft, deprived of passengers.

"And you were mummuring some words like... Ogygia and Calypso?"

Your face flushed and look down at the book on your lap, half opened. "The Odyssey" said the cover. "Odysseus and the island of Ogygia" said the title of the chapter on the right page.

It was all a dream. A product of your arousal and obsession. It felt so real, however, you start thinking maybe you really have been to Ogygia and Miyeon have somehow returned you back here.

But that's a fantasy. Just like the photos of Miyeon that filled your gallery, your obsession. Despite the madness, you grin and the air hostess stares at you, her mouth gape open.

"Sorry" you apologize, stading up. Your phone chimes and you look down, only to be greeted by your wallpaper of Miyeon, your own version of Calypso.

This is going to be a long day.

-x-x-x-

(Wrote this a bit longer than I intended to. Thanks for reading as always~)

[superblysubpar]

<- part four | part six -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve and you are working late.

the song: Cinema by Harry Styles

2,236 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of injury/blood | my blog is 18+

AN: I cannot believe there’s only four chapters left to share of this! Thanks for being here and your continued support of this story 💛Also, no hate to the peaches smelling community, I love that smell just as much as Steve Harrington, just for the purposes of this fic we hate it, of course.

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

  “Yeah? Well, you’d know all about stupid, Harrington.”

  And then you pushed off, the call of your name drowned out by the wind rushing past your ears. 

  It was quick, you blinked and you were already halfway down, stomach swooping as you dropped lower and lower too fast, the gravel no longer a looming, far off thing, but almost right in front of you. Some part of you registered the shout of your name, still sounding close, which would be impossible, unless-

  His bike was next to yours, his cheeks pink as you risked a glance over and shouted, “What the hell are you-”

  Steve swore, said your name, and then you both hit gravel. Rocks and dirt kicked up and hit your bare legs like little knives slicing through your skin that made you yelp. Your handle bars shook, your grip loosening against your will and that was all it took for the destroyer to take you out. 

  Something stung, something snapped, something really, really hurt, and you were blinking up at the bright blue, cloudless Summer sky, breathing hard as hot tears started to pour out over your cheeks. 

  “St-Steve,” you hiccupped, trying to hold in the real tears that threatened to make you start sobbing and the gravel next to you crunched as he scrambled over and you gasped for a deeper breath, “I…I think I…my ankle hurts.”

  His voice was strained, heated, and tight, “I told you, look, now you’re hurt and…” he stopped though, seeing the tears on your cheeks and how your eyes went wide when they looked up at him. Bright red, and matting his hair down against his skin, a big gash on Steve’s forehead was bleeding. 

  “What?” He blinked at you.

  Your mouth fell open, gesturing to it, “Steve, you don’t feel that? Are you okay?”

  He pressed his fingers to his forehead and winced and your body filled with rage, more tears spilling out of you as you yelled. 

  “Why’d you come after me!”

  Steve blinked at your volume, his lips pulling down in a hard frown as his own voice raised. 

  “You were gonna get hurt so I-”

  “What, you had to get hurt too then?”

  Steve shook his head, looking away from you and gingerly reaching out to prop your leg up on his thigh, bloody knuckles and shredded skin on his palms as he curled his fingers around your calf. He looked up the hill to make sure someone was getting help. He laughed, looking back at you with a cold gaze. 

  “Are you seriously making this a competition, right now? While your ankle is sprained or worse and my head is bleeding? Seriously?”

  “Well, why the hell else would you come after me? You just couldn’t let me be the winner, right Harrington? Couldn’t let the stupid girl show you up in front of all your friends, huh?”

  Steve blinked at you, gaze roaming over your face before he shook his head. 

  “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

  Hawkins, Indiana - Friday

  Eddie sits across from you in silence, brown eyes blinking rapidly.

  “How are we doing over here?” The waitress asks, refilling your coffee mugs, eying the silent boy.

  “Oh we’re fine. He’s just processing something, can I get a slice of the lemon pie?”

  “Su-“

  “You - can you have what?” Eddie asks, shocked. He waves his hands in the air, his head shakes from side to side, dark brown waves whipping over his face as he loudly declares with a broad gesture of his hands, “Nope. No. You did not share a milkshake with Steve Harrington!”

  “Wanna say it a little louder, I think there’s a few people over in Chicago who only got ever other word!” You hiss at him, leaning forward.

  Eddie laughs, scoffs, into his coffee mug but sets it down before he can even take a sip. He narrows his eyes at you and leans on his folded arms on the table. “Sweetheart, I was sort of joking last night. I thought this would be funny, maybe you’d come around to seeing he’s not as much of an asshole as you’ve convinced yourself he is, but overall, I was gonna sit back and enjoy the show of you two going at it like you always do. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with the guy and make googly eyes and play footsie at the diner!”

  “First of all,” you growl, but then smile as the waitress drops off the pie. You wait till she’s out of ear shot to continue, “The only reason I was at this diner, with Steve, was because of you-“

  “Details,” he waves you off, sipping his coffee with an eye roll.

  “-And I’m not in love with him. I…” you trail off, fork stabbing the pie as you force out, “I hate him.”

  “Okay,” Eddie nods, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes, sarcasm dripping from the word. 

  “I do!” You shout, then glance around and lower your voice. “I do. I hate him. I hate how he flirts with anything that giggles and smells like peaches. I hate how he drums on the counter when he has a song stuck in his head and whistles while he restocks the shelves. I hate how he always manages to have some sort of food on his chin or cheek or lips. I hate that he’s a cocky,” you cut a huge chunk of the pie with the side of your fork as you emphasize, “Stubborn,” you stab the bite, “Winning obsessed, thinks he’s never wrong, jerk.”

  Your eyes close around the bite of the pie, tart lemon and sweet crust on your tongue hard to swallow because he’s right.

  It’s good.

  And as the sour and sweet dessert rolls over your tastebuds, you know you don’t hate him. You don’t hate how he flirts, you hate that it’s with anyone but you. You don’t hate that he drums or whistles, you hate that you don’t always know the song, and it has you wondering what he listens to - or worse, you do know the song, and of course you like it. You hate that when he gets food on his face, you just want to lick it off. You hate that because he’s just as stubborn and winning obsessed as you, you always have someone to challenge you - to make you try harder, do better. 

  Your eyes open to find Eddie staring at you with raised eyebrows and folded hands.

  “How’s that taste of reality pie going over?”

  You groan, hands over your eyes as you speak softly, “I don’t want to like him, Eddie. I don’t. I can’t.”

  “You do,” Eddie corrects just as softly. He pulls at one of your hands, tugging it off of your face so he can look you in the eyes as he asks, “Why can’t you like him? A real reason this time.”

  Your fork picks at the pie crust, lip worried between your teeth as you think of all the reasons you don’t like Steve.

  There aren’t many - not real reasons at least. 

  Eddie sighs, “Look,” he waves his hands in front of him, “I’m not saying you’ve created this personal vendetta against a guy who was twelve and didn’t want to lose face in front of his friends, but,” he leans forward and shrugs, “Steve Harrington is not a twelve year old idiot anymore. And what’s he actually done that’s been so bad?”

  He lets his words sink in and he taps the table after a minute, joking, “Just don’t sleep with the guy till Sunday, for me, please?”

  But that’s it, isn’t it? 

  As Eddie heads over to the counter to pay, the reminder of the bet makes the lemon in your stomach sour, any sweetness overpowered.  

  Maybe it was all just a game to Steve still. Maybe your walls had been genuinely crumbling, but maybe that was just because Steve Harrington had expert precision on delivering his blows to it. 

  You haven’t looked him in the eye the entire shift. 

  It was bad enough, that when you got dropped off by Eddie, you hopped out of his van wearing a cherry red sundress and only gave a short smile to him when he said hi. A ‘fine’ when he asked how your head was. 

  You’d nodded as you slipped the green vest over your dress, intently listening while Robin filled you in on everything the pair accomplished all morning. 

  He worked harder than he has ever for Keith, so you and him wouldn’t have much to do other than deal with the late night shipment arriving. 

  But you found things to do. 

  The front window displays were cleaned, windows thoroughly scrubbed, then reset. The dollar rental bin reorganized, new movies added to fill the gaps. You dusted shelves, you filed paperwork that had already been filed. And every time he tried to ask you a question, to talk, you gave bare minimum answers, keeping your eyes off of him.

  Maybe, last night, you were only wearing his sweatshirt because it was the first thing you saw, a coincidence. Maybe, you were awake when he kissed your cheek, and you really didn’t like it. Maybe…

  Maybe he’s read this entire week completely wrong. 

  Maybe you’re really never going to give him a chance. 

  He swallows, restocking candy, fingers lingering on the M&M’s, desperate for comfort food, to over analyze and annoy Robin about this all night and make her tell him it’s fine. Plenty of fish in the sea. Just keep being yourself. 

  Steve grabs the phone and looks over at you walking down the horror aisle, checking things on a clipboard he’s already checked. 

  “Hey,” he calls out.

  You ignore him.

  He huffs as he leans onto the counter, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, watching you as he loudly says, “Yeah, hi, this is Steve Harrington. I’m calling in regards to my manager, maybe you know her?”

  You look up at him for the first time the entire shift, frowning. He keeps going.

  “Yeah, she seems to not have come into work today? This girl who won’t look me in the eyes and barely speaks to me has replaced her and I’d do anything to get the real her back, even if she’s yelling at me about her precious Red Vines.”

  You roll your eyes and walk past the counter, into the back room. 

  Steve frowns at the open door, slamming the phone down as he does. He stomps into the semi-office-semi-break room to find you starting to run the coffee pot through a cleaning cycle.

  “That’s it!” He stands with his hands on his hips as your shoulders jump. “What did I do this time?”

  “What?” You spin to face him, crossing your arms over your dress, which only serves to torture him with the way it emphasizes the low cut of it.  

  “What do you mean what? You know what I’m talking about! You won’t look me in the eye, you won’t talk to me! Baby, what could I have possibly done in the time you were sleeping or before you got here to upset you?”

  “I-“

  Steve steps closer to you, running a hand through his hair, before talking loudly with his hand hitting his palm to emphasize each point, “I worked my ass off all morning to impress you, like an idiot! I-I thought, last night…” He waves his hands around, shaking the thought away as he continues to get closer, to only speak louder, “I deserve the cold shoulder most days, I get it, you hate me, for whatever reason, but after last night, I’d like to think that-“

  “What you deserve, is nothing,” you scoff, taking your own step closer, skin too warm in the badly ventilated back room, skin already sticky with sweat. 

  “Excuse me?” He asks, incredulous. 

  It’s too hot back here. Your chest heaves, he watches a bead of sweat travel down your throat. 

  “You don’t deserve anything just because you did your job, congratulations by the way, on being a normal, functioning human being,” you add sarcastically before continuing, “And you especially don’t deserve anything because you were a little worried about me last night, Harrington!”

  “A little? A little?! Honey, I’ve never been more scared in my life!” He shouts, hands gesturing to your forehead while you have the nerve to scowl harder at his words.

  “Oh, I’m sure, Steve, that a cut to my forehead is the most scared you’ve ever been. It has nothing to do with the big three hundred dollar question hanging in the air does it?!”

  Your bodies are close together, both of you glaring at each other as your voices only get louder. There’s a buzz in the room, a hum, like your bodies are charged, ready to strike. 

  “The bet?! That’s what you’re upset about? When are you going to get it in your stubborn-“

  “I’m not stubborn! You’re stubborn!” 

  Steve scoffs, eyes looking at your lips as the tips of his shoes touch yours, “Seriously? You’re unbelievable, I…I…” 

  “I hate you!” You shove at his chest, blinking rapidly at how close his nose is to yours. 

  He yells, not that angry, “I despise you!”

  “I detes-“

  His lips collide with yours, swallowing the words you don’t really mean. 

  Steve Harrington is kissing you.

  And you’re kissing him back. 

BICFTF Taglist: Thank you for your support 🥰

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[whereforarthur]

The Two Arthur’s

Requested by @xrubi-hillx: soft smut with ArthurTv and Arthur Hill with a virgin!reader where she’s upset after an argument with her boyfriend bc he called her a prude or smth and they try to help her and make her feel better??

Pairing: ArthurTv x Virgin!Reader x Arthur Hill

Category: Fluff and Smut

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: ArthurTv and Arthur Hill will be labeled as such to avoid confusing the two Arthur’s

*****

The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others. -Mahatma Gandhi

"You're just a prude," he spat, the venom in his words slicing through the quiet London evening.

Her cheeks burned with a mix of anger and embarrassment as she clutched her jacket closer to her body. The cobblestone streets of the bustling city felt cold and unforgiving under her trembling feet. The neon lights from the nearby pubs and shops painted the wet pavement in a sickly glow, a stark contrast to the warmth she had once felt in his arms. The argument had been a surprise, but the accusation had stung. It wasn't the first time he'd called her that, but she had hoped it would be the last.

Y/n hurried home, the chilly November air biting at her eyes as she tried to hold back the tears. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. The door to her flat swung open, revealing the welcoming embrace of ArthurTv and Arthur Hill, her two best friends, sitting on the couch with mournful expressions. They had heard the news from her frantic text message and had dropped everything to be there for her. The smell of freshly brewed tea filled the room, a beacon of comfort in the storm of her emotions.

"Hey," ArthurTv said gently, patting the couch cushion next to him. "What happened?"

Her eyes watered as she recounted the harsh words, her voice shaking with each painful syllable. Arthur Hill listened intently, his brows furrowed in concern. The silence in the room was thick with unspoken support, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the city outside.

"It's not right," Arthur Hill murmured, reaching for her hand. "You don't deserve to be talked to like that."

ArthurTv nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting the hurt he felt for her. "Exactly. You're amazing just the way you are. He's the one with the problem."

