#silent writes

[silentexplorer18]

Of Ninja Meisters and Unskilled Weapons

Kakashi Hatake x Reader

Fandom fusion of Naruto and Soul Eater

Graduation is supposed to be the best-ever first day of the rest of your life. But when you're paired with Ninja-Meister Kakashi, an academy graduate notorious for not wanting a weapon, the first day of the rest of your life is anything but exciting. As you and Kakashi slowly begin to understand one another, you both learn that communication is the only way to overcome kishins and your reservations.

There was a question eating away at him. One he’d been wanting to ask since that evening of shared tea. Ever since that strangely intimate night. “What’s my soul like?” Kakashi’s expression remained carefully neutral, even if he was secretly curious. You hummed, and silent contemplation stretched between you for one long, slow moment before you murmured, “Guarded.” You sighed, nose tucking into the space between his shoulder and neck, and Kakashi had the good sense to feel slightly embarrassed by your response. “Very, very guarded.”

Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Reader, Hatake Kakashi, Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn | Death Scythe, Umino Iruka, Marie Mjolnir, Yuuhi Kurenai, Shinigami-sama | Lord Death, Nakatsukasa Masamune

Tags: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Ambivalent companions to friends to lovers, Kishins, battle, blood and injury, major character injury, chakra, fluff and angst, happy ending, slow burn, cuddling and snuggling, injury recovery, Stein is the bestest friend ever, mild language

Chapter One is on AO3!

[silentvoicescryingout]

Steel - Chapter 2 (draft)

Previous chapter: 1

🔞🔞 Adult Content 🔞🔞

Made me, unmake me

Green eyes leveled at him, glinting like a freshly sharpened and polished blade. Pastel lashes lowered to shade jade eyes, casting a shadow that colored them darker, like rain soaked leaves after a summer storm. 

“Brute strength might have made you,” he muttered, taking slow, lazy steps around the circumference of the invisible boundary of Sakura’s turf.

He came to a stop, five paces behind her left shoulder. Her right ankle twitched, the heel shifted back by a tenth of a tenth of an inch.

“If left unrestrained,” he continued, marking the ripple of tension that rolled from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, “I can unmake you with nothing of the sort.”

“Save your riddles, Kakashi-sensei,” she snapped. “You agreed to train me.”

“So I did,” he sighed. Her next breath whooshed out audibly from between her teeth. “What if I told you it was to humor you in your moment of elevated emotion?”

Using the right foot, she pivoted, appearing before him in the blink of an eye, her fist curled tight in the front of his shirt. The flexible fabric popped under the strain of her grip.

“I’d say that you owe me,” she murmured. Despite the cool quality to her tone, her fingers yet trembled, ever-so slightly. “For all the time wasted, and the days you ignored me before. It’s the least you can do.”

“I acknowledge my failures,” he replied. He swallowed thick, eyed the deepening furrow between his former student’s fair brows, the dancing of freckles along the wrinkled bridge of her nose. 

“I’ve moved past wanting your acknowledgement.” Sakura released him with a shove that smarted, no doubt leaving a bruise. “I want you to create in me what you made of Naruto and Sasuke.”

He dodged her next blow, his blood pressure spiking in response to the reverberation of her fist smashing into the spot where his face could have been. The world whipped around in a whirlwind of color as she launched herself at him again and again, taking direct blows to her abdomen, her legs and face without as much as a flinch. 

With a frustrated growl, Sakura heaved herself up from the ground, swaying into an offensive stance. He stood rooted in the spot he was in before, unruffled and unmarred save for the throbbing bruise at his sternum.

“If you have to break me apart to make me strong,” she panted, sweeping dirt from her cheek with the back of a torn glove. “So be it.”

“That’s not a healthy mentality,” he mumbled, scratching at his chest. He glanced down lazily at his feet, toeing a bit of rock with his sandal. “I suspect this is perhaps a twisted sort of coping mechanism, and I must say I do not recommend it.”

Kakashi attempted to keep his tone light, aiming for brevity and familiarity. Inside him something curled in his gut, sickening him with the image of a pale, youthful face splattered with strangers’ blood and tiny gobbets of flesh.

“You’re the last person to talk to me about coping mechanisms,” Sakura spit, commingled saliva and blood falling, splat, to the side. “You’ve killed or found dead most of your loved ones and spend your free time reading porn or talking to headstones. I couldn’t care less to know what you consider ‘healthy’.”

“Now, that isn’t very nice.” His jaw clenched before he inhaled deeply through his nose, becoming the picture of relaxation once again. “My sweet Sakura-chan would never have talked to sensei like that.”

She scoffed, rushing toward him with yet another full frontal assault. Even as he maintained his composure and twisted away and around her attacks, his muscles strained and heart raced with adrenaline. 

Despite the assumed simplicity of her battle style, her technique was near-flawless. Sakura was fast, precise. Lethal. Each movement had a purpose and nothing was wasted from the flexing of her forearms to the touch of her toes to the ground. Kakashi knew that if she were to get her hands on him, he could very well be a dead man.

She fought with a ferocity born of trauma and marrow-deep determination. Her only  failure was being fresh, lacking the experience that had festered inside of him for decades; her terrors had accumulated over only a handful of years.

His knowledge of her talent was now supplemented with the new awareness of her capacity for cruelty. It frightened him, even as the part of him buried deep inside who once sought out shinobi for qualities just like that was…intrigued.

Her voice tore from her throat, ripped through his musings and brought him back to the present just in time to duck below a kick that likely would have freed his head from his shoulders:

“You never had any qualms about ruining your students before. Why do I have to be different?”

Because you are different, he thought. He wanted to say, this isn’t you.

Kakashi had to stop completely in his tracks, locking his hands around her wrists in a hold that he knew she could break. He stared down, into her green eyes that were so bright they seemed to glow, at the thick locks of pink brushing past her shoulders. 

He had seen that face so many times, watched it age and change slowly through the years. But everything, at this moment, looked so very unfamiliar. As if he hardly knew the girl–no, woman now– at all.

He wondered if he ever knew who Sakura was, if there was a Sakura to know— or if the young woman standing before him was an amalgamation of the people who had been there to form her. The compassion of her mother, wit of her master, quick temper from Naruto, hatred from Sasuke. That just barely cruel edge masked with pretty snark, everything Yamanaka Ino pruned her to be.

Kakashi wondered what, if anything, she might have inherited from him.

“If you want me to treat you like everyone else,” he said, shifting his feet ever-so-slightly, rolling his shoulders back, “so be it, then.” 

Her next swipe of a chakra-laden hand cut through a billow of leaves. In the next moment, her legs were kicked out from under her, Kakshi’s knee pressed to her nape, a kunai glinting next to her cheek.

She growled in frustration, the tips of her ears stained red as she bucked and thrashed, dislodging him from his position on her back.

“There is no honor in the field,” he said, watching her face as her eye flitted between his feet and hands. “There are no standards of ethics, no codes of conduct.”

“I have been in the field before,” Sakura hissed, her limbs almost trembling with pent up energy. “I haven’t just been sitting around playing pretty nurse.”

“Assume what you know of shinobi to be a lie,” he continued, marking how she bristled at his lack of response to her quip. “We are not heroes. Not ninja like us. We don’t fight to protect the weak and the poor, nor do we fight enemies because it is the right thing to do.”

“Let Naruto and Sasuke be the heroes,” she spat. Mint-green chakra condensed around her fists, morphing into blade-like protrusions between her knuckles. “I just want to get the job done.”

“If I asked you to assassinate a man who is not even a shinobi,” he asked, lowering his voice so he knew she would have to strain to hear it, “would you do it?”

A beat passed, a minute shift in her features come and gone within the span of a blink.

“Yes.”

“Hesitation,” he sighed. “You don't have the heart for it, Sakura-chan.”

“You don’t know me,” she barked, her hand snatching him by the collar for one brief second before his form slipped away with a poof, leaving a log in its place. 

“I do.”

“Everyone thinks they know who I am, what I’m capable of,” Sakura panted, swiping moisture from her brow and whirling to face him with a kunai glinting in her hand. “They make assumptions based on my background, on how I look, on who trained me–”

Their blades clanged, the force reverberating through the bones of his arm.

“–on who didn’t,” she whispered, baring her teeth and narrowing her eyes.

Kakashi allowed a tendril of electricity to zip between his fingers and crackle down the edge of his blade, watched as his former student flinched violently for a fraction of a second before she schooled her expression and steeled her grip.

“I don’t need to assume,” he said cooly, tightening his grip on his blade and his own emotions. He allowed his voice to deepen, his gaze to harden as he stared down into her pale, pinched face. “I know exactly who and what you are.”

“Yeah?” she grunted, bared her teeth. The tendons and his wrists began to ache, muscles bunching with strain as she slowly increased the force of her hand. “What am I, then?”

She had been angry since she arrived on the training grounds. But even as she cursed and spit nastiness at him, he knew that she was still restrained. By respect and her own inherent composure. 

He also knew just how to strip that all away.

“Just a civilian girl,” Kakashi whispered, “playing shinobi games.”

When he had pushed Sasuke to his limits, the immediate response was pure, unadulterated rage. Anger that had festered into a pestilence, that carried with it the stench of rotting trees and old blood. He could see in his mind’s eye that way the young boy’s features had twisted like gnarled roots, how his eyes had bled the deepest red. 

 As always, Sakura was different. In the split second after his words filled the air around them, an agonized expression stole across her face, slackened her jaw and pulled her eyes wide until the green pupils seemed like pinpricks in the whites of them. Her breath stalled in her throat, lips trembling and jaw clenching tight.

Within the blink of his eyes he was slammed backward, pain radiating like a vibration to his spine as a crater formed to his shape around him. He twisted his fingers through hand signs furiously, throwing a barrage at ninjutsu in her direction. It bought him a few seconds, just barely long enough to pull himself to his feet unsteadily, lock his knees as she threw herself at him again in a flurry of feet and fists.

“Tsunade’s tricks, as usual,” he grunted, ducking low to avoid a blow he was sure was intended to actually free his head from his shoulders this time. “I suppose you’re a creature of habit.”

The sound that spilled from Sakura’s mouth could only be described as a garbled roar of fury. She kicked up a chunk of earth and launched it in his direction, following up with a veritable storm of kunai that it took more effort to avoid than he cared to admit.

Kakashi was equal parts proud and terrified at her performance.

“What about you,” Sakura shouted, her voice raw and broken. He fought to hear her still, over his thundering pulse.

“Me?” he questioned mildly. He sent a crackle of lightning toward her that ate away at the waist of her clothes, leaving bubbling, burned skin behind.

It was healed, fresh skin covering the area within moments.

She drew closer than anyone who truly knew him dared, and he managed to snag both of her wrists and lock her against him with a kunai pressed to her sternum.

“Friend-killer Kakashi,” she breathed, her breath hot on his face. Sweat tricked in rivulets from her temples, blood crusted at the corner of her mouth. 

Deep inside of him, something ached. But he simply arched his brow, poising himself for the moment Sakura would break his hold, hoping he could avoid losing a limb or more when it happened.

Instead, she only stared. Until both of their breaths began to slow and silence settled like a weight on his back.

“You see her in me, don’t you?” Sakura asked, her voice quiet but piercing in the unnatural quiet around them. 

“Are you ready to end our training session already?” he quipped. “I have quite a large pile of paperwork waiting on my desk.”

“The little civilian girl,” she continued, voice taking on that soft, child-like quality it had that blood soaked night that changed their lives. “One you could not save from a shinobi’s fate. I’m sure it keeps you awake at night.”

“Be careful, Sakura-chan,” he replied in a low voice. “Remember that you asked me for help.”

“Of course I did,” she grinned, and it looked sickly, false. There was no light to be found in her wide, wide eyes. “Because how could you deny me? Poor little Sakura-chan. So much like the friend you lost.”

“Training is over,” he stated. He loosened his grip on her wrists and inhaled deeply before stepping back. “Next time we work on your focus and control of your emotions.”

“Was Rin a deadweight, too?” Just as he turned his back and took the first step away, that name slipping past her lips made him falter. 

“Sakura,” he whispered. “Enough.”

“I’ve thought about it many times,” she sighed, and he heard the shift of her feet over pebbles and upset soil. “Eventually I came to the conclusion that you neglected my development to somehow make up for the ways you failed to protect your teammate. If I never got into a fight, I couldn’t die in one, ne?”

Kakashi began taking tremulous steps forward, determined to leave the training grounds and this twisted turn of conversation behind. He would deal with his so-obviously cracking former student later. He had his own splintering glass to patch over, for now.

“I’m sure you thought you were protecting me,” Sakura raised her voice, her words falling upon his unwilling ears even as he sauntered away. “But did you ever think that instead of keeping me safe, you could have got me killed?”

Guilt burrowed so deep in his bones he struggled to breathe around it. He closed his eyes, unwilling to look into the memories and truth.

“You almost killed me, Kakashi-sensei,” she cried, something like mirth but far darker clouding her voice. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he breathed.

“Kakashi,” a whisper, carried through the wind. His blood froze in his veins. “You killed me.”

Every single one of his muscles locked into place, his heart stalling for a long handful of seconds before resuming at a thunderous, violent pace. His hands shook, knees becoming weak as he toiled to pry his stiffened lips open–

“Kai.”

“You killed me, Kakashi,” the voice whispered again, tremulous. “Why?”

Kakashi’s body jerked, and he clenched his fists, allowing his blunt nails to bite sharply into his palm and uttered the phrase again.

Yet the air did not change, nor his visage of the ruined training ground. His breaths became shallow and a lump lodged in his throat as quiet, tiny footsteps sounded behind him, drawing closer.

“Why did you kill me, Kashi?” she asked. “Aren’t we friends?”

“Stop.”

He flared his chakra, snatched it inward. Fire danced over his knuckles, scalding him and yet–

Wake UP!

“Kashi,” she whispered, voice thick with pain and sadness. “How could you do this?”

As in all of his nightmares, he was helpless and unable to prevent his stiff neck from turning, to avoid the sight of a small girl soaked to the bone in blood, a gaping darkness where her chest should be.

“I’m sorry, Kashi,” Rin whispered. Black marks like diseased veins snaked from the edges of the maw of her wound, up her throat, webbing across her cheeks.

“No,” he rasped.

The scent of blood, pungence of burnt flesh filled his nose and mouth with every gasping breath. He stumbled backwards, clutching at the area above his own wildly beating heart.

The fabric of his shirt stuck to his fingers, and he snatched the hand away, staring blankly at the streaks of red spread thickly from fingertip to forearm, bits of sharded bone and fibrous clumps of flesh clinging to the fine hairs.

He gagged, nearly losing his footing again.

“Why would you do that, Kakashi-sensei?” The sound of Sakura’s voice caused his head to whip upward, but he was once again met with Rin’s small, ruined face.

“Stop this,” he begged. 

“Kaka-sensei,” Sakura whispered.

Suddenly it was her, wide green eyes glossed with tears, pink hair stained with blood and small, pale hands prodding tenderly around the bleeding hole in her chest.

“Why, Kakashi?” she sniffled.

“Why?” Rin echoed, her face flickering over Sakura’s. “Why?”

“Why,” they both whispered, such different voices somehow entangling and becoming one, “did you kill me?”

Kakashi crumbled to his knees, clutching at his ears and shaking his head, unable to free himself from the lilting cacophony of the two voices, questioning and taunting him. They refused to be quieted or drowned out, even when he began to scream. It was as if they had multiplied into a chorus, hundreds of his failures joining to ask him why, why, why-

WHY?

WHY?

“Kakashi-sensei.”

He came to awareness with a violent gasp, back arching upward and sending a bruising ache rattling down his spine.

Sakura gazed down at him, the sunlight forming a halo around her head, lightening her pink strands until her hair resembled more a rose-gold. Sharp rock pressed into the backs of his legs and neck, and an incessant pressure against his chest urged him to look downward.

“Get off,” he croaked.

She moved her foot away from his chest without a word, taking a step away from the crater within which his body was stuffed. He pulled himself up to stand on shaking legs and swallowed his panting breaths.

“A new trick,” she eventually murmured, after minutes of standing by as he struggled to grasp reality. “You told me once that I had an affinity for genjutsu. So.”

Kakashi barked a laugh that burned in his throat. 

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “That you do.”

