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orbitariums · 7 months ago

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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.

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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.

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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.

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“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.

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“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.

#challengers #challengers smut #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x black reader #patrick zweig x black reader #x black reader #x reader #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x patrick zweig #art donaldson x black! reader #patrixk zweig x black! reader

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w3bgrl · 9 months ago

Text

chan and his 1st child/yt.com

creator. [subtitles/translations.]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 intro: hello my fellow smoothbrained friends. welcome or welcome back! today we will be taking a look at some bangju moments over the past (almost) 6 years with stray kids that never fail to warm my heart <3 if you like these kinds of posts consider interacting or sharing your favorite moment! thank you! now to what we’re really here for :)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 stray kids survival show

splayed under the blue light from his computer screen, chan’s dexterity over the mouse begins to slow followed by heavy eyes fighting against the cozy weight of gravity lulling him to sleep, his loss against this force signified by his slowed, deep breaths.

[using the track as a lullaby, he goes straight to dreamland]

speeding up the footage reveals a better understanding as to how long he really sat asleep in his chair until a cut transitions to his new position leaned against the back, somewhat sitting up still with the room light shining bright as ever above his head.

[but, it sounds like someone’s at the door!]

soft shuffling footsteps reveal a squinting juyeon with major bed-head. [it’s the members’ mother hen!] carefully she reaches across the sleeping boy to his mouse, sliding it around on his track pad a bit clicking here and there, and then the screen goes black. [taking care of the leader making sure his work was saved. but…] she then turns and waddles out of view again. [what is she doing?]

the audible flip of a light switch shrouds the room in darkness, and from within this darkness, juyeon’s whispered coos could be heard.

[JY: oppa. come on,]

[BC: hm?]

[JY: to bed. everything is saved, just get under the covers.]

[~hardworking leader chan gets tucked in bed by angel juyeon, who looks after the member responsible for the rest. as long as he’s got her by his side, chan’s well taken care of.~]

[JY: sleep well, channie~]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 finding skz running man

stopping near the carousel in the center of the mall chan sighs heavily with his hands on his hips, catching his breath as he scanned over the layout once more. “ah — i really don’t know. i haven’t seen her at all.”

after pausing to listen for any movement within the building - and only hearing the commotion from the other boys - chan turns with a mischievous smile toward the camera man “do you know where she is? have you seen her?”

[meanwhile…]

cut to juyeon narrowly avoiding seungmin as he came down the hall, crouching to duck behind one of the arcade machines just in time for him to pass by without noticing the older girl. the second she decided he was far enough was when she took off in the opposite direction with the cameramen racing to keep up with her.

juyeon comes to a stop once she reaches the main room, the lights from the carousel twinkling in her wide eyes once she spots the blonde boy across the room.

[like a deer in the headlights, billie appears!]

chan is already looking in her direction as he throws his hands up mousily. “wait,” he says, masking the ulterior motives apparent to everyone but juyeon “will you help me?”

“help you?” she repeats, still as a statue whilst chan ambles over to bridge the gap between them. [will she fall for the leader's trick?]

“have you seen felix?”

a suspicious smile grows on juyeon's lips as he draws closer and her own palms raise defensively, taking half a step back from the boy whose mask of innocence had begun to slip the closer he got. "oppa." she says like an accusation. a bright smile dawns on chan's face.

"i'm not after you."

juyeon is now fully backpedaling. [she doesn't believe him] "oppa, have mercy."

there is a brief pause as chan seemingly weighs his options with his eyes still locked on hers, his jolly grin becoming more and more pixy with each passing millisecond before he abruptly lunges forward for her with outstretched hands to grab her nametag. juyeon nearly threw herself into one of the pillars behind her to protect the name on her back.

"please! you're my favorite member!"

chan now stops just before her with eyebrows knitting together before he laughs at her interesting tactic. "i'm your favorite?"

"totally," juyeon giggles "especially when you give me a five second head start."

"more than changbin?" he adds, prodding at her will to bargain. she simply tilts her head.

"who?"

[and with that, the deal is sealed]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 2 kids room

“honestly,” chan starts, removing the lollipop stuffed in his cheek as he sat criss-cross on the blue corduroy couch “i love this hair color on you.”

“really?” asked juyeon with a surprised smile, whose fiery red hair had become a hot topic recently. he hummed.

“i think red suits you well. of course you’re always pretty but the red really catches peoples eye.”

now giggling bashfully, juyeon subconsciously tucked an aforementioned red strand behind her ear to reveal her peachy cheeks, eyes sparkling with appreciation despite her response. "you've been suspiciously supportive recently — i feel like i need to look out for blackmail or something.”

“what is that supposed to mean?!” the leader shrilled, almost pouting, arms flying to fold across his chest teasingly at her insinuation. however, this feigned offense was quickly replaced by the smile accompanying his laughter at her mirroring of his demeanor.

“you know i can’t accept compliments!!”

“well! —” he began with the same chaotic energy before abruptly halting himself to instead dial it back with a nonchalant shrug “that’s okay, at least you know.”

juyeon, peeling open her eyes squeezed shut to hide from the embarrassment, now dropped the arms crossed tight against her chest and subsequently her guard. she spoke in a soft hum to mutter, “it is nice to know, though. i do appreciate it…”

“good. you should know how precious you are.”

“ew!”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 chan’s room phone call

“hmm…was it a different name?” chan mumbles, more to himself than the stay watching his livestream as he searched for that particular day6 song he wanted to talk about, eyes quickly scanning over the titles in hopes of finding ‘the one.’

“oh! here it is.”

he begins playing ‘i loved you’ before sitting back in his chair to intently listen along with stay. it begins with the buzzing of crickets before jumping right into the members’ gorgeous and clear voices, and after only half a minute or so of nodding his head along with their labelmates past masterpiece, the discernible buzz of his phone against the table quickly catches his attention.

“oh!” he pauses the music to pick up his phone “it’s bibiya! let’s see what chu’s up to.”

chan answers her call below stay’s view, indicating that she’d actually facetimed him, made glaringly apparent by the bloop! as it connected. if that wasn’t evidence enough then surely juyeon’s squeaky voice coming through the speaker did, the leaders face lighting up prior to his laugh.

“sorry!! i just remembered about your live!”

chan quickly turned the volume down as he chuckled “it’s okay! the more the merrier. do you want to say hi?”

“yeah! can stay hear me?”

he nodded, eyes flicking up to filter through the live comments now buzzing with her name.

“helloooo stayyy! is channie entertaining you well? don’t forget about his weekly sunday live like i did. uh…make sure to eat well and get lots of rest!!”

chan would giggle before pulling his eyes from the comments and back to the screen out of view. “do you want me to call you back?” he asked quietly, wary of the audience listening in on the reason why she called “i’ll be done in 30.”

“oh — that’s okay — i just wanted to know if you still wanted to watch that movie with me tonight.”

the leaders eyebrows raised high, eyes panning up to the live almost like a scene from the office before looking back down at the girl on his screen.

“did you forget?”

“no! i remember!” he blatantly lied with a giggle “we’ll sit down to watch it as soon i get home, okay?”

there was an exasperated sigh before her response. “okayyyy. have fun with the rest of your live. bye bye stay!”

chan would mutter his own goodbyes to his bandmate before she hung up, and then his focus would immediately shift back up to the audience before him, a bashful blush dusting his cheeks as he laughed once more.

“i definitely forgot about the movie tonight. don’t tell joong.”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 dinner w/ billie live

“okay, next!” juyeon turns from the pot of noodles boiling on the stovetop to then grab the jar of alfredo sauce on the counter “this is my favorite pasta of all time — after jjajangmyeon — so we’re gonna use a lot of it.”

the pajama-clad girl then attempts to open the lid using both hands, her face screwing together with pursed lips as she visibly uses all her might to twist the top off. “oh, man,” she wheezes, resting to glance up at the comments before trying again “it’s really on there!”

juyeon now readjusts her grip to get as much of her hand on the lid as possible, her other holding the jar tight as to not drop it before taking another shot at opening the precious sauce, nearly folding into herself at the waist as she once again fails to unscrew the lid.

“jeez! did they glue it on there or something?” she huffs “why is it so difficult? that’s so rude.”

for a moment she stands there in front of the camera, dumbfounded and red-faced as she looks over the jar like there was another method hidden underneath, before holding her index up to the audience now laughing at her struggles.

“hold on,” she says while backing toward one of the bedroom doors she’d banished the boys to while she was on live “don’t go anywhere! i’ll be back!”

thankfully, due to the positioning of the camera she’d set up in the kitchen, stay were still able to see juyeon as she waddled over to knock on one of the wooden doors with mumbles of ‘the stupid jar.’ this door would then open to reveal a comfy-looking and barefaced chan with a smile already on his face as he exited the darkness and entered the living room to take the jar from her.

it would only take him the few seconds of a walk back into the kitchen to then successfully pop open the blasphemous lid that had publicly defeated juyeon. he’d outwardly laugh as she stole the now-opened jar from his hands, a vexed frown on her lips.

“i loosened it for you.”

“oh i’m sure.”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 stray kids survival show

[the members are hard at work, practicing their performance relentlessly to polish even the smallest of details before presenting themselves before jyp and yg in the morning]

the group looks wholly exhausted as the song then comes to a close, their heaving breaths and faces glistening with sweat acting as a visual indicator to how eager they were to give a good performance in front of not only their own boss but also yg and his trainees, hands flying to rest on their hips as they tromped over to their water bottles.

the boys’ quick disperse from the formation in the middle subsequently revealed a haggard-looking juyeon with her fingers interlocked behind her head. a quick zoom-in on the panting girl would expose her trembling bottom lip as she blinked rapidly before cranking her neck to look up at the lights on the ceiling.

[juyeon looks troubled]

chan, sitting in the right hand corner of the screen as he messed with the speaker, could be seen with his attentive leader gaze on the red-faced girl. to the untrained eye — namely the viewers watching who still didn’t know the members very well — his furrowed brow and pursed lips could easily be read as irritation towards the black sheep of the group. however, the speed with which he stood in order to be by her side after she turned her back indicated otherwise.

[leader chan is quick to check in on his members when they’re struggling]

“hey,” he hummed, placing a hand between her shoulders to seclude them from the other boys “you okay?”

chan’s soothing presence would be the catalyst that revealed juyeon’s true state even as her back was turned to the camera, face hidden from view as her frail, shaky voice exposed the tears she’d fought to conceal.