They sat there for a while, the warmth of the tea seeping into her bones and the kindness of their words soothing her soul. She took a deep breath, feeling a weight lifting from her chest. "Thanks, guys. I just don't know what to do."

ArthurTv leaned in closer, his eyes filled with understanding. "Look, you know we're here for you, right?"

"Of course," she whispered, sniffling.

"Good," Arthur Hill said firmly. "Because if he can't wait for you to be ready, then he doesn't deserve to be with you. Sex is about love and trust, not about pushing boundaries you're not comfortable with."

Her eyes searched their faces, finding the validation she desperately needed. She nodded, taking another sip of tea, the warm liquid soothing her raw throat. "You're right," she murmured. "I don't know why I let it get to me so much."

"It's because you care," ArthurTv said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But you deserve someone who worships you, not someone who belittles you."

A small smile graced her lips, the first one since the argument. She felt a spark of defiance ignite within her. "You know what? You're both right. I'm worth more than that."

Arthur Hill gave her hand a squeeze. "We're going to help you through this. You're not alone."

The boys looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. "How about we do something to take your mind off things?" ArthurTv suggested, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Like what?" she asked, hopeful for a distraction from the pain.

ArthurTv's grin grew wider. "Leave it to us. We'll show you a night you'll never forget."

*****

The two Arthur's set to work, transforming the flat into a sanctuary of pampering. They lit candles, filling the air with the sweet scent of vanilla and lavender. Soft music played in the background, a soothing melody that seemed to wrap around her like a warm blanket. They led her to the couch, where a mountain of fluffy pillows and blankets awaited. The care in their eyes was like a balm to her bruised heart.

Arthur Hill took charge, guiding her to lay down. He began to gently massage her shoulders, his strong hands working out the tension that had built up. "Just relax," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through her. The warmth of his touch was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. She closed her eyes, letting out a contented sigh.

ArthurTv emerged from the kitchen and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, setting to work on her feet. His gentle touch sent waves of comfort through her body. "We're going to make you feel like a queen," he said, smiling up at her.

The warmth of Arthur Hill's hands continued to spread down her back, kneading the knots that had formed from weeks of stress and doubt. She could feel the tension in her body begin to melt away, her muscles loosening like a tightly wound spring.

"Mm, that feels so good," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Arthur Hill's hands stilled for a moment before he resumed the massage, his touch lingering slightly longer on the nape of her neck. She shivered, feeling a tingle of something unfamiliar, yet oddly comforting. ArthurTv's eyes met hers, and she saw the same understanding reflected there. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, the air thickening with a new tension, one that was no longer just about her heartache.

Her breath hitched as Arthur Hill's thumbs traced slow circles along her collarbone, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin just above her shirt. She looked down to see ArthurTv's hands moving up her legs, his gaze never leaving hers. The candlelight danced across their faces, casting shadows that seemed to deepen the intensity of the moment.

Without a word, ArthurTv leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her ankle, his eyes never leaving hers. A jolt of heat shot through her, and she felt a flush spread from her toes to her cheeks. Arthur Hill's massage grew more intimate, his hands gliding over the fabric of her shirt, his thumbs tracing the line of her spine, sending shivers down her back.

Her heart raced as she realized the shift in their intentions. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. This was new territory, but with her two best friends, she felt safe. They had always been there for her, and she knew they would never push her further than she was willing to go.

"Are you okay with this?" ArthurTv asked, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room. His hand paused on her calf, giving her the space to process the sudden turn of events.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she searched their faces, the candlelight flickering in their eyes. "I... I think so," she replied, her voice tentative. "But I've never..."

Arthur Hill's hands stilled on her shoulders, his eyes filled with understanding. "We know, and we'll take it slow. We just want to make you feel good, show you that you're desired and cherished."

ArthurTv nodded in agreement. "We're not here to replace him, or to take advantage. We just want to help you heal, and if that means showing you a different kind of love tonight, then we're all for it."

*****

Their words wrapped around her like a warm embrace, and she found herself nodding, the nervousness giving way to a growing sense of excitement. They had been her confidants, her protectors, and now they offered her something she hadn't even considered. The thought of exploring intimacy with them was both thrilling and terrifying, but she knew she could trust them implicitly.

Arthur Hill's hands began to move again, more deliberately this time, unbuttoning her shirt with a tender touch. She sat up, allowing him to slip the material off her shoulders, exposing her lacy bra. ArthurTv's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her, but the look was tinged with the same care and respect that had always been there. She watched as they both leaned in, their breaths mingling with hers, and she felt a warmth pool in her belly that had nothing to do with the tea.

"So beautiful," ArthurTv murmured, his voice a soft caress that sent goosebumps across her skin.

Her eyes searched his, finding a tenderness that made her breath catch in her throat. Arthur Hill's hands paused on her shoulders, his gaze following the same path as ArthurTv's, both sets of eyes lingering on the delicate lace of her bra. The room grew hotter, the candlelight playing across their faces, casting shadows that danced with the desire that had begun to unfurl within her.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice a shaky mess of nerves and hope. She felt their love, their friendship, in every touch, and it was that which gave her the courage to take this uncharted step.

ArthurTv's fingers traced the edges of her bra, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her collarbone, the touch sending a rush of sensation through her. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as Arthur Hill's mouth found hers, his kiss gentle but insistent. The softness of his lips was a stark contrast to the firmness of ArthurTv's hands as he unclasped her bra, letting it fall away to reveal her bare skin.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as Arthur Hill's hands slid up her body to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed against her sensitive nipples, teasing them into hard peaks. ArthurTv's kisses traveled down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he took one of her breasts into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh. She arched her back, a moan escaping her lips, the sensation overwhelming and new.

"That's it, love," Arthur Hill murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her body. His hands slid down to her hips, his thumbs tracing the waistband of her jeans. She nodded, giving him the silent permission to proceed, her body singing with anticipation. He unbuttoned her jeans, and ArthurTv helped her to shimmy out of them, leaving her in just her panties. She felt exposed but safe, surrounded by the warmth of their love.

Their eyes traveled over her body, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of power in their hungry gazes. "You handsome boys are wearing too much clothes," she said with a shy smile, the words slipping out before she could second-guess herself.

They both chuckled, the sound a sweet relief in the heavy silence. ArthurTv stood and began to strip, revealing a lean, muscular torso that made her heart race. Arthur Hill followed suit, his movements slower but no less captivating. As they both settled back on the couch, their bare chests rising and falling with anticipation, she felt a thrill of excitement. This was really happening, and she was ready.

They took their time, exploring her body with gentle kisses and tender touches, making sure she was comfortable with every step. ArthurTv kissed her deeply, his hands cupping her face as Arthur Hill's lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She felt her body respond, her breaths growing shorter, her skin flushing with heat.

*****

Their touch grew bolder as they worked in tandem, each movement calculated to drive her closer to the edge. Arthur Hill's fingers slid under the elastic of her panties, teasing the sensitive skin just above her mound. She gasped into ArthurTv's mouth, her hips involuntarily bucking upward, seeking more. He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Patience," he whispered against her lips.

ArthurTv broke their kiss, his eyes smoldering with passion. He leaned down, his breath hot against her neck. "Did your boyfriend ever eat you out, darling?"

Her eyes widened, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "N-no," she stuttered, the mere thought of it making her tremble.

"Well, he's a selfish prick," ArthurTv murmured, his voice filled with a possessive growl. "We're going to show you what it's like to be truly worshiped."

Her heart raced as Arthur Hill's thumbs hooked into the sides of her panties, slowly pulling them down her legs. She watched, breathless, as ArthurTv leaned back, his eyes never leaving hers, and took off his own trousers, revealing his hard length. The sight of him made her mouth go dry, and she felt a thrill of excitement mingled with nerves.

With a trembling hand, she reached out to touch him, her fingertips brushing lightly against his chest. "Can I?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

ArthurTv's eyes flashed with approval, and he nodded, his hand guiding hers down to wrap around his erection. He groaned softly as she tentatively began to stroke him, her movements clumsy but earnest. Arthur Hill's mouth was back on her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making her gasp. His hands were on her thighs, urging them apart, and she complied, feeling a rush of excitement and vulnerability.

ArthurTv took over, his hands guiding her, showing her the right amount of pressure and speed to elicit the deepest moans from him. She watched, mesmerized, as he threw his head back, his eyes rolling back in his head. The power she had over him was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the powerlessness she had felt earlier in the night.

Arthur Hill's mouth found hers again, his tongue dancing with hers in a rhythm that mirrored the movements of ArthurTv's hips. His hand traveled down her body, his fingers sliding through the slickness of her arousal. He teased her entrance, and she tensed, her breath hitching in her throat. He pulled away, his eyes searching hers for permission. She nodded, and he slid a single digit inside her, his touch so gentle it brought tears to her eyes.

The sensation was foreign yet oddly comforting, a stark contrast to the pain she had always associated with the word "virginity." They took it slow, each touch and kiss a promise of pleasure to come. ArthurTv's hand on hers, guiding her strokes, his breaths growing more ragged with every passing second. The tension grew, a tight coil in her belly, until she felt like she might burst.

"Ready for more?" Arthur Hill murmured against her mouth, his hand still moving between her legs, his fingers teasing her entrance. She nodded, the anticipation too much to bear. He kissed her deeply, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hand, and she felt herself being drawn into a vortex of desire.

Slowly, so slowly, Arthur Hill's mouth trailed down her body, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nips in its wake. She could feel his warm breath against her skin, her heart pounding in her chest as he reached the apex of her thighs. He paused, looking up at her, and she nodded again, her breath shallow. He positioned himself between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned in, his mouth hovering just above her.

With the softest of touches, his tongue met her folds, and she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. The sensation was indescribable, a gentle yet insistent pressure that had her hips lifting off the couch. He took his time, tasting her, exploring her with a reverence that she had never felt before. Her hands found his hair, tangling in the soft strands as she tried to guide him, to show him what felt good, but he already seemed to know. His tongue circled her clit, the pressure building with every pass, and she felt the coil in her belly tighten.

"You taste so sweet," Arthur Hill murmured, his voice muffled against her. "So perfect."

The words were like a balm to her soul, erasing the harshness of the evening's earlier events. Her body was alive with sensation, her nerves singing under Arthur Hill's skilled ministrations. ArthurTv's hand never left hers, their fingers entwined in a silent promise of support. She felt cherished, desired in a way she never had before.

"You're so beautiful," ArthurTv whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Your body is a work of art." His words were a sweet symphony, each note resonating deep within her, filling her with a sense of worth she hadn't felt in so long.

*****

Their hands moved in concert, caressing and exploring, each touch sending waves of pleasure through her. Arthur Hill's tongue swirled around her clit, his teeth gently grazing the sensitive flesh. The sensations grew more intense, and she felt herself spiraling closer to the edge. The room was filled with the sounds of their labored breathing and the soft whispers of encouragement.

"Come undone for us, darling," ArthurTv murmured in her ear, his voice a seductive command that sent a shiver down her spine. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his, and she could see the fierce love and passion in his gaze. It was all the encouragement she needed. She let go of her inhibitions, her body arching off the couch as the first spasm of orgasm took her. Arthur Hill's mouth never left her, his tongue lapping at her sweetness as she trembled beneath him.

The wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her gasping for air. She felt a warm hand slide up her stomach to cup her breast, ArthurTv's thumb flicking her nipple in time with Arthur Hill's strokes. It was too much, and yet she wanted more. "Please," she managed to say, the word a desperate plea.

Arthur Hill's eyes lit up with understanding, and he added another finger, pumping into her slowly, letting her adjust to the feeling. She watched ArthurTv's hand work his own length, his eyes on her face, the love and desire in his gaze making her feel like she was the only woman in the world.

Her breath grew ragged as Arthur Hill's tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, her body responding in ways she never knew possible. The sensations grew more intense, the pleasure building to a crescendo. "I'm going to... I'm going to..." she stuttered, unable to find the words.

"Let go, baby," ArthurTv whispered, his voice a gentle encouragement. "We've got you."

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she gave in to the pleasure, her body shaking with the force of her release. Arthur Hill's mouth and hands never stopped moving, drawing out every last tremor until she was boneless and panting. She collapsed back onto the couch, her chest heaving, feeling as if she had been reborn.

ArthurTv leaned over her, his face flushed with desire. He kissed her softly, tasting the sweetness of Arthur Hill's kisses on her lips. "You're incredible," he murmured, his eyes filled with love and admiration.

Her eyes searched Arthur Hill's, finding the same love reflected back at her. She nodded, her voice a whisper. "Thank you," she said, the words filled with emotion. "Thank you both."

They shared a moment of quiet understanding, the air thick with the scent of candles and the aftermath of passion. Arthur Hill kissed her inner thigh, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a warmth spread through her. "You're welcome, love," he said, his voice filled with a gentle intensity that made her heart flutter.

ArthurTv leaned in, his eyes searching hers. "Ready for the next step?" His hand slid down her body, his fingers playing with the trimmed hair above her mound.

Her heart raced, but she nodded, feeling a newfound confidence. "Yes," she breathed, her voice trembling with excitement. "I trust you."

*****

ArthurTv reached over to the coffee table, where a box of condoms lay, a silent reminder of their intentions. He ripped one open with his teeth, the sound making her pulse quicken. He rolled it on with a practiced ease, his eyes never leaving hers, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. She had never been with anyone else, and the thought of losing her virginity to someone who knew her so well, who cared for her so deeply, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You ready, love?" ArthurTv asked, his voice thick with desire. She took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of Arthur Hill's body against her side, his hand resting comfortingly on her hip.

"Yes," she whispered, her heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. ArthurTv's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "This is going to hurt at first," he said gently, his eyes filled with understanding. "But we're here with you, and we'll make it as good as we can."