Finally, he met her eyes. Her expression was blank, her eyes downcast. Not even a tell-tale twitch of her brow or crinkle of her nose cued him into what she could possibly be thinking. 

“Well,” he exhaled, straightening and shoving a hand into the pocket of his pants. His fingers stroked against the edge of his kunai. “You’ve proven your point. See you tomorrow, same time. Have a good day, Sakura-chan.”

As he walked away, in the direction of the Hokage tower, he could feel her stare on his back. The feeling persisted for hours after.

  Give up the ghosts

Sakura peered down at the sleeping Mitokado Homura, still and silent as the dead. It was easy to do so, considering she felt as if her own heartbeat was but a mere illusion. Her focus remained on the rise and fall of a frail chest, the webs of blue-green veins barely visible under paper-thin skin illuminated by moonlight.

A shinobi who had served under the second Hokage, one who had lived at least three shinobi lifetimes, laid so peacefully— face marred with wrinkles of age rather than the horrors of death and murder and generational strife. Sakura did not think it possible for any shinobi to indulge in such a peaceful slumber.

A pale hand, littered with tiny scars and roughened with callouses reached out, fingers fluttering over the pulse thrumming gently in his neck. To his credit, his cloudy eyes snapped open immediately upon the faint contact, but it was already too late.

Fingers crushed around his windpipe, effectively bludgeoning his vocal chords and choking off the exclamation she knew would fall from his lips.

“Shhh, Mitokado-san,” she whispered, hands glowing faintly as she smoothed over the damage she had done to his trachea and esophagus. 

A terrible, wheezing croak slipped from his lips as Sakura moved her hand back, leaving behind a dark, gritty stain.

Then a kunai swung toward her face, but—the poor wretch—it was far too slow. She snapped the wrist holding the blade like a rice cracker and went about hauling the man from his bed and tossing him none-too-gently into the plush armchair at the center of his room.

Planting her hands on thin thighs, she knelt in front of him, fingers dipping deep into the muscles, the tips of them coating with warm, sticky blood.

Homura’s breaths were coming out in frantic pants, his eyes shooting around the room as he squealed and whined helplessly, words shaping intelligibly on his thin, wrinkled lips. For a long moment, Sakura only stared, feeling oddly light and ungrounded as she watched the practically ancient man struggle desperately, numb to the weak blows rained upon her shoulders and head.

“You don’t look like a man who could eliminate an entire community of people,” she whispered eventually. The man froze at the sound of her voice, gaze widening in horror as she withdrew her nails from the flesh of his legs and reached for his face with blood-caked hands.

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to your friend, Utatane-san,” Sakura continued, smearing blood in lazy patterns over his quivering face. “I made it quick, too quick for her. Because I was mad. Shishou would be ashamed that I let my anger control my actions that way.”

“Y-you,” the murderer rasped, voice sounding ripped and warbling. He began choking, unable to say more as red bubbled from his lips.

“I want to talk to you,” Sakura nodded slowly, voice soft. “I want to talk about why you soaked your hands in the blood of innocents, why you ruined Sasuke-kun’s life.”

“Uchiha...not...innocent,” he wheezed and Sakura tilted her head.

“Are you? Innocent?” she inquired. There was no answer as the pressure of her hands increased and with a sickening crack, Mitokado Homura’s jaw crumbled against her palms. 

The sound of his attempted cry of pain was barely audible above the roaring in her ears. One hand fell from his face and the familiar glow of her chakra illuminated his slackened, terrified face for a moment before it condensed into a scalpel that she cut into his side.

“I did this before,” she murmured, pushing her hand into the neat incision, reaching between ribs to wrap her fingers gently around the hot, pulsing organ in his chest, “in the war, to save Naruto’s life. I’m sure you hate the fact that I did that. Like how you hate that we brought Sasuke back, that you weren’t able to execute him. Pity.”

Her grip tightened around the frantically thumping heart in her hand; instead of steady compressions to a still, quiet organ, she mapped the arteries and cavities with her fingers and chakra and after a breath sent a thrum into a particular spot. The chunk of flesh in her grip seized, hardening, misshaping itself before twitching erratically. As the organ struggled to find its rhythm, Sakura noted the convulsing of its cage, glancing up to see the way the old man’s eyes rolled white into the back of his head.

She withdrew her chakra for a split second before it flowed out again from her fingertips, gently guiding the flow of blood to the lungs and brain, calming the erratic twitching of the fickle organ once more.

“Sasuke-kun told me he’s haunted by the ghosts,” she informed, watching as tears flowed thick down her enemy’s face, pooling in the divots and valleys of his worn flesh. “Are you? Do they visit you in your dreams, too?”

She disturbed the flow of her chakra again, clutching the malfunctioning organ as Homura once again thrashed, legs kicking uselessly at her belly, spittle foaming white at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you want to see them, Homura?” Sakura pushed her face close to his as she once again stabilized his heart. “Don’t you want to talk to them about your innocence?”

An otherworldly feeling rose up like a wave in her chest as the frantic, glazed eyes above her suddenly sharpened and began darting about the darkened corners of the room. Faces that were mostly unfamiliar to her, but so very recognizable to him bled out from the shadows, drawing closer, closer still. 

The furnishings of the lavish room fell away, filled to the brim with pale faces framed with pitch-dark hair, glinting crimson eyes floating toward them.

“P-plea-,” Homura choked, a weak hand rising to clutch at his face, bony finger tips catching in the fragile lids framing his wide eyes. “St-st…”

His gaze grew more horrified by the moment as the room filled with the faces of young men, old women, small children, infants cradled in the arms of black-haired ladies with bleeding irises. 

“Look at them,” she breathed, fingers undulating about the slick surface of the heart thundering in her grasp. “Look.”

What would have been a high pitched scream ripped from his throat in the form of a wheezing squeak as the blood-red eyes of his demons fell from their heads, leaving behind gaping darkness in their skulls as they continued to move forward, ever advancing.

“Shh, Homura,” Sakura cooed, reaching up to force his gaze back down to hers. “They can’t hurt you. They’re just ghosts. I am your reckoning.”

Cracked lips gaped in a silent shriek as her once green irises bled red. 

“M-m-monster,” he gurgled.

“I know you are,” Sakura replied, sinking back onto the heels of her feet and holding his gaze, “but what am I?” 

Then she was ripping her hand from the cavity of his chest, blood, bone shard and viscera splashing hot over her cheeks as cloudy brown eyes widened before the light in them faded and his entire body went slack, sinking lifeless into the back of the armchair. 

The taste of iron bit at the tip of her tongue as her lips spread into a crooked smile.

  Forgive me not

Sasuke pretended that his gaze was focused on the tepid cup of tea cradled in his palm when the door creaked open and closed. As if moments before he had not been watching, waiting for it to swing open, for the sound of shuffling footsteps and rustling fabric to reach his ears in the ambience of the night-time hours.

“Okaeri,” he greeted quietly, voice raspier still than he would have liked. More internal wounds to heal from, he supposed.

“Tadaima.”

It was more of a sigh than a response. And so he allowed himself to look toward the doorway, to watch as Sakura trudged further into her tiny living room. She flicked on a lamp, casting the space in a weak, yellow glow. 

“We don’t all have night vision like a cat, Sasuke-kun,” she muttered. Nearly each word was chased by an exhalation, a release of breath that made him wonder if words weighed like burdens on her tongue, too. 

“You look tired,” he stated. His eyes tingled and the room became clearer, if less colorful as he engaged his dojutsu. “Chakra reserves are low.”

“Yeah, well,” she replied stiffly, footsteps pausing for a beat before she shuffled forward slowly. “I have a job. No special house-arrest vacation for me.” 

“Hn.”

Sasuke let the snide comment wash over him, inhaling deeply through his nose and out of his mouth. Had Naruto said it, they might have come to blows. But this was Sakura–she had more than earned the right to tug on his nerves now and again.

“There’s dinner in the refrigerator,” he said softly as she finally swept past him, the scent of antiseptic thick, hints of jasmine seeping through.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied without turning. 

“You must be.”

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and she did not respond, swaying her way around various obstacles on the path to her bedroom. A low table, a small stack of heavy tomes. The tall, flowering plant that Sasuke watered and clipped every other day to give himself something to do other than sitting and stewing in his own thoughts. It had a strong fragrance, almost cloying, and it made his nose burn and head ache if he spent too much time in proximity to it. But Sakura would smile a little when the flowers looked vibrant. 

When he stepped behind her, she froze, formerly slumped posture overcorrecting as her spine became rigid and her neck stiff.

“I’m not hungry,” she sighed. Sasuke only stared as she rotated slowly, bracing one of her hands on the doorframe leading into her room.

“You’ll sleep better on a full stomach,” he stated. 

“I’m too tired to eat,” she countered. Indeed, her lips parted and jaw elongated on a wide yawn.

“It’s not poisoned.”

Sakura rolled her bloodshot eyes, “I know you wouldn’t poison me, Sasuke-kun.”

“I waited to eat with you.” 

When her eyes finally met his head on, he knew he had won.

“Come on,” she grumbled. 

Her shoulder brushed his chest, just barely, as she stepped around him. Sasuke traced the slope of her shoulders with his gaze, tracking the rhythm of her slow gait as she shuffled to the kitchen. 

Sakura wrenched the fridge open and collected the collection of tupperware, scraping their contents into plates and bowls and shoving them into the microwave in silence. Sasuke stood quietly on the other side of the counter and watched.

“Are you,” she bit her lip, sliding his food toward him, “waiting for me to attack you, or something?”

“What?” he blinked, absently reaching for the chopsticks she had slid across the counter as well.

“You’ve been staring at me with the sharingan since I walked in,” she waved one hand in his general direction. Her chin stayed low, eyes fixed on the food in front of her.

“It scares you?” he asked, blinking again and letting his dojutsu disengage. “Sorry.”

“That’s not what I said,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food, chewing somewhat aggressively. “Just…I don’t understand why you’d use it when you’re at– here, with me.”

Sasuke took his own bite, studying her face as he considered.

“Sometimes I want to see more than I can with regular eyes,” he finally said.

“Hm. Okay,” she muttered. She continued to shovel food into her mouth.

“Are you sure it doesn’t scare you?” Sasuke asked, suddenly unable to take another bite. He set his chopsticks down and opted to swirl his spoon around the steaming bowl to his right.

“Should it?” she asked quietly. Her eyes flitted up to his briefly before focusing lower, perhaps on his chin.

“No.” 

She stared downward, motionless. His fingers tightened around the spoon.

“Then, no. It doesn’t.”

Sasuke stirred his broth some more. Sakura resumed eating and silence blanketed the kitchen again.

“You don’t look me in the eyes when it’s engaged.”

“That’s shinobi 101,” she said briskly, sipping a spoonful of her own broth. “Never look directly in the eyes of someone who has the sharingan. I would do the same with anyone.”

“I’m the only one left,” he whispered.

She stilled, before lowering her spoon with a quiet clack to the counter. Her mouth opened as if she were going to speak, then closed again. 

“You never looked away from it before,” he stated. His fingers tightened around the spoon once more, the metal warming in his grip. 

Sakura glanced up to his eyes again, her full lips turning down a fraction. Then she shook her head, and let loose a quiet laugh.

“The last time I looked into your sharingan,” she said, lips twisted in a rueful smile, “you wrapped me up in a pretty nasty genjutsu, Sasuke-kun.”

An ache settled in his chest and shame washed over his head like an angry tide. He dropped the spoon and dropped her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I forgave you long ago, Sasuke-kun.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “But your instinct tells you that I’m a threat. I have made you uncomfortable in your own home.”

“Sasuke-kun. That’s not true.”

“You hardly eat,” he replied, voice low. “I hear you awake in your room at night. You spend more hours at the hospital than you are scheduled for to stay away as long as possible.”

“Sasuke-kun…”

He lifted his head, watched as she flinched at the sight of his red iris. A sick feeling swirled in his gut as he let the crimson bleed away.

“It was better for you when I was tied up and blindfolded in the prison. You probably felt safer.”

“Sasuke-kun, please,” she choked. Her palm smacked into the surface of the counter. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t be cruel.”

“I mean it,” he said quietly. “It makes sense that things would be easier when you actually felt safe with me.”

“I’m going to bed,” she said thickly, whirling away from the counter and taking heavy steps toward the exit of the kitchen.

“You never ran from me before, either,” he murmured. Sakura froze midstep.

“I can’t do this tonight, Sasuke-kun,” she breathed, voice barely audible with how she faced away from him. The desperation rang clear yet. 

“I won’t stay here if you’re afraid of me,” Sasuke replied tightly. “I want you to feel safe.”

Sakura remained silent. He stood, the sound of his chair scraping the ground causing her to flinch. 

He decided against approaching.

“Sakura,” he whispered. 

“I can forgive you for anything, Sasuke-kun,” she said quietly, her voice tremulous and so very tired. “Anything. But I can’t forget so easily. I can’t help that my mind clings to certain images and that my body reacts. Call it fear if you want.”

Her head turned slightly, pink tresses shielding the majority of her face.

“Maybe it scares me to sleep under the same roof as the boy who put his hand through my chest in a dream,” she rasped. “But it scares me more to sleep under this roof alone, without knowing you’re somewhere close by. So let me have my fear–let me have you in the only way I can, until I get over one or the other.”

Shame, his oldest friend, clung heavy on his shoulders. It pressed upon his back and caused an ache in his chest, dragging especially on his left-hand side.

“If there was something I could do to take it back,” he rasped, “I would. Doing that to you is the worst crime I have committed.”

“Maybe not the worst,” she muttered. A heavy sigh brought her shoulders up, then down into a slump. “What’s happened, happened. I forgive you, Sasuke. You have to let it go as much as I do.”

Sasuke took a step forward despite himself, despite the way she stiffened. 

“Sakura,” he whispered, drawing closer and daring to touch her arm with the tips of his fingers.

“Sasuke-kun, you can’t take it back,” she whirled and looked at him, chin tilted to stare straight into his eyes. “We both have to live with it. We can't unsee it or undo it; we just have to live with it.”

His lips turned down into a frown, an ache settling between his ribs. 

“I’ll stay with Naruto,” he murmured. “I will leave– tonight.”

Yet his feet remained rooted to the spot, his body looming mere inches from hers. Staring, breathing.

“You won’t,” she whispered. “Not unless I tell you to go.”

“Tell me then,” he replied thickly. “Tell me to go.”

“No,” she breathed. She began shaking her head slowly, blinking as if meeting his eyes was the same as staring straight into the midday sun.

“Don’t let me hurt you more than I already have,” he begged. His hand lifted, drew close, cupped her face just as it turned away.

She slipped free from his gaze and grasp.

“Good night, Sasuke-kun.”

[silentprincess17]

Congrats!! I love this (:

How about “Cruel” featuring BotW Zelink.? You know, a super cheery prompt for the holidays.

Haha!! I like the way you think @bahbahhh :) Angst brain go brrrrr

Cruel | Drabbles Masterlist

Was it cruel of her to smile and laugh, teasing the court poet about his unflappable tie, his crimson gaze, his lexicon, letting her hand wander his arm, as she clinked her wine glass with his, all the while aware of a certain pair of blue eyes that followed her every breath? 

Was it cruel, to make him chase after her like a lap dog, giving him sleepiness nights and stress-inducing days over her unannounced, unexpected and numerous escapes? 

Was it cruel, to crave a few seconds without his silent gaze, as tortuous as that of Hylia’s, both emotionless stone, both echoing the never-ending malicious laughter of failure?

Yes, yes it was, she realised, as the wind hurled towards along her, the sickle a bare second from her face, and his ragged breaths heaved next to her, that cursed blade clanged against the Yiga’s, that dead blue glare suddenly alive, vicious and angry… all in her name.   

[ebodebo]

The Bewitching

—thinking about roommate!simon riley seeing you in your halloween costume… MDNI

"Where's your sexy roommate anyway, babe?" Your friend, dressed as a sexy witch, purred from her spot on a stool around the kitchen island. You had invited two friends over to spend Halloween with you since your roommate, Simon, had to work.

"He, uh, had to work," you say, taking a sip of your wine. Your witchy friend's eyes widened as she carefully dipped a pita chip into some hummus.

"On Halloween?" She gawked, pushing the chip into her mouth, eyes wide. You also take a chip and swirl it around in the hummus before shrugging.