“yeah — sorry — ts’stupid”

“hey,” he’d say again, now moving to stand in front of her to catch her gaze “what’s up?”

juyeon shook her head, dropping her interlocked fingers to instead wipe the tears on her cheeks. “i don’t know — nothing — i’m good”

“talk to me, joong. you don’t have to find the right words, just tell me how you’re feeling.”

[although juyeon tried to hide her troubles, chan won’t let her suffer alone]

“m’just…scared. what they’ll think — what they’ll say…”

chan’s response was immediate; certain and encouraging as he brushed her hair from her face. “that’s okay, ju. it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to worry about what people will think, we all do, but you can’t let it eat at you. they’ll say what they’re gonna say, but at the end of the day, you’re still the talented juyeon we know you are — you know you are. don’t let the fear stop you from doing what you love.”

with this, juyeon sighs. she stands there for a moment to take in his encouraging words, marinating his verbal and nonverbal support in her mind before nodding shortly once more.

“we’ll all be there to back you up, ju. always.”

[juyeon may be anxious about tomorrow, but she has her boys to stand behind her, and they’ll defend her to the ends of the earth]

#♡ billie #♡ bangju #skz oc #stray kids oc #stray kids 9th member #stray kids imagines #kpop added member #kpop oc #kpop addition #bang chan imagines #not the happiest with how this turned out but i really wanted something to be up today!#i hope you enjoy and i hope to be posting something new soon!

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amarylliasky · 5 months ago

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Number 6 is kind of a random post!

Random things that I frequently forget exist and are canon in Tcf/lcf

1. Choi Han canonically has three ancient powers.

2. The exact words Eruhaben used to describe Cale’s face are “a bit fancy.” What’s even better is, from that phrase alone, Alberu is immediately able to deduce that it is Cale he is talking about.

3. Rasheel beat the crap out of Dorph and the lion was never heard from again(not in any significance or that I remember anyway. It’s been a hot minute since I read the end of part 1).

4. Ron and Beacrox never had their housewarming party. Cale and Raon even said they would bring gifts.

5. Alberu has other half siblings aside from Robbit and the third prince(who still doesn’t have a name).

6. Lee Chul Min of Earth 1 became a guild leader.

7. Hubesha exists. Add onto that, Priest Gersey exists(I know, I know, they are major antagonists in the later parts of part 1, but it’s been a while ok?)

8. Cale left a priest robe for Clopeh to find, along with a note. Clopeh probably still has it. I’d wager that’s one of the first items on display in the future museum he establishes.

9. (Mentions part 2!!!!!!———>) So far the only person to hide in the ceiling without being uncovered(not undiscovered tho) was that random tail Imperial Prince Adin put on Cale when the Roan envoy arrived at the Empire. This includes xxxx xxxx xxx and Cale himself.

10. Hannah could technically be the youngest swordmaster. Choi Han is over 100 years old and Bud is in his mid thirties. (Of course, that also depends on how skilled Clopeh was at her age too).

11. Cale smacks Beacrox on the head. He then proceeds to dump water on him. He then pats Beacrox’s head with a ‘disgustingly gentle expression.’ Lol.

12. Cale plots his own demise at one point(I could never forget this gem, but every once in a while I just get so surprised that it’s canon and not some sort of crack fic. Not to mention Alberu feeling like he lost to WS because Cale said his cookies were better).

13. Alberu brews tea as a hobby.

14. During the test where Cale is invisible, when they meet Eruhaben but he’s been tricked by the WS/SG, Eruhaben and Raon are about to fight. Meanwhile Cale is, of all places, curled up in a ball between them. Like, why would you just sit there?! Ik he can’t be seen or touched, but still! Also Eruhaben called him a rat. :(

15. On and Cale go on a father-daughter undercover mission disguised as academy students. (I would actually really like to read a fic where they go undercover at an academy in their world, not a crossover or au.

16. Taerang came from Earth 3, right? So hypothetically, since there is a Kim Rok Soo on Earth 1 and 2, does that mean there’s also one on Earth 3? Just something I like to think about. Also, it’s supposedly a mashup of Earth and Cale’s current world, right? So hypothetically speaking, does that mean that both Kim Rok Soo and all of the characters from The Birth of a Hero could possibly exist in one world? I just think that’s cool. I’d like to see that.

17. Cale was gifted an evil sword/dagger from the former Emperor of Mogoru. According to Raon, it has an ‘evil aura.’ Though he does give it back, and I genuinely can’t remember it being of any significance since then.

18. They roleplay going on a walk/ having a picnic in front of the secret entrance to the basement of the Alchemist Bell Tower.

19. Canonically, members of the Penguin tribe apparently waddle around in black outfits and make the best butlers, as stated by Whitiria. Because if that doesn’t scream fantasy cliche I don’t know what does.

20. Cale has two different fears at the beginning and during the war with WS. One is to be the last one alive at the end of the battles, similar to his life as Kim Rok Soo; the other is for his life as Cale Henituse to be just a dream. Both are extremely sad and so like him. It’s not really something I forgot, but it’s also something I think the fandom just doesn’t talk about enough. Like, we all know(and love) to talk about the test on Wind Island, but what about the illusion Elisneh traps him in? To imagine himself waking up as Kim Rok Soo the day after; like all that he experienced, his entire family he built, was all just a dream? That’s heart wrenching. That for me is genuinely one of the most impactful moments in the novel.

Now spoilers for part 2 for those who don’t know what I was talking about on number 9.

///////////////

Cale and Choi Han were discovered in the ceiling by the WS when they sneak into the Dubori territory Capital. Funnily enough though, the only reason Choi Jung Soo was discovered was because he was so shocked by Cale coughing up blood that he was discovered by the Carnage Demon and then they fell through the ceiling.

///

Edit: I edited some of these cuz they’re not actually accurate. In case anyone’s wondering.

#lcf #lout of count’s family #tcf #trash of the count's family #rraes lcf countdown2024 #cale henituse #kim rok soo #eruhaben #alberu crossman #choi han #choi jung soo #raon miru #also let me know if I’m going overboard with the read more break #I just think these (aside from 5) are kinda long and I’m trying to make it easier to navigate

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 2 months ago

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🧚‍♀️ Anon

Risotto similar to Jason Voorhees? (I had to do it! I couldn’t resist!!)

He was bullied a lot as a kid for his bizarre appearance, white hair, red eyes and black sclera

However his childhood friend Darling was always so nice and kind to him, telling him how his eyes and hair is very pretty and cool, she was 1 years younger than him and much smaller too (Darling was very small for a 9 year old, with Risotto being 10)

Until Risotto’s death, which devastated Darling so much that het mind repressed her own memories of what happened that day (As she was being held back by bullies who let Risotto drown)

Now almost 20 years later and some random people are trying to bring back the place, which cause Risotto’s cousin to snap and go on a killing spree (I thought it would be interesting to do a role reversal for Risotto with his cousin) until his death at the hands of one of the people he tried to kill

Darling went to the lake to pay her yearly respects to Risotto like she always does on his birthday (Not realizing the hulking individual stalking her. Watching her. Following her back home)

So when Darling comes home, she opens her fridge and screams in horror seeing the severed head of someone, only for huge hands to grab Darling and she’s forced unconscious and awakens inside a rundown house tied to the bed and walks in a huge man

Risotto either doesn’t talk or he can but his speech is very broken as he and Darling made a promise to marry each other when they grow up and Risotto intends to fulfill it

Risotto face looks rotting with half his jaw bone seen, grey to greenish skin from the rot or it’s burned flesh, whatever you want

Happy Halloween!! 🎃

Happy Halloween, would have posted a fic today but Nintendo released their music app... let's just say splatoon 3 ost and smut do not work together lol.

But hell Risotto as Jason Voorhees.

Warnings: mentions of attempted sexual exploitation.

Risotto was never a social person, he was a recluse and his strange appeared didn't make things better. Darling was there for him though.

Around 16 and 15 they ended up going on a school camp and darling ended up in a situation where her male classmates were blackmailing her into performing sexual favors. Risotto intervenes to help her but he's overwhelmed by the group and is floored. Darling pleads with them to stop, she'll do what they want if they stop hurting him while one of them holds her back.

They end up dragging him to the nearby lake and forcing his head under, pulling him up every so often until he stops struggling. The group freaks out realizing they just killed him. Darling is quickly pushed aside and ends up unconscious from the fall.

They end up submerging his body under rocks and promise to never tell what happened. Now they need to deal with Darling but when she comes to she doesn't remember what happened that night and they take her back to camp.

Next morning Risotto is nowhere to be found, the people who run the camp call the police but even they can't find him. The camp is ended early and shortly after the whole thing is shut down after his mother sues for negligence.

Darling is still close with his family after all she'd been dating him at the time. His cousin, Campanelle knows there was something up with his disappearance. It had to be foul play.

Years later does one of the former students buy the place and offer to host their high-school reunion before it officially opens. They barely knew anything about Risotto and think it was a shame it got shut down after what happened. Most people believe he just ran away.

Darling does go but is drawn to the water, she sits out on the dock. Wondering what happened to Risotto and hopping that he really did run away, as unlikely as it seems.

Meanwhile Cam ends up overhearing one of the guys mention what happened that night and all hell breaks loose as he ends up killing one of the guys and injuring two others. Everyone is shocked and darling gets back just as the police arrive.

"They killed him! (Insert a few names) killed Risotto Nero!" Cam loudly proclaims as he brandishs a knife before he's killed. Darling is mortified, it stabs her to know the truth.

The camp hall where the party was held is closed for investigation but the rest of the place however is still open. Due to darling helping the host with preparations she got one of the private lodges.

She goes back for the night bawling her eyes out. She needs a drink to soothe her throat and opens the fridge to see the severed head of one of the culprits in the fridge, he'd tried to run away after being called out before meeting with a grizzly fate. In the light she also sees the blood on the floor from what she assumes is the head.

She runs out the door to tell someone before running into someone. She clears her eyes to see a large figure but can't make out the features in the low light.

"The fridge- there's a-" she tries to speak past her hiccups but the figure grabs her in their tight grip, brandishing a machete at her.