Her nod was all the encouragement he needed. He positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance. She took a deep breath, feeling the anticipation coil tightly in her stomach. With a gentle push, he entered her, and she gasped at the sudden pressure. "Breathe," Arthur Hill murmured, his hand stroking her hair. "You're doing so well."

The pain was sharp, but she focused on their eyes, the love and care in their expressions giving her the strength to push through it. They both watched her intently, waiting for any sign of distress. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, but it was quickly kissed away by ArthurTv. "You're so brave," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm.

"You are doing so good, love," Arthur Hill said, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear. His hand slid down her body, finding her clit and beginning to stroke it with a familiarity that sent another wave of heat through her. The pain began to recede, replaced by the growing pressure of ArthurTv inside her. She took deep, shuddering breaths, her eyes never leaving ArthurTv's as he inched deeper.

"Almost there," he murmured, his eyes filled with concern and love. "Just a bit more." With one final push, he was fully seated within her, and she felt a pop as her barrier gave way. She gasped, the pain a sudden, sharp sting, but it was quickly overshadowed by the warmth that filled her.

ArthurTv held still, giving her time to adjust to the new sensation. "You okay?" he asked, his voice tight with restrained passion. She nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment mingled with the lingering discomfort.

"Ready for me to move?" he whispered, his eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt. She nodded again, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to pull out, only to push back in. She gasped, the pain now a distant memory as pleasure began to replace it.

Their rhythm grew steadier, ArthurTv's movements slow and gentle, his eyes never leaving hers. Arthur Hill's hand continued to tease her clit, the sensation heightening with every stroke of ArthurTv's cock. "Oh, God," she moaned, her voice a sweet symphony of passion. They watched her face, reading her reactions, adjusting their movements to bring her the most pleasure.

"How does that feel?" Arthur Hill asked, his voice a low rumble of concern and desire.

Y/n bit her bottom lip, the sensation of ArthurTv inside her both strange and exhilarating. "It's... different," she managed to say, her eyes fluttering shut as she tried to process the feeling.

"Different good?" Arthur Hill's voice was gentle, his eyes searching hers for any sign of pain.

"So good," she murmured, the words slipping out of her mouth like a sweet secret. The pleasure grew with every movement, ArthurTv's cock filling her up in a way she had never experienced before. The two of them together, the perfect symphony of care and desire, had her body singing with sensation.

Arthur Hill leaned in, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he continued to work her clit with skilled fingers. "Music to our ears, love," he said with a smile, his voice a soothing melody that had her hips moving in time with ArthurTv's rhythm. "We want to hear you scream our names."

Their movements grew more urgent, their bodies moving in a dance of passion that had been years in the making. ArthurTv's cock slid in and out of her with a gentle ease, the pain long forgotten, replaced by a building pressure that threatened to consume her. She felt Arthur Hill's thumb press down on her clit, the sensation so intense she thought she might shatter.

"Open your eyes, love," Arthur Hill murmured. "I want to see you when you come."

Her eyes fluttered open to meet Arthur Hill's, his gaze intense and hungry. She felt a twinge of guilt for focusing so much on ArthurTv, but she knew that Arthur Hill understood, that he was as much a part of this as the two of them. She nodded, her eyes locking onto his as ArthurTv's thrusts grew deeper, more insistent.

"I want to taste you too," she whispered, her voice raw with need. Arthur Hill's eyes lit up, and he leaned in, kissing her with a passion that made her toes curl. She felt ArthurTv's hand on the back of Arthur Hill's head, urging him closer, the three of them now connected in a way that was more than just friendship.

Gently, Arthur Hill pulled away from her, his eyes never leaving hers. He took her hand and guided it to his erection, her grip tightening around him. He groaned softly, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. "Take your time," he murmured, his voice a sweet, seductive melody.

Her hand grew bolder, her strokes more sure as ArthurTv's hips began to move faster, his breaths growing more ragged. She watched as Arthur Hill's hand moved to join hers, their fingers interlocking as they worked in tandem. The sight of them together, the intimacy of their shared touch, was almost too much to bear. Her orgasm was building again, the sensation so intense she could feel it in every nerve ending.

"Fuck, you feel so tight," ArthurTv groaned, his eyes never leaving hers. The words sent a shiver down her spine, the raw desire in his voice making her wetter. "You're going to make me come, love."

Her eyes grew wide, the realization that she had the power to bring him pleasure sending a thrill through her. She tightened her grip on Arthur Hill's cock, matching the rhythm of ArthurTv's thrusts. The two men watched her, their eyes dark with passion, and she felt a newfound sense of confidence.

ArthurTv leaned down, capturing her mouth in a fiery kiss, his tongue dancing with hers as he pushed into her deeper, faster. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before, a heady mix of pain and pleasure that had her body tightening around him. Arthur Hill's hand slid from her hair to her hip, his grip firm as he encouraged her to move with them, to lose herself in the moment.

Her orgasm grew closer with every stroke, the pressure building until she couldn't hold back any longer. With a cry, she shattered, her body convulsing around ArthurTv's cock. He groaned into her mouth, his hips stuttering as he followed her over the edge, filling her with warmth. They held each other tightly, their breaths mingling as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared release.

As the world slowly came back into focus, she felt Arthur Hill's hand on her cheek, guiding her face towards his erection. She took him in her mouth, the salty taste of his arousal mingling with the sweetness of their kisses. His gasp of pleasure was all the encouragement she needed, and she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the head. The power of making both men feel this way was intoxicating, and she reveled in it.

"That's it, love," Arthur Hill murmured, his voice tight with need. "Just like that." His hand gently cradled the back of her head, his hips moving in time with her mouth. ArthurTv's strokes grew slower, his body taut with the effort to hold back, not wanting to overwhelm her.

The praise washed over her like a warm wave, filling her with a sense of pride and power. She had never felt so desired, so cherished. She took Arthur Hill deeper, her tongue swirling around his length, eager to taste his release. "You're doing so good, baby," ArthurTv whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "So fucking good."

ArthurTv slowly pulled out of her, his cock glistening with her arousal. The feeling of emptiness was almost too much, but she knew this was only the beginning. He leaned back, watching her with a mix of awe and love. "Keep going," he urged, his voice low and needy. "Make him come for you."

Her eyes never left Arthur Hill's as she took him deeper into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his shaft. His hand tightened in her hair, his breathing becoming more erratic. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, and she knew he was close. She increased her pace, her hand moving in time with her mouth.

"Fuck, yes," Arthur Hill groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. "You're going to make me come." The words sent a fresh wave of excitement through her, and she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. He watched her, his eyes dark with desire, and she felt a surge of pride at the effect she had on him.

"You look so pretty like that," ArthurTv murmured, his voice a low rumble of appreciation. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking in the sight of her mouth wrapped around Arthur Hill's cock, her cheeks flushed with arousal. She looked up, meeting ArthurTv's gaze, and the love and admiration in his eyes had her pussy clenching around the emptiness left by his withdrawal.

Arthur Hill's hips began to buck, his movements growing more erratic as she brought him closer to climax. She felt a thrill of excitement at the power she wielded, her inexperience forgotten in the heat of the moment. His eyes snapped open, locking onto hers, and she knew he was close. "Swallow it," he whispered, his voice a desperate plea, and she nodded, eager to please.

With a strangled cry, Arthur Hill came, his warmth flooding her mouth. She took it all, swallowing with a greedy moan that had ArthurTv's eyes darkening with desire. She sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling a sense of accomplishment that was almost as overwhelming as the pleasure that had just washed over her.

*****

"How was that for a first time?" ArthurTv asked, his voice hoarse with passion. She looked at him, her eyes glazed with desire, and smiled. "It was... amazing," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her emotions.

The three of them lay tangled together on the couch, their limbs entwined as they caught their breaths. The room was filled with the lingering scent of their love-making, a sweet and musky perfume that seemed to cling to the air. Arthur Hill leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "We're so proud of you," he murmured.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in a long time. She had never imagined that losing her virginity could be like this, with two men who loved her so fiercely. She looked from Arthur Hill to ArthurTv, their faces a blur of sweat and passion, and felt a tear slip down her cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

They shared a knowing smile, the intimacy of the moment palpable. "You're welcome, love," ArthurTv murmured, his hand caressing her cheek. "We're always here for you."

The thought of her boyfriend's harsh words seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by the warmth and tenderness of her friends' touches. She knew that what they had just shared was more than friendship, and she couldn't help but feel that her relationship with him was a mere shadow of what she had just experienced.

"It might be time soon to break up with your boyfriend, though," Arthur Hill said softly, as if reading her thoughts. "You deserve to be with someone who appreciates you, who doesn't make you feel like that."

Y/n nodded, her throat tight with unshed tears. "I know," she whispered. The weight of her decision was heavy, but in that moment, with ArthurTv and Arthur Hill surrounding her, she felt lighter than she had in a long time.

"We'll be with you every step of the way," ArthurTv assured her, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "And who knows," he added with a wicked grin, "maybe you'll find someone who really knows how to make you feel good."

Y/n couldn't help but smile at the thought. The idea of moving on from her ex-boyfriend was both exhilarating and terrifying. But with ArthurTv and Arthur Hill by her side, she felt like she could conquer the world. They had shown her a side of herself she never knew existed, a sexual being capable of intense pleasure and passion. "I think I already had," she murmured, her voice filled with a newfound confidence.

The two men exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles widening. "We're just getting started," Arthur Hill said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "There's so much more to explore, love."

Y/n felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect, her body already craving more of their touch. ArthurTv leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. "We'll take it slow," he assured her. "We're in no rush."

Arthur Hill chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But we do have plans for you," he said, his hand sliding down her body to cup her ass. "So many plans."

Y/n felt a thrill of excitement at the promise in his voice, the idea of more nights like this one stretching out before her. "Whatever you want," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper. "I'm all yours."

The three of them lay there, their hearts beating in sync, their bodies still humming with the aftermath of passion. The silence was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that their friendship had evolved into something more. It was the start of a new chapter, one filled with experiences and emotions she had only ever dreamed of.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx

[bed-chemist]

duke oneshot pls 🙏 (not smut)

Agora Hills - duke dennis x reader

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask. for future reference if you have a request, specify smut or no smut like this person did or imma do whatever tf i want. y'all can't cap, i've been on a fucking roll this weekend. hopefully y'all like it. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

─⋆♡ summary: you and duke are in an established relationship. he decides to surprise you and ball the fuck out.

─⋆♡ warnings: dual pov (the pov changes with the pink headers, the divider gifs just mean a bit of time has passed), language, all fluff no smut, softdom!duke (he doesn't like when the reader talks back), 18+ black!writer, alcohol, physical descriptors (brief)

⋆word count: 4.5k ⋆ masterlist ⋆

y/n

I jolt out of sleep, and the feeling of the cool air of the hotel room kicks on. Duke’s hand rubbing my leg makes me relax a little, and my eyes move to him, seeing that he's still right where he was when I fell asleep.

“Hey, baby. Time to wake up,” he says quietly, kissing me on the cheek, and then he returns his attention to his phone.

I yawn, looking up at him, recalling that he’s probably been working all night. He doesn’t look like he slept much, making me feel worse. “How long have you been awake?” He needs to prioritize his sleep.

Duke shifts, pulling me further up so he can rub my ass. “It’s 7:30 a.m., so 30 minutes. I already got up and showered,” he explains and I look up at his freshly moisturized skin.

I inhale his cologne and hum. He smells so fucking good. I grumble, annoyed at how early it is. He takes notice and spanks me lightly, and I gasp at his forwardness. “Duke, you did not just slap my ass,” I scold.

His laugh reverberates through his chest. “Yes, the fuck I did. Let me worry about you, not the other way around,” he matter-of-factly states.

I roll my eyes and sigh. “But I'm supposed to worry about you, too. It’s supposed to be equal.” I’m making valid points here.

Duke slips out from under me, standing up. He puts his hands up in defense, and he turns to walk into the bathroom and turns the shower on. I crawl to the end of the bed, stand up, and follow him into the bathroom where he’s leaning on the wall with his arm on top of the small door. Straightening, he extends his hand and pulls me into the bathroom. 

“Take your time, babe. Call me if you need me,” he instructs and leans down to kiss me before brushing past me and exiting the bathroom. 

My eyes watch him as he goes, drinking him in. I know he already showered, but some part of me wants him to just stand in the shower with me and hold me.

“Are you sure I look okay?” I ask Duke for the hundredth time in the last hour, holding his hand to stabilize myself as I descend the steps of the hotel.

He puts his hand on the small of my back when I’m grounded, and gently pushes me forward towards a truck near the entrance. “Yes, baby. You always look beautiful,” he responds, opening the passenger door, and extending his hand again so I can use it to climb in.

I slide into the seat and turn my head towards him, raising my eyebrows. “So that’s a no, then?” He rolls his eyes, reaching in to put the seatbelt on me. “I got it,” I snap, putting my hand on his arm. I fucking hate when he does the child thing.

Duke doesn’t say anything, just turns around to the two men who I hadn't noticed, letting me finish buckling myself. One is holding a big pastry box, and the other is holding two drinks. Duke takes the items from them, putting the box in my lap first, and then the iced drink into my hand. “I didn’t know we had security today,” I grumble. They slide into the back seat silently and I shift a bit.

Not that I mind it, I just know that the surprise will be public. “Where we’re going, we’ll need it,” he tells me before shutting the door.

As he jogs around to his side of the truck, I take a sip of the brown liquid, throwing my head back to moan as the drink washes down my throat. Bringing the cup up to my face, I look at the label that’s on the side. An iced vanilla latte with almond milk. One thing I love about Duke is that he always gets my coffee order correct. I smile and continue to sip.