"Seems so," you say, inhaling the chip. You turn to pull open the fridge, reaching for a bottle of champagne. Once you turn back, you see your other friend dressed as a sexy police officer, head slightly titled in confusion, her eyes carefully observing your costume.

"So, what are you supposed to be? A sexy nurse?" She questions. You raise your brows, perplexed that she couldn't tell who you were.

"You're kidding, right?" You urge, waiting a minute before continuing to see if she is joking. She shakes her head no, pursing her lips. You shake your head in disbelief. "Debs, I'm one of the nurses from Silent Hill."

"Should've gotten Simon to dress as pyramid head," your sexy witch friend instantly says. You flick your eyes to hers to see a smirk spreading on her lips.

"Oh, please," you laugh out. "Over his dead body would he ever willingly dress up." You take a sip of your wine, stalling when you hear the sound of a familiar truck pulling into the driveway.

"Oh, looks like your big guy is home," Debs winks. You roll your eyes, set your wine glass down, and head for the front door. You step out to see Simon searching for something in his truck.

"Hey," you greet. "What're you doing back so early?" He doesn't avert his attention from some loose papers he was scanning over.

After a minute, he says, "Price had a Halloween thing for his kid." He continues sifting through loose papers. "So, here I am," he dryly says, eyes still focused on the papers.

"Okay. FYI, the girls are inside—" You start before he interrupts, finally turning around to face you.

"If you want, I can just go to a bar, or—" He abruptly stops, eyes wandering down your body, taking in your costume—which included a very provocative dress. He swallows deeply as his eyes sweep over your exposed thighs, up to the deep dip of your breasts on display.

"Simon?" You prod, trying to understand why he has stopped speaking. He drags his eyes up to look into yours.

"You—what are you supposed to be?" He lazily questions.

"Um, a nurse," you say; he tilts his head to the side.

"Never seen a nurse look like that," he sticks his tongue out to wet the seam of his dry lips. You feel a sudden rush of embarrassment.

"It's from a—a game," you quickly say, rocking back on the heels of your feet. "It's kind of stupid," you turn your head away from him, trying to hide some embarrassment from his gaze.

"I like it," his eyes shamelessly drag down the length of your body. You flick your eyes back to him, offering him a small smile, noting the way his eyes become darker as the seconds pass.

"Ya?" You're shocked that you managed to get a word out since your mouth had turned to ash. Dry as a bone.

"Mhm," he hums as he takes a step towards you. You swallow hard as he steps closer to you, close enough for his fingers to graze the hem of your dress, tugging it down gently so it covers a little more of your thighs.

"Simon," you breathlessly say as you feel his fingers graze your bare skin.

"Dress ridin' up a little high," he murmurs, though he doesn't take his fingers away from you. He looks down at you, taking in your lazily closed eyes. "Have you gone out yet?"

"Wha—no. Didn't really want to," your tone is a little wobbly now as his hand slowly skimmed under your dress. You release a shallow breath.

He tilts his head back slightly. "No? What is it you wanted to do then?" He continues his movements, skimming his fingers up your thigh, slowly maneuvering between them. You find yourself gripping his shoulders. "Huh?" He tuts.

"I don't—I don't know," you choke out, dropping your head slightly as his hand grazes your cunt over your already wet underwear. You find yourself pushing yourself into his palm.

He leaned in closer to you, his hot breath grazing against the shell of your ear. "Did you want me to see you in this little outfit?" He whispers. You lean into his words flowing in your ear. "You knew how badly I wanted to touch this pretty pussy. Didn't you?" You let out an involuntary moan at his words, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

His pointer and middle finger slip into you through your underwear, grazing your clit. You find yourself rocking against his fingers to get more friction. "Ah, fuck. That's it, pretty girl," he groans, moving his fingers faster. "Keep fucking my fingers—just like that."

He pulled you closer onto him with his other hand, gripping your ass tightly to get you more friction. You leaned your head into his chest, moaning as his fingers continued to move in you.

"Fuck, baby. Look at me—look at me," he commands. You flick your head up to look him in the eyes; his mouth is slightly parted from panting. "Just like that," he pants, watching your mouth agape as he coaxes your orgasm, making you come in your underwear.

He holds you up as your body spasms, gifting him with the sweet mewls you spew. Once your orgasm subsides, he grips one side of your soaked underwear, slipping it down your thighs and tucking it into the pocket of his cargo pants he wore.

You look up at him, doe-eyed, before you look around in horror. "Oh my—you just, you just fingered me in the front yard," you frantically say, taking a step away from him. His lip quips at your genuine anguish.

"I know. I was there," he monotonously says. Anxiously, you bring your hands to thread through your hair. Your eyes widen even more.

"Oh my—my friends," you exclaim, whipping your head to your house.

"Guess you'll have some explaining to do," he casually says.

"Fuck you," you remark.

"Hungry for more already?" He smirked, pulling you by the arm closer to him so you rested flat against his body.

"No—you know that's not what I meant!"

a/n: happy almost halloween! take my treat to u all! divider!

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[magnusbae]

To illustrate this post by @mayahawkse I would like to visualize to you the difference:

A post in 2023:

A post in 2014:

A zoom out of the same post:

This is what a community looks like.

See how in 2023 almost all of the reblogs come from the OP, from their few hours/days in the tag search. Meanwhile in 2014 the % of reblogs from OP is insignificant, because most of the reblogs come from the reblogs within the fandom, within the micro-communities formed there. You didn't need to rely on tags, or search, or being featured. Because the community took care of you, made sure to pass the work between themselves and onto their blog and exposed their followers to it. It kept works alive for years.

It's not JUST the reblog/like ratio that causing this issue, it's the type of interaction people have. They're content with scrolling and liking the search engine, instead of actually having a reblogging relationship with other blogs in their community.

Anyways, if you want to see more content you like, the only true way to make it happen is to reblog it. Likes do not forward content in no way but making OP feel nice. Reblogs on the other hand make content eternal. They make it relevant, they make it exist outside of a fickle tumblr search that hardly works on the best of days.

If you want more of something, reblog it.

[susielesbianism]

[independent-fics]

Now, you can take that as a gift, or you can take it as a curse. And that's up to you.

Eliot Spencer and Parker Doing the Things Others Won’t

Leverage (2008-2012)

04x01 The Long Way Down Job

05x09 The Rundown Job

[inkskinned]

i got my isbn today for the book. 8 months to go. my mom and i were talking about what the next steps are. i was eating trail mix, standing on one foot, phone tucked into my ear.

"yeah," i said. "the problem is that tumblr as a market is like, not something that can be studied." there's this weird wave of nostalgia and affection for this place that came up over me: how lovely we avoid consumerism. okay, it sucks as a creator. but also? keep stickin' it to 'em.

my mother made the sound at the back of her throat that i also make, the one that means i've got an idea. "you should figure out some kind of reward for presale amounts. maybe you give out poems or a mug or a signed book or something. would your followers like that?" my mother is sweet, and kind, and i have no idea how to explain on this website you can buy someone crabs.

i put more m&ms down the hatch. i had to speak through peanuts and almonds. "if it passes 25 thousand i will print the book out in its entirety and eat it live on camera."

"oh god. no, you don't have to do that." she was anguished. "just tell them that you'd love them to read it, and that they've inspired you to write. you got started on that site, and they helped you keep going. raquel, you love these people. the community? you talk all the time about the other writers and artists and whatever else. tell them that you're hoping for their support, they'll come through."

"no," i assured her. i discovered i had dropped an m&m, but an ant had already found it, so it belonged to him now. i will let his little life have a surprise blue treasure in it, too. "i'm gonna fuckin' eat the book."

[emeraldhazeart]

Hey, in case you need to hear this today:

For every 1 person that tells you how much they like your work, there's probably close to 10 people who are just quietly enjoying what you create.

Your art has worth.

Your writing has worth.

You'll never know just how many people your work has touched in some way.

[crimsonbubble]

after spending so much time in silent hill, he's bound to be pent up and frustrated. I bet he'd cry when you ride him. just sitting on his lap and bouncing all pretty on his thick cock while he's trying not to sink too far into your touch but you're so fucking warm around him and your voice is so tantalizingly sweet that he can't help but sink further into you. pulling him away from hiding his face in your neck so you can see his face; all flushed and puppy eyed as you grind your hips on his. he probably whimpers all soft and sweet as you bounce on him. def pleads and begs like you're not actively fucking yourself on his cock.

pls talk to me about this pathetic wet cat coded man 🙏

[legendary-cookies]

I've been working on this on and off for like a long time and honestly I kinda hate it now, but this is like a revamp of these but with the Beasts too lmao

This also has a headcanon I have of if the Legends had virtues like the Ancients and Beasts

Also yes I'm aware Fire and Moon might fit more if they switched but I have lore reasons leave me alone

[silentexplorer18]

Seeing Eddie Munson (on AO3)

Seeing Eddie Munson (9060 words) by silentexplorer18

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Munson/Reader

Summary: There are a million things to notice about Eddie Munson in the fall of 1986. The first thing you notice is his hair—windswept curls run wild—when he sits at the desk in front of you. Eddie Munson survives Vecna's attack—alive but not unscathed—and tries to move on with life at community college in the fall of 1986.

Additional Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Post-Season/Series 04, Community College, Eddie Munson Lives, Post-Vecna (Stranger Things), Sorta Slice of life, Pining, so much pining, As slow burn as a one-shot can be, Cuddling & Snuggling, Libraries, Blizzards & Snowstorms, New Years, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, Pet Names

[silentvoicescryingout]

dreamscape

For batsycats, by silentvoicescryingout

  “You’re so beautiful,” his voice coos huskily, mere breaths from her ear. “ My Sakura .”

She moans, stretching her limbs like a cat, legs splaying wide as his fingers brush, featherlight, over her folds.

“Touch me, Sasuke-kun,” she begs in a whisper, rolling her hips against the air, leveling him with a needy stare. She spreads her legs wider, presenting all of herself to entice him into action, into granting her relief from the throbbing ache inside.

“Here?” he murmurs, that small grin she loves so much curving his mouth as he presses his palm fully over her dripping core.

She gasps, eyes rolling back as he rubs at her with his full hand, spreading her wetness all over. The tips of his fingers slip teasingly between her sensitive folds, one dipping slightly into her entrance now and then.

Her release is so close, maddeningly close but just out of her reach. She whines through Sasuke’s ministrations, canting her hips and begging him to give her what she needs, to push deep inside of her to touch that part of her that needs it most.

“Shhh,” he whispers, leaning forward until she feels surrounded by him, his heat, the scent of sage and ash and smoke. “I’ll take care of you, my love.”

And finally, finally, he sinks two fingers deep inside, curling, reaching and thrusting as he chants–

“Sakura.”

Her eyes fly open to find obsidian and hints of lavender staring down at her. The thin padding of her mission pack digs into the flesh of her cheeks, her blanket tucked high around her chin but tangled and askew around her legs.

His gaze is dark, apologetic when he murmurs, “I’m sorry to wake you, but we have to move on. I can smell a storm coming in soon. We should leave before it hits.”

Sakura nods shakily, sitting up abruptly and offering her sweetest smile. Once he turns to stalk out of the rickety abandoned shelter, she presses both hands to her blazing cheeks and muffles a groan in her knees.

Fuck.

~

The air is so cold it feels like tiny kunai scraping against his cheeks as it whips by. Water is falling in sheets toward the ground and in various directions. Freezing droplets splash against his scalp and the exposed skin of his throat, dribbling down to soak under his clothes. 

He glances to his side, single hand tightening over Sakura’s trembling fingers as she blinks up at him through spiky, wet lashes.

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” she murmurs. Sasuke is sure she is likely speaking at a normal volume; it is only that her voice is drowned out by the sound of the pouring rain, and the whistle of wind slashing through the trees and brush around them.

“Come on,” he says at an elevated volume, drawing her close to his side. “There should be a cave nearby to shelter in until the storm passes.”

A fizzling crack of lightning followed by a thunderous boom makes her flinch. Sakura shoots him a sheepish smile before shuffling closer to his side and ducking her head against the onslaught. Sasuke frees her wrist, fanning out his cloak to fall around her shoulders in a last-ditch attempt to shield her from the downpour. It is useless, he knows, as they have both been practically soaked to the bone already.

With her pressed this close to his side, Sasuke can feel the way her entire body is shivering. His hand unconsciously firms in its grip, fingers tightening at the curve of her waist. The bit of skin exposed by the cropped nature of her top is riddled with gooseflesh. He is attuned enough to her after weeks of close-contact that he can tell she is circulating her chakra in an attempt to keep warm.

He inhales deeply, the scent of rain, soil and Sakura filling his nose. As he exhales, he begins to follow suit, kneading his chakra beneath the surface of his skin and concentrating it in the palm of his hand at her side, where his hip is flush against hers as they tread heavily through the thick mud and water.

She shivers again, tightening a fist in his cloak and bringing it close to her chest. Her other hand snakes behind his back, fingers splaying at the center of his spine. He flits his gaze down to hers again and sees her pale cheeks tinted with the slightest bit of pink.

“Thank you,” she mouths, offering him a smile. Her soft bangs stick against the frame of her face, colored a dusky rose from the moisture. Her eyes somehow look brighter against the dark and the gray around them, shining like two jewels in her face.

“Aa,” he breathes. Another streak of lightning and clap of thunder sounds and then the rain begins to fall impossibly heavier.

Facing forward, he quickens his pace to a jog, clutching her absentmindedly to his side all the while.

~

By the time they reach the mouth of the cave, Sasuke and Sakura are dripping wet, pale and shivering. The storm rages outside, rivulets of water flooding the ground. Luckily this place is carved out of a ledge a few feet above ground level, high enough to avoid flooding and deep enough to protect against the violent winds and icy rain.

Sasuke drops his pack near the edge, venturing deeper while clutching a damp scroll. He unfurls it, using his sharingan to make things clearer in the darkness; with a click of his teeth, blood beads on the tip of his thumb and drips slowly onto the scroll. He murmurs a summoning jutsu and a pile of dry kindling appears.

He uses his katon , exhales a stream of flame to bring the fire roaring to life. He finds stray stones on the ground nearby and uses them to border the fire. A small sigh falls from his throat at the rush of warmth.

“That’s smart,” Sakura stutters from behind him. He turns to see her lingering near the mouth of the cave, dripping and shivering violently. “Storing firewood in a summoning scroll…genius.”

“Come closer to the fire,” he says, brow furrowing at the way her lips seem tinted purple even in the low, flickering light. “You’re freezing.”

She shakes her head, “I’m too wet. I need to change these clothes, and you do too…”

Her voice trails off as she drops shakily to a kneeling position, opening her pack and fumbling around. After a few moments she curses weakly and Sasuke rises to approach, peering down at her as she pulls out handfuls of wrinkled, wet fabric.

“Everything is soaked,” she sighs, cursing quietly again. “I wore the last of the clothes I had stored in my own scrolls. I should have known better. Fuck.” His lips almost quirk into a small smile; the very first week of their travels had brought the shocking realization that Sakura, sweet-voiced and angelic-faced as she was, cursed like a sailor.

His concern over her trembling form and blue-tipped fingers quickly kills any mirth he might have indulged.

“You’re going to get sick if you don’t get out of those wet clothes,” he says quietly. “I’ll check if there’s something in my bag that managed to stay dry.”

“Oh, Sasuke-kun…” she begins to protest, but Sasuke is already kneeling beside his own pack, rifling through his belongings.

Blood rises to his face slowly as he finds everything inside his bag is wet as well. He glances up at her apologetically.

“I have nothing dry enough,” he sighs, rising to a standing position. “I keep some bedding stored in my scrolls. We’ll have to make do with blankets alone.”

Sakura nods slowly, lashes fluttering as her gaze falls to the ground, focusing on the shadows cast by the dancing flame feet away. She fidgets for a second before reaching down to peel off her knee-high sandals, then, her tiny, pale toes flexing over the rocky ground.

Sasuke swiftly summons another scroll, pulling from it a small pile of thick blankets, and two thin sheets. He saunters toward the fire, laying the blankets as close as possible in the hopes that they would take on some extra warmth. He sheds his dripping cloak, tossing a kunai so that it wedges into the cave wall and hanging the garment from it. Even standing nearby the fire, a chill snakes down his spine as he levels a line of other kunai the same way, creating a space for them to hang up their clothes to dry.