"Please let me go! I'll do whatever you want, Just let me go" she begs them. They end up putting away the blade before knocking her out. Risotto didn't realize it was darling at first until she begged, almost mirroring what she begged before his death.

When she comes to she's finds herself tied to a chair in a dingy old cabin. A lamp is lit and is met with the monster before her. Blueish gray skin with extreme visible veins. Parts eaten away exposing the muscle and bones beneath. Looking up at his face his lower jaw is only bone but those eyes and hair catch her off guard. No it couldn't possibly be. She remembers what happened now, there's no doubt he died.

"No... it can't be" she chokes out before crying again. His hand caresses her face.

"No! there's no way you're him!" She shouts as she moves her head away. He looks older, how could he even age if he was dead. She refuses to believe her beloved could ever become this creature. He's determined to show her the truth.

He came back for her. The moment he awoke he was thrown into a frenzy to try and save darling a many years too late and ended up killing two people hiding out at the abandoned site.

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere x reader #yandere #🧚‍♀️ anon #monster au #yandere risotto #slasher au

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hopeforchanges · 1 month ago

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***dramatic inhale, lungs full of air, cheeks puffed out, dramatic exhale***

OKAY HEAR ME OUT. Galadriel Gets Hanahaki Disease Post-War: An AU No One Asked For But Everyone Needed the Last Alliance of Elves and Men pulls through (barely), Sauron’s defeated, and Middle-earth is ready to exhale for the first time in ages. Evil’s gone. Everything’s fine. Sure, Isildur fucked off with the one ring, but he ended up face down ass up in the river so nvm actually.

Cue Galadriel, just vibing in her forest home. She hears the news: Evil has been defeated. Sauron vaporized. We don't know if he dead but he sure look dead and his bling has been lost.

She’s a bit conflicted, but quickly pushes the thought where all the thoughts of this nature had gone ever since she got stranded on the raft: back of the head, sealed with fire, never to be thought of again.

She’s doing her ethereal elf-lady thing—checking the Mirror, side-eyeing Celeborn, contemplating the unending march of time—and suddenly… she coughs. This is the kind of cough that comes with ✨trauma✨. She feels something in her throat, hacks into her hand, and what falls out? A flower. Like, a full-on delicate, blood-streaked petal.

She has heard of this disease, she has seen it, back when Morgoth first brought war to Valinor, some elves and men both that managed to survive that unspeakable horror ... but that was a long time ago. Middle-earth has been healed since, no?

Except standing there with a bouquet growing out of her lungs because she’s repressing some next-level unholy feelings. She tries to hide it, of course, because what’s more elf-core than denying your feelings until they literally kill you? Celeborn starts to notice, though.

She’s coughing up black petals now (Nightshade? Some evil flower with a ridiculous Elvish name like Mornothlossë?).She stops sleeping (as if she slept much before lol).The golden glow she usually has? Fading fast.

The flowers keep coming. Her power wanes. Celeborn tries everything—herbs, healing songs, taking her on long walks through Lothlórien’s version of Whole Foods (idk what Elves do for fun). Nothing works.

One night, when she’s feeling particularly weak, she whispers in her husband’s arms: "It should have been me who destroyed him. I should have gone to him.

And she just looks away, her hand covered in crimson-stained petals, because she knows.

She knows.

Does Celeborn, the ultimate sad husband guy, do something reckless like trek to the ruins of Mordor to find closure for her? Or—does Sauron, who may or may not have some lingering, half-dead spirit floating around, somehow catch wind of her condition and decide, “Welp if there ever was a time to turn myself into a floating flaming eye..."

Meanwhile, Galadriel in her golden halls, coughing up dying Mallorn flowers because her heart is tied to something so dark it snuffs out even her light.

Should I write this? Should YOU? Someone PLEASE write this.

#hope's aus #hope musings #haladriel #saurondriel #the rings of power #one ship to doom them all #celeborn you are useless #do something man

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all-pacas · 3 months ago

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I saw some of your posts saying how observant and clever Chase is,while also being a "dumb whore". I feel like this is the right place to say that I don't find his "ditzy slut" moments funny in isolation,without taking his cunning,calculating traits into account. If Chase is just a "himbo",it takes away the shock value(not to mention I've seen way funnier "simple dumbasses" than "isolated Chase moments"). On the other hand,a guy who can clearly think on his feet making terrible mistakes that could be avoided by a bit of common sense is a recipe for hilarious "wtf?" moments. Like,I've seen you deduce stuff with striking accuracy with minimal information,how did you come with such an inane conclusion? It's what they call "high intelligence,low wisdom".

Also,I saw a post of you saying Foreman is "book-smarter" than Chase,while the latter is more observant and a "people-person",besides having more "improvising" skills. This is certainly interesting,considering their backgrounds(Foreman was raised in the hood,had some involvement with gangs;whereas Chase was a rich brat with many opportunities. One would think their skillsets would be inverted,lol)

Even before I finished reading this comment, I was planning on making a "he's a high in/low wisdom," so thanks for making that joke for me, lol.

The thing is, Chase is legitimately very lazy. Or like. He works hard and he's very good at his job, but I think it's interesting that both his specialties are… obviously to be a doctor you have to be smart, but he has very hands on specialties. His job isn't to memorize and know everything about auto-immune diseases, his job is to be great at cutting people open and fixing them. Again, I am well aware surgeons and intensive care takes a lot of knowledge! But it's interesting to me, you know? He definitely comes off as less cerebral.

And he's deeply unambitious. He spends half the show in a fellowship, a training program, because he's more comfortable there. Cameron and Foreman have a subplot about writing articles; we never hear anything about Chase doing the same. House literally has to fire Chase to get him off the team. Where Foreman is always desperately trying to prove himself and be the best doctor in the room, and where Cameron is honestly also deeply competitive and demands respect, Chase… we joke about him being spineless, he is spineless, but also he never really seems to mind it. He doesn't care. He does not seem offended Foreman keeps getting put in charge, nor does he really want it for himself. He has the most seniority of the fellows, but never plays it up; he's fine where he is. And I think that's where his 'laziness' comes in. He just… doesn't try very hard. Very rich kid of him, tbh. He coasts whenever possible.

Meanwhile Foreman is a huge perfectionist, and has a huge inferiority complex. He is the first to tell everyone he had perfect grades (he tells Chase a time or two), went to top schools, has a perfect resume, because Foreman derives a lot of his self worth from being able to say that: if he's the best, no one can say he doesn't belong. I think it's because of his background that he's like this: he's a Black man from a Bad Neighborhood and has a Record and he's absolutely aware what that makes him in the eyes of others. He can't afford to be like Chase — Chase can get away with being lazy and unambitious because he's a rich, good looking, white guy (and foreign, at that — but the good kind of foreign, who speaks English as a first language and comes from a rich and successful family). If Foreman acted like Chase — like he didn't give a shit about his career, like he was just working for House for the hell of it — it would look different. It would feel different. Foreman is a perfectionist and has an inferiority complex because his whole life the world has told him he's not as good, he's doomed to "turn out" bad, he won't and can't amount to anything because of who he is. Cameron is assertive and ambitious and gets really touchy when people underestimate or overlook her, because she's sensitive and kind and weak (Foreman himself tells Cameron he thinks she needs to "toughen up"), and so she also constantly has to prove herself, and that she can be a Good Doctor And Leader while still being compassionate and soft. Again, Chase doesn't have to worry about any of this. He can be unambitious and easy-going about his career, because it doesn't really matter to him in the same way. He doesn't have to be the best student or get the best marks and have the best record. He has very little to prove.

And in a way, Chase is in the same kind of perception trap as the others. Not to suggest he has it soooo much worse than Foreman, but because he's a Rich Good Looking Dude, you kind of expect him to be a nepobaby. You kind of expect him to be useless and underqualified and shallow. To coast on his looks and to not have brains and have no idea how to manage in the Real World. It's definitely how Foreman sees Chase — he says as much, and lowkey hates him for it, and fair enough — but again what's interesting to me is where it isn't quite true. Chase is brilliant, when he cares enough to try. His apathy is learned, not born from an easy life; he comes off as cool and easy-going but holds grudges and resentments and trauma about two inches down. He's afraid of rejection and trying and failing, and so stays in his comfort zones. But where Foreman spends all his time and energy trying to prove the entire world wrong, to fight every automatic perception of who he is as a person, Chase leans in to his own facade. I actually think that S8 Foreman is a pretty happy person. I think S8 Chase, Chase MD in House's office, is at least 70% miserable.

#he keeps failing up but somehow it's just more and more tragic #chase and foreman and cameron are three points of a very interesting triangle and all the ways you can contrast and compare them !!!#eric foreman #robert chase #malpractice posting

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alpaca-clouds · 1 year ago

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Where is all the Solarpunk media?

Before reddit went to shit, I had posted this essay there, leading to some discussion. In the essay I spoke about my disappointment, that while Solarpunk started out as an idea for both a social movement and a fiction genre, most only know it as an aesthetic. And somebody said something interesting there: "You gotta see, that our equivalent to Cyberpunk's Neuromancer is a fucking yoghurt ad."

And this is true, kinda.

While Solarpunk traces its roots back to some climat fiction books and of course Studio Ghibli, there is barely any media in the Solarpunk genre. If you have a look at TV Tropes, you find only very few entries there and there is an argument to be had about half of them, whether they truly qualify as Solarpunk, as they might have the Solar-part down, but not the punk-aspect.

Sure, I could meanwhile offer a couple of examples myself that are not to be found on TV tropes (and maybe I am going to make a list here), but yeah... It is not much. And what there is in terms of actual Solarpunk fiction is mostly published by small publishers. Solarpunk games are all indie games. And Solarpunk movies... well, there are a couple of anime movies, but everything else I can think of are short indie movies.

And I think all of this is rooted in one or multiple of these three points:

Again, people struggle to imagine utopia. Not only writers/creatives, but even consumers. A lot of people consider utopian fiction "unrealistic" and "boring". Hence people do not know how to deal with this genre. On the side of creatives, on the side of the publishers and on the side of consumers.

Hope is scary. Both to the consumers, but also to the system. Because people, who have hope, are more likely to rebel. That sounds counter intuitive, but hopeless people will no longer fight, because they have nothing to fight for. This is why big companies, on whom we kinda rely for our media, might well have issues with Solarpunk as a genre. Especially as...