Duke slides into the driver's seat, putting his drink in the cup holder. “You haven’t had your coffee, so I won’t spank you for that little attitude just a second ago.” He smirks at me and starts the truck.

Fuck. I am so fucked. I want nothing more than to straddle him right now and say fuck the surprise. But, there are two security guards in the back seat effectively stopping me from having any extra fun.

I look down at the box, noticing a giant donut with pink icing and lots of sprinkles. 

“That’s your hint, baby. You’ll probably get it before I even drive off.” He smirks again, shifting the truck into drive.

I gasp in realization: warm weather, huge pink donut you can only get at one place, lots of walking…

“You are not taking me to Universal Studios for the surprise.” I whip my head over to him, eyes going wide and excitement bubbling beneath the surface. I feel like my ability to function has left this vehicle.

Duke turns at me and grins, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek. “You’re damn right I am, baby. Now, eat your donut.” He puts his free hand around the back of my neck, and I feel my body melting into him. 

The biggest grin takes over my face as he starts driving. This is going to be the best surprise ever.

duke

My girlfriend is practically hyperventilating as I pull the car into the parking lot at Universal Studios. I turn to look at her, and she’s squirming and squealing in her seat. 

“Do we need to go through the five senses again, baby? Or are you good?” I inquire, fearing that I’ve completely jump-started her heart. Whenever she gets like this, we use the grounding technique so she can calm herself down.

She whips her head in my direction with the cutest smile on her face. “I’m good, baby. I’m just really excited.” She leans over the console to kiss me, and I know I’m going to be spoiling her for the rest of our lives.

She reaches down to undo her belt and I pull the handle, stepping out of the car. As soon as I open her door, I notice she’s looking over my shoulder. She’s seemingly weary of the two big men coming with us, so I lean in to speak into her ear. “They won't bother us, baby. They’re just here to make sure niggas don’t talk to you,” I reassure her before helping her slide out of the truck. 

She places her hand and mine and we begin walking towards the entrance. “It would be you they’re talking to and we both know it,” she says.

“I don’t know about that. They practically foam at the mouth every time you’re on a stream,” I tell her, lightly swinging our hands between us.

She scoffs, flipping her long her over her shoulder. “I think you’re forgetting about filming the vlogs. Women love being in that shit,” she complains.

I smirk and lead her over to the entrance–it took everything I had not to rent the park out for her today. “We’re not filming today. I’m focusin’ on you. And I love yo ass,” I try to reassure her jealous side.

She reaches her hand up and smushes my face together. “I love you too, Dukey,” she smiles before placing a quick kiss on my lips.

Once we get through security, I lace my fingers with hers again. “What do you wanna do first?” I place a kiss on her hand, feeling her shake with excitement.

She starts bouncing up and down, her breathing picking up once again. “Can we pretty please do Harry Potter stuff first?? Everything else if we have time. I really wanna come back for the light show! Oooo! Der, can we please go get Butterbeer and Lemon Sherbets?? And then we can ride the Incredible Hulk roller coaster! PLEASE, Please, please, please-” She's speaking so fast that I end up kissing her to shut her up. I can't get in a word any other way. 

She moans in my mouth, and I grip her ass, pressing her front to me. She’s so fucking hot when she’s passionate.

My hands fly up onto her shoulder to stop her incessant bouncing. “Yeah. One thing at a time, though.” I exhale. Her brain moves a million miles per second, and it’s impressive she’s been able to keep all those thoughts in her head since we got into the car and she found out where we were going.

Our private guide ushers us to the cart which drives us straight through the New York and San Francisco attractions. When she spots the Knight Bus, she begins bouncing again in her seat. “Duke, Duke! Let’s talk to it!” She has a twinkle in her eye as she cheers at me. 

The cart stops and the security guards get off before us. I extend her hand for her to slide out and stand behind me. Although I have a hat and sunglasses on, if anyone notices us, I don’t want her to be bombarded.

She tugs on my arm and I look back at her bug-eyed face, chuckling at her excitement. “Alright, baby. You want me to record you?” Leaning down, I kiss her on the cheek.

The pupils in her hazel eyes dilate. “Yeah,” she chirps and I pull my phone out of my back pocket, getting it ready. 

I film her, amused by her excitement. Then, my girlfriend does something that shocks the absolute shit out of me. “Excuse me, can you point me in the direction of Diagon Alley?” she asks the park employees in a British accent. 

Holy shit, who knew British accents were this hot? I have got to remember that for later.

The shrunken head turns in her direction, and I zone out. “Right through that broken brick, little witch.” 

It’s been stream after stream. 24/7 content. I’m fucking tired and I just needed a fun day with her. I black out as she finishes the rest of her conversation with the conductor and shrunken head. 

My baby girl waves a hand in front of my face and brings me back. “Dukey, baby…” she calls, and I snap my eyes in her direction.

I breathe in to center myself before smirking down at her. “I’m here.” My hand moves to her neck. “Just thinking about how a ring would look on your finger the next time you wave your fucking hand in front of my face.”

She blushes, and looks down at the ground, kicking her feet. “Duke, you know I don’t believe in marriage…” She lets her words trail off as we continue to walk toward the brick wall.

No, I most certainly did not know that. I reach down to yank on her hand, stopping her dead in her tracks before she can take out her phone and start recording for social media. 

“What do you mean you don’t believe in marriage?” I press, raising my eyebrow. Fuck, we haven’t had this conversation yet. I just assumed.

She tugs my arm, urging me to keep walking, but my feet stay firmly planted. “I mean, I believe in a life partner. It’s just that I see marriage as more of a business contract,” she explains, refusing to make eye contact with me. “Like, if anything happened to me or you, we’d have a say in each other’s affairs.” Shrugging, she turns to walk towards the broken brick wall without me.

I jog to catch up with her, putting my hand on the small of her back. Okay, so she would marry me. “So when I ask you to marry me, you’ll say yes?” I grumble, unsure of what her response will be. She’s the one I want. I want her to be my life partner, my wife, or whatever she deems appropriate.

She giggles, spinning around to kiss me as we enter Diagon Alley. “Duke, I’d marry you if you ask me.” Her breathing picks up again as she turns around and takes in the attractions. “Duke… DUKEY! DUKEY!” she shrieks, slapping her hands on my arm. “It looks so real!!” She begins bouncing up and down again, grabbing my face to turn it in the direction she wants me to look in, smashing it until my lips are puckered. If I asked her to stop, I don’t think she would. 

I'm too lost in my thoughts anyway. I’m going to marry her and give her at least 5 children. I wanna show her off to the world as long as I live. 

She tugs on my arm, pulling me out of my trance and further into Diagon Alley. Suddenly, we’re stopped in our tracks by a younger group of boys. “Excuse me, are you Duke?” one of them asks.

I look at Y/N for permission and she smiles and nods. “What’s going on my boy,” I link my hands with each of theirs and shake up.

A woman steps forward behind them with her phone out, already recording. “They’re so nervous to meet you,” she says behind them and I assume she’s their mom.

I become uncomfortable finding out she’s already recording before asking. Lady you’re fucking grown, you should know better. Before I can fume at the bitch, my girlfriend puts her hand on the small of my back. “Oh, he’s nice. You wanna take a picture with him?” she asks the group.

They collectively sound off yes’s and she stands on her tip toes to talk to me. “Here let me get out the way,” she says, knowing the fans probably don’t want her in it.

But I don’t give a fuck. She’s with me and the world should know that. I want to show her off every moment I get. “No, I want you in it,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her into my side.

“Baby it’s okay. Trust me,” she murmurs, pushing off of me and standing next to the mother.

She snaps a couple of pictures of me and the guys in different poses before lowering her phone and showing off her odd smile. If it weren’t for the kids and my girlfriend, I would’ve put her in her place. “Thank you,” I hear one of the kids say.

I shake up with him one last time, ruffling his curly head. “You’re welcome, big dog. Nice to meet y’all,” I say. 

“Bye, Duke!” another screams and it warms my heart. This is why the fuck I do this shit.

My eyes wander up and catch with my girlfriends. She beckons me towards her and I trail behind her as she enters Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and her eyes widen when she spots a purple pygmy puff. “Dukey, Dukey! I need it!” she squeals, jumping up and down. The security guard tries his hardest to keep up with her as she sprints across the room, picking it up and squeezing it in her arms.

I sigh and pull out my black Amex card, before grabbing her hand and slapping it down. “Get whatever you want, baby,” I mutter, closing her fingers around it.

Her jaw drops and she looks down at her hand, then back up to me. “You’re fucking with me,” she retorts, shoving her hand back in my direction with it open.

I close her hand again, and shove it back towards her, “I’m being for real. Whatever you want from here on out is on me.” 

She blushes at my words and I smirk, taking a step forward to kiss her soft lips. “I wanna spoil you, baby. I want you to be happy and enjoy yourself.” Hopefully, she just takes the damn card and stops arguing.

I spin her around and push her toward the cash register. She sets down the plushie and waits patiently for the cashier to finish ringing the item up. When the employee tells her where to put the card, she freezes as if the card will bite her. Cute. She feels bad for “taking” my money. She could ask me to buy her a private plot of land for her garden, and I’d have it done in seconds. 

I come up behind her, towering over her small frame, and help her push the card into the chip reader. When the pin prompt comes up, I don’t cover the code. What’s mine is hers–now and forever. The machine beeps, but she doesn’t move to grab the card. So I release her hand, leaning over until my lips touch her ear. “Pull it out, baby,” I whisper into her ear, and she shudders. 

Reaching to pull the card out, she silently smiles and thanks the cashier, before turning around and pushing both hands on my chest to pass me. I follow her out of the small gift shop into the street where she abruptly stops, whipping around and slamming the card onto my chest. I go to grab it when I notice her clenched jaw. 

“I know better than to talk back to you, Duke. But so help me god, if you do that again, I’ll piss in the store and make you clean it up,” she seethes, her face turning red.

Fuck, she’s hot when she’s pissed off. 

I throw my head back in laughter, sliding the card back into my wallet. Sage stomps her foot on the ground, grabbing my hand. “It’s not fucking funny, Dontavius,” she grumbles but pulls me into Quality Quidditch Supplies.

My eyes take a bit to adjust to the dark store. By the time they do, my girl is releasing my hand and going to grab a Slytherin backpack, whizzing around the store to grab more collectibles. I lean against the talking mirror for around 10 minutes before she comes up to me, sliding a heavy bag on my arm. Looking down, I see she’s grabbed a Slytherin tote bag and filled it with merchandise. 

“You said I could buy whatever I want,” she shrugs, turning around to try on a Slytherin robe. She’s correct, and she’s got me by the balls.

She struggles to shrug on the robe, so I cross the small distance to help her, pulling it on around her. I step aside and she looks in the mirror. “You look like a bright young witch.” The automated voice compliments her, and she jumps, startled.

A chuckle erupts from my chest as I bring my hand to her back, rubbing it to soothe her. “Not a fucking Gryffindor,” I tease, smiling at her, and bring her into my side. 

y/n

Three Wizard's Brews and some wand shopping later, I’m moaning while eating butterbeer ice cream. We’re waiting in line at King’s Cross Station with our Hogwarts robes on. I was proudly wearing my Slytherin ones. Meanwhile, I had to force Duke to buy a Gryffindor one and wear it just for me.

I scoop some of the ice cream up, holding the spoon to Duke’s lips. “Want some?” I ask with a childish grin on my face.

He leans down to take the spoon in his mouth, refusing to break the intense eye contact with me. I pull the spoon out of his mouth, and he swallows the ice cream. “It tastes sweet, just like you,” he murmurs in my ear, caressing my cheek with his hand. 

Hoping it stuffs the urge to whine down my throat, I shove the last spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. “Dontavius,” I finally let slip, shifting to lean on my left leg.

He forcefully grabs the back of my neck, and I look around at the other people standing in line, nervous that they’re going to see him dominating the shit out of me right now. Our bodyguards don’t seem to notice which is the least I can be grateful for.

“What did I say about whining, Y/N?” His voice is so deep that I swear I can feel the vibrations in my spine.

Standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to save myself some embarrassment, I whisper into his ear, “You said if I whine, you’ll bend me over and give me something to whine about.” I know Duke won’t let up on my neck until I say the words.

He quietly groans, and releases his hold on me, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’m proud of you. You’re learning. Don’t do that shit,” He speaks so sternly that I know it’s not a threat���it’s a promise.

Shit, Shit, Shit. I’m so intoxicated by him right now.  

His hand comes up to rest on the small of my back, ushering me forward in the line. I look down at the ice cream cup noticing it's crushed. Duke notices too, and takes the cup from my hands, tossing it perfectly into the trash can a couple feet away. He brings my finger up to his lips and slowly wraps his tongue around it, making me quietly moan. I never considered someone could have me weak in the knees, fully clothed at that. But here we are.

We make it to the front of the line and I lace my hand in Duke’s again, pulling him into the train. I go to Cabin F, where a group of teenagers sit inside, and walk in to see there’s only room for one of us to sit. Turning around, I hear the girls giggling behind me when Duke bends down to get through the door. 

I put my hands on his chest, lightly pushing him. “Turn around, there’s no more room.” 

Duke turns to slide the door to the cabin shut, shutting the guards out right behind the door. He sits down in the space before looking up at me with dark eyes. He sets the bag on the ground between his legs and pats his lap. “Looks like enough room to me, Y/N,” he declares, shrugging like it’s no big deal. He used my government name, which means ‘sit the fuck down.’ 

I turn to bunch up the robe in the back and grab my wand out of my pocket. As soon as I have it in my hands, Duke grabs my waist, pulling me forcefully down into his lap. He peppers kisses on my neck and it's definitely not helping with the intensity of haze in my brain.

duke

Y/N’s screams on the drop of the roller coaster put me on edge. 