He turns back to see Sakura clutching her arms around herself, shaking like the leaves being torn about by the racing winds outside.

“Here,” he says sharply, snatching up one of the thin sheets and walking briskly to stand in front of her, “take this and dry yourself. Then come wrap yourself in a blanket and sit by the fire. I’m going to quickly set up a few traps outside.”

Her teeth chatter as she said, “Sasuke-kun, I can help. Just let me-”

“Please,” he intercepts, stepping slightly closer. He can smell jasmine and rain and something sweet like berries standing this close. A hard swallow works down his throat before he urges her again, “Get warm. You’re shivering hard enough to break your bones. It will only take a moment, and it’ll give you privacy to…undress.”

Understanding lights her eyes and the tiniest pink flush dots her pallid cheeks. She nods again, creeping deeper into the cave and closer to the fire with her shoulders hunched forward. 

Sasuke exhales a slow, heavy breath before pivoting on his heel and trudging out of the cave into the chaos outside. Rain pours over him, icy and feeling almost solid with the force of the downpour. He moves as quickly as he can about the perimeter, anchoring traps where he can only hope they won’t be swept away by the tiny current building on the ground as it floods with water. He casts an area genjutsu, wide enough that he thinks the traps will be a last resort anyway.

It takes him all of a handful of minutes to secure their area, but he dawdles anyway– he tells himself it is to ensure Sakura has time to dry and remove her clothes in peace. But the staccato of his heart behind his ribs and the sharp breaths puffing steam in the cold air cue him into his own desire to avoid being in close quarters for as long as possible.

The first few weeks of their travels had been maddening; they both were awkward and stilted, him being moreso, of course. His attraction to her only intensified in proximity, causing him to struggle every moment to not stare at the way different levels of light cast over her face, to lean in to capture the tinkling of her quiet laughs. Sasuke had nearly embarrassed himself on multiple occasions with the urge to sniff at her sweet-scented hair and overall pleasant aroma, because it called to him so.

Now, these reactions were more tame. Exposure had served them well, lulling them into an ambience of comfort–an anticipatory stasis at best. Sparing a glance did not seem such a monumental feat, and he did not feel the need to study her for hours, as if he would not see her again at any given moment. 

Yet, all of the struggles of their early days alone rushed back and did so tenfold at night. Whether they sheltered in a cave like the one he loitered outside of now, or in adjacent rooms at a small-village inn, the late hours brought with them traces of insanity, a yearning so intense it would cause him embarrassment that would linger until the morning. 

He hesitates now, shivering and drenched because he is achingly aware that when he returns, Sakura will be bare save for one thin swathing of fabric. She will be close enough to breathe in her scent, to feel the essence of her chakra against his senses. 

He realizes that she is likely huddling close to the fire now, cold and trying to sap in warmth with only a blanket and a meager flame.

Inhaling deeply once more, Sasuke turns and makes his way back to the mouth of the cave, slowing his steps once he is deep enough to not feel the rebounding splashes of water as it ricochets off the ground. He pauses, glancing upward at Sakura who sits mere inches away from the makeshift fire pit, curled in a ball so tight her form seems tiny, insignificant among the looming shadows dancing over the walls.

“Sasuke-kun,” she says, each consonant trembling as her teeth chatter lightly. “You’re back.”

“You’re still cold,” he replies, browns pinching as he notes the shudders wracking her form. 

“Yeah,” she stutters, bobbing her head in a slightly disjointed manner. She attempts to give him a smile, nonetheless and his heart skips a beat. “It’s freezing. I’ll warm up soon, though. Hurry and get changed!”

He nods slowly, taking a few more steps before pausing again. His gaze falls to her small fingers clenched in the fabric at her chest, the still-damp locks of her hair falling waywardly around her face. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll close my eyes,” she snaps her lids shut, whipping her chin to the side so her face is turned away from him. “I won’t peek, promise.”

Sasuke chooses to believe the shiver that works his way down his spine is the result of the damp and the cold, and definitely not his body and mind traitorously reacting to the thought of Sakura choosing to watch him change, openly, instead.

She begins rocking back and forth as he makes quick work of slinging off his clothes. Her shoulder twitches under the blanket when his shirt falls with a wet smack onto the hard ground. He can see her visibly sucking in a deep breath when his pants follow suit. If he were not shivering from the low temperature, he is sure his face would be burning as he brusquely scrubs at his skin with a thin sheet, tossing that to the side before hunching, positioning his arm in front of his pelvis as he creeps forward carefully, inching around Sakura’s possible line of sight as he reaches to grab one of the blankets folded near the fire.

He tucks the fabric around him, relishing for a moment in the initial warmth before kneeling on his haunches as close as he can to the fire. As he positions himself, his shoulder brushes against Sakura’s and she perks up slightly, still turned away.

“You can open your eyes,” he murmurs. 

She swivels her head to face him, eyes blinking open slowly and fixing on his face. The green of her eyes is slightly marred by the orange glow of the fire, her lashes looking more red in the dim light. The flames glow is the only thing bringing color to her cheeks, her lips tinted with lavender in their pallor.

Sasuke stiffens, mind swirling with solutions to bring her temperature up high enough for the danger of hypothermia to fade. He considers giving up his blanket for a moment before realizing that Sakura would only expend her energy fretting and he would likely become sick with cold and burden her even if he managed to convince her to take it. 

“Tea,” he sputters, gnawing at his lip and blinking his eyes closed for a moment in humiliation when Sakura only tilts her head in confusion. “I’ll brew tea. Hopefully it’ll help us get warm more quickly.” 

“Oh,” she bobs her head vigorously. “Yes, tea. That’s a good idea, Sasuke-kun.”

Sasuke springs to his feet before she is completely done speaking, glad to be doing something useful, yes, but also to create some distance even if shuffling over to his packs near the cave wall takes him away from the warmth of the fire. He sucks in a few quick breaths, trying to calm his thudding heart as his fingers fumble for the small muslin pack holding his herbs. They are soaked and wilted, but hopefully useful enough to brew a decent, if not so flavorful tea. He holds the sack gently between his teeth, reaching once more for the light, steel teapot. He hooks the handle over his pinky finger and wrestles out his water tin before straightening with a small huff.

When he turns, Sakura is watching him over her shoulder. She offers him a small smile when their eyes meet and he nearly stumbles despite standing motionless. Heat makes a valiant effort to pool in his cheeks and he dips his gaze, watching his frigid toes as they tap across the rough, hard floor back toward the fire and his companion.

She murmurs a quiet Thank you, Sasuke-kun as he goes about preparing the brew. By the time the teapot is stabilized over the burning logs, Sasuke is left with nothing to do but to clutch his blanket around his shoulders and stare at the water, willing it to boil faster. Despite his own trepidation, he had sat down so close beside Sakura that he could feel her shoulder brush against his arm with every breath either of them took. 

His gaze wanders to the side for the umpteenth time in a handful of minutes, flitting over her pouty, chill-paled lips, the gentle arc of her brow and sweeping curve of her jaw. The freckles that are so faint in the natural light of the daytime seem stark, sprinkles of brown across the bridge of her nose and high points of the cheek due to how pale she has become. A shiver wracks through her and Sasuke tenses against the urge to reach out to her.

“Still cold?” he murmurs, pinning his gaze on her more fully. The fire was blazing strongly and most of the chill had faded from his own bones.

Sakura shivered again and scooted around slightly to face him. 

“Yeah,” she whispers, lips tilting in a sheepish smile. “It’s much better than before, though. I’m just a wimp when it comes to cold weather.”

As she says those words, a clap of thunder sounds, loud enough to echo into the cave. A whoosh of cold air sweeps in, causing the fire to bend and flicker before it rights itself again. Sakura’s teeth chatter.

“I’m sorry,” Sasuke-kun says, a frown creeping over his features. “I shouldn’t have taken us the long way around. I wasn’t expecting a storm like this so soon in the season.”

Sakura shakes her head quickly, “No, no! I’m glad you did, the scenery– it was a really beautiful route. I enjoyed it a lot. I’m sure that’s not why you took us that way, of course, but…”

“It was,” he interjects, clearing his throat when her wide, green eyes shoot up to peer into his face. He can see the flames dancing about her pupils, casting an orange tint in her iris. “It was why I…took the scenic route. To show you. I thought you would like it.”

“Oh,” she says quietly, the word more of a sigh. Her lips curve upwards again, into a shy, sweet smile. “I liked it. Loved it, really. The river and the flower fields were so beautiful.”

“Aa,” he mutters gruffly. “Good.”

He turns quickly, rising to his haunches to stir at the bubbling liquid in the pot, hoping the flames would cast glow enough to camouflage the red tint of his cheeks. 

Behind him, Sakura whispers, “Thank you for showing me, Sasuke-kun.” 

The spoon he is holding catches against the rim of the teapot with a loud clang as he grunts some unintelligible response. He can feel a blush burning from neckline to temple, but he sets about pouring tea into two travel mugs with the straightest face he can manage. Sakura’s thanks and her bright expression seem to replay on a loop in his mind; he is left wondering, briefly, if he had managed to capture the moment with his sharingan, not even knowing it had been engaged.

A quiet sniffle causes him to snap out of his thoughts, resting the teapot back over the fire and reaching to offer one of the steaming cups to his trembling companion. She grabs it with both hands, soft, cool fingers brushing over his before drawing back slowly. 

Sakura clutches the tea to her chest, shoulders hunched and head tipped downward to let the warm steam wash over her face. She sighs softly disturbing the whitish translucent stream rising about her cheeks for a second before inhaling deeply. 

“You make the best tea, Sasuke-kun,” she mumbles, leaning in closer and closing her eyes as she breathes deeply once more. “This smells nice. It feels good, too.”

Sasuke nearly chokes but forces out a quiet scoff, “You’re just happy because it’s warm.”

She lifts her head long enough to throw him a grin and a quick wink. Sasuke nearly tips over, fingers clutching tight around the mug that nearly slipped from his grasp. 

Pale, slightly chapped lips part, making a small o as Sakura begins blowing on her drink rhythmically. He finds himself mesmerized with the way her mouth puckers, the skin wrinkling slightly, soft folds looking like delicate petals. Her cheeks puff slightly, some of the color gradually returning to her flesh. It looks supple, so smooth and soft despite having spent time in the chafing cold. The fine hairs at her temples have begun to dry, curling slightly away from her forehead from the heat and steam. Sasuke has to bite the inside of his cheek to restrain the absurd urge to reach out and tap the rhombus on her forehead, the only thing that mars the perfection of the smooth expanse of skin.

Shutting his eyes, he lifts his cup to his lips, not even bothering to blow before chugging half of its contents. It’s hot, and burns going down his throat. But he mentally shrugs, because he breathes fire routinely and a little hot tea is not so bad in comparison.

The liquid is warm sliding down his throat, and he can feel it pool in his belly, chasing away most of the last dredges of cold from his muscles. Without his express permission, his eyes reopen and immediately come to rest on Sakura’s huddled form once more. He watches with apt attention as she blows gently once more, before bringing the cup closer to her mouth.

The metal rim rests on her plush lower lip, steam gathering at the top before she tilts the cup and slurps carefully, pulling the brew into her mouth. After the first tentative sip she sighs, humming quietly as she treats herself to a longer drink, tipping her chin back so that Sasuke catches a glimpse of the delicate column of her throat. It undulates softly with each of her swallows and his mouth runs dry, skin suddenly feeling rather hot beneath his blanket.

Bare skin. Just like hers is, hidden behind the thick layer of cloth. 

He swallows thickly, quickly throwing back the rest of his tea, hardly even tasting the earthy, if slightly bitter, flavor.

“Mmm,” Sakura hums, the sound between a relaxed exhalation and husky moan. Sasuke’s fingers tighten around his empty container. “That feels so good .”

She could have very well pulled those very words from his dreams, an echo of one of the many, many imaginings that had circulated through his psyche when he let himself indulge in the deepest, most unguarded kinds of rest. It was these same imaginings that would cause him to awaken suddenly, sweating and panting, aching so much that he would be forced to flee from whatever sheltering space he shared with Sakura to wait out the effects of his own torturous fantasies.

“Aa,” he croaks. 

Mechnically, he reaches to drain the last of the teapot’s contents into her cup, unable to prevent himself from openly staring as she repeats her process again. Curling into her own body, pursing her lips, blow, blow, blow , blow , inhale, exhale,  slurp, slurp, swallow. He watches as a deep shudder works its way down her body, her muscles visibly relax, shoulders falling away from her ears. A healthier flush takes residence high on her cheekbones, creeping slowly across the bridge of her nose. Her lips look moist now, more red than pink, soft and full with the blood finally rising to the surface.

She drains this portion quicker than the first, setting down her cup with a satisfied sigh. Delicate fingers come up and sweep through the nearly-dry strands of her hair, raking them back away from her forehead. A few chunks of her grown-out bangs slip down slowly to frame her forehead, and Sasuke’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch them, to brush them back and secure them behind the pretty pink shell of her ear.

“Thank you, Sasuke-kun,” she says, voice stronger and more chipper. “Your tea pulled me away from death’s door!”

“Don’t joke like that,” Sasuke snaps, mouth flattening. Sakura only laughs, rocking back slightly and adjusting her grip on the blankets wrapped around her shoulders.

“Sorry,” she snorts quietly. “But really, I was starting to not be able to feel my toes. My body temperature has always run a bit on the low side… I thought maybe I was anemic or something. Tsunade says it’s just how I’m made. But it really sucks in situations like this.”

Sasuke only nods. He runs his eyes over her with a more critical eye, focusing on the digits peeking out from underneath the blanket at her chest and below, at the ends of her small feet. They have lost that palish blue hue, to his satisfaction. 

Sakura continues, as always, so gracefully undeterred by his lack of responsiveness. “You always run hot, isn’t that right?”

“Aa,” he nods in the affirmative. “Uchiha thing. Didn’t think you’d noticed.”

Red fills her cheeks and she chuckles, rubbing at the side of her neck, “Ah, well, I’ve had to look at you medically quite a few times. And running your vitals, too! Your natural state is like a low-grade fever. You’ll be happy to know I finally put a permanent note on your file, so no one else will force you to go through illness screenings because of your temperature.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, “It’s not like anyone else will ever be treating me.”

Sakura huffs, casting a disapproving glare at him that was more cute than ferocious.

“Sasuke-kun! None of our medics would ever turn away someone in need of medical care. It is against our code of honor.”

“Aa, I suppose they wouldn’t,” he says absentmindedly. Her flush has deepened and she chews on her lips in the most hypnotizing fashion. “But I’ll only ever want you.”

The words slip out of his mouth too easily, naturally. It is possibly the boldest thing he has ever said to anyone–to her – before but it feels so commonplace, so true , in all contexts, that he takes a moment to realize just how intense it is.

And by that time, Sakura has become so red that Sasuke fears for her health. He is caught between intense embarrassment and concern as she gapes at him for a split second, before clutching her blankets tighter to her chest and looking away from his face.

“O-oh,” she stutters, hands shifting under the fabric. “I’m flattered, then. And…I’ll always do my best to take care of you, Sasuke-kun. Whenever you need me to.”

Sasuke’s heart flutters then pounds in his chest. Always , he thinks. He knows he will always need her, but he has exhausted his bravery for the night and cannot bring himself to say it. So, he only nods, leveling her with a meaningful look, hoping that she will catch on to the things left unsaid between them. 

There are many of those things–but slowly, they rise to the surface and reveal themselves to the light. With each day, each evening spent side-by-side, he grows to know her and open up to her better. And she is patient with him, granting him the chance to meet her where she has already been at his own pace.

He is pulled away from the soft train of thoughts by a quiet cough, followed by a sniffle. Sakura throws him a small, light smile even as her hand rises to cover her mouth and she coughs again.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he frowns. “Here, take my blanket. My cloak should be dry enough.”

“No!” she seems to startle herself with the volume of her own voice. Her lips are beginning to tremble again, but she says, sternly, “Your cloak is definitely not dry, and I’m not going to let you catch pneumonia and die because you want to sleep with wet clothes on you. Keep your blanket, Sasuke-kun.”

Sasuke feels adequately chastised for a short moment, very close to being surprised at the tone she takes with him. He has heard it before, of course, usually when in the dobe’s company. Never had it been directed at him.

He is both amused and slightly pained by the experience.