Solarpunk is inherently anti-capitalistic. So of course capitalistic companies that are behind any big, coporate media - no matter if it is AAA games or blockbuster movies - are not very interested in spreading the genre further. This is unquestionably also, why the genre and movement got boiled down to an aesthetic so much. Because Disney has no problem showing Solarpunk looking cities (Zootopia, Black Panther, some Star Wars), but they will most certainly not show a world that is no longer capitalist.

So... Solarpunk has kinda harsher conditions to start in as a genre.

Which is why I have started to write about this so much. Because I think, that fiction has power. And we should use it to inspire people.

Hope is important.

Hope is the future.

Support Indie creators!

#Solarpunk #Solarpunk fiction #Solarpunk media #Where are all the solarpunk movies?#solarpunk novels #hopepunk #hope is a dangerous thing #utopia #utopian fiction

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futurewriter2000 · 1 year ago

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Warm Enough

A/N: Spent all day writing this with some distractions in between but I love it! LOVE IT! I still got it.

REQUEST: Post!Azkaban Sirius is really burned out with Grimmauld Place but he absolutely refuses to go outside in the snow no matter how many jackets he has on bc the cold reminds him of the dementors in Azkaban and reader helps him work through it.

(REQUESTS ARE CLOSED)

He slept... and slept... and slept...

The curtains were covering the little light that was trying to make way to that darkened room- the room that never changed, not one thing was moved since he left it. His desk was covered in papers from his Hogwarts days, some awful written essays about potions for Professor Slughorn and there were drawings of werewolves, vampires, ghouls and charicature of Remus and Peter from their boy ages. Peter had overly large eyes and thick glasses stuck on him, mustache and some pimples, meanwhile Remus had large ears, awfully crooked nose and half missing teeth. It was funny back then because James and Sirius both drew that together during Arithmancy class. James had a talent for drawing, everybody that knew him knew that and Sirius, growing up by his side, managed to pick that up as well. Never good as James... in anything... James was always better. So why was it that it had to be James the one that was murdered and not him. Sirius would give anything to have switched places. James would handle all of this so much better than he did.

Sirius’ sides were hurting from laying in the bed but it was as if the gravity was pulling him into the matress. His pillow felt uncomfortable though and so did every position he tried to fall back asleep. He hasn’t looked much around his room since he came back. He hasn’t noticed the past, whteher that was a conscious decision or sub-conscious. All he ever saw was his bed that always seemed to pull him into slumber. Why he woke up? The dreams started to turn into nightmares. Memories would hunt him, sometimes good memories from his boy days and sometimes memories from his 20′s- those he would suppose to enjoy the most. He didn’t. He spent it in the cold and darkness, that was why the bed was so inviting. It was warm, so warm and comforting.

He heard a knock on the door and a head peered through. He lifted his head a bit, only to see the shape or the little sign to know who it was.

“May I come in?” said the voice.

He wailed quietly and shuffled himself amont the silk sheets. Maybe he did despise his family but at least they bought silk.

“I will take that as a yes.” the person shuffled in the room and closed the door. “Blimey, Sirius. What are you- a vampire?” the curtains broke open and there was more light in the room, shining over every piece of furniture that hid in the dark for all these years. The person opened the door widely and the freezing, sharp cold burst in against the skin, causing the reaction of goosebumps.

“I’d like to sleep.”

“It’s three pm.”

“I’ll get up at four.” he shuffled his head in the sheets as the cold reached his nose far too quick.”

He could feel the infamous glare- the one only you could make to make him quirk a smile. You crossed your arms over and smirked.

“So this is your room.” you let go of the hold and let your hands roam free over the furniture. “It does match your personality quite well- OH! A pony bike!” you laughed and made your way to it. Blue and a bit dusty but it would still probably work if you tried it.

He peeked through the sheets and started to watch you wander.

For some odd reason, you wore pink shirt and a black trainer. He’s not used to you wearing such light colours, especially pink. You were more of a moddy, dark teenager as he remembered, just like most of them were. Your figure was womanly, curves in all the right places and your hands- your whole body moved so delicatly, elegantly over his room.

You came over his desk and saw the drawings hiddent underneath the paper.

‘James’ - you thought and smiled as you saw his usual drawing style. Your smile widened at the sight of the charicatures. You didn’t want to open this theme though. Not in front of him. Not when he slept for so long in the darkness of his own home. You knew this subject always opened a wound in him- a wound that resulted in fury and revenge.

“Cannot believe you still have Slughorn’s paper.” you grabbed it and started reading it, laughing midway. “And it’s horrible.” you laughed and he rolled his eyes, laying on his back.

“Well, I despised Potions and that man was all about Snape and Lily being the best of the best of his favorite, perfect little apprentices.” he mocked and you laughed, making his way towards him.

You laid on the bed next to him, placing your arms on top of his chest as you did almost 20 years ago. The two of you never dated but you both were in the same friendgroup. Back then you found him quite childish and annoying but you’ve always cared about him. It was a bit sad there was only three of you left... four if you count the rat Peter.

He smiled at the sight. He never told you that back then but whenever you did that, drunk or not, he always felt such a rush of heat rush his body. His heart would go into a whole new world of high rollercoaster rides and Merlin, the face you made- the look you gave him with those glimmering eyes- the glimmer that never seemed to go away throughout the years. He felt himself sweat onto his perfect silk and the cold never seemed too cooling enough to bring down his tempeture.

“I miss those times sometimes.” you said, looking into his eyes as he gazed into yours.

“Yeah... I never imagined it would en up like this, you know?”

“There can still be a happy ending, you know?” you said, drawing circles on his chest but he hated that because it made him arouse and so he put his hand on top of yours to stop. “Sorry.” you said. “I forgot.” You knew he hated that, you just thought it was because he hated it in general, not the real reason behind it.

There was a moment of silence and for the longest of time, he wanted to ask you this quiestion. “Did you believe it?”

You lied down next to him, staring at the ceiling. “Believe what?”

“That I did it.”

You knew it was going to be something among those lines but you were going to answer it truthfully. “I didn’t...at first. I couldn’t- it didn’t make any sense to me. From all the years I have known you, I just couldn’t put your personality and that action together.” you paused and looked at him. The two of you were so close, in his bed and that made you not only nervous but extremely, beaucoup nervous.

“And then?” he asked, watching every facial movement you made.

“I had to... somehow believe it.” you sat up from the guilt, even though he didn’t blame you for one bit. He believed he killed them too, if he was truly honest with himself... but he wasn’t. “Somebody had to take the blame and after years, I had to point at somebody because I was still so mad that they died. Especially when I saw Harry on the news- something inside of me just exploded. I was angry because there was logic fighting with me and the need to blame somebody for it. Peter was supposed to be dead, you know? And everything led to you. So either I was going to get crazy for not believing it or I should just accept it and have peace.” you turned back to him and he was smiling a bit. Shocked, you furrowed your eyebrows and asked: “What?”

“You’re just so funny when you care what I think.” he sat up as well, feelig the pain in his legs burn from all the lying around. Yet it was too cold for him and he had to close the windows. He had to.

“You laugh but I felt so guilty when Remus told me the truth. It was the shock all over again.” you walked behind him. “I don’t understand why didn’t you just tell us the truth?”

“Would that have made any difference?” he said as he turned around from the window only to find you standing close to him... too close. “James was dead. Lily was dead and like you said- all evidence pointed to me. If nothing I was guilty of attempted murder.” he started to walk out of the room, you following.

“It would have made all the difference in the world.” you started to raise your voice a bit and he noticed that, bringing up his hot-headed temper.

“I really don’t want to talk about that, right now, (y/n).” he gritted his teeth.

“Well, not talking about it won’t make it go away.”

“I know that.” he turned towards the kitchen.”

“It would have made a difference to Harry, to Remus- to me!” you started to shout as he burst into the kitchen and you right behind him.

He opened the cupboards quite aggressively and you could see he was a bit furious.

You wanted to be furious- you did. You wanted to explode and make a whole mess about it but you knew... that wouldn’t bring you any satisfaction. It would only make chaos.

You could see it in his eyes- those angry, feisty dark grey eyes that you shouldn’t make a storm out of rain, so you took a deep breath in and put your hand on top of his. “I’m sorry.” you said softly and you could feel his hand relax, the veins on top of his slim fingers disappear back into its depths and his eyes soften.

He closed one of the cupboards and leaned onto the counter.

“I just don’t like to get reminded of my mistakes, (y/n). That’s all.” he said, looking at you through those dark curls of his that fell in front of him. “Don’t you think I know what I did? And every day I was reminded in that cell... every day of those 12 years.” he let out a pitiful laugh, turning around to lean his backside on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “You lot kept me alive.” he continued to smile. “And you also made me fall in the darkest corners of my soul.” his smile now faded. “I was trapped in that stupid cell, filled with rage and revenge and you were out there living your best lives- living your twenties how we talked about we would.” he sighed, trying not to look at you but you made him do it by standing in front of him. He wanted to continue but you already wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. He let go of his arm hold and wrapped his arms around your torso, sighing and nuzzling close into your neck.

“Should we go for a walk?” you whispered into his shoulder and he gently pulled away, looking down into your eyes. “To breathe- to clear your head?” you smiled but he only moved away and moved his head sideways as a no.

“I don’t really want to.” he walked towards the fridge to get some milk. “Plus everybody would recognise me.”

“I know this path in the back- it’s really nice and brings a lot of solitude. It’s quite enchanted now that it’s all covered in a white coat.”

But that didn’t convince him.

“I don’t really want the cold.” he poured the milk into a cup and put the cup into microwave.

“Why don’t you just heat it on the stove? It’s faster.” you judged immediately.

“It’s faster in the microwave.”

“It’s faster on the stove.”

“But the milk gets all burnt on the bottom.”

“You pour a bit of water on the bottom.”

“Too much work.”

“You’re too much work.” you now bickered and he laughed. “Anyways, it’s snowing and you just put the jacket on- come on.”

“No jacket would be enough to keep me warm- even if I turned into a bear- I won’t.” he stood next to the microwave, crossing his arms again and you mimicking him.

“You’ve been stuck in here for too long. Don’t be a lazy sod and go for a walk.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? Are you afraid of little snowflake?” you started to tease. “Will it wet your perfect curls? Newsflash, they’ll start to fall off soon anyway.”