“Again, Dukey!” I turn to her and see that she's currently having the best adrenaline rush of her life. 

She’s now five wizard brews in, and this is the third time we’ve been on The Incredible Hulk Coaster. She kicks and swings her legs, grinning at me, waiting for the ride to come to a stop. I look at my watch, seeing it’s well past 8:30. Earlier, she said that she wanted to watch the light show on Hogwarts Castle in Hogsmeade, so that means we should start heading over there now. 

“Baby, you don’t wanna go back to Hogsmeade and watch the light show?” I all but beg, hoping this will get her, and me, off of this bitch ass rollercoaster. 

My girlfriend continues squirming in her seat until the ride stops. “Ooo, Ooo. Yeah, let’s go back,” she exclaims as the attendant lets us out. 

I get out first, turn to her, and lift her out of the safety seat. I set her down on the platform and grab her hand. The security guards keep some distance between us as we walk in silence for a little while, swinging our arms in between us. She spent the day experiencing everything this park had to offer. She’s had an endless amount of food, which I’m proud of her for. I’ve never seen her eat this much, and that eases my anxiety to know that she has a strong appetite.

She suddenly starts dragging her feet, walking slower than before. “I don’t wanna leave. And I’m tired, Dukey.” Her voice is so quiet that I barely hear her.

I stop walking, turning to stand in front of her. “You want a piggyback ride?” 

She yawns, nodding. 

Turning around to squat, she climbs onto my back. Once she’s secured, I continue the walk across the park to Hogsmeade. Her body goes somewhat limp, her head resting on my shoulder, and I know she's about to knock out. So, I walk into one of the shops and begin grabbing the souvenirs I know she wants. 

When I get up to the counter, I shift and pull my wallet out of my front pocket. “Is she sleeping?” I ask the guard at the register, just to be sure. Y/N is so quiet and her breathing is so steady, so I assume she is, but I don’t turn back to look.

The cashier accepts the cash I give him, typing the amount into the register. “Yeah, she’s knocked out,” He chuckles, looking back and forth between her and me.

The cashier hands the guard a plastic bag with the receipt in it. “Sometimes she acts like the fucking energizer bunny in human form. But the energy eventually runs out,” I remark, tucking my wallet back into the front of my jeans. 

“I feel you,” he snickers in response before we turn around to walk back out onto the cobblestone. 

When I get in front of the castle with a good view, I tap my girl’s thigh. She stirs before burying her head further into my neck, groaning. 

“Wake up, baby. It’s time to watch the light show,” I say melodically, trying to coax her out of her sleep.

She jerks on my back, tugging on my robe, signaling that she wants to be let down. “Thank you, Dukey,” she murmurs while sliding down my back. 

Y/N comes around to stand in front of me, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. Then, she turns back around and leans back with her head on my chest, turning her attention to the show. Her eyes are wide as she watches the lights dance on the castle, amazed. She's watching the lights, but my eyes are completely on her, drinking in her beauty. 

When it's over, she turns back around and stands on her tiptoes to lace her hands behind my neck. "Dontavius Tony Dennis. Thank you for the perfect day." She kisses me sweet and deep, and I can taste the butterbeer on her tongue.

Anything for you, Y/N. Anything.

[orbitariums]

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

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

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

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

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

warmth

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

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

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

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

“I was --”

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

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

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You made it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected. 

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

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

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

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

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

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

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

Clink clink clink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

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

Patrick scoffed playfully,

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

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

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

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

“Do you think about anything specific?”

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

“Just what good times we had.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re right, I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last, 

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

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

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

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

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

Another chortle from you,

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

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

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

“Charles?”

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

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

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

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

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“I think we should just go for it.”

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

“What are you talking about Patrick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be disgusting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1:10 AM. 

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

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

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

What are you doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so proud of you, you know.”

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

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

Art rose to his own defense,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s asleep.”

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

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

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding sympathetically. 

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

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

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

A beat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No bets… but Patrick was saying…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

“Look at me, Artie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Through a mouthful, Art mewled,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm. So good, Art, you’re so good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words, Artie. Whatsa matter?”

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

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

You both laughed, genuinely amused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t apologize. You did so well.”

Suddenly, Art sat up. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

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

“Do I seem that fragile?” you teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You yawned,

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

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

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

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

“Patrick,” he concluded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight,” he crooned. 

“Goodnight,” you replied. 

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

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐜𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐫

1.3k | just for fun since it’s blizzarding here rn

The wind blustered against the cracked windshield. Sending waves of sleet and snow against the van, hitting like gravel against the tin body. 

He silently curses himself for not getting the windshield fixed before winter came. A huffed breath drags from him, little puffs of frigid air in the cold interior of the van, as he attempts to blow warmth to his chilled to the bone fingers. Aching from the repetitive motions from work. 

Eddie’s life didn’t end up how he had planned. The rockstar gig was nothing more than that— a gig.  One show maybe two a month at the hideout, a small little escape into the world he once was determined to get to. 

But life had other plans for him. Things he never saw coming. 

The sharp right turn into Forest Hills was blanketed by thick drifts of snow, covering the usual pot holes. Still he avoided them anyway— the last thing he needed was a blown tire in this weather. 

Forecast called for  “1-3 inches” but what the stuck up weather man didn’t predict was the wind.  

The wind brought with it freezing temperatures, a high of barely four degrees. He called Wayne on his break, telling him he’d stop by after work and shovel his pickup out so he could make his shift tonight, but Wayne only grunted and told Eddie he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, just to get home safe. 

The ill maintained roads were horrible, his tires slid and skid anytime he tapped the brakes or eased on the gas pedal, making the usual ten minute drive home turn into twenty, then thirty. 

He was crabby, hungry and itching for a cigarette, but the gas stations were closed for the upcoming storm, leaving an itch in his jaw that drove him mad. 

Anything and everything that could go wrong in one day had. Equipment broke, most of the shift hadn’t shown up due to the storm causing him to work in place of two other jobs on top of his own. The lunch he brought was left in the van by mistake after hurrying to get punched in when his alarm hadn’t gone off. 

And now throwing the van in park he realized he never turned the lights off in his rushed attempt to make it to work on time. 

Punching the steering wheel he curses again, the light bill would be outrageous next month. 

The van door was stuck, probably frozen from the outside, and he shoved his shoulder into the frame to try to loosen it enough so he could get out. The wind hit him like a freight train, stealing his breath and pelting his face, chapping his cheeks red and ruddy. 

Rage filled his lungs as his sweat soaked bandana started to feel like a frozen sheet of ice on his head. Crunching his curls into icicles. 

The cold air seeped through his jeans, and he shivered when his boots sunk into the snow. Dropping his keys three separate times into the snow, Eddie yelled into the night. 

 And if he weren’t so mad he might have noticed a set of footprints leading from your trailer to his. 

He might have heard the radio buzzing about the incoming bad weather. 

He might have smelled a delicious slurry of cooked meat, beans and tomatoes boiling on the stove. 

The front door was frozen too, and when he finally jimmied the handle and flung the door open, he nearly burst into tears. 

The place is spotless. 

Ashtrays were emptied and sparkling like the countertops, the heap of clothes on top of his washer were folded and put away. A candle is lit on the table. You must have brought your own vacuum over because his hasn’t worked since the 70s. 

The small patch of linoleum under his feet was swept, his other pair of work boots and shoes were lined up neatly against the wall. A new rag thread utility rug was also underfoot. 

His eyes brimmed hot with tears at the sight of his clean house, and you, standing at the stove with a wooden spoon to your lips.

“Hi! Made a cobbler with that jar of peaches from Joyce Byers,” you chirp, pulling the oven door open and placing the dessert dish onto the potholders, “I know it’s not the season for it but it just sounded so good.”

It wasn’t your mess and you shouldn’t have to clean up after a grown man. But you do, and Eddie is more than grateful for your caring heart, for how sweet you are to him even on days he wants nothing more than to rot on the couch and feel sorry for himself. 

His eyes soften, and before you can ask him how his day was, he’s grabbing your cheeks with ice cold hands, bringing his frigid mouth to the warmth of your temple before kissing the tomatoey stain from your lips. 

He sighs into you, his body releasing all the pent up anger and pain from the day. Solace of your arms melted away the glacial cold from within him. 

The kisses don’t stop, and you have to lean back to turn the stove off in hopes that the chili doesn’t burn before you can eat it. 

His cold nose nudges down your neck, kissing the chain he placed there a year ago, one you never took off. He mumbles into your skin and his stomach groans with emptiness. 

“Let’s get you fed big boy,” you mouth against his sweaty curls, and he happily obliges.

After he places the last bite of chili from his bowl into your mouth, you drag him to the shower. 

Rinsing the shampoo from his curls and warming his still cold skin with your body. The heat from his tongue lapping at your skin, and something else prominently making itself known on the cheek of your ass. 

“Didn’t have to do all of that, baby,” he murmurs into your ear, fingers slowing working soap into your skin. 

“Wanted to, I love you Eds.” 

You’ve said it many times before, never once pressuring him into saying it back if he wasn’t ready. A life full of shitty people, it was hard for him to open up, but you opened something up in him that he hadn’t felt before, and he couldn’t get enough of you. 

Tangled limbs climb from the shower, skin barely rinsed and wet tendrils of hair hang down each of your necks. Your lips still taste like chili, and he still smells like work, but neither of you care. 

Lips smack together and skin is left hickied and sweaty. Elbows and knees are rubbed raw from the itchy sheets on his bed, his hair is drying into a mess from your fingers lacing through it, your breath making the curls go frizzy when he pulls you into him and rocks your body against his sat cock.  

Pulling sugary noises from you again, and again, he finally says it there. Chin between your legs, your orgasm dripping wet from his lips.

You sit up to see him, not sure if you heard. 

He says it again, liking the way it sounds, something he had been scared of saying for a long time, but he always knew he did.

A single tear slips down his cheek and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, the cobbler would sit untouched until tomorrow, Eddie having found a sweeter dessert to indulge in, love.

[luimagines]

Broken Heart Broken Kingdom (1400 Follower Raffle)

Our second place winner was @sadlonelybagel and they asked for a reader who's partner was Link but Link is dead. This reader instantly doesn't like the chain for their similarities to their late lover. Enjoy.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

When they first walked through the portal, they couldn’t help but see the state of the land. There was a reddish haze over the sky with broken trees and burnt grass and with the faint smell over smoke of the land.

“What happened here?” Legend’s jaw was slack. He had fought so hard to keep this from happening. But here it was, his worst nightmare come to life.

“War.” Warrior answers bluntly, not bothering to sugar coat the circumstance. “A bad one by the looks of it.”

“But how can it get this bad?” Four looks around in just as much shock coughing a bit to clear his lungs of the smoke that hangs around.

“They lost.” Wild answers with just as much fact as Warrior does. No one bothers to challenge his statement.

“Who are you?!” A stern voice calls out from the side. The sudden sound startles them and they draw their weapons on instinct. Their grips tighten at the sight of the weapon this new person holds. They viscerally react at the sight of the group but manage to hold their ground. They steady their hand and adjust their stance, albeit they look less angered and more heartbroken. “Who are you!?”

Hyrule raises his hand. “....Link.”

“Don’t mock me!” They hiss. “You can’t be Link.”

Sky looks around uneasily. “...But we are. All of us. You seem to know him. Do you know where we can find him?”

Their eyes well up with tears as they stare the boys down. “How dare you.”

“What happened?” Warrior interjects. “What happened here?”

Despair covers this stranger's face. They don’t seem to want to believe the implications of his words. “What happened? What happened? How can you not know what happened?! Ganon happened!!”

“We can gather that.” Time says gently. “But why is this the case? Where is your hero?”

“Dead.” They choke on a sob, righteous fury entering their gaze. “That demon killed my husband. I’ve been fighting in his stead.”

They group fall silent once again, shifting their weight awkwardly on their toes. Time in particular feels a heavy sort of dread drop his stomach through the crust of the earth, filling the void to the top of his throat. Part of him wants to vomit. He doesn’t think he’ll be allowed.

“My condolences.” Wild breaks the silence first. “I’m sure he was a very strong man.”

The stranger’s bravado wavers and the tears fall. This poor soul has clearly shoved aside their need to grieve for the protection of this land. But as they are not the chosen hero, their efforts are akin to pushing a boulder up a hill during a race. Progress has been made, but at the cost of much lost ground.

They lower their blade and use the hem of their sleeve to wipe away the tears. The water clears away the dirt on their cheeks. They look younger that way. “...You’re the first person to tell me that…”

Wind puts his hands on his hips and looks around the world once again. He asks for their name and they give with only minimal hesitation. They seem unable to look most of them in the eye. But Hyrule, Wind and Four get their full attention when they begin asking questions. Sky can almost get them to look his way but then they spot the sword on his back and scowl and look away again. Twilight pats his shoulder. He’s sure it’s nothing personal. They seem unable to meet more of them in the eye however, most likely due to the fact that they look the most similar to one another. Including Wild.

They can easily gather that they’re the ones that look the most like the hero.

Or rather- their dead husband.

It must be a bitter pill to swallow- and one that they clearly weren’t ready to so much as hold. It’s saddening more than it is insulting.

“...Well I guess we’re here to help.” Legend says solemnly. 

The local can only look at the ground and the blade in their hand- eyes haunted and heart heavy. “...You’re a little late for that.”

“We’re not here by choice.” Twilight says evenly. “But had we known the option and the circumstance, I assure you that we would at least attempt to help when you-.... When he needed it. But we were in our own homes, in our own worlds.”

They swallow harshly and look away, not willing to open their mind to the concept. This is an open and deep wound. Twilight sighs. He sees the signs of grief. There’s no getting through to them at this rate. “Just point to the direction of the threat and we’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you could use a break.”