Sakura shivers again and he forgets all about his wounded ego. He shoots a glance into the teapot, agitation gnawing at his insides.

“You’re cold again,” he states, wincing when the teapot is as empty as he knew it was. “At least I can brew more tea, though it’ll be weak…”

“No,” she interjects with a harsh exhale. “I can tolerate it, Sasuke-kun. I’ll just have to sleep it off–I’m tired anyway.”

The less than reasonable part of Sasuke’s mind immediately flashes to the worst-case scenario, Sakura freezing into a block of ice while they slumber. He submits himself to the idea of staying up throughout the entire night, keeping a vigil to maintain the fire as well as push his blanket off on her once he is sure she won’t awaken to scold him.

“You get rest, too,” she says. Sasuke nods stiffly, knowing he won’t. “ Seriously . If we spread out by the fire, it’ll be fine. Even better, if we…” 

Sakura trails off, pulling away Sasuke’s struggle against his newly developing morality which weighs the eternal cost of slipping Sakura into a slight genjutsu so she’ll sleep more heavily and not notice if he stays awake and gives her his blanket in the night. He tries to catch her gaze, only to find her studying the woven fabric in her lap.

“If we?” he prods. Her shoulders twitch and she hunches forward.

“Nevermind,” she mumbles.

“Sakura,” he says firmly. She flinches slightly but rolls her eyes. He has been firm with her in the past (many of those times to his deep regret).

“It’s silly,” she starts, sighing heavily. “But I was going to say, ‘even better if we lay close to each other’. Sharing close quarters means sharing body heat means sharing warmth. But, it’s not necessary and you burn hot enough already. So forget it! Good night.”

Sakura nods once, before unceremoniously flopping onto her back, then turning to her side and curling up in a tight ball facing the fire. Her form quivers slightly, drawn taut as if she is trying to staunch her reaction to the slowly increasing chill. 

Sasuke can only watch as she fidgets for a couple of minutes, bunching a portion of the blanket so it forms into a sort of makeshift pillow. Her body looks so small, curled up as it is, drowned in the thick fabric she has cocooned herself in. And yet he can still make out the small quivers.

With a deep breath, he turns his back to her, clicking his teeth at his thumb to draw forth a bead of blood. He summons three empty scrolls, unfurling them and tearing them into medium-large pieces with his hand and teeth. He can feel Sakura’s eyes on him from behind, but focuses on his task of tearing the thick, pristine paper until he has a hefty pile of scraps at his feet. Squatting close to the fire, he crinkles and stuffs wads of papers between the gaps of the burning logs. With a deep inhale, he breathes out a small stream of flame, urging the fire to lick higher, blaze hotter. 

Rising as smoothly as possible, and ignoring the eyes peeking at him from over the bunched blanket, Sasuke walks until he is but a single step away from where Sakura lays. He kneels behind her, watching carefully as her shoulders stiffen, her form ceasing any movement as if she is not breathing. 

He holds his breath, too, as he pulls the blanket from his shoulders, swiftly fanning it out so half of the large cloth falls over Sakura. Consequently, it covers her head and he uses that bare moment to dart under the other edge, securing it over his nude form just quickly enough before a pink head emerges and whips around in his direction.

“If lying close together keeps you warm, then that’s what we’ll do,” he says quietly before her parted lips can spew whatever words were brewing. “Sleep, Sakura.”

She looks as if she will protest, but he gives her his best blank stare. With a heavy sigh, her body relaxes incrementally and she casts only one more cursory gaze over her shoulder as she turns to face the fire once more. Sasuke clenches his jaw as she wriggles about under her blanket, and now part of his. A few times, he thinks her hip or elbow will brush against him, but she eventually settles, bundled tightly in both blankets.

A small yawn spills from her mouth before she utters softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. Good night.”

Quicker than he thinks should be possible for any ninja, Sakura’s breaths even out and her body slumps, fully relaxed as she slips into slumber. He indulges in a tiny smile, shifting carefully until he is on his side, her back a mere six inches or so from his chest.

Sleep evades him; he is too aware of her proximity, her scent, the warmth of another body in his space. She is closer than anyone has been in a long time–perhaps ever in his life. He can smell the rain in her hair, residua of the herbal tea they drank. The scent of burning wood and ash tickles his nose, but still the sweetness that he can only name as Sakura reaches him. For a long while, he simply watches the rise and fall of her slender shoulders under the blanket, the shadows of the fire dancing against the small visible part of her cheek. Quiet snores begin to whistle through her nose and a sensation so endearing, compelling in its combined simplicity and intensity rises up from his belly, spreading through his chest. 

Sooner than he anticipates, his heartbeat slows from its frantic staccato, his breaths growing deeper and longer. His eyelids grow heavy, blinks coming more frequently by the second before the sounds, sights, smells and feeling of Sakura lull him, too, into sleep.

~

A violent shaking causes him to jerk awake. First, he notices the dark, only the barest of dim orange flicking in a sea of blackness. Then, he notes a weight against his chest, the cause of the quaking that drew him into consciousness in the first place.

It is not even an hour since he finally succumbed to sleep, he guesses. Yet the air inside the cave is frigid cold, heavy with moisture as thunder booms and wind sends rain thrashing audibly outside. 

Sasuke's eyes manage to focus on a head of light-colored hair, and he leans forward to peer into the face pressed into his shoulder. Pale brows are drawn tight, pearly teeth peeking between pale lips, chattering. A tiny whimper falls from that mouth and his chest grows tight.

He shushes her quietly, emitting an unfamiliar, husky coo as he reaches to loosen her iron-clad grip on the blankets slipping haphazardly on down his torso. The fact that he actually manages to free the fabric and himself from her grip (with quite a bit of effort, despite his desire to be careful) cues him into the fact that she is still asleep, albeit freezing.

Moving as swiftly as possible, he rises to his feet, situating both blankets around her as they have slipped down her back in favor of being clutched to her front. Next he stalks close to the dying fire, grabbing handfuls of his pre-cut, makeshift kindling and stuffing it over the struggle coals. He blows gently until it catches a tiny flame, inhaling deeper and pouring from his mouth in a spherical katon . The fire blazing strongly once more, Sauske returns to kneel by Sakura’s shivering form, hand shielding his pelvic area.

“C-cold,” comes a hoarse murmur. He jerks in surprise, activating his sharingan to peer down at her face. Her eyes remain closed, lashes fluttering but never sliding open. “So cold…”

His heart squeezes before beating wildly against its cage. Biting his lip, he fights against his own shiver as the cold creeps over his skin. Making sure to keep his gaze fixed on her tightly-drawn face, Sasuke reaches his hand out to Sakura, gripping her shoulder lightly before rubbing his hand up and down the side of her body. He hopes, desperately, that the brisk motions would bring her some additional warmth.

Shudders wrack her frame and he can feel the muscles bunching under his hand, fighting to curl even more inwards onto herself. She thrashes suddenly, rolling dangerously close to the fire, with her back turned to him. The blankets nearly unravel completely, tangled about her legs and covering her only to the hip. She cries out painfully as the cold of the cave bites at the exposed skin of her back, sprouting gooseflesh and bringing forth another violent shiver. 

“Sakura,” Sasuke breathes, snatching the blankets up over her once more. She struggles still, seeking warmth but preventing him from situating the blankets effectively in the process.

“I’m freezing, Sasuke-kun,” she moans, voice too sluggish and slurred to be fully lucid. “Freezing, freezing…”

Sasuke grinds his teeth nearly to dust. Before his logical mind can fully catch up to the action, he is ripping the blankets away from her form completely. Her startled cry does not even manage to echo into the cave before he is pressed up behind her, throwing first one blanket and then the other over both of them. He curls his right leg over both of hers, using it to drag her closer, nestling the stub of his left arm under her head and slipping the right between the two blankets to curl over her waist.

“Shhhh,” he hisses into her hair, exhaling heavily onto her neck in the hopes that his breath would aid in his efforts to warm her. “Rest. It’ll be warm soon.”

She sniffles, shaking and shivering as she burrows further into the blankets, further into his embrace. 

He endures a few long minutes of her wriggling, his mind torn between extreme concern, embarrassment and distant elation before she stills slightly and releases a relieved exhale. As if in a faint, her muscles loosen all at once, her body relaxing into his. He breathes in short inhales and long exhales, fingers clenching and unclenching at her waist, torso stiffening with each minute shift she makes as she slowly falls back into a deeper sleep. Her skin feels cool against his, and soft, so soft . Were he not in such a daze and so on edge from her frightening condition a few minutes before, he might have fixated on the suppleness of her waist or the press of her thighs in front of his. 

Instead, he focuses on the sound of her breathing, relaxing bit by bit as it filters through her nose easier and more slowly by the second. Eventually her skin seems to feel warmer, his own body growing quite hot with the weight of two blankets over him and another human body lying just so. He nestles impossibly closer, anyway, hoping to emanate as much warmth as he can.

Exhaustion grips him and he finds himself falling more deeply into sleep, irresistible with the weight of Sakura’s body against his own, and the feeling of her safe and secure within his grasp.

~

Sasuke feels hot. His skin is prickling with the sensation of licking flames, his blood simmering in his veins. The heat is centralized in his core, pooling low in his belly and radiating throughout his form.

He exhales, fingers clenching over something soft, smooth. The smell of jasmine, cherry blossom, her , fills his nose with each inhale.

Ah, this dream again.

Sakura is fitted snugly in his grasp, her back to his front. He can feel her hair brushing over his collarbones, the plush flesh of her buttocks cradled in his hips. Her thighs rest flush against his, a slim, smooth calf hooked around his knee. 

A slight shift causes white-hot pleasure to shoot down his spine, and Sasuke shudders. He feels as if every one of his nerve endings is at attention, soaking in the sensation of her skin against his, the breath expanding her chest and a slow, rhythmic motion rocking him back and forth.

The feeling of something warm, slick, soft slides over his shaft and he sighs deeply. His hand slips down, squeezes a plush handful of flesh before slipping back up to dance over her ribs. Her skin is like silk, his rough fingers sliding so easily. She shifts again, forward , back , pressing into him with a curve to her spine, straining against his grip at her front. It all feels so real that Sasuke nearly succumbs to the pull of a deeper slumber, tempted to stay asleep and continue to see where this fantasy leads. 

It is different this time. His surroundings are not so clear as usual– his imaginings usually for vivid, visually stimulating than this new, physical stimulus. A faint orange glow flickers at the edge of his awareness, a rustling sound like shifting fabric and cracking embers filtering in slowly.

He shakes himself mentally, painstakingly forcing himself into awareness. The dream grips him, forcing him to remain locked in his psyche where Sakura is clutched against his chest, where she is soft and warm and wet and…

Sasuke’s eyes fly open and he chokes on a gasp. The first thing he sees is pink obscuring his vision. Blinking away the wayward strands, he sees next a roaring fire, the rough cave wall washed with shadows.

And then he feels , a slow drag over his achingly hard member, slippery and hot, cushioned between two walls of warm, firm flesh.

Then he hears a sigh, sweet and underscored with a high-pitched wine.

“Sasuke-kun…”

A startled groan falls from his mouth as the dragging sensation comes again, and he drops his gaze down to the form in front of him, only partially shielded by a blanket that is bunched haphazardly about his waist. 

“Sakura,” he chokes. 

I must be dreaming, still. Sasuke nearly gives in to the urge to stay asleep when another quiet, gasping moan spills from her lips as her hips rock back into him before curling forward, his throbbing shaft trapped between her thighs. His hips flex in response to the motion, white flashing over his vision again before he shakes his head violently, willing himself to wake up .

“Fuck,” he rasps, yanking his hand away from its spot on her ribs, disturbing the blanket further with the motion. 

Red bleeds over his iris, his eyes widening as he takes in Sakura’s bare form. Her skin is flushed, glistening with a fine layer of sweat. Muscles bunch and ripple under the skin of her back, the knobs of her spine peeking through with each rolling grind of her waist. She writhes against him, her head falling back into his chest and revealing a face with features twisted in a distant expression.

Her eyes are closed. His, on the other hand, are definitely open which means that he is not dreaming. 

But Sakura…is.

“Sakura,” he calls hoarsely. His hand shakes, floating uselessly in the air as he attempts to control his ragged breathing, flinching as she makes that rocking motion once more and sends pleasure rattling down his spine. 

“Mm,” she murmurs, “Sasuke-kun…”

She’s dreaming of me , he realizes in a daze. His trembling fingers fall to her shoulders, squeezing more tightly than he intends as he attempts to rouse her with a gentle shake.

“No, no,” she murmurs, and his hand snatches away from her. Her thighs clench tighter around him and he sees stars. “Stay…stay…”

Arousal and heartache combine in a terrible mixture, swirling in his gut. Sasuke bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, letting his hand fall on her shoulder once more.

“Sakura,” he says firmly, making his voice as clear as possible even as the pace of his undulations increases, the wetness becoming more apparent against his turgid member. His pulse thunders, nearly drowning out her gasping whimpers and breathy moans. “ Wake up. ”

Sakura jerks, her hands fisting in the blanket that managed to get stuffed against her front. Her head whips in his direction, wide eyes falling on him from over her shoulder. 

The world seems to freeze around them as they both stare into each other with bated breath. The sound of the fire crackling and the winds outside seem loud in the silence, suddenly absent both their panting breaths and her unconscious ramblings. 

Her gaze darts away from his face for a flash of a second, flitting to their surroundings before swerving back to his. Her eyes grow impossibly wider and her mouth–Sasuke notes that it is moist, red and indented as if her teeth had sunk into the lower lip–gapes.

“Sasuke-...kun?” Sakura croaks, voice unsteady and breathless. 

He can only stare down at her, unable to form a full thought as he watches her glossy eyes blink up at him convulsively, her cherry-red lips plump and shining in the dim glow. 

“You were dreaming,” he manages to whisper, biting back a groan as a shudder works its way down her form. Even the slightest motion brings attention to their intimate contact, bodies still flush against each other.

“I- Sasuke,” she gasps, shaking in earnest now. Her chest heaves and one of the blankets slips to expose part of a full, pert breast. A dusky nipple peeks just over the edge, plump and distended and oh so… tempting.

“You were dreaming,” Sasuke raps, shifting his body and eliciting his own shiver as the movement causes friction between them once more, “of me.”

“I’m sorry,” she chokes. The flush on her cheeks darkens, her hands scrabbling over the blankets in an attempt to cover herself. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

Her words cut off with a gasp, lashes fluttering as she twists her waists to escape from his grasp, the motion causing the head of his rigid arousal to slip through her folds. A low, rumbling groan finally rips free from his chest and she freezes, panting hard as she tilts her head to meet his gaze once more.

Sakura’s lips are sweet, soft between his own when he jerks forward to suck them into his mouth. They part on a startled exhale, a soft tongue slipping out to join his as she hums a quiet, helpless moan. 

Their teeth clash and sink into giving flesh, tongues slipping, sliding and thrusting in a frenzied dance. He delves into her mouth as deeply as he can, tasting her essence and the remnants of the tea they shared, feeling each texture, ridge, bump of the insides of her mouth. 

When his lungs burn for air, he retreats slightly, tugging her lower lip with his teeth to its limits, opening his eyes to stare down at her in a daze. Her hands have lost their grip on her coverings, one reaching up to tangle in the hair behind his neck and the other shaping the underside of her breast. 

As if of its own accord, his lone hand plants itself at the beginning of the luscious curve of her hip, tracing a line up the side of her waist. His fingers creep upward until they meet the hand at her chest, sliding over the obstacle to splay over the globe of her breast, relishing the weight of it and the tickling brush of her pert nipple against his palm.

Sakura moans softly, drawing him back to her mouth as her hips sway into his again, backward then forward. This time, Sasuke is lost to the sensation, to his instinct and curls his own hips against her, rocking into her once, twice, then many more times at a building pace. 

Soon she is panting into his mouth, their lips grazing against each other sloppily, hardly kissing at all. His hips snap against the round flesh of her behind, his member throbbing and dripping with her arousal and his as it slides back and forth over her softest lips. 

Sakura , his mind chants. And perhaps between the tiny spaces and breaths between their dancing mouths, he calls her name aloud too. 

“Ah, gods,” she cries softly, gripping her free hand over the one resting at her breast. She squeezes their fingers over herself and bears down on his shaft, slipping back and forth until he is nestled deep into her slit.