“Oi! Don’t mess with receeding hairline- alright.” he started to comb his hair. “Our genes are strong.”

“Not all genes make it.”

“Oh, sod off.” he waved his hand in front of you and pulled the cup out. “You’re just jealous of it.”

“It’s overrated.” you mocked and he chuckled.

“Come on, I’m serious.” you leaned on the counter in front of him, pleading with your eyes. “It’s just a little snow. We used to love it.”

He kept his eyes on yours and he could feel his knees giving into it more than his soul did. No... that was a lie. His soul would succumb to you, especially when you acted like that.

Almost though.

“It’s not the snow that bothers me.” he mumbled and walked past you, into the living room.

Again, you followed him. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t figure it out. Nothing really happened. James and Lily died on the end of October and nobody’s birthday was in January that you know of... so what is it.

“I just don’t like the cold.” he sat down and turned on the TV, sipping on his choco.

“It’s not even that cold. It’s barely 8 degrees. It’s not even on zero.” you rolled your eyes and sat down beside him.

“If you want to go, then go. I’m not.” he started to speak with a sharper tone.

You sat there, speechless. You really didn’t understand this man. You knew he wasn’t the same man as he was 12 years ago but there was something in Sirius that always screamed adventure. He wasn’t an introvert and he wasn’t the one that would hate to go outside. If you could find him anywhere in Hogwarts, it was definitely outside. So it made you sad to see him like this. See somebody so down... but you won’t force him to go out either. It doesn’t feel right.

“I just wanted to make you feel better.” you mumbled as you got up and left the living room.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t because of all the tears that were gathering in your eyes. It felt such a big rush of emotions climbing up from the bottomless you threw them all these years ago. It felt like grief... but not for James and Lily and the other friends you lost in that war. It was for Sirius because that day, you lost him too and you felt so much love inside of you that you had nowhere to give. Yes, he was imprisoned for 12 years and he must have suffered the loss but did that mean that your problems, your grief, your importance was less worthy than his because your problems were smaller than his. You went through a lot after Sirius was imprisoned. The hours of questioning, the terror in those nights that followed, insomnia, anxiety attacks, tears of loss- losing one person by one- counting down the days of when this is all going to be over. He may have been imprisoned, far away from all of that- he didn’t get to see others slip away slowly and he didn’t have family that fought in those.

You wiped the tears away from your eyes and washed your hands, opening the doors widely before seeing him appear in front with an apologetic look in his eyes.

You couldn’t, however. Not when your thoughts and emotions were raging inside of you. The bells of the past rang so loudly in your head that you pushed past him and walked into your room.

He followed.

You couldn’t say anything. There was something squeezing your heart so tightly right now that you only faced away from him, towards the white snow in front of you, a window glass seperating the two of you. Tears wanted so badly to climb up but you fought them with all your might. He won’t see you cry. He just won’t.

But he knew. He knew you were upset and he knew why. You could have stayed in your apartment, enjoying your normal life, going to work, watering plants if you had any, going out with your friends, working on your hobbies... and you’re throwing all that away to spend your days with him, closed up in this house and trying to give him any feeling of normal you can. Hell, he should be even thankful that you decided to speak to him. You were always the toughest in the friend group, yet somehow the most understanding one.

“It was cold there...” he started, sitting down on your bed and watching you face him your back. “And at first I didn’t mind it. I felt like I deserved it. I felt like I killed them all.” he said. “I didn’t know what was happening outside those walls and I preffered it that way. James was dead and he was the only thing I kept thinking about. I didn’t think about Lily or Harry or anybody really. James was always so much more than my best friend and I loved him- God, I loved him... even if he was so much better than me in every possible way, I couldn’t envy him because I loved him so much. He was everything I had. His parents were gone and then he was gone and without him... I just couldn’t function properly.” he looked up at you but you didn’t move, he could only see your reflection in the mirror, looking back at him. “And at first, the revenge, the fury inside of me was keeping me warm so the cold didn’t really matter but when that faded away, I could feel my toes freeze up. I walked up and down the cell, every day. Eight thousand steps every day... a few jumping jacks to get my blood pumping if I had any energy inside me left but it only lasted around 20 minutes. Then cold hit... again.” he said and suddenly, he could feel you sit beside him and the way your cherry blossom lotion made its way into his nostrils.

He didn’t dare to look at you. Not now when he was so vulnerable. The only thing he could do was look at your hand and wanting its warm touch to give him comfort as it always did... but it didn’t. It was just there... in his vision... so far away. Touch his arm, his thigh, his hair... anything- he wants it so badly when all his emotions are in chaos.

He looked away, gathering his thoughts. “I could deal with Dementors for a while as well but that didn’t last either. There were some days, months even, especially in the winter when the food was hard, tasteless and... well, cold... not much of it either. I started to lose my energy to do those walks or jumping jacks or to move a muscle. I laid there on that bed and tried to warm myself with all the clothes and blankets I could muster. I was weak and Dementors... it’s like they smell you and he came and I was sleeping when I felt it. I was so confused and-and-” he lost his train of thoughts as his eyes moved left and right on the ground as if he still couldn’t believe he let himself get caught like that.

Then there it was. That warmth, right between his lats, down his spine to his toes and up to his arms. It was like a relief and he could finally look at you, looking back at him with tear-filled eyes and a comforting smile- the one that he adored so much. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” you said and he smiled, tears dripping down as he grabbed your face between his palm and leaned his forehead on yours.

“Oh, no!” he smiled so brightly and looking at you. “I want to tell you what I did next.” he said and put your hands into his, kissing the top of it and making you smile. “When you want a Dementor to leave you alone, you had to think of your happy memories and if I tried to think of James, I could only think of the grief and the pain his death left on me. And I thought so hard to think of something happy and I thought of you.” he leaned his chin on top of your hands and watched you with a smile, eyes gilstening from all the tears that continued to fall. He was in too deep now. “Whenever you walked into the room it was always lighter, wasn’t it? Everybody loved you and the way you bickered with James- it was the most funniest thing in the world. He simply adored you though- everybody did because you were this light in everybody’s lives. People came to you like magnets and you sort of ran away from them sometimes.” he laughed and you laughed with him.

“It was a gift I didn’t really like.”

“But you accepted them anyway.” he continued. “And besides James, you were the only one that could make me say things out loud- whenever I had any girl problems or army- I could tell you the most random things I thought in the middle of the day because you were so easy to talk to- so accepting of everybody and everything but you still had your boundaries. You were the one people came to when they needed something because no matter what, you had it and you didn’t judge us for it. And I remembered that day we got wasted with Remus in our room and you would lay down on me like you do, look at me with your eyes and I would just fall in love all over again with you- every time. That day and the day you looked at me in your black skirt and white shirt underneath the blazer. And another day when you would just lay your head on my shoulder and I would tell you to sod off but when you did it, it was the best thing.” you laughed a bit because you knew it was true. You liked to flirt with all the boys in the friend group but it was always innocent, except with Sirius because he was the one that was always single and the two of you would always mess around. You knew the two of you liked each other but it never felt right at the time.

“You fancied me.” you gooed at him and he smiled.

“I still do.” he brought your hands closer to his chest. “Back then it really felt like a casual fancy but the dementor left and I could find myself on the ground smiling at the memory of you- then it hit me. I need to know what happened to you and there was nobody there to tell me what- so I stayed hopeful that please, not you. And it was a horrible thought to have but I prayed and I wished that if I ever get out of here, you would still be alive.”

“And I am.” you smiled.

“You are. It was one of the first things I checked before I ran for Harry.” he laughed, thinking back. “You were out with a friend and laughing so much with her- and she was quite funny.”

“You stalker.” you fooled around and he laughed.

“I was for a bit but I couldn’t face you back then... and I couldn’t face cold again because I spend 12 years in that tempeture, shivering and surviving- felt as if it was the second version of Hell nobody mentioned before... and every winter since I just... I can’t face it.”

You watched his head fall back down and you knew you had to understand him... but you also understood fear and fear was not real.

“You’re not there anymore.” you said. “You’re here and if you continue to think that this cold is the same cold as it was in Azkaban, then you are still stuck there.” you continued as he watched. “And I’m here... not Dementors or any other prisoner- me.” it was your turn to place your palms underneath hsi jaw and scrunch your nose. “And my torture is different. I can bring you out and shove your face into the snow just like I did every time.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, James shoved your face into the snow.”

“That’s debatable. It has been a long time, your memory must be foggy.”

“I think I can remember (y/n) the Snowman.”

“Turning mean now, aren’t we?”

He only laughed.

“And you know what... if you get cold I’ll be right there to bring you back into your warm home.”

He smiled, seeing so much of you in this entire moment that the two of you shared and it clicked, just like it clicked all these years before... “I think you are my warm home.”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders era #maruaders imagine #marauders imagines #james potter #remus lupin

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xxkitty13 · 1 year ago

Text

Halloween Special

LA Buggy x Fem Reader- One Shot

NSFW, Violence, Blood (slight gore)

A/N: I know Halloween is over, but I was not able to post this sooner. If you're still in the Halloween spirit or just wanting some smut, enjoy!

It is the night before Halloween, the local bar is filled with people celebrating the arrival of the spooky holiday. Tourists love to visit this particular island due to its large festival on Hallows' Eve. Boats pack the dock; visitors swarm the lively town in hopes to get wasted. Despite the variety of people, the island has not run into any problems. This will all soon change.

The bar reeked of alcohol, drunk men stumble in and out the doors. Women too pass their limits, dancing the night away. With the arrival of the tourist, single locals took the opportunity to find some fun. The worn out sailors were easy prey, but not everyone looked for a fling. Unfortunately, y/n was dragged into this mess. Her friends, Syalie and Blev, would get bored of the men in their town. Every year they looked forward for the fresh meat.

"Loosen up girl, dance with us," the slim tall blonde slurred.

"Syalie is right. We can't be the only ones having fun tonight," the woman with pink hair screamed. She is the shortest of the trio, but always managed to stand out when they partied.

"You guys are passed drunk."

Her friends only laughed as they sandwiched her at the dance floor. She too had her fair share of drinks, even so she did not like to black out at parties. You never know who’s watching.