Something behind their eyes snapped. They grit their teeth, growling at the Rancher. “Do you honestly think-?!”

“We’re here to do a job whether you like it or not.” Time interrupts them. He can already see where this conversation is going. It’s not something he wants to entertain. “We can go head first into the danger with only our wits about us or you can help us at least know what we’re about to get into. This is bigger than us.”

His words strike a cord and they straighten- guarding their face once more. “Fine. This way. Try to keep up. I won’t slow down for you.”

“Lead the way.” Sky steps forward, looking back at the group nervously. Most shrug and follow this person through the war torn land and to what they can assume is a safe haven from the battles and from Ganon’s forces. They see more of the land and it’s just as bad as the first glances.

This person does not trust them, that much is obvious. They don’t like them, something that is abundantly clear. And this person does not want them here, but no one here can change what has happened.

Hyrule still needs a hero.

[ofmermaidstories]

do we think we can make a silent hill x mha crossover work? is that a thing The Vibes would permit? Us, leaving the city during a golden afternoon after a shitty day at work—driving into the night trying to get to a small town in the mountains. Maybe we stop for petrol, a bottled drink. A snack pack of gummy worms we throw onto the passenger seat next to us. Are we tired? Does it matter? We keep driving and driving until the world narrows down to the curve ahead in our headlights. Maybe we’re just outside of the town’s limits when it happens: the kid appearing in the middle of the road.

Do you scream? Do you even remember? Does it matter? Whatever noise you make, you manage to jerk the wheel, a sharp twist that sounds like a bone snapping, somehow, as the pale concrete of the pylons alongside the road are illuminated by your lights like headstones as you spin straight into them.

And when you wake up? When you blink, laid over your wheel and your horn blaring, screaming into the now white blanket of a foggy day—do you even remember the kid? How slight he was? Does it matter?

Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, right now, sitting up. Nothing aches, you’re not uncomfortable, you’re not even thirsty—you’re just there, still in your car, the horn now silent. Why is it daylight? Where did all this fog come? Did no one really drive past in all the however many hours you were out? Does it matter? Pray to God but row to shore—it’s a Russian proverb, supposedly, but you’d heard it on a TV show once, or maybe read it in a book. You can sit there in your car that smells like fog and pineneedles or you can get out and get yourself help. You get out, stumble; and then you follow the curve of the road down into the valley.

You almost feel relief when you see the tiled rooftops. Civilisation. Driving in the dark always felt like driving between worlds, suspended in time, only you and your music, low, the twin lights of other cars, other ghosts going past. But now you’re broken free of it, running down that road, now, your footsteps sharp and echoing against the rockface of the cliff above you—following you down into the ground levels out and leaves you standing there, at the edges of a rice paddy, your relief curling back into the bitter weight of fear when you realise it’s still so quiet. Where is everyone?

You make your way past a couple of small cars, parked up. One of them has a smashed window; you skitter around the edges, something thick in your throat.

“Hello?” You call out, when you make it to a small cluster of homes, the residential street small and tidy.

There’s a scuff of shoes—like they’re kicking off from a wall, or in gravel—and then you startle as just a few houses in front of you, a small boy jumps from behind a wall and bolts—leaving you to call out, “HEY! WAIT—”

He disappears around the corner before you can even reach him and when you turn you scream—coming face to face with a man in the green and gold of a Pro Hero suit, his hands up, catching hold of you as you scream again, twisting.

“Whoa!” He says. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I heard you call out and—I’m sorry, this must be so weird. Are you okay? Are you okay?”

His hands squeeze your arms tighter, reassurance or warning you can’t tell but you—you try to pull back, as much as you can, your eyes flitting over his face as he does the same with you, brow furrowed, big green eyes worried under a riot of dark, green curls.

His lips part, and he swallows. “Are you okay?” He asks for a third time, a whisper. “You’re the first person I’ve seen here since—since I got separated from the others. Please. Are you okay?”

Your heart is thumping hard but you’re no longer trying to fight against him and instead of answering you shake your head—you don’t know. You don’t know. But does it matter?

Wide, firm hands squeeze your arms once more—and then release you, letting you stand, the Pro Hero’s face (and he must be a Pro Hero, you think with a frown, although suddenly you can’t remember ever having seen him) grave.

“Everything will be okay,” he says, firmly. “I’m here. We’ll stick together, find the others, and get out of here.”

From his belt, there’s the click and fuzzy roll of static, coming from a small radio. You swallow, and nod.

(His words sound familiar to you—why do they sound so familiar? Maybe it’s just the script all Pro Heroes say. But it nags at you. It’s nagging at you. Why? Why does it matter?)

[lwyikas]

Falling Leaves & K ft Akaashi Keiji

n:thank you to anon who requested,he's loml😭💗

Autumn was here, silently covering the around with a burming, calm breeze, dropping one leaf to the ground at a time. You wrapped your scarf tighter. You watch the last light of the day sink under the hills, cast long shadows on the amber striped sky, then you turn your gazes to hot mug in your hands and back to the environment you are.

Campus cafeteria is not too crowded, and the smell of coffee is thick in the air. You and Akaashi are sitting at a small table by the window. Outside, the leaves are turning in the cold breeze. As you sip your latte, Akaashi grimaces at a stack of work papers.

“honestly, I think these papers is starting to multiply. Every time I miss a glance, it doubles.”he groans, taking his head in his hands.

“That’s what you get for procrastinating,mr. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’. ” you hint, rummaging through your bag and pulling out a lipstick, refreshing your lips, that burgundy lipstick he adores. “Besides, I've heard that adding a little color helps with motivation” you gesture at to your lips.

“Do you think a kiss would give me some motivation?”

‘Depends. Will you at least stop complaining for five minutes?’

‘yeah for exactly four minutes and fifty-nine seconds’ he adds and sips his coffee.

‘Deal’ you lean over and kiss his cheek before he can react, a crimson lip print on his cheek, which he realizes but doesn't bother to wipe off, just a small smile.You glance at the books he takes out of his bag.

“Romeo and Juliet,Hamlet ,they're too well known, aren’t they? I thought you would add lesser-known books to this”

He picks up the papers in front of him and sends you an exasperated expression ‘I'm mess enough as it is and I prefer the cult works of the Shakespeare,they’re more easy to research’

"you're boring"

"I just don't want to spend too much time on an essay."”

"boring and indolent,noted"

"I'm starting to get offended,just letting you know"He rolls his eyes but can't help the slight smirk that appears on his lips. He puts down the pen in his hand and starts massaging his numb hand.

"Don't afraid, I still love you."

"thanks for your charity, how did I end up with someone that kindhearted?"he pins as he hands you a brownie from the plate in front of him.

‘My light probably blinded you. It's quite contagious’ you lean down and wipe the red kiss off his cheek “Just like this lipstick” he grabs your hand before you can pull it back and puts little kisses on your knuckles.

“So you called me here to help because you saw me as your personal Juliet?”

“No, you are quite talkative so i thought I won't get bored, but yeah you can be Juliet as well".”

“I don't think you'll ever be a Romeo, maybe a role in the evil Montaigne or Capulet families is more appropriate”You avert your eyes as you take another sip of your drink, you use the coffee mug to hide your smile, he's not the only one in this relationship who likes to mess with other in this relationship.

“You're right I'm definitely not Romeo, when I found love of my life I took action instead of watching her in the background like an idiot, I didn't wait for life to bring her to me,you can’t have some things without any try, it’s necessary to make an effort for valuable things” he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, then his smile suddenly turns serious.

“but if you ever consider me worthy of these weird bad roles again, I'm out.”

"I thought ‘weird’ was your middle name?"

“No, it's sarcasm”he grins, winks at you, and twirls your hair around his finger.

“Close enough”you grin and lean in for a kiss. “Then you'll have to pay a price to never worthy for these roles again”you whisper, he yawns and pulls back with a grin.

‘I have to finish my coffee first.’

While you roll your eyes in annoyance, he grabs the back of your head, pulls you to him,and your burgundy lipstick gets all over his warm lips ,where you can taste the coffee.

[the-californicationist]

La Media Naranja

This is a challenge fulfillment for the wonderful and singular @glitterypirateduck, the best COD curator on the internet! Ducks, I hope you enjoy my very first Alejandro fic.

Prompt: Do you trust me?

TW: female reader, vaginal sex, power dynamics, bad Spanish (I tried!)

You had been walking for the better part of the morning. The trees rustled as a stiff wind sailed over el Cerro el Sapo, the cold air tickling the branches of the mountain’s forest, making them rattle and shake. The swaying limbs reminded you of a million dancers, moving as one, waving to and fro, their boughs reaching for the cloudless, pale firmament. 

It was nice to be exploring again. You were on a short leave with your team in Monterrey, and you had been convinced — perhaps strong-armed might be a better term — to go on a hike through Las Grutás de Garcia, an extensive cave system famous for its rock formations. The caves were only a few klicks away from the large car park, but hiking in the late winter had been interesting. There were no tourists, given that it was February, and you were mostly alone. Well, except for your guide. 

When he had broken you away from the pack, he had done so on purpose. At the base of the mountain, before you had climbed so high, Alejandro had whistled loudly at the other men and hollered up the hill,

“¡Oye! Vamos a ver la octava maravilla.” Hey! We’re going to see the 8th Wonder. 

“¿Con la novata?” With the newbie? Parra asked, a hint of something prying in his voice.

“¿Por qué no, cabrón?” Why not, asshole? Alejandro smiled so that Rudy could see his teeth, and although it wasn’t meant to sting, it certainly was a warning. 

Parra didn’t respond to his colonel, but he made a face that seemed to communicate what it needed to. You weren’t sure what he meant, but you could make a guess. 

Alejandro had been playing a dangerous game with you. You’d been sneaking around together behind your teammates’ backs, thinking you were being clever, but you weren’t. It was reckless, but you didn’t care. Spending time with him was like breathing; you needed it, and you needed it all the time. 

Now, here you were, approaching the cave system, at least a few kilometers from another living soul. There were parts of the cave system that would be populated no matter what time of year it was, but your Alé knew the pathways the mountains kept hidden. 

“¿Estás bien, Cebollita?”  You okay, little onion? He asked you, helping you up a particularly tricky rock face.

You hated your callsign. When you were a rookie, you had been tasked with locating the drug cache of a well-known cartel leader who had just been apprehended. The entire compound you searched was empty, and there was only one storage room left that you hadn’t searched. You called your team over and opened the hold together. Except it wasn’t bags of cocaine behind the door; it was onions. Piles and piles of them. The stench was unbearable. You could still hear them laughing at you for making your “big discovery”. You’d been Cebbi, Cebolla, or Cellboita ever since. 

“Don’t call me that. I told you —” 

Alé, in the middle of helping you up the cliffside, stopped his assistance, leaving you dangling at his mercy. He cut his eyes down at you,

“Naranja, then?”

You stayed silent, and after he was sure his imaginary daggers had sunk into your heart, he pulled you the rest of the way up.

You sighed, 

“I know what you think.”

“Oh,” spite dripped from his mouth, “¿Y qué es eso?” And what’s that?

You stopped hiking and put your hands on your hips, staring him down like a misbehaving child. He hung back, matching your combative stance.

"Alé, we can’t tell them. They’ll treat you differently. And me…”

You were in his arms before you knew what was happening. Your colonel was quick, striking like a snake, and he held you tightly to his sweaty chest, barely allowing your thin ribs room to breathe. His mouth was so close to yours, you could smell his breath: coffee and menthols.

“They already know. They laugh at us behind our backs because we are so obvious with this,” he lifted your chin and pressed your mouth to his.

You could feel his tongue slipping along the edge of your lip, teasing you and letting you taste his wet flesh. Alejandro’s kisses were so consuming. The rest of the world melted away and all that was left was the feeling of his jaw pressing yours open, forcing you to swallow his tongue.

Then, he left you, half-drunk with lust and uncertain about everything. But, that was what you liked about him. He was a carousel, spinning you round and round and round, letting you wrap your hands around his golden pillars, trying to find an escape and ending up trapped in his wild menagerie once more. 

He marched on ahead, and you followed him into the mouth of an immense cave. It wasn’t until you were in the belly of the mountain that you realized how large the cavern was. The walls arched up in a ragged dome, dripping wet from condensation and water leaching from the porous sediment. It was cool, almost cold, and the darkness was dead silent. You walked around the edge, and a primal fear gripped you. What lurked there in the darkness? Something your ancestors had feared, perhaps? It was funny how your body knew when to be afraid. What a gift. 

What else were you afraid of? Alejandro wanted to go public with your relationship, but sleeping with your commanding officer — and a colonel at that! — was the chisme to end all chisme. You’d never live it down. Your mother’s voice was in your head, screeching warnings about men and their power. You frowned thinking about how disappointed she would be in you, as if you had committed some sin. 

“What is it, naranja? Las Grutás son maravillosas, ¿verdad?” The caves are wonderful, right? He smiled, peering up at the stalagmites jutting down from the ceiling, admiring nature’s skill. 

“They are. I’m just thinking about you and me. What are we going to do, amor?”

He stood in front of you, his tanned face shadowed by the blackness of the cave, and the light that glinted on the little pools by the entrance dancing across his skin like tattoos that had come to life, moving and undulating in indecipherable patterns, making you dizzy. 

He shook his head,

“I will do what you tell me to do. I may be your commander,” he brushed your hair behind your ear, “But, you are mine. If you don’t want to tell them, entonces me quedaré en silencio,” Then, I will be silent. He sighed, “Do you trust me?” 

You knew he was telling the truth, and when you kissed him, it was a reward for his honesty. 