His grip tightens and he pulls his hips back as far as they will go without completely losing their contact– when he careens forward again, the very tip of his dips into what he can only describe as a well of pure, liquid heat before slipping forward and through her folds again.

Sakura’s hips jerk and she loosens his grip on his hair, her face turning away as she lets out a sharp cry. 

He freezes, even as she continues to undulate against him, trying to blink past the haze that had taken his mind the last handful of minutes.

“Sakura,” he says breathily, swallowing thickly as the hand that was in his hair tugs at the blankets until they lay carelessly at the edge of the fire. “Should we…?”

“Don’t stop,”  she hisses, reaching back once more to cup her fingers around his nape, pressing her hips back into his pelvis. Her breast presses more deeply into his hand with the arch of her back and he grits his teeth.

“If we don’t,” he pants, dipping his face into the curve of her neck and inhaling deeply, “There’s no telling how far I’ll go.”

His teeth graze the soft skin over her racing pulse and he bites down, sucking and nibbling at the spot recklessly. Distantly, somewhere his logical self is screaming, banging against the wall of arousal and pent up frustration to call for control.

Sasuke’s inner consciousness is silenced for good when Sakura gasps out, “Go as far as you can, Sasuke-kun. Take me with you.”

With a sound resembling a growl crawling from somewhere deep in his chest, Sasuke loosens his grip at her breast, sliding his hand over a muscular thigh and heaving it up, and back to hook behind his hip. Then he braces his hand at the crease between her thigh and pelvis, swinging his hips back until his dripping tip notches at the source of the wetness that has made them both slick and glistening. 

The barest flex of his hip has the head of him teasing past the syrupy rim of her entrance and stars seem to take over his vision. He blinks to clear his head, sucking in deep breaths and restraining the urge to careen forward and sheathe himself inside of her as quickly as possible.

“Are you sure, Sakura?” he manages to grit out, gentling his grip at her hip and nuzzling his cheek against the edge of her jaw. “Is this what you really want?”

“Yes,” she breathes. Her hips tilt back, she opens herself to him more fully. “I want you so bad, Sasuke-kun. I need it.”

His breath falls out of him on a shudder and he grips her tightly again, brushing his lips over her shoulder, neck and jaw in what he hopes is a soothing manner. 

“I’ve dreamed of this, too,” he murmurs, slipping his eyes shut as he slowly curls his hips, pressing against her soft flesh slowly until it gradually gives and parts around him. She lets out a low moan. “Ever since you joined me, every night you lie by my side…I dreamed of this.”

Sasuke’s entire body is trembling with strain, his member throbbing with each centimeter it sinks into her depths. Her walls flutter around him, her core squeezes and releases in maddening increments. The urge to slam the remainder of his length into her until he is buried to the hilt is strong, but he curbs that instinct, unwilling to cause her pain. He feeds himself to her inch by achingly slow inch.

“If this is still a dream,” he gasps, stilling for a moment as her inner muscles spasm around him, her body bunching tight when nearly half of him is inside, “I hope I never wake up.”

“Sasuke-kun,” she begs, hips tilting back and spine arching severely. “Please. Please .”

With a deep, shaky breath Sasuke slips his hand up her body, bracing her throat with his palm and cradling her jaw with his fingers. He opens his eyes, shifts to catch her glistening gaze and slides deep, until he can move no further. 

Sakura’s head knocks back against his chin on a loud, guttural moan, and his tight grip on his restraint snaps. 

Flesh meets flesh with loud, wet smacks as he rocks into her, gripping tightly at her jaw and pressing his forehead to her crown. Choked groans and uttered curses spill from his mouth as his perception of reality slips away, his mind only able to hone in on the sound of her rhythmic cries, the snap of his hips against her ass and the tight, slick grip of her sliding over him, again and again and again .

Sakura thrashes in his grip, hips knocking backward to meet his thrusts as her upper body arches away from him. His hold on her face, at her neck keeps her in place to receive each unforgiving thrust, his pace as wild and untamed as the fire blazing through his veins. When he opens his bleary eyes, his irises swirl, taking in and cataloging the sheen of sweat on her skin, the ripple of her toned muscles beneath. Her cheek is warm and wet with a combination of sweat and the tears trickling slowly from the corner of her squinted eyes.  

Sasuke moans deeply, curling his body over hers to drag his tongue over her face, lapping at the salty perspiration before kissing his way desperately toward the corner of her mouth. He wrenches her head toward him so he can plunder her lips with his own, thrusting his tongue against hers in a pace matching the way his shaft burrows into her core.

“Sas-,” she slurs around his lips, sharp nails fixing themselves in the flesh of his forearm. His hips piston faster, more forcefully in response.

She is everything he has imagined, more . A culmination of every one of his fantasies, dreams and wishes made flesh. A keening whine builds in her chest and she gasps out his name, a shiver wracking her entire form as her nails dig more deeply into his flesh and prickles of pain sprout where her hand tugs at the strands of his hair.

“Let go,” he grunts, half desperate as he laves the skin of her neck with his tongue, sucking the lobe of her ear between his teeth. He smells jasmine, sweet fruits, rain, Sakura and now him all over her skin. “ My Sakura.”

“ Sasuke-kun! ” her voice is a shattering cry and her inner walls grip him so tight white flashes over his vision. Her hips stiffen before roiling in dizzying circles and waves, nearly dislodging him from her fountain. 

A rush of liquid coats his shaft and both of their thighs between them and suddenly the heat bubbling deep in his core bubbles over, a tingle forming at the base of his spine as his hips snap forward once, twice before tunneling him deep inside the third time and pressing tight against her. His shaft throbs, jerking into her depths as he spills everything he has inside of her until he is sure some of his own essence leaks out to join hers between their legs.

They jerk and pant together for long seconds that could be millennia before finally the aftershocks fade, the muscles of his abdomen relaxing as she falls, weightless into his chest. 

Sasuke cradles her close, squeezing his eyes shut as their breaths slow and the final twitches of his muscles cease. He can tell the air around them is beginning to cool but he still feels flushed, their skin sticking with their combined sweat and fluids.

He searches for trepidation, for guilt, but can find none. Only a deep-rooted satisfaction warms his chest, creeping into his extremities until he cannot resist a tiny smile from curving his lips before he presses them to the flushed skin of her shoulder.

“Some dream, eh?” Sakura breaks the silence quietly, emitting a small, slightly shaky laugh.

Sasuke hums in response, sliding his hand down, between her breasts to rest over her lower abdomen. 

“Aa,”  he says, huskily. 

“Should we…talk about it?” she asks, her voice still breathless with exertion but carrying a tinge of hesitance that sets a fire burning in his depths.

“If this is a dream,” Sasuke muses, slowly untangling himself and relishing in the shudder that works its way down his lover's spine when he slips free from her core, “there are still many things to be done. We can talk in the morning.”

Sakura squeaks when he grabs her thigh and tosses her gently to lie on her back. Green eyes widen up at him, a deep flush spreading from her temples to the tops of her full, delicious looking breasts as he snatches a blanket, fanning it around his shoulders and then plants himself on his knees between her spread out legs. His gaze slips down to her soft, dampened pink curls.

“This part, I fantasize about often,” he murmurs dazedly, peering down at the milky fluid dripping slowly from her folds. 

Sakura gasps before crying out when the blanket billows over both of them and he slides down to plant his face between her thighs.

End.

Tag list: @zenonico @ephemeredoll @psalloacappella

[silentprincess17]

Sugar

For @zelinktines23, Day 12, prompt: Sugar :)

Fic Summary:

Link and Zelda reluctantly agree under their parent's terms and conditions to meet another potential for an arranged marriage, after several previous failures.

Who knows, will it work out? Will they get along? Will they embarrass themselves?

Or, alternatively, Sipri writes an arranged marriage AU featuring ex-military man Link, upcoming engineer Zelda and their chaotic family members who are shippers. Oh, and Fi is the matchmaker :)

Fic excerpt:

Link stared at the green tie that was altogether much too tight around his neck, the stiff awkward white dress shirt, accompanied by the even more fitting charcoal grey waistcoat. All of this seemed overkill. “Mum are you really certain about this? Don't I look very very very over the top?”

“It’s an invitation by the Bosphoramus’s, young man! We cannot be lacking in any way, shape or form! This isn’t the time for your loose, half-open cotton tunics and slack trousers!” 

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Do not ‘yeah’ me Link.” A sharp glare was sent his way. “I am reiterating this, but you will be pleasant. You will not go mute when his daughter presents herself. You will not shame me again.”

Continue on AO3:

[senseofnewness]

SILENT DEVOTION

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader | art donaldson x f!reader | patrick zweig x tashi duncan | tashi duncan x f!reader

rating : explicit

word count : 17.6k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, vaginal sex, object insertion, masturbation, eating disorder, mentions of underage sexual awakening but nothing graphic until they’re all of age

summary : Patrick Zweig was your everything. For five years, you took every opportunity to get closer to him and learn everything about him, shaping yourself into the woman you believed worthy of his love, even as he remained unaware of your existence. But soon, he would notice you, you were determined to make sure of it.

Patrick Zweig had been a part of your life for as long as your older brother had been enrolled at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy, yet you had never really noticed him before.

Though tennis had once held a special place for you in your childhood, the thrill that once accompanied the sport had long faded. Attending tournaments had gradually transformed into a dutiful obligation imposed by your parents in order to support your brother. Your brother, the prodigy who was flourishing in sports while you had yet to find an interest of your own. Sure, you found enjoyment in many activities, but none seemed to garner the same level of pride from your parents as your brother's accomplishments in tennis did.

Only at the age of fourteen did your life begin to find its true purpose. Your brother faced off another student on the court, and perhaps it was the hormonal changes in your body taking over your mind, but your attention fixated solely on that boy with a lanky figure with sharp features and captivating green eyes. His every move executed with an intensity that seemed to transcend the game itself. The confident smirk he wore as he claimed victory stirred something deep within you, so deep that it left you feeling physically unwell for the rest of the day. That night, the urge to relive the moment with your hand down your panties was so overpowering that you had barely slept.

You had attempted to inquire about him from your brother, but without much luck. He had simply shrugged with a sigh, still nursing the sting of defeat. "He's around fifteen, I guess. Comes from a wealthy family, the Zweigs. Why the sudden interest?" You found yourself crafting a tale, pretending to be unaware of Patrick's presence until now, expressing surprise at the notion of a newcomer joining the academy so late in the year.

You only caught glimpses of him a few more times that year. Each encounter filled you with eager anticipation, dressing in your most mature outfits, and accentuating your features with your mother's makeup, all in the hope of capturing his attention. Yet, despite your efforts, he remained immersed in the game, seemingly oblivious to your admiration. Even so, you held onto the belief that he might eventually look up during a set and acknowledge your support with a smile. However, he never did. Nonetheless, this didn't deter your teenage imagination from running wild, crafting fantasies of a future life together where he would confess he had loved you all those years. Then would come dating, then marriage and babymaking. Every detail meticulously mapped out in your mind.

●

You were now sixteen, and despite being only a year older than you, Patrick had morphed into a man. Or so the adolescent you were, thought so. Gone was the thin boy of the past. His body had doubled in size, with his biceps and thighs notably thicker. You couldn't resist imagining the sensation of being embraced by him, or sitting on his lap, and gently running your fingers through his dark curls. You hoped Patrick would also recognize the changes your body underwent over the summer. "Maybe you should pay a bit more attention to your diet." Your mother had suggested, her gaze lingering on your slightly rounded stomach. Sure, you didn't look as toned as you did when you were younger but you had breasts and hips now. Like a real woman. A woman worthy of Patrick Zweig's affection.

He was dominating the match, as usual. Or at least, that's what you believed. You weren’t really paying attention to what was happening on the court, but you knew for a fact that he had it all, looks AND talent. Plus, losers weren't your type.

Although no one was really your type except Patrick.

When the umpire announced the set break, you watched your Patrick walk to his chair and remove his shirt. You had to stifle a gasp in front of your parents, at the sight of him. You had seen your brother and father shirtless before, but it was nothing like it. His skin was smooth with freckles adorning his broad shoulders. His arms were slender yet defined, with muscles that showed his dedication to tennis. His toned stomach and firm abs were accentuated by a trail of black hair disappearing into his shorts. Following the line, you let your eyes linger a bit too long on his crotch. Your knowledge of the male anatomy was minimal, and you had never felt compelled to learn more until that instant. That thought made you cross your legs tighter and clutch your skirt in an attempt to keep the dampness forming in your underwear under control. His adjustment of his shorts only intensified the sensations coursing through your body.

After the match, you hastily excused yourself to the bathroom. The image of Patrick's hand gripping himself through his shorts played on repeat in your mind. Sometimes, you imagined your hand replacing his, or him touching you instead. It was enough to ignite a fire within you. After finding release, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your skirt and shirt with care. The realization of what you'd just done hit you, doubts about your sanity creeping in. But the thought of sharing this story with him one day, perhaps after you're married, eased those worries and brought a smile to your lips. Feeling lighter and fulfilled, you exited the bathroom, only to come face to face with Patrick. His brief glance, meeting yours for a split second, sent a rush of excitement through you as he disappeared toward the locker rooms. Finally, he knew you existed. It was the best day of your life.

●

Upon hearing of his qualification for the US Open Junior Boys Doubles Championship in 2006, you were convinced you were supposed to go. He would want his future wife there to witness his victory, you thought to yourself, so, as always, you attended. For the doubles, he was paired with another young man who appeared to be around your age. While his face seemed familiar, you had never paid enough attention to the game to notice anyone else but your man. When Patrick hit the winner, the two boys leaped into each other's arms, shouting with joy, tumbling onto the court in an affectionate embrace. You couldn't deny the cuteness of the moment, but how you wished it were you he was wrapping his muscular thighs around and showering with kisses.

After the game, you wanted to congratulate Patrick but there was so much attention around him that you decided against it. You didn't want to share this moment, your moment, the moment he would lay eyes on you and fall in love with you, with anyone else. You weren't just one of his fans, you were the woman he was going to marry after all. Disappointed, you walked back to your hotel room. You knew that winning the doubles assured them a spot in the singles and that tomorrow was going to be THE day. The day you would reveal yourself to him. You knew he was going to win. He always did. You could already imagine yourself sharing the sweet memory of falling in love with Patrick on the day he became a US Open champion with your friends, or even with your kids in a few years.

The day was still young, with a few matches scheduled for the afternoon, yet none captivated your interest if Patrick wasn't involved. Thankfully, memories of Patrick's triumphant grin would be enough to keep your mind and hands occupied for a couple of hours.

 Except it did not. 

Those kinds of things sufficed when you were fifteen, but now, as a woman with deeper needs, they fell short. You sighed, mindlessly gazing at the ceiling while lying on your bed. Your imagination was running dry, you needed to see him, touch him, smell him, feel him.

Perhaps tonight's party, which your brother mentioned was being thrown in honor of the female winner of that afternoon's game, would spark material for your fantasies. All the players from the championship were invited, so there was a chance Patrick might attend. You would finally see him outside the court, in his everyday clothes and without his racket, the true object of his affection. You had the entire afternoon to prepare yourself both physically and mentally. If tomorrow was destined to be the big day, tonight could serve as a rehearsal.

Despite being already dolled up from the earlier match, you aimed to make a statement tonight. Entering the shower, you scrubbed vigorously, intent on achieving the smoothest skin possible. Every inch mattered. You reached for your razor, meticulously attending to your legs and intimate areas. What grooming choice would Patrick prefer? Was he the full bush type of guy? Would he like a bit of hair left intact? Completely bare? You opted to keep a small amount of hair. While shaving it all off would be ideal for tonight, the regrowth would definitely ruin your big day tomorrow.

After lathering, rinsing, and drying off, you smoothed lotion across your entire body. Spritzing perfume onto the nape of your neck, the insides of your elbows, behind your knees, and even sparing a dash of fragrance for your bits. You generously applied deodorant under your armpits, secretly wishing Patrick would skip this step of his routine. You were eager to experience his natural scent. The thought of burying your nose in his sweaty, hairy pits was utterly intoxicating.