Nevertheless, the ambiance at the party seemed safe enough. She joined the dancing duo, enjoying the music. The alcohol is getting to her, she swayed her hips away not caring how ridiculous it might be. Y/n began to get carried away before she slipped. She fell back, hitting a cloaked man at the nearby table. The other covered figures gasped. She sobered up and immediately stood up. The man looked at the empty mug and large wet stains on the bottom half of his body.

"I am so sorry..."

Her hands covered her face in embarrassment. It is a good thing no one else noticed the small incident as people were too focused on partying.

The man gripped his fist and banged it on the table before looking at the woman. Y/n felt her face become hot, scared of what the man will do to her. Her legs trembled, slowly backing away.

"Don't worry about it"— he raised his gaze at her—"you'll just have to repay me another time."

Even though his hood covered his identity, she could clearly see his green-piercing eyes staring into her soul. That look felt surreal. Feeling uneasy of the situation, she only nodded back and grabbed her friends.

"Please can we leave?"

"I don't know, can you?" Blev's head bobbed, giggling away.

"I'm being serious, I'm scared."

"Ugh okay. There's no hot guys here anyway," Syalie mumbled.

Y/n grabbed the two women and barged out of the bar. She could still feel the mysterious man's eyes burning through her back. There's something sinister about him and she did not want to find out. She shook that weird notion out her mind, hoping to never see him again.

🕷⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆🕷

The following morning the townspeople prepared for the night's festival. Meanwhile, the girls stayed in the comfort of their beds. They awoke with a massive hangover and had pains throughout their body. Y/n overheard Blev rustling above her— the two slept on a bunk bed. The three shared a small house together and all had small jobs to pay their monthly rent. Y/n and Blev shared the master bedroom and Syalie occupied the second room of the house.

With groggy eyes, y/n sat up, staring into space. She had a nightmare prior to waking up. A dark presence watched over her in the dream, always lurking at every corner. It brought shivers down her spine. She shook that weird feeling away and hesitantly got out of bed. They have a long day ahead of them.

The women volunteered to help set up the plaza. Balloons were attached to light posts, skeletons hanged at the tree branches, spiderwebs overlayed the bushes, and other spooky items were displayed. The festival would begin at sunset, they hurried home to get ready.

It’s not Halloween without costumes. Y/n dressed as a jester, Blev as a vampire, and Syalie as a cowgirl. Simple outfits to assist at the food stands. They would still enjoy the event after the stands close and the actual party would begin once the children go to bed.

“Whew, what a night. I’m glad our shift is over with,” Blev sighed in relief.

“Well let’s get going then,” y/n said closing the door of the stand.

Not even taking a step away, a man who’s dressed as a pirate approached the woman.

“Am I too late?”

They all looked at each other confused.

“Yes, it’s closed,” Syalie replied.

“Aw, well that’s too bad. I was hoping I would’ve made it in time.”

The pirate walked closer. “You better reopen,” he pointed at Syalie.

“What? No. I said we’re closed.”

“Wrong.” He then whistled loudly, three other men dressed as pirates emerged from the bushes.

“Destroy that stand and the others while you’re at it.”

“Yes captain!” they shouted.

The gang of pirates broke the windows of each stand, ripping apart the cash registers. They threw all the money in large bags, only leaving behind destruction.

“No! What’s wrong with you guys, stop playing pirates and gives us back the money!” Blev yelled.

“Oh honey, we’re the real deal,” the captain laughed.

He noticed all women wore matching bracelets. Each one made of gold— jackpot.

“Give me those bracelets,” he demanded.

“No, these belong to us,” Blev stated.

“If I have to cut your hands off for them, so be it,” the pirate threatened.

Y/n immediately threw her bracelet to the man, nudging her friends to do the same. They hesitated, but there was nothing they could do about it.

“Thank you ladies, it was nice doing business you,” he snickered.

“Come on fellas, to the ship!”

The gang ran off to the woods, leaving the mess they made at the street.

“We could have fought them off,” Syalie huffed.

“No, we’re weak. Our lives are more valuable than those bracelets,” y/n said.

“I don’t care. We worked hard for those and we will get them back.”

Syalie stormed into their stand, pulling out a large kitchen knife.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going after them,” she stormed off to the woods.

“Are you crazy? They’ll kill you! Y/n what do we do?” Blev shouted.

“Come on, let’s stop her before she gets hurt.”

The two chase after their friend, who began to quicken her pace. They called out to Syalie, but she already sprinted into the dark woods.

“It’s so dark, how can she track them with no light?” Blev questioned, breathing heavily.

“I don’t kn-”

A loud scream echoed. It’s high pitched, most likely from a woman.

“Syalie!”

The women hurried their pace. The screams became louder and louder. A light emerged as they ran closer and soon came across the gang of pirates. Syalie rustled against the captain, who had her at a chokehold.

He laughed, watching the poor girl struggle. He snatched the knife out of her hand and pointed it to her neck.

“Let her go!” Y/n and Blev yelled.

The pirates, who held torches, stopped their scene and looked at the women.

“Well, well, well. . . looks like we have more fun coming our way.”

He placed the sharp part of the knife on Syalie’s neck.

“You’re fools and now you’ll die with your friend,” he cackled.

The man lifted his arm up, ready to slit her throat. Syalie closed her eyes awaiting her gruesome death, but seconds passed by and nothing happened. She opened her eyes and felt a warm liquid drip on her neck. The knife dropped to the ground and more liquid dripped on her clothes.

With his grip gone, the woman managed to free herself. The captain fell face forward and that’s when they noticed a large blade protruding out his mouth. Syalie gaped at the sight, he’s dead.

His crew met a similar fate. All falling one by one. The women scream, hearing the gurgling sounds from the dying men. They crouched to ground, hoping not to get hit by the flying weapons.

A sinister laugh echoed around them. The sound of footsteps drew close. A faint light slowly emerged from the other side of the woods.

“You know, it’s rude not to say thank you.”

Y/n looked up to see the man. His torch covered his face, though she noticed he wore a large hat. Taking a closer look, it seemed to be a captain’s hat. She gasped, they’re more pirates on the island.

The mysterious man walked towards the dead captain, retrieving the blade out his skull. Blood oozed out, only making Syalie gag.

He placed the torch in the same hole he took out the blade, burying it deep. The pirate then sat on his dead body. They could all see his face now. His red nose shined brightly from the flame’s light. The glitter on his face shimmered with every flick the fire made. The face paint resembled close to y/n’s makeup, only lacking the cross bones and large painted mouth. Y/n is captivated by the man’s features, whose cheekbones stood out the most, giving him a sculptured look.

“Now I only came to take out the competition, but I just remembered that I’m missing my compensation,”— he pointed at y/n— “you owe me.”

Perplexed by this, her eyebrows furrowed. “Owe you? I don’t know who you are.”

“Tsk,” he shook his head. “You caused a mess at the bar last night. Do you know how uncomfortable it is for a cold drink to fall on your groin?”

It took her a minute to digest the accusation, then it clicked. He’s the cloaked man she accidentally spilled the drink on.

“That was you?” she gasped.

"Ah, I see you remembered now."

"Why did you do that?! Now he's going to kill us too!" Blev angrily called out.

"I-It was an accident, I swear!"

"Who are you anyway? You better not hurt my friend," Syalie grunted, holding her bruised neck.

"Me? Does my look not ring a bell?"

The three women looked at each other, having no clue about the man's identity.

"With that big nose of yours, you're obviously more of a clown than a pirate," Syalie giggled.

The pirate's face frowned. "Nose?" He rose from his seat, angered by the comment. "What did you say? I'd shut my mouth if I were you or you'll end up like him." He picked up the torch, now covered in blood, and stomped on the man's skull.

The crunch sound made everyone gag in disgust. Brain matter had splashed out, little specks hit Blev, making her freak out. Y/n could not bear to watch the indented skull crack before them. The clown pirate removed his bloody boot and wiped the red liquid on the ground.

"I'm Buggy. . . and I'll be your worst nightmare," he boasted.

He approached y/n, who shook in fear. With her shaking legs she able to take a couple of steps back.

"As it turns out, this island doesn't have much to offer. However, me and my crew found something worth our time," he eyed y/n up and down, giving her a devious smile. “Cute costume.”

"You all will be given a head start to be fair. I'll give you 2 minutes to hide before we hunt you down."

"Hunt? We're not prey," Blev said.

Ignoring her comment, "Once you're in our hands, there will be no escape."

He chuckled, retrieving back from y/n. "Let the hunt begin."

Buggy blew his torch out and the rest of the fallen torches from the dead crew went out too. It is pitch black now. The women, in utter fear, ran away from the spot. They could no longer see each other, but the jingles of the jester hat helped them stay close.

"Let's stick together," y/n huffed out.

"Okay!" The two agreed.

They ran with all their might, barely avoiding stumps and branches on the ground. The lights from the plaza became visible ahead. It's a small hint of relief, but time is still ticking.

"What do we do? We can't let him find us. I'm so scared," Blev cried.

"We don't have time to think, let's keep moving forward. The crowd at the festival should hide us," y/n grabbed their hands and rushed into the plaza.

"We should tell the police, they'll help us," Syalie mentioned. Her friends nod in agreement.

People were already drunk and danced away in the middle of the plaza. The smell of smoke and sweat filled the air. This year's festival brought in a larger crowd, making it impossible to move around. The women tried to hold onto each other, but the dancing people would bump into them. Blev was the first to get swallowed in the crowd. Y/n tried had lost her grip as a large man shoved against her.

"Blev!"

"Y/n! Keep moving, I'll find my way to the police station!"

Her and Syalie continued sliding their way in the chaotic mess. Syalie felt a pair of hands grab the sides of her hips. She snapped her head to see the owner of the hands.

"Where are you going little lady?" The drunken man mummbled.

"Ew let me go!" She slapped his hand away.

The angered man swung at her, but she managed to avoid the hit as the man's fist connected with another person. A fight broke out between the two and Syalie was shoved against the people moving out of the way.

"Syalie, where did you go?!"

Y/n, in midst of the screaming, had no luck. Her friends are now separated from each other, this is not good. Regardless, she composed herself and continued to find a way out. It was not long before she made it out of the suffocating crowd. She regained her breath and looked around the vicinity. It's to her luck a police man stood watch at the door of a building.