You didn’t know what to do. He called you naranja, the other half of his orange, his missing piece. You believed him. You fit into each other like a key into its lock, and you knew that this was right. He loved you, and you loved him. But, your work would be unbearable. You thought about all of the looks and comments you’d get from the men, and it hurt you to your core. 

Your commander felt your thoughts through your kiss, weakening against his mouth. He pulled away, telling you with his eyes that he would take care of everything. No preocupes, naranja. Soy yo. 

Behind you, there was a flat rock, and you figured that was as clean a space as you were going to get. You sat down on it with him and let him tear away your shirt, button by button, watching your reactions the whole time. The cool air of the cave rushed across your chest, raising tiny bumps along your flesh. He saw them, and he pet them with the back of his hand so gently as if trying to make them disappear. Then, he pressed down into your bra cup and squeezed your breasts. Soft and rough, calm and wild. He was never just one way. There was always a mixture of angel and devil within him. 

Alejandro bent down to take a nipple into his mouth. He nipped at your skin, licking it and sinking his teeth into you just enough to hurt but not enough to harm, covering you in his little love bites. You gasped, cupping his cheeks in your hands, feeling how his jaw worked against you, suckling at your tits and making you warm with his mouth. 

“Alé…” You called to him with a whisper. 

As if it was a demand, he stripped his shirt over his head, pulling it from his back. Your hands went to his broad chest, well-muscled and sinewy from years of climbing and fighting and riding through the mountains of northern México. You felt the hair that dusted his skin along his breastbone, and you ghosted your fingertips over his nipples, watching his breathing become labored as you did so. 

He pulled you into his lap with an impatient hunger. Kissing your neck, his hands went to the round curve of your ass, squeezing and kneading it for his pleasure. You could feel his thumbs digging into the crease of your hips, pressing on your bones and sending electric, sparking signals to your core. You were already soaked for him, and your body recognized his desire like a dog knows the sound of its leash, ready to be walked, to be led on an adventure. 

You felt his cock prod against your ass through his jeans. He was painfully hard, and you worked to free him. Alejandro, rabid as he was, pulled your pants down by your waistband and over the swell of your ass, jerking them down to your thighs just enough so that he had access to your warm hole. His hands were there in a moment, fumbling until he found you, and then, masterful. 

His fingers dipped into you like an ink into a well, wetting himself to the knuckle. You didn’t need much coaxing. You were already soft for him, ready to take him inside of you, eager to coat him with your silkiness. 

“Mi naranjita… Estás tan lista.” My little orange. You are so ready. He panted, his eyes hooded and dark, staring at you like you had betrayed him with your lust. 

“Alé,” you kissed him, moving your loose lips across his mouth, “Tu verga, porfa… lo quiero.” Your cock, please. I want it. 

With a little difficulty because of your position, he fisted himself, shaking his shaft free from his underwear. You put your hand between your legs from behind and helped guide him in gently, letting his drooling head rub your folds like a thumb in the center of a rose, rubbing back and forth over the dewy petals. 

He was sighing in short, pained bursts as he pressed his way through you, and he looked as if he couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. His eyes widened, looking up into the ceiling of the cave with all of its natural splendor and otherworldly design, gazing up as if he would find Heaven, its gates wide open, giving him some sort of a justification for how his soul was being ripped from his chest. 

Then, on purpose, you sank your weight into him, spearing yourself onto his cock, filling up your emptiness. 

You gasped together.

“Mi vida,” he said, kissing you through his words. 

You pressed your cheek against his cheek as you began to ride him, feeling him lift you up and press you down onto his length. The wet slapping sounds of skin on skin rattled through the cave, echoing on all the walls, filling up your senses. 

“Más, más, más, papi.” More, more, more, daddy. You whined, whimpering in his ear. 

Frustrated that he wasn’t in total control, Alé removed you from himself and laid your back on the flat rock. He cradled your head so you wouldn’t be hurt, and then he set himself to removing your shoes, his cock gleaming in the low light of the cave. Shucking off your pants, he set himself on the ledge and bent over your pussy, sucking your warm wet center with his lips and tongue, tasting himself there. You keened, moaning with ecstasy across the hollow emptiness. 

When he was sated, your lover climbed over you and fit himself inside of you once more. The feeling of him pushing against your shivering muscles was addictive. That first kiss of his head on your hole was replaying itself in your mind as he sank inch after inch into you, growing thicker as he joined you in your body. 

He was out of his mind now that he had you where he wanted you. He rutted into you, fervent and greedy, taking you to the edge and letting you ride there, almost at the breach of that static, spitting fuse, lighting you on fire. 

“Let me come, Alé. Make me…” Just a little more and you’d get your wish. 

“¿Por qué? Eres mío? Mi novia.” Why? Are you mine? My girl. It was almost a plea coming from your colonel. He was testing you, but you were done playing around.

“Dámelo.” Give it to me. You demanded, wrapping your hands around his neck and letting your nails dig themselves cruelly into his nape. It was enough to make him fuck you harder, and his tone turned vicious.

“Yo les diré. Sobre nosotros. Se los diré a todos.” I’ll tell them. About us. I’ll tell them all. He threatened darkly, letting his voice rumble through his teeth as he snarled at you, his hot breath scalding your neck before he sank his mouth down to kiss it. 

He moved to your breasts, still exposed in your half-opened shirt, bouncing as he fucked you. His kisses were burning your spent nerves like a brand, and he took one of your nipples into his mouth and began to suckle from it deeply, moaning with satisfaction.

“Tell them,” you commanded quietly, ordering your colonel to make his dream come true. 

That was the spark. He set you ablaze, and you tumbled over into your bliss, washed in wave after wave of a foaming, frothy orgasm. It bubbled over you, bursting up your legs and down your arms like uncorked champagne, tightening like a knot in your belly before slipping free inside of you. 

You cried out to him, still clutching his throat in your hands. You weren’t aiming to choke him, but you had to hold on. Your body needed you to hold onto him, and Alejandro knew that need so well. He leaned into your grip, making himself vulnerable to you. 

His eyes were staring right through you, watching you fall apart underneath him, making you scream as you clenched around him. Then, he shut his lids, wrenching them closed, furrowing his brow and he began to grunt louder and louder. In this moment, you felt like you had his life in your hands, almost like he had given it to you.

You told him, through a hoarse breath,

“Te amo, Alé.” I love you, Alé.  

His eyes shot open at your admission, and he crashed through his own orgasm, spilling himself in your body. He coughed out a rumbling growl and a cascade of rhythmic moans, repetitive and satisfying.

As he came down from his high, he buried his head in your neck, rolling his forehead over you, nuzzling your throat, murmuring, 

“Mi media naranja… mi naranjita.” 

You felt his come slipping out of you as you sat up with him, feeling it pool between your legs. He held you to him, all messy and undone, breathing hard. He looked out through the archway window of the cave, and you followed his gaze. He was framed in the light of the sky’s glowing sun, pitch black on one cheek like a cut silhouette, darkened by the deep cave’s shadow, while his bronze cheek gleamed on the other side. 

You let him kiss you again, to taste your own sweetness, and you held his hand. It fit into yours as if it was made for it.  

AO3 Link

[mastercucco]

Hateno Boy - Part 1 - Link x Reader

The Calamity is gone, but so is Link’s purpose. He feels completely lost in post-Calamity Hyrule where everyone but him seem to have found their new place.

It certainly doesn’t help his restless nights that you, a young Hylian whom Zelda has hired as the new teacher at Hateno School, are slowly taking up more and more of his headspace with each conversation you two have.

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link x fem!Reader Raiting: Mature (might go up, might go down, let's see) Contains: feel-good, slow burn romance; platonic Link/Zelda; Link being an angsty retired hero Chapter Index | Read on Ao3 A/N: Very excited to write something possibly disgustingly cute. The story takes place after the events in BotW but before the beginning of TotK. All characters are adults! I hope you enjoy the story! xx

Chapter 1 - Purpose

Contains: Link being an angsty retired hero; Zelda being embarrassed by Link's inability to talk to girls (or other human beings in general) Word count: ~1,3k A/N: Please look past any weird sentences, English isn't my first language :p

A breath of warm air blows from the sea, gentle on skin and smelling of sea salt. The wind hurries over the hills of Necluda, tall grass bowing before it like waves on an emerald green ocean. Once it reaches Link sitting on top of the hills, it gently tugs on his hair and pushes his hood down.

He has been sitting there for quite some time now – so long that the tips of his ears are starting to redden from the wind, as gentle as it is. The sun that was high up when he arrived at the hills, is now hanging low over the horizon. It is soon time for him to go; Zelda asked him in the morning to stop by the school before sundown.

He is alone, as he is on most days nowadays. There isn’t much for him to do: Zelda is busy rebuilding Hateno, the recently finished village school her new pride and joy. And when she isn’t mingling with the villagers, she’s kept busy with her research at the Tech Lab. She doesn’t require an escort anymore, not after Purah hired a young researcher to assist them decipher ancient Zonai texts anyway. The man rarely leaves Zelda’s side when the two of them are together – which is often. Very often.

Link was jealous at first. After all, he is the Princess’ appointed knight, and he is the one who wields the Master Sword, and he is the one who saved Zelda’s life – not some overly excited, self-proclaimed explorer with a stupidly tall frame and an apparent distaste for wearing upper garments that hide his muscles.

Eventually, his jealousy morphed into loneliness – something he did a terrible job of hiding from Zelda. She asked him if he wanted to return to Hyrule Castle to help the Royal Guard in training new soldiers. Link said no, that he likes it here in Hateno.

“I wouldn’t mind if you go,” Zelda said, gently placing her hand on top of his, “I can see how lost you are here.”

Somehow, Zelda seeing straight through his lies and offering him kindness hurt more than her asking Link to leave in the first place. After that, Link couldn’t help but feel even more uncertain and disconnected. Everyone had seemingly moved on, everyone but him. While he still remains close with Zelda, honoring his duty, accompanying her whenever she travels outside of Hateno, even living with her, he knows deep down that she doesn’t need him anymore. The Calamity is gone, and so is his purpose.

The sun hangs low when Link arrives at Hateno School. The sky is flaring in shades of red, reminding Link of a cozy fire under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be. The school’s front doors are open, but the playground is silent and the windows are dark, all except one. It has been a while since Link last visited the school. The children adore him, which is exactly why he prefers to stay away. Their looks of admiration and curious questions make him uneasy. Ever since moving to Hateno, all he has wanted is to lay low, going as far as to hide his head-turning Champion’s tunic in the bottom of his drawer. He wanted to throw the tunic away, but Zelda wouldn’t let him.

He can already hear Zelda’s excited chattering when he reaches the open doors and quietly steps inside. Zelda is having an eager conversation with a young Hylian woman – you – whom Link doesn’t remember seeing before. He does remember Zelda telling him about a new teacher she hired a few months back, and he figures it must be you.

You notice Link arriving before Zelda does and give him a polite smile in greeting. Only when he lightly taps on Zelda’s shoulder does she stop talking and turn around.

“Oh, Link,” she smiles. “You have impeccable timing. We were just talking about you!”

Link furrows his brow. Great, just great, he thinks, already feeling the tips of his ears growing warmer.

“Only good things,” you assure with an awkward laugh. “The Princess told me you made the apple pie she brought the other day.”

Link hopes that the dim light of the oil lamps is enough to hide his red ears. He clears his throat, though not even intending to say anything.

“I don’t think you two have met before, have you?” Zelda says, giving Link an encouraging nudge.

Even after all the years spent in royal banquets practicing formal pleasantries with Hyrule’s nobility, Link still feels awkward having to introduce himself. Nonetheless, he extends his hand for a greeting. When you offer him yours, he brings it to his lips and gives your knuckles a polite kiss. Your skin feels soft and pleasant, he thinks, now horribly self-aware of just how sweaty his own palm is.

When he looks back at you, even he can pick up the awkward tension in your smile and words as you introduce yourself. He feels his whole face heat up, not really understanding what he did wrong but knowing he must have, because even Zelda has the same tension in her smile as you do.

“He is very accustomed to his formal greetings from his days at the Castle,” Zelda says with a forced smile and gives Link a look. Only then does he realize that a hand kiss, though adequate in greeting a noble woman, is not something you, a village school teacher, was expecting from a Royal Knight. He would apologize, but his mouth is dry and no words come out.

“And, well, you probably already know of Link,” Zelda breaks the uncomfortable silence after it becomes clear Link isn’t going to introduce himself.

“The Hero of Hyrule,” you say, knowingly. “We have actually met before.”

We have? Link thinks, the heat of embarrassment getting unbearable. All he wants to do is run home and hide under his bed covers for the rest of eternity. This is why he rarely leaves their home or willingly socializes with the villagers. He would cringe if he wasn’t too embarrassed to move his face muscles.

“You have?” asks Zelda out loud, her disapproving eyes boring into Link’s.

“It was years ago,” you are quick to add. “He took refuge in our family home once. I wouldn’t blame him for not remembering.”

Zelda doesn’t appear quite as understanding when she shoots another scolding look at Link, the pink in her own cheeks deepening as well. “Please,” she says as she turns back to you, “accept my apology. Link can be awfully forgetful sometimes.” She gives him a final glare that, at last, makes him drop his head. He’s not sure if dying of embarrassment is a real occurrence, but if it is, then he must be very close to leaving Hyrule for good.

“It’s quite alright, Your Highness,” you say with a slightly uneasy laugh that fails to fully mask your discomfort. “I don’t mind it, really. Like I said, it was years ago.”

There is an uncomfortable silence between the three of you. Then Zelda claps her hands, and the tension breaks like a taut rubber band. Link sighs, relieved.

“Well,” Zelda says, “now that we are done with introductions, perhaps we can show Link the curriculum we’ve been working on? I’m sure he can give us his opinion on the section about monster parts and their usage in elixirs.”