You had packed lightly for your trip, leaving you with a sparse collection of makeup products. In that instant, you wished for better makeup skills or the company of girlfriends to lend a hand and share their supplies. You settled for a touch of pearly eyeshadow, mascara and pink lip gloss. As for your outfit, the options were equally limited. With only one dress, a common black piece with spaghetti straps, hitting at knee length. Feeling underwhelmed, you made a silent vow to yourself that once Patrick would be yours, you would dress sexier. Slipping into the dress, you tugged at the fabric, attempting to shorten it just enough to expose your thighs.

You gazed at your reflection briefly. Despite your best efforts, you didn't perceive yourself as particularly attractive. At best, you would qualify yourself as average. You pinched your stomach, acknowledging your mother's previous comments about letting yourself go. With a deep breath, you sucked in your stomach while pulling your hair into a ponytail, hoping to remember to maintain that posture throughout the evening.

You grabbed your cream-coloured luxury purse, a gift of your parents for your eighteenth birthday, trying to fit all the essentials for touch-ups in there. One essential item was missing : condoms. If the evening was to take a favorable turn, they would be necessary. Surely, he would have some, being a guy and all, right? Upon further reflection, you hoped he didn't. The idea of feeling him release his warm load inside you was enticing. You would probably spend days in bed afterward, with your legs crossed in an effort to keep a part of him inside you for as long as possible. Plus what was the worst thing that could happen? Pregnancy? You had been waiting to carry his child since you were fourteen.

●

The party had been underway for some time. While preparing had consumed a significant amount of your time, it was the mental rehearsal of what you would say upon seeing Patrick that had caused the delay. Your brother was already present, encircled by friends, casually sipping a beer. You couldn't help but envy how effortlessly he blended in. A successful career, a social circle, a loving girlfriend, and a genuine passion. He had it all.

All you had was… Patrick. 

Was he even present? Scanning the room, your gaze instantly locked onto him. He possessed the ability to stand out in any crowd. With his head of messy curls, his devilish smirk and his baby blue polo shirt paired with beige shorts, he was a vision.  His shorts showed just enough of his oh-so-biteable meaty calves. You could tell he had strong legs, strong enough to carry your weight as you would ride him like there was no tomorrow. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply. Were you losing your mind? The mere sight of the curve of his ankles was enough to bring heat to your cheeks.

He wasn't alone, his earlier teammate stood beside him. Perhaps it was the perfect moment to introduce yourself and offer congratulations on their victory. But first, you made your way to the bar to grab a drink. You wanted to appear nonchalant, just a random guest blending in rather than coming across as one of his groupies. You were fond of sugary drinks but since you needed to watch your diet, you opted for a bottle of Perrier. When you turned back around, bottle in hand, the two boys had vanished. Spotting them a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Tashi Duncan. You recognized her from the posters your brother hid under his bed. The tennis star. The embodiment of beauty.

There was something truly hypnotizing about Tashi Duncan. She was athletic yet slender with long tan legs, a thin waist and toned arms. Her facial features were equally striking, with piercing black eyes, high cheekbones, and a captivating smile that could light up a room. Her hair flowed in dark luxurious waves, the undulations tumbled in soft patterns, framing her face with an effortless grace. It cascaded down her delicate back, reaching the spot right above her perfectly firm muscular ass. She was like a siren. Captivating all attention on court and outside. You envied her. Especially now that Patrick's attention was on her. You could never be half the woman she was. Her beauty did not only reside in her physical features but also in the way she carried herself, confident but also playful.

Intrigued, you navigated through the crowd, drawing nearer to them, and leaned against the wall behind the couch where the tennis queen was seated. Taking a sip from your bottle, you struggled to listen to their conversation above the din of the music. They were discussing their future endeavors. A couple of references to Stanford in their conversation hinted that Tashi Duncan was enrolling too. Would she become a rival for you? Despite her apparent lack of interest, it was clear that Patrick was mesmerized by her. You had to intervene.

"Sorry for eavesdropping but you're going to Stanford too?" You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake. You could tell by the dozens of posters celebrating her that she was the victor of this afternoon's match. "Congratulations by the way!" Despite the jealousy gnawing at you, you forced yourself to be friendly. You barely knew her, yet Patrick's attention seemed solely fixed on her. Forming a bond with her would surely draw attention to you as well. "Thank you. And yes, and he's going there too actually." She nodded in the blond boy's direction. You glanced at him indifferently and stepped closer, ready to shake his hand too. "Art Donaldson. Nice to meet you. I've seen you before right?" You vaguely recalled him from earlier but you weren't sure you ever crossed paths before. You would have remembered. He was a handsome boy. Tall, athletic, with messy golden locks and a bright smile. There was a certain boyish charm about him. Surely, a lot of girls were drawn to him. However, he paled in comparison to your Patrick.

"Maybe. My brother is at Mark Rebellato." You mentioned casually, subtly dropping your brother's name, showing little interest in engaging in small talk with Art. "And you, are you also...?" You then turned towards the man of your dreams, extending your hand towards him. "Patrick Zweig." As he shook your hand, the sensation of his cold, calloused hand against your skin sent shivers down your spine. Images of him grabbing his crotch years ago were suddenly flooding your brain.

It was the first time you were seeing him up close, you delicately examined every contour and feature of his face. From his long, pointy and slightly hooked nose you dreamt of sitting on to his adorable protruding ears you would use as handles while doing the said sitting. The charming way only one side of his mouth curled when he smiled, his sun-kissed skin covered with hundreds of freckles, each more loveable than the other or his straight teeth that would leave the most exquisite marks on your body. There wasn't a flaw to be found in that man. "No, college isn't my thing." He explained, casually sipping on his Coca-Cola bottle. Your smile fell, replaced by furrowed brows. Stanford had a reputation of recruiting talents from the Rebellato academy, which was the sole reason you had applied there. You harbored hopes of encountering Patrick on a daily basis. "Oh?" Before you could delve further, a deep voice interrupted the moment.

"Baby, I need to steal you for a second. Over at the trophies." Tashi's father had requested her presence. She excused herself, greeting each of you with a goodbye. "I suppose I'll see you at Stanford, Tashi!" You waved politely, secretly hating her for being so perfect and for the effect she had on your man. With her departure, you found yourself only in the company of the two boys. Just one left and you would finally be alone with the love of your life. Your stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety. You realized you needed to come up with a topic of conversation quickly to redirect the focus onto yourself. Despite all your mental preparation, you had not considered the fact that Art and Patrick would be glued to the hip.

Patrick sank into the couch with a heavy sigh. You mimicked his action and sat opposite of him on the second couch. He looked defeated by the sudden absence of the great Tashi Duncan. Before you could even open your mouth to cheer him up, Art turned to Patrick. "Now what?" Both of them had their eyes fixated on her. "What do you mean, that was it." They continued to talk as if you weren't even there. The night couldn't get any worse until Patrick mentioned taking the shuttle back to their hotel. You couldn't believe it. After all the effort you put into making yourself worthy of him, he was ignoring you, you felt nauseous.

"Let's go." Art proposed, prompting Patrick to rise from his seat. "Yeah, let's go." He stood up and headed towards the exit without so much as a glance in your direction. With a polite smile and nod from Art, the two boys vanished from your sight.

Your night was ruined, perhaps tomorrow would bring better fortune? As you made your way towards your hotel, you spotted them seated away from the crowd, smoking cigarettes. Approaching them, you noticed Tashi was already present. Feeling overwhelmed, you stepped back, knowing you couldn't bear witnessing Patrick's attention fixated on someone else. Seeing all three of them leave together only exacerbated the lump in your throat and the tears welling in your eyes. Taking a seat on the couch, you picked the very spot Patrick had just left, longing to feel his warmth. On the table before you rested the ashtray, bearing the cigarette butt that Patrick had just put out. You picked the discarded cigarette and placed it carefully in your pocket.

Once you returned to your hotel, you didn't bother undressing or removing your makeup, too eager to examine your newfound treasure. You simply lay on your bed and placed the cigarette between your lips. Having never been kissed, this was the closest thing to it for you. You probably wouldn't ever know as you couldn't imagine anyone but Patrick tasting your lips and touching your body. 

Despite Patrick's lips having touched the cigarette, it felt cold, damp, and impersonal. The smell of cold tobacco, however, reminded you of him. You closed your eyes and slid your hand down your underwear. That very same hand he had shook earlier was now caressing your cunt, stroking your folds, you were so wet for him. You had recently found an interest in porn in an effort to calm the heat in you and now you knew how to make yourself cum with a few precise strokes of your clit. Porn had been very instructive when it came to finding new things to fantasize about. Maybe you were even getting a bit too addicted to it. But now you ached for Patrick's thick cock down your throat making you gag with each thrust, Patrick violently slamming himself up your ass, so deeply that you would feel him in your stomach, Patrick using you like a whore, plunging himself in you only caring about his own pleasure not yours and denying you orgasms, forcing you to gobble his big hairy balls or using your tongue as a cum rag, Patrick choking you with his veiny hands, so hard that you would lose consciousness and he would continue to fuck your inert body. God, his hands. You moaned rubbing your clit one last time before exploding, calling his name. You placed the cigarette on the bedside table, breathless. You could tell your fantasies were becoming more and more… uncommon but it was only a proof that you would let him do anything of you. Nobody would ever love him more than you and he needed to know that.

●

Waking up the next day had been challenging. You were still wearing your dress and you could tell by the stains of your pillow that your makeup was also still on. After a long shower, you grabbed one of those tiny tennis skirts you had prepared for the occasion. If he was too bothered to notice you yesterday, you would be sure to be seen today. It probably wouldn't be the big day you had dreamed of, with a declaration of love, Tashi Duncan was the reason for that, but it could still be worth it. It was time to revise your plan. If his mind was someplace else, you could still fuck your way to his heart and drive him insane. Once he would see how devoted you are to him, he would surely choose you. Tashi Duncan wasn't the type of girl who would get on her knees and worship his cock. She wanted to be worshiped while you didn't care how badly he treated you as long as he filled every single one of your holes. 

Today's match featured Patrick Zweig against Art Donaldson, marking the highly anticipated finale of the US Open Junior Boys Singles Championship. To secure a front-row seat, you had arrived an hour early and witnessed the two boys stretch and warm up on the court, engaged in conversation. Their close friendship was evident. You couldn't help but wonder how their bond would influence the game's dynamics. You were concerned that the match might be underwhelming if neither of them was willing to assert dominance, fearing it could strain their relationship. Observing the scoreboard, you couldn't help but notice their respective seeding positions. Patrick held the second seed, whereas Art was ranked fifth in the tournament. It was evident that there was already a significant disparity in power. That would probably make the game interesting.

The thought of cheering for Art as loudly as possible to make Patrick jealous had crossed your mind. Normally, you were Patrick's most vocal supporter, and he would undoubtedly notice the absence of your chants. Without you, no one would be shouting his name, but you would be doing so for Art. However, you quickly dismissed the idea, as the concept of screaming another man's name made you physically ill.

When the umpire tossed the coin, it flipped in favor of Art who decided to serve first. The two boys took their positions. "Game on." The umpire announced, blowing his whistle as Art delivered his first serve. Patrick promptly returned it, initiating a series of exchanges. The ball moved like a blur between the two. The crowd held its breath with every swing of the racket.

Patrick was the first to score, letting out a triumphant yell. His vocal enthusiasm throughout the game had made you feel light-hearted. The groans he emitted each time he struck the ball with his racket were indecent. Was he that loud in bed? You were dying to find out. And it wasn't the only thing. The way his hand was so tightly wrapped around the racket reminded you of your earlier fantasies. You wondered how his large sturdy hand would look, milking himself all over your face. The echo of the racket striking the ball filled your mind with fantasies of a day you would be enduring such forceful backhands on your ass.

After winning the first set, he bowed his head and curtsied towards the audience.Your eyes followed his gaze. Of course. Tashi fucking Duncan. You let out an irritated sigh, and you weren't the only one who noticed. The tension between Patrick and Art was palpable. Art glared at his friend, feeling humiliated by his arrogance.

You had to admit tennis was growing on you even if Patrick was the one you wanted to feel growing in you. The match ended with Patrick winning the game. You exploded in joy, screaming his name and clapping as hard as you could. You didn't care to look desperate for him at that moment, you were. You knew he would win, he simply was the best.

Patrick draped his arm over Art's shoulder as he escorted him to the locker rooms. It was evident that something had changed in the demeanor of the blond boy. He appeared defeated and withdrawn, while Patrick was radiant, boasting to his friend. As the audience began to trickle out of the court, you lingered near the locker rooms, uncertain of your next move. You hadn't yet thought of a plan. At the very least, you could congratulate the champion. Hopefully, he would recall your encounter from yesterday and engage in further conversation. Or so you hoped. If not, maybe you would drag him back to the changing rooms, drop your panties down your ankle and bend over. Offering your pussy to him without asking anything in return, a proposition difficult to refuse.

Your scenario was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of the golden girl herself, Tashi Duncan. She greeted you as she noticed you leaning against the wall. Moments later, Patrick emerged and joined her. She smiled at him, slipping a piece of paper into his hand, eliciting a chuckle from him. His grin far surpassed any victory smile. "You earned it." She said, planting a soft kiss on his lips. That fucking slut. You couldn't believe your eyes. Sensing your eyes on them, she looked back at you and so did Patrick, finally noticing you. "Are you waiting for Art?" He asked. "Yeah, sure. I will come back later." You lied before sprinting back to your hotel room.

Upon entering your room, you flung yourself onto the bed and let out a scream into your pillow. How could he betray you like this? You had put everything on hold for him. He was supposed to be the one. That night, you had cried so much that your eyes were red and your voice gone for days.

●

The few weeks before freshman year had been the most depressing period imaginable. The horny young woman with a wild imagination that you once were seemed like a distant memory. Without Patrick, life felt devoid of excitement. You struggled to have an appetite, found sleep elusive, and questioned the purpose of your existence. Even masturbating had lost its fun.

During those couple of weeks that felt endless, you haven't heard a thing from him. You had even tried to add him on Facebook, but your request remained pending. Your sole source of information was Tashi. She reached out to you on Facebook a week before school, expressing eagerness to find a familiar face in Stanford's halls. Despite your conflicting feelings about her, you couldn't resist putting on a friendly facade. Your dad's advice to keep your friends close and your enemies closer echoed in your mind. If Tashi wanted a girl friend, you would oblige and be the best of friends. After all, she was your only link to Patrick.

You learned that he was on tour, striving to turn pro, and you were also aware that he and Tashi had started dating shortly after the championship.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't meant to thrive without you. He was supposed to be miserable. As miserable as you were.

Your blooming friendship with Tashi wasn't the most unexpected aspect of university life. That dreadful meeting in front of the locker rooms after the match had seemed to plant the idea in her mind that you harbored feelings for Art, leading her to make it her mission to play matchmaker for the two of you. She extended invitations to every party and lunch they shared, often bailing at the last minute to leave you alone together. Despite Art being a kind and supportive friend, you found no romantic interest in him. Nonetheless, you went along with Tashi's schemes, knowing that if anyone was closer to Patrick than Tashi, it was Art. At least this arrangement allowed you to stay within their social circle and be present whenever Patrick made an appearance.

Your heart raced when spotted him in the cafeteria during his first stay over, his dark curly hair and athletic frame catching your eye right away. Tashi sat beside him, with Art across from him. You resisted the urge to dash to him and wrap him in a hug. You took a seat next to Art and set down your lunch tray. "Hi, Patrick." You greeted, grinning from ear to ear, your voice betraying your excitement with a slight crack. "Hey." He responded with a nod, his hands buried in his pockets. How much you had missed him, it was maddening. Wearing jeans, it was the first time he wasn't exposing his legs to you. Was this some form of punishment? After all that time, you couldn't get a glimpse of his hairy thighs that you desired to be strangled with? Just thinking about them, you could feel the tingling sensation in your lower stomach that you had thought gone for days.

Apart from that, he didn't look that different except for a tanner skin. He was even sporting a sunburn on the bridge of his nose. You only wanted to kiss it better. "So Patrick, heard you've been losing. A lot." Art bantered before you shot him a kick under the table, diverting your attention to your salad. What a fucking cunt. "Be nice." You scolded him, avoiding making eye contact with any of them.

"I can't be lucky in every field. I already won the best prize." He jokingly knocked Art's cap off his head and planted a kiss on Tashi's cheek. Disgusting. You looked at them in disbelief. They really shouldn't act like that in your presence, especially when you were holding a knife. They carried on with their conversation, mentioning classes, the tour and tennis, of course. Feeling uneasy, you directed your attention to your tray of food, consuming more than necessary. Once done, you discarded your dishes and followed them outside.