"Please, I need help!" she ran towards them. "There's someone trying to kill us!"

The cop turned around and gave her a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? Are you drunk?" He questioned.

She stood before him and realized it was not a cop. He was only waiting for his friend to come out of the haunted house. She stood alone now, the police station happened to be at the other side of crowd. It would take another blow on her time, it’s worth a shot. As she took a step forward, a gliding motion slipped past her head. The blade hit the door, causing a small crack.

Y/n looked back from where it came from and felt her heart sink. It’s Buggy. His eyes seem to devour her whole. Without a second thought she entered inside the haunted house.

Right off the rift, a scare actor jumped at her. She yelped, only making her panicked state worse. The door flinged opened, Buggy knocked the actor to the ground as he entered.

“Times up,” he snickered.

Adrenaline rushed through her blood vessels as she bolted deeper into the attraction. The eerie ambience added to her freight. Sounds of wailing agony filled the dark hallway. Another actor jumped out of a small closet. Buggy’s heavy footsteps got closer, y/n pushed the person away and hid in the closet.

The confused actor stood up from the floor and turned to see the pirate clown right in front of him. He punched them right in the jaw, causing them to hit the wall harshly.

“Oh darling, you can run, but you can’t hide.”

Y/n held her hands over her mouth, hiding the heavy breathing. She heard Buggy leave the area, the sound of his footsteps faded away. Her breath hitched. She used her clammy hand to turn the knob of the door, the hinges creak at the movement. She slowly pushed it open, avoiding the high pitch sounds of the hinges.

The door covered a partial part of the right hallway. The darkness made it hard to see, she then turned her head left. The coast is clear, or so she thought. A large pair of hands grabbed her body from behind. Buggy had hidden behind the door, waiting to jump at his prey. He held his hand over her mouth and the other gripped the torso. He shoved her in the closet once again, closing the door behind them.

"Shhh, they'll hear us, or do you want me to kill them?" he whispered.

A light shined through the cracks of the door, footsteps followed and continued down the hallway. Y/n almost pissed herself at the predicament. Her heart pounded with all its might. The lub-dub sound is loud enough to ring through her eardrums, Buggy felt the pumping of her blood vessels.

The pirate reeled her in closer, squeezing his arm slightly under her bust. The woman's body shivered in absolute fear, the jingle of the bells filled the tiny room. "Calm down, love."

He loosens the grip on her, and y/n takes the opportunity to bite through his gloved hand. "Fuck!" he yelled.

She flings the door open and runs down the hallway, the bells ringing along the way. Buggy chuckled and followed the sound. She came across the stairs and decided to go up. It's then she realized her mistake, there's only a couple of rooms and dead ends.

"You have nowhere to go, so give it up," Buggy teased, heading up the stairs.

Despite having no way out, she dashed to the end of the hallway. Suddenly a tight grip squeezed her throat, the force pinned her to the ground. Her hands felt the source of the choking— it’s a hand. With widen eyes, she screamed in shock of the deed. Buggy hovered over her body, his raised arm had a missing hand.

“The look on your face is priceless,” he laughed.

“Please, don’t kill me!” she cried out.

Buggy’s hand let go of her throat and instead grabbed both of her wrist in place. “Kill you? Why would I do that to such a pretty little thing.” He crouched down, his face leaned in.

“Y-you’re not going to kill me? Then why are you hunting me down?”

“For the thrill,” he let go of her wrist as he stood up, his hand clicking back in place.

Y/n sat up and crawled a bit away from him.

“What type of sick game are you playing?”

He let out a small chuckle, “A fun one.”

“You psycho,” she approached the pirate and gave him a hard slap on his left cheek. The hit stung her hand.

Buggy is applaud by the action and held onto his stinging cheek. Y/n regretted that, but it felt so good to let our her frustration. She jumped back, awaiting for his outlash, but the pirate only laughed.

“Oh, you’re feisty one. I like that.”

“You’re weird.”

“Very,” he smirked, removing hand off his wrist once more.

Silence filled the hallway. The tension between the two arose. His green orbs stared into her eyes, the difference in power is obvious. It became rather awkward, not knowing what to say about the uncomfortable situation.

“So what do you want from me?” she managed to spat out.

He hummed, “I want you.”

A flash of heat rippled through her face. “Me?”

“I saw you last night at the bar and the way you danced captivated me. You’re the treasure I seek after.”

In shock of his confession, she walked closer and slapped him across the face.

“You could’ve just asked me that night! Instead you pursue me and made me think I was going to die,” she screamed at him.

“Is that a yes?” he held the side of his face, grinning.

“H-huh? N-n, wait. . . I-”

Buggy placed his hands on her hips, swiftly wrapping his arms around her waist. She stopped her rambling and covered her flustered face with her hands.

With his lips centimeters away from her ear, he murmurs, “Come on, let me show you a good time to replace the trouble I caused you.”

His sweet voice is tempting. He then proceeded to gently nibble on her earlobe, causing a small mewl to escape her mouth. His member twitched at the sound.

“May I?” his lips slightly rubbed against her neck.

Y/n’s hands rest on the side of his shoulders, she turned her head to allow access to the spot. “Mhm,” she softly hummed.

He first gave a small peck on her warm skin, followed by a few more trailing down her neck. She rolled her head back, taking in the sweet touch of his lips. Buggy thrilled by her response, decided to finally go feral. Grabbing the woman he barged into a nearby room. Props lay on the available bed, with his floating hand he pushed them to the ground. He closed the door behind them, locking it.

He tossed y/n onto the bed, who managed to avoid sliding off the edge.

“Get ready darling, I’m about to give you a night you’ll never forget,” he removed his brown coat and threw it to the ground. His striped vest allowed a full revelation of his muscles.

He removed his captain’s hat, “You like what you see?”

Embarrassed, she directed her gaze off his biceps. Buggy approached the woman laying in front of him, removing his clothing, except for his briefs. His built is lean, hair covered his body and his happy trail made y/n gleam in excitement.

“As much as I love your jester look, you don’t need it any more,” he ripped apart the part portion of the top and removed the hat.

She held onto her bra as he ripped apart her pants. The cold air raised goosebumps all over skin. A wave of shame came across her, she’s practically nude in front of a man she barely knows.

“What’s wrong baby? Don’t be shy. . .” Buggy attacked her neck, letting out his hunger for the taste of her skin.

Y/n hitched at the loving warmth on the side of her neck. He sucked on her warm flesh, leaving behind a large red mark to claim her as his. His now bare hand cupped her cheek, his face leaned in for a kiss. The pirate’s red nose made the kiss interesting, but it didn’t bother her. In midst of the excitement, she gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it so slightly. His eyes darken and deliberately smooched her, letting his tongue loose in her cavern.

Their tongues met, dancing away in the warm enclosure. Y/n’s hands pulled Buggy’s head in, deepening the passionate kiss. He sucked on her tongue, enjoying the small mewls she would make. The two stop to catch their breaths, he looked down at her. His red makeup made a mess, the smeared paint covered her mouth.

He took a scoot back, his face lingered above her covered breast. He grasped the bra and ripped it off her chest, exposing the lovely sight. His hands cupped each boob, squeezing them gently. His thumbs pressed on her needy nipples, caressing them with ease. He squeezed her hard buds, making her let out a small moan.

“You like that?” he sultry whispered.

Y/n’s blushed face only stared at his working hands on her breast. He chuckled as his mouth gobbled her left tit. He nipped at her bud, pulling at it gently.

“Oh-” she gaped out, enjoying the warmth on her breast.

Buggy sucked on each nipple as he continued his play with the other. His tongue would swirled between each needy bud, the tip purposely running by the small opening. He left the swollen nipples and kissed her chest, trailing down to her stomach. Her back arched as she felt her lower regions flutter. His kisses stopped at the trim of her panties.

With a pull of his teeth, he gritted, “Let’s see how you look like love.” He swiftly removed the panties with the assistance of her legs. Y/n, feeling vulnerable, closed her legs shut. Buggy placed his hands in between her soft thighs. “Be a good girl and open wide for me,” he murmured, kissing the insides of her thighs.

She hesitantly listened, allowing Buggy to take a peak at her most intimate part. He placed his large hand over the exposed flesh, his fingers traces down her wet folds. Shivers trailed down y/n’s spine.

“Tell me, have you ever been touched by a man before?”

The room went silent. Buggy’s index finger slowly made its way to her leaking hole, circling the entrance. She flinched at the touch.

“J-just once. . .”

Buggy couldn’t help to feel jealous at the thought of another man touching her this way. “Hm, you’ll never remember that moment once I’m threw with you,” he said with a devious tone.

A sudden hot sensation ran through her folds. The tip of his tongue flicked her throbbing clit. “Ah,” her soft moans made him hungry for more. He began devour her aroused pussy, lapping the juices that would flow out her small hole. He detached his tongue, fucking the insides of her clenched walls. His thumb pressed gently on her swollen bean, rubbing it just right. The pirate watched as her ecstasy unfolded in front of him.

Y/n toes curled at the motion of his tongue, her fingers gripped his bandana and hair, pushing his face onto her pussy. His stubble scratched her vaginal folds, adding to the stimulation. The tongue reattached back into his mouth, who now softy sucked the dripping wetness from her hole. His hands held her thighs as his textured nose rubbed against her sensitive clit.

She’s ready for the next level, Buggy slipped his index finger in, feeling the warmth swallow it whole. Due to her moaning mess, she did not notice the foreign part inside of her. That’s when his middle finger slid in, he curled them, watching her back arch. Using the same hand, his thumb rubbed against the needy clit as he fingered her.

“Do you want another?” he asked, kissing her shaking thigh.

“Y-yes,” she moaned, rolling her eyes back.

Without hesitation, his ring finger rammed inside of her. He quicken his pace, enjoying the sounds coming out of her sweet mouth. His cock twitched at every sinful moan, his harden erection became more painful by each note. He felt himself give into his instincts, not thinking about the strength of his finger fucking.

He stopped his motion before y/n could reach her climax. She groaned at the lost feeling of his fingers.

“Sorry babe, but I don’t want you having too much fun without me.”

He stood up in front of her, showing the large tent on his briefs. He pulled the fabric down, showing more of his blue fluff. His harden erection sprang up, precum already dripping out of his slit.