When you turn to look for something from your writing table’s drawers, Link grabs Zelda’s sleeve and gives her a pleading look. Zelda narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

“Do not even think of fleeing” she hisses in his ear before she hurries over to you to help you with a pile of scrolls close to toppling over. Link lets out a silent grunt and looks longingly at the open doors. The sun has gone down, the sky now the same shade as embers cooling down under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be.

Chapter 2 - Heromania »

[s1ater]

a moment.

pairings. lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

about. lorenzo recollects about a time where things were better, while reader only worries about what comes next.

warnings. foul language

ricky rocks. n/a

“this is not good for us.”

these were the first words you had said since the triwizard maze, where the sight of harry balling over the corpse of cedric diggory was burned into all of your minds.

enzo stares at you for a moment till his eyes crinkle in the corners in confusion to your words. he’s not sure he hears you right from how silent your tone is. he’s not even sure if you’re even talking to him, “what do you mean?”

you couldn’t feel anything but a numbing sensation and irritation. your head pierces with the start of a headache as you think about it over and over.

you could still feel theodore’s hands wrap around your arms, pushing you backwards from the crowd that slowly, but progressively surrounded the poor boy’s body—moving the opposite way from the rest of you.

he had kept mumbling ‘don’t’ and ‘no’ over and over till you were no longer within the arena, because he knew too.

“we’re fucked.”

“what?” he narrows his brows, kneeling before you and the position you were sat in on the couch. it was like you didn’t see him, like you really were talking to yourself.

“people like us, lorenzo. people like us. we’re burden with a stigma that makes everyone stay away unless they’re exactly like us. do you even know what this means?”

“no,” he shook his head, biting the corner of his lip. you were really starting to worry him. “what does this mean?”

lorenzo wasn’t there. many people weren’t there, but they still all knew. word traveled fast and you hated it.

“this is only the beginning, and it’s only going to get worse. it’s going to turn back around on us,” you shook your head, finally looking him in the eye. “he saw him, enzo. really saw him. think about our parents; who our parents are. think about it.”

you were losing your mind. spiraling.

“love,” his hand is steady on your knee, “i think you’re worried about nothing. its potter, he’s probably lost his mind in that maze. he doesn’t know what he saw.”

“that doesn’t matter,” you get to your feet, almost knocking him from his low stance as you suddenly have a stimulus in your feet. “you remember this summer, lo? think about this summer.”

your suddenly pulling your coat on and he still stands in his squatting position by the couch, watching you, helpless and lost as to what was going on in your head.

“yeah…”

“remember your mother? remember the beach house she took us to?”

he missed summer.

“yes.”

everything was better, so much better. he saw your face more. everything was brighter and smelled sweeter, and he never had as many knots in his chest as he did now. he didn’t have to watch you spiral with the simple task of pulling on your fall apparel.

you were in touch and always so close. now, he could feel it, it was going down hill from here and you’d be far from touch. all because of the hufflepuff boy.

“remember that man, the one you told me not to worry about? who was he, lo? truly,” you really looked at him now and everything was sudden. “what was he doing there and why was he there for your mother?”

the man?

he frowned, his eyes drifting from yours as he thought. those days always blended together and he couldn’t care to keep track of the date or time till the sun would rise and set.

what man?

“he said this would happen, that she needed to prepare for him to return and that there was hope again,” you clarify it for him even though you knew he knew exactly what you were talking about deep down. “and you said it didn’t mean anything and that you didn’t even know who he was—but you did, didn’t you? i could tell by your face that you did.”

theodore’s father.

his eyes suddenly moved fast to see yours once more upon realization. he had forgotten about that; blocked it out. he had figured you did too.

no. that was the beginning—when things really started to go down hill.

“where are you going?”

“answer the question, lorenzo.”

“i don’t know,” he shook his head, “i don’t remember.”

he did. he thought about it a lot.

“okay.”

“where are you going?”

“to talk to potter,” the look on your face was displeased, like you knew he was lying, but you couldn’t do anything about it.

so you left.

he never understood how you were sorted into slytherin. you were overly empathetic to the point it was sickening to anyone in the slytherin class that came within five feet of you and your goddamn smile.

overly empathetic for a hufflepuff boy you hadn’t even met before.

you didn’t understand the vendetta against all and anyone outside of slytherin. you were overly self aware of your wrongs and selfish features. you wanted to be better than your blood—but blood was blood, and it was written in stone for you to be what your parents were, and what their parents, ever since birth.

the day that man came—the day theodore’s father had somehow found the beach house lorenzo’s mother had brought you to—was a day he had thought about a lot till he couldn’t remember anymore.

he cut in from his mind.

that was the beginning of the return and he hadn’t really realized it till now.

“this is a blessing, karmita. realize that.”

“a blessing, tiberius?” she stares him with complete disgust. “think of our children. we are going into a war that no one will win.”

“you have zero faith,” he shakes his head mirroring an equal amount of revulsion. “the dark lord has given us everything and yet you stray. for what? fear?”

you were huddled against the wall separating the living room and kitchen, quietly listening to a conversation you had unintentionally walked in on.

you were almost fearful at the sight of the man due to not seeing a single soul aside from lorenzo and his mother for the past couple of weeks. his presence brought a negative stimulus that you could feel the moment you walked into the beach house despite not even seeing him yet.

tiberius nott and his son were carbon copies of each other—enzo wasn’t sure how you hadn’t realized it was your friends father. they both had tall and slanting statures with dark eyes and pale skin.

the only difference; tiberius was arrogant and cruel and never displayed a look of foolishness of a smile. he was everything theo despised and inspired not to be.

“and to think i came here to offer you and your husband a spot upon the council,” he shifted now, like he was over with this conversation. “this is a revolution… something that you could be apart of, and be awarded for, but i see you’re far from ready.”

he made a drastic move to exit the kitchen causing you to move as fast as you could from sight, only for you to bump into lorenzo who was just as quick to grab you and yank you around the corner.

“what are you doing?”

“who’s that man?”

lorenzo missed the beach. he missed your sandy face, hot and sunburnt skin, cold showers, and the sound of nothing but beach waves and your sick laugh that he could never get tired of.

but he had to face that was no longer.

**

“harry?”

the pale boy and his friends look up at you with surprise and unfamiliarity.

you stare back with a look the was unintelligible, but your voice gave you away. you sounded sympathetic and gentle, like you didn’t want to scare him away.

“yes?”

“you know who i am?”

he looks between his fellow gryffindor peers at this question, almost finding it so ridiculous, he doesn’t know how to answer.

“yes.”

“can i talk to you?”

“he doesn’t want to talk to a snake like you, y/l/n,” one of the boys scowls at you, almost standing to his feet from the table. “why don’t you beat it before you cause any more trouble.”

“sit down seamus before she puts a hex on you,” hermione yanks him to his seat by his collar.

“it’d be well deserved for his loud mouth,” george mumbles, “let the slytherin princess speak before you lay a hand on her.”

you look between each of them as they quarrel about seamus’ big mouth. your mouth slightly opens, finding it a little amusing, “i’d only like to speak to potter.”

“you want to speak with potter, you speak with all of us,” ron weasley stands fast before his friend could even react.

his face is just as red as his hair as if fuming in annoyance or anger but you’re not sure why… no, you were sure. it’s exactly as you guessed. you were already getting condemned for something that wasn’t your fault.

“ron, it’s fine,” harry presses him lightly back into the wooden bench. “i’ll talk.”

**

“you don’t believe me, do you?”

“i do.”

“what do you want me to say?”

you stay silent at that question. you’re not sure. you don’t even know why you’ve came to speak to him now that you think about it.

after he retold all that happened, your mind went blank and you couldn’t even begin to think on how to put your own thoughts into words.

“i’m sorry.”

he’s shocked.

“why?”

“i think i’ve wasted your time,” you get to your feet fast out of embarrassment but he’s quick to grab your arm.

“you’re afraid,” his sick big brown eyes are prying and wide like he had finally just figured it all out. “aren’t you?”

you swallow, slowly sitting back down, “maybe i am.”

“why? you’re untouchable.”

your frown lines immediately dig deep into your cheeks at his words. he’s wrong. he should know it, but you don’t protest despite your mouth already being open to disagree, “i want to know one thing.”

“what is it?”

“you said they unmasked themselves when he was there… did you recognize any of them?”

did you recognize my father? did you recognize my mother? did you recognize any of my heir?

“draco’s father,” he seems to wince while saying it, “that’s it.”

he can see the unsatisfaction in your face, like you’re waiting for something more. you were unsure and he could tell, “look, if you’re curious about something, why don’t you just ask, y/n?”

“my father, harry.”

he shook his head, then you breathe.

thank god.

“that wouldn’t mean anything, would it though?”

“no, it wouldn’t. but i’d like to believe it does.”

**

“lo,” your hands clasped both sides of his face, “wake up, love.”

he laid on the floor of his bedroom, completely passed out. to say you had never found lorenzo like this, would be a complete lie, but it didn’t make it any less concerning.

“you better be alive,” you slung a leg over his torso, now straddling as you kept your hands on both sides of his face, now lightly shaking him. “we don’t have time for this.”

you feel him shift beneath of you, stretching him limbs before opening his eyes to the sight of you. he almost jumps out of surprisal, but smirks.

“god’s answered my prayers,” his hands creep onto your hips, “i’ve been waiting for this moment.”

you roll your eyes, hitting his chest as you get off of him, “yeah, you’re not that in touch with god.”

you still lay next to him, and it's quiet as you both really think. it's obvious all lightheartedness is gone and anything sweet was no longer.

it was obvious, but you both wanted to swallow it down.

"lo," you turn on your side, curled closer against him where his arm immediately curls around you. he could hear the tightness in your voice, something he didn't like and wish he could just ignore. "I believe harry."

"yeah."

he did too.

"draco's father was there," your fingers slightly pull on the threads of his old and wrecked white cotton sweater out of anticipation. "that can't be good... even for us-"

“let’s just not worry," he looks at you now, cutting your further rambling off. "for just this moment. let's not worry.”

you stare at him, he looks away and back to the ceiling. back to the beach.

give me... just a moment.

navigation.

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[absoluteloser64]

any hole is a goal

lads remake james is so fit and I've never written anything like this before lmao

not proofread:p

james was delirious. stumbling around the woodside apartment building, the peeling wallpaper, the rusty smell, made him sick to his stomach.

without any health drinks left in his pocket he collapses against the wall, sweat beading from his forehead as his brows furrowed in pain, clenching his side, he stared at the blood that had leaked from his body, swallowing dryly at the sight. those fucking monsters outside...

his eyes fluttered as exhaustion began to take hold. mumbling desperately the name of his wife..when his eyes suddenly snapped open..

he could have sworn he just heard her voice, that sweet mellow voice, meant only for him.

"Mary?" he cautiously called out into the darkness of the corridor. he can hear her he swears he can. although he cannot make out a single word she is saying.

her voice is calling to him, like a siren in the waves. he stumbles upwards running towards the direction of her voice, is she to the right? the left? upstairs? down? he yells desperately "Mary!"

until he sees it.

a hole in the wall.

not at arm level like he was used to..lower than that.

James was never all that hesitant to shove his arm into the abyss, especially when the result of doing so helped him on the path of finding his sweet, sweet darling wife.

he gulped, as he stepped closer to the wall, feeling a warm heat radiate from it, something he had long forgotten, especially in the damp cold which was Silent Hill.

his body relaxed as he got close enough to place his hand against the wall, feeling it beat against his palm.

"Mary? are you in there?" he whispers out. and the hole in the wall beats harder against his hand. his mind softens, as if all the questions he has, had been answered instantaneously.

he groans against the wall, pushing himself fully against it, into it's welcoming warmth. lightly kissing the chalky brick, which in turn causes his lips to stain red.

"Oh Mary..Mary..Mary.." he murmurs wantonly as he begins to slightly move his hips against the wall, his mind turned to mush. he swears he can smell her perfume.

the hole, which now sits at perfect crotch level is even hotter than the rest of the room, tempting him. inviting him.

without a second thought, he unbuttons his black jeans and drops them just below his knees, shoving his boxer covered bulge further into the heat. but by God it still didn't feel like enough.

his face is flushed, hair pushed up out of his face, jacket long forgotten on the floor of this rotten building. how long had he even been here like this??

his throat was dry and his boxers now stained in copious amounts of precum, as he peeled them down to reveal his girth. bright red and bulging. desperate. he finally gets to cum inside his wife again.

that thought thrills him, as he grabs his length and circles it around the hole. the heat feels even hotter than before, as he eventually thrusts full force into the void.

he moans oh so loudly, as the fleshy, gummy walls of the hole grip him firmly. this was definitely his wife. made just for him. shaped for him. It pulses against his throbbing cock as he snaps his hips further into the chasm, cumming instantly.

his nails were red raw from scraping against the wall, his face in ecstasy, mouth wide open as drool drips down his neck. he felt as though he was being eaten alive. and it felt good.

he looks down to where he and his wife are connected and begins to pull out, however the hole would not let him. he whines in frustration, wanting to pummel into her pretty pussy.

however the hot gummy walls begins to move around his cock for him, milking him. "Fuck..." he cries out, forehead placed against bricks.

"You want my babies Mary?" he would groan out, thrusting his hips further into the abyss, eyes rolling into the back of his head, imagining Mary fully round with his child.

and that thought sends him cumming into her again, and again and again. It seems like he couldn't stop cumming. three years of no release does that to a man.

tears stream down his face, god he had missed her. feeling her walls having less grip on him, he begins to pull out watching his cock as he does so..

he sees blood. copious amounts of blood.

his brain is rattled. all he can do is stare. the blood on his penis. the blood gushing from the hole. the egregious amount all over the floor, all over him, inside him.

what has he just done?