Patrick had lit a cigarette and was pulling on it. The trio bursted into laughter, while you were watching them, a smile on your face. Even if the two parasites were standing between you two, you already felt immensely better just being near him. You were convinced that Patrick possessed some kind of power over you, the kind that could mend you with just a glance. It made you wonder if you would explode with happiness if he were as close to you as possible, if he were inside you. Or maybe you wanted to be inside of him? How you longed to be in the place of his cigarette at that moment. "Mind if I take a drag?" You asked although you didn't smoke. Health was a second thought when you already knew your love for him would be the death of you, before cancer could even reach your lungs. He passed it to you and you placed the stick between your lips. It felt different from the first time you had done that, in your hotel room. You could feel the warmth from his lips this time. Art glanced at you with curiosity, taken aback by the sudden action. You returned his gaze, silently pleading that he wouldn't bring up the fact that you didn't smoke in Patrick's presence. You handed the cigarette back to Patrick, ensuring your hand brushed against his as you did. Above all else, you yearned for physical connection.

"By the way, how did you two start dating? Tashi never told me." You asked him. She had not told you because you didn't want to ask. What had she done that you couldn't do? "It's quite the tale." He warned before recounting the event of the Adidas party. It had started on the beach, continued in the hotel room and finished on the court. He didn't forget to mention the kiss they shared, all three of them and brag about how he managed to seduce THE Duncanator once her number was in his possession. Tashi rolled her eyes, a grin playing on her lips, while Art turned bright red. Patrick seemed thoroughly pleased recounting the story, making you wonder if boys were now also in the competition for Patrick's affection. You couldn't ignore the fact that Patrick always lit up when discussing Art or anything related to him. Was there more to their connection?

Struggling to conceal your jealousy, you chuckled at the story and flashed a smile at a sheepish Art. "The three of you?!" That little fucker. He had possessed Patrick in ways you had not, and you could swear something had shifted in you. You had never found him as appealing as you did at that moment. You felt an urge to devour him, to experience Patrick through him, and that's how everything began.

That evening, Patrick and Tashi were unreachable. You tried calling her on her cell phone repeatedly, but received no response. As for Patrick, you didn't have any way to contact him at all. Despite their silence regarding their plans for the night, you weren't oblivious. You knew they were fucking. And your effort to disrupt their evening with your presence had been unsuccessful. Returning to your dorm room after a review session at the library, you walked past Tashi's room. Driven by curiosity, you leaned in, pressing your ear against the door, and were met with Tashi's muffled moans, Patrick's heavy panting and the creak of the bed beneath them. You felt a sudden wave of sickness taking over your body. You knew this was happening, of course, but hearing it was a whole other thing. Sadness settled over you, weighing heavily on your chest, as the reality of the nature of their relationship sank in. Each moan felt like a stab to your heart. You sprinted back to your room, not wanting to hear them any longer.**

●

Entering your room, you collapsed onto your bed, tears of rage forming in your eyes. Their moaning had sent jolts of electricity to your core and you could feel wetness between your legs. Your hand would have been enough to calm yourself on any other day but you were so sickened by the betrayal that you decided to go against your own principles. If Patrick was going to act like a whore, why would you bother saving yourself for him? You reached for your phone, sending a text to the only guy who cared enough about you to show up, hoping that he would be willing to offer some sort of comfort.

← [To : Art - 8:13pm]

Movie night? 

→ [From : Art - 8:14pm]

Sure.

← [To : Art - 8:14pm]

Roble Hall, Room 74. Bring the snacks.

●

When Art showed up at your room, you were in an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts. This was not exactly the sexy outfit you had imagined wearing to mess around with a boy. But after your rushed cold shower, you couldn’t be bothered to pick a nice outfit. He wasn't Patrick anyway, dressing up for Art wasn’t necessary, it would even be out of character. Besides, he was also in gym clothes. You wondered for a second if he thought of this as a friendly invitation or sports clothes was all he owned. With a big smile, he revealed a bag of salted popcorn he had been hiding behind his back as if it were some kind of great gift. Even his snack choice was bland and unoriginal. You invited him in, gesturing towards the twin bed where your portable DVD player was resting.

You didn't own that many DVDs, but Art still took the time to skim through each one, reading the back covers. He settled on Batman Begins. You inserted the disc into the DVD player. The cramped bed and the tiny screen forced proximity between you, leaving you practically all over each other : both lying on your stomachs with your hips touching and your feet occasionally brushing against one another.

"Christian Bale's hot." You squinted at him, amused. Men could appreciate other men's attractiveness without wanting to fuck them, you were aware of that. But knowing about his little experience with Patrick, you couldn't help but scrutinize Art's every action and word. What if all this was pointless? You needed to ensure you weren't wasting your time. You gently grabbed his chin, turning his head to study his face in detail. His slender face boasted a sharp jawline, framed by a fair, smooth skin that, despite its youth, bore faint lines on his forehead and around his eyes, lending him a tired appearance. His small, downturned blue eyes, one spotting a curious half-brown hue, seemed to vanish when he smiled, his thin lips parting to reveal prominent teeth. The feature of his you liked the most had to be his sizable, slightly curved nose. Completing the picture was his blond, wavy hair, adding to his boyish allure. Nothing Patrick-like but that would do. "I think you're hotter than him." His blush reassured you that you weren't a lost cause.

As the movie continued to play you realized you officially hated action movies, though Art seemed completely engrossed. You reached for the bag of popcorn and noticed the brand. "Skinny Pop? Is it an intervention?" You joked, playfully slapping your own ass to make it jiggle. You caught him staring for a moment. "No, I just stole them at practice." You popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth and fed him another. "You were at practice? Did you even shower before sitting on my bed?" You prayed he had not. "Of course! Who do you think I am?" He said, feigning indignation. Shit. He really had a knack for making things less exciting.

Things weren't progressing the way you desired. And naturally, he had chosen the least sexy movie ever. Despite your attempts to engage : playing with his feet, tracing patterns on his back, even shifting positions to lay facing him, the only reward you got was a smile. It was clear you needed to take matters into your own hands. So, when he reached for popcorn, you tapped his shoulder and opened your mouth, waiting for him to feed you and as he did, you playfully bit his fingers. "Eh!" He protested, frowning at you. Finally, a reaction! You seized his hand and enveloped your lips around his index finger, gently sucking on it. He watched you in astonishment as you shifted your attention to his thumb, licking off the salt. Releasing his hand, you leaned in closer, crushing your lips against his.

Despite his initial surprise, you sensed the tension ease as he leaned in to meet your kiss. With closed eyes, you both immersed yourselves in the moment. Just a few hours earlier, kissing another man would have been unimaginable. Yet, here you were. As he turned to face you, aligning his body with yours, your fingers traced the contours of his jaw before gently cupping it, drawing him nearer. Craving to deepen the connection, you explored his lips with your tongue, begging him to reciprocate. The sensation of his firm hand on your waist sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, not quite butterflies, but a tickling feeling nonetheless. As he responded, parting his lips, his tongue mingling with yours, you playfully nudged your nose against his, unable to contain your amusement. "Oh god, finally." You murmured, a laugh escaping as your lips met. He pulled back, chuckling softly. "Why do you say that?" His ears flushed a bright shade of red, adding to your amusement.

With a playful shove, you tipped him onto his back, confidently straddling his hips, your weight settling comfortably and your hands resting on his chest, tracing the outline of his pectoral muscles. "Well." You teased, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you gazed down at him. "Let's just say that if my tongue wasn't enough for you to get the hint, I was already planning my next move along those lines. Something a tad more... persuasive." You slowly bounced on top of him before leaning over him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before trailing a series of gentle pecks down his jaw, nibbling on his skin. "To be honest with you, I thought you were into Patrick." He mumbled, his voice breathy from the attention you were giving him. You arched an eyebrow, surprised by his comment. Even Art could tell? You snorted, feigning to be offended by the idea. You briefly considered retorting that you had your suspicions about his interest in Patrick as well, but instead, you chose a different response to his comment. "Would a girl who is into Patrick invite YOU to her room?" Probably, if she were as desperate as you.

You didn't give him a chance to respond, pressing your lips against his once more and running your hands through his hair. His hands hesitantly found their way to your hips. You were pissed that he could see right through you, but you weren't about to let that frustration go to waste. You now found yourself kissing him with hunger, holding your breath as you swirled your tongue around his. The kiss turned sloppy as you weren't really sure if you were doing things right. Your high school friend had once told you that you didn't need practice, you just needed to follow your instincts. But those very instincts urged you to sink your teeth into that tongue, bite it off and swallow it. It was the exact same tongue that Patrick had tasted but now it yearned eagerly for you. You withdrew, taking a moment to catch your breath, your fingers still tangled in his blond locks. You traced your hands down his chest, lifting his shirt as he sat up to assist in removing it with a certain impatience. Once his shirt was off, he grabbed your ass, fondling it with firm hands. You then embraced him, wrapping your arms around his neck, drawing him nearer to you. He felt sturdy and reassuring in your embrace, yet you yearned for the sensation of his soft bare skin against yours. "Take off mine…" You purred into his ear before turning your attention to his earlobe, enveloping it with your lips and giving it a gentle suck.

With a ferocious tug, he grabbed the hem of the oversize shirt, lifted it over your head and threw it aside. You didn't need to ask twice before your chest was bared to him. The awkward boy you had to kiss with insistence was now a distant memory, replaced by a lustful impatient man. You could sense his gaze lingering upon your chest. He raised his hips, bringing you up higher so your breasts were now at mouth reach. He encircled one of your nipples with his lips. You gasped audibly, taken aback by how delightful it felt. His wet tongue flicking your bud made your legs shake. You wanted to experiment more of this. It felt like you were on a high.

Growing increasingly impatient, you pressed your heated core against his clothed arousal. He was hard and throbbing. You raised your hips, eager to remove his pants, leaving only his underwear and your shorts as barriers between you two. Rolling your hips against him, you began with a slow, deliberate pace, ensuring maximum pressure each time your body met his. The sensation was maddening so much so that you momentarily forgot about his mouth on your chest. You didn't know you were capable of making sounds of this sort. Feeling self-conscious about your voice, you rashly took his face in your hands and kissed him passionately while still bouncing onto him. His frustration at losing contact with your breasts was evident so you decided to distract him in your own way.

You let your hand glide down his abdomen, your fingers toying with the elastic band of his underwear. The smoothness of his body was a stark contrast to Patrick's. The absence of hair leading to his groin was disappointing. You then slipped your hand beneath the fabric and palmed his length. The boy squirmed beneath you upon contact. Aware of how porn could create unrealistic expectations, you braced yourself for disappointment. However, you were pleasantly surprised to find that Art's member was of a respectable size. This was an interesting new sensation. It didn't feel as smooth as you thought it would, you could feel texture due to the presence of veins and the stubble from his recent shaving. You ran your thumb across his circumcised head, coaxing a moan from his mouth. This part felt much smoother. You teasingly squeezed his balls before retracting your hand. It was your first time attempting such a move, but there was no need for him to be aware of that fact. After immersing yourself in porn for the past year, you felt confident in your ability to handle the situation. It was just jerking a guy off. You broke the kiss, spat into your hand, maintaining eye contact with Art, and with a teasing smirk, slid it back down into his shorts. 

You gripped the base of his shaft with your hand and began to stroke it slowly, moistening it with your saliva. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your breast, lavishing attention on your other nipple. You also felt his fingers teasing you through your shorts. You hated that you were wearing clothes, all you wanted right now was to feel his fingers in you. You sat on his hand, trying to feel him more. You gasped, your eyes fluttering as the overwhelming sensation washed over you. It was evident how wet you had become. You continued to grip his cock firmly. Honestly, you weren't sure what to do next, it felt like you were endlessly stroking him, and he was nowhere near climaxing. While you could tell he was enjoying it, you were eager for him to reach orgasm. Porn had made it seem so easy.

After some time, Art began delicately slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts, exploring your moist entrance. The sensation sent waves of ecstasy through you as you clumsily stimulated him. His fingers pressed against your opening, the touch distinctly different from your own.

"I want you so much." He whispered into your ear, his fingers still toying with you. "Then take me now." You whimpered, unable to wait any longer.

"Condoms?" He asked as you shook your head. That had not crossed your mind. He rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh, laying back on the bed, resting his hands back on your hips. You slided your hand out of his underwear and placed it on his chest. The loss of contact made him whine, frustrated. If it had been Patrick, you would have let him slam himself bare inside you but there was no way you would let another man fill you. There was always pulling out. You could tell by the way Art was looking at you that the idea crossed his mind and the question was burning his lips. But you were now, with thoughts of Patrick filling you up, totally turned off by Art, dry as sand. "I can blow you.. If you want." 

In a hurried motion, you stripped off his underwear, discarding them entirely. You knelt beside him, your fingers trailing along his chiseled abs as you leaned in closer. His cock twitched beneath your touch, hardening even more under your gaze. Now, you could fully admire his body. While his shaft matched the rest of his skin tone, his tip boasted a subtle pink hue. Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth, savoring every inch of his length. Your hands stroked his thighs eagerly while you continued to devour him hungrily. Your tongue darted in and out of his slit, tasting his salty sweetness as you relished every moan and whimper he made. With one hand on his balls, massaging them gently, you used the other to grip the base of his shaft firmly, pumping rhythmically as you blew him

His hands gripped your head tightly, guiding you deeper until you slightly gagged on his thickness, your nose buried in the stubble covering his lower abdomen. What a shame that he was so keen on getting rid of any kind of body hair. You wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around its sensitive ridge. Moans escaped from both your throats as you sucked harder, drawing out each groan as if it were music to your ears. You looked up at him in an attempt to stare into his eyes. You had heard that guys enjoyed eye contact during a blowjob but Art was struggling to keep his eyes open. You could gauge the impact of your actions from the way his stomach contracted and his legs trembled. It was a good sign, you didn't completely suck at this. Your jaw was starting to hurt like hell though and your mouth was filled with saliva. How much longer did he need?

"I'm about to..." He gasped. There was no chance you would allow that man's load to be shot down her throat. Quickly, you withdrew yourself and began manually stimulating him again. When he ejaculated, you didn't anticipate it to splatter everywhere as it did.

You crawled off him, grossed out by his fluids and grabbed a tissue from your bedside table, wiping your hand. While you were busy getting rid of the cum running down your wrist, Art seized the opportunity to pull down the hem of your shorts, exposing your buttocks. "What are you doing?" you asked, panic evident in your eyes. "Returning the favor." He replied, wearing a foolish grin. "You don't have to." You reassured him, tossing the tissue into the bin. "I want to." He insisted firmly. No one had ever gone down on you before, and the thought both excited and terrified you.

With hesitant movements, you flopped onto your back, sliding your shorts down your legs and kicking them off. Your heart was pounding in your chest as Art positioned himself between your legs.

He looked up at you for confirmation before lowering his head, his warm breath tickling your sensitive flesh. Your body twitched in anticipation as he placed a gentle kiss on your inner thigh.

Slowly, he traced a line of kisses up towards your core, teasingly avoiding the place that craved his attention the most. When he finally made contact with your folds, a gasp escaped from deep within your throat. His tongue glided over your clit in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

You arched your back and tangled your fingers in his hair as he continued to work his magic. His tongue dipped lower, giving your opening short and quick laps before returning to focus on your swollen clit.

The sensations were overwhelming. It felt like you were on fire. Art obviously had experience in this area. "Don't stop…" You moaned, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth.

Art moved one of his hands to your cunt, sliding his index and middle finger into you as he continued to eat your bud with a hunger that matched your own. He replaced his lips with his thumb over your clit, massaging it as he sloppily nibbled on your labias. He raised his second hand to one of your breasts, groping it. Your hand quickly joined his on top of your breast, tightening his grip while your other hand tugged on the sheet.

You felt pressure in your lower body as your orgasm built up, threatening to crash over you at any moment. The pressure was becoming too much to handle. "F-fuck…" You moaned while trying to muffle the sound by biting into your arm. 

With one final flick of his tongue, Art sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed as the waves of pleasure washed over you.

You had brought yourself to come countless times, but this was the first time someone else had given you an orgasm.

The post-nut conversation turned out to be less awkward than anticipated