“I would love to feel your pretty little mouth on my dick, but I want to make you mine already,” he said stroking his member.

He placed his tip on her pussy, sliding his tip between the wet folds, teasing. Y/n only watched, loving the slight rubbing as he guided the tip over her drenched hole. His dick slowly pushed in, he grunted at the tightness. The girth of his dick stretched the entrance of her flesh, making her yelp.

“It’s ok baby, it’s almost in,” he cooed.

Her pussy took him in nicely, a sweet warmth clenched around him. “Fuck,” he gritted. He continued to push in deeper, feeling his member throb in arousal. “There it goes. . .”

He huffed out as y/n teary eyes caught his attention. With his torso upright, his detached hand wiped the tears off her cheek. The blue fluff of his lower region touched her skin and so did the base of his dick. Practically in the missionary position, he began thrusting inside of her, his hand still cupping her face.

“Nngh-” she held onto his free hand, whimpering.

Buggy used his other arm to hold her thighs as she wrapped around his torso. He started to chase the high, loving the tight sensation on his swollen cock. Pure ecstasy engulfed him, he leaned in to the side of face and snuggled the crook of her neck. Y/n’s hands hugged over his shoulders, taking in each thrust. She cried out, the pounding is rough, but pleasure overtook the stinging pain of each hard blow.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Damn, baby. . . I didn’t think you’d be so tight. . .”

Vulgar words filled the room, each one becoming louder and louder; and more incoherent. Buggy lifted his head up to see the incapacitated woman below him, submitting to him. His hand gripped her neck, softly chocking her. She gasped at this action as his fingers tighten around her. Her vision darken, unable to respond back. He loosened his grip and instead grabbed a fistful of her hair.

The pounding became more viscous, the two were a moaning mess. Buggy’s climax approached, he held back his orgasm as much as he could. Sweat glistened on his forehead as his breathing became unstable. His core tighten, ready to unleash his load inside of her. Not able to go any longer, he grunted, letting his hot cum fill her wrecked pussy.

His weak body fell on top of her, barely catching his breath. Despite the intense fucking, y/n has not reached her climax. The pirate removed his soften member, letting the white substance ooze out. His detached hand made its way to her lower region, not caring about touching his own cum, he fingered her. The motion is overwhelming, stimulating her to the max. It’s not long before she reached her orgasm. The two’s heavy breathing filled the quiet room.

He rolled over, pulling her body over his. Her head laid on his hairy chest.

“Oops, I came in you,” he huffed out.

With the wave of pleasure gone, she had clarity over the situation. “What?” she said with a panic voice. “You did that on purpose!”

He chuckled, stroking her hair. “It’s not my fault your legs wrapped around me tightly.”

She sat up next to him, hiding her breast with her arms. “What am I going to do? I can’t have a baby with a pirate. . .”

She the pointed at him. “Pirates are all dead beat fathers, of course you would do this to me!”

He rolled his eyes, “Did you not hear me when I said I’ll make you mine?”

“I-I, what?” she gave him a dumbfounded look.

He got out of the bed and walked over to the pile of clothing on the floor.

“Come get dressed, I’m taking you with me.”

“I can’t. You destroyed my costume.”

“Oh, right. . .”— he grabbed his coat and tossed at her— “use this.”

She sighed and wrapped her body with it. Buggy finished dressing up, he picked up his captain’s hat and placed it on y/n’s head. He smiled as it flopped to the side, obviously too big on her.

“You should be honored to be the captain’s bride,” he smirked.

“Bride? Since when are we getting m-” she was cut off as Buggy lifted her body up, bridal style.

She clenched the flaps of the coat, making sure her skin did not show. She tried to protest, but he stuffed her mouth with glove. The two leave the haunted house, the scare actors look at each other in confusion, not wanting to ask about the situation.

He swiftly carried y/n towards the dock, not caring about the weird looks they received from the festival’s crowd. It didn’t take long before they reached his ship. Once on the deck, he placed her down and she finally spat out the glove.

“You kidnapped me! Who said I’ll go with you?” she yelled.

“Well that’s too bad for you. A pirate takes what he wants,” he snickered.

“What about my friends? I don’t want to leave them behind, they’re practically my sisters!”

Before Buggy could answer, someone interrupted, “We’re back captain!”

Two men aboard the ship, both holding a woman each. The two women happen to be her friends, Blev and Syalie, y/n ran to them. The two embrace their friend.

“Are you guys okay? I’m glad you’re here, but how can this be?” Y/n questioned.

Blev and Syalie, who clearly had smudged makeup, look at each other and back at the the men who brought them to the ship.

“It’s a long story, but we could say the same about you?” Syalie giggled.

Y/n is puzzled about the situation and turned to face Buggy, who only raised his hands up.

“What can I say, Cabaji and Mohji took real good care of your friends.”

She wrinkled her eyebrows together and cringe at the thought of her friends being railed.

“You can’t say you won’t go without your friends. Now, let’s set sail from his miserable island,” he ordered.

Cabaji and Mohji went to their posts, preparing the ship for departure. The three women huddle close, all not taking in the reality of being captured by pirates. Buggy approached them and reached into his pockets, pulling out their gold bracelets. He handed it to them.

“Welcome on board ladies. You are all now apart of my crew, but before you meet everyone, let’s settle you in,” he grabbed y/n’s hand as the other women followed behind.

“Don’t worry love, no one will dare touch you here. Besides, you carry my seed now.”

Y/n blushed at his statement, she held her stomach, not sure if she’d like to carry his offspring. His thumb gently rubbed her hand, assuring her fate with him. She took one last look at the island before they headed before deck. There’s no future for her there, the small jobs would not cut it for the long run.

“Okay, you better not be a dead beat,” she said, squinting at him.

He only laughed, “Of course, you’re mine to take care of.”

Assuring her concern, the four walked down the stairs to the floors below, awaiting the new journey ahead of them.

🕷⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆🕷

A/N: It’s been years since I last wrote smut. Hopefully it wasn’t too shabby. On a side note, I got behind on my projects, so the next chapter of my fanfic will take a minute to write. For now, I hope this will satisfy you all!

#buggy one piece #buggy the clown #one piece #buggy x fem reader #buggy x reader #buggy x y/n #captain buggy #opla buggy #op buggy #buggy the clown x reader #buggy smut

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minniiaa · 10 months ago

Note

I'm back ;D

And even more down bad for bottom Law than before

Imagine Luffy and Law's first time together and Luffy never even considered holding back, meanwhile Law's trying to figure out when Luffy had the time to learn half of the shit he's doing or saying to Law. Luffy immediately notices how Law puts his face into the pillows/mattress so he just flips Law over, but then Law's biting his lip and Luffy can't tell if this is supposed to be a game or Law if just purposefully trying to annoy him.

Eventually, Luffy learns Law can't hold out forever and absolutely uses that against him. Telling Law he may as well give up, that he already knows Luffy will give him what he needs so he should do the same, taunting Law with the things he said last time: “But you were begging for more last time, are you already tired, Traffy?” “I remember you asking so nicely, did you forget your manners?”.

OH AND THE TEASING?? Horribly close but still too far away fingers tracing Law's skin like a well practiced pattern that Law KNOWS Luffy knows. Luffy doesn't give up though because for once, he’s patient, waiting until Law breaks and throws aside his pride for selfish pleasure.

Back to their first time together though, specifically the aftermath where Law's immediately back to shoving his face into pillows while Luffy cuddles him like he never heard a noise come out of Law. That definitely pisses Law off, Luffy acting like what they just did was nothing, what Luffy just TURNED HIM INTO was nothing (even though that's not how Luffy feels). And it takes a while for Law to realize that Luffy isn't doing it out of a lack of self awareness or sexual ignorance, once he does… man I dunno, I image Law having to keep himself from jumping Luffy to test his theory.

Lol, that's another thing I think about, Law sometimes turning sex into an experiment. This is long enough though and I ain't nearly as poetic or creative with my literacy as you, so I'll have you take it from here.

TLTR: I want Law fucked nasty stupid

-💫💀💫

HI ANON! welcome back glad to see you are still in bottom law hell (heaven) with me! You are plenty poetic and creative don't talk down on yourself like that! Your headcanon is CANON in my book.

Okay okay so hear me out. I started writing a little headcanon story to respond to this yesterday and somehow ended up getting REALLY carried away. Basically, I blacked out and woke up to find that I wrote an 11.5k-word story about Law and Luffy's first time with some of the themes you brought up (with canon plot?? Who am I?)

It is entirely too long to post as a tumblr reply so I threw it up on my ao3 for all to enjoy. Click below if you would like to see Law being fucked nasty stupid ;)

Thanks for the inspiration, you rock!! Please drop more horny asks and I will feed the masses! Bottom Law supremacy 4 lyfe!

#lulaw #law #luffy #lawlu #law x luffy #asks #lawlu fanfiction #lulaw headcanon #lawluffy #trafalgar d water law #monkey d. luffy #lawlu headcanon #lawlu fanfic #one piece fanfic

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orbitariums · 7 months ago

Text

warmth | art donaldson + patrick zweig + black fem reader (a snippet)

full length part 1 here!

i miss posting on here real bad and i keep teasing things (christopher moltisanti, richie jerimovich) and not actually writing/releasing them SO i'm putting this snippet of this oneshot i'm writing to encourage myself to actually put this out.

i think this will probably have multiple parts because the tension needs to builddd. and please, let me know y'alls thoughts!!! what do you think, what do you predict is gonna happen, r u thirsting adequately, etc. i love hearing your little comments <333

& let me know if you’d wanna be tagged when this comes out

essentially: reader, patrick and art were 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 at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡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 two 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 that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were draped in that cream-colored 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 twenty-something industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here.

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 still clung to his face, and the detergent still fresh from 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 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, had them panting like puppy dogs, inching your hands further and further 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. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from being reintegrated 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.

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.”

Clink clink clink.

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. Patrick and Art couldn't help but watch on with deeply impressed smiles — you were meant to bask: in glory, in pleasure, in everything. You looked just right standing where you were.

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, clearing the tables, 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 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 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."

“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.

“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?”

“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.

“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.”

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, this time the kind that said everything about how you lived in comparison to them,

“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, but 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 — high school all over again.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

eek let me know what y'all thought. i wanna finish it by this week <3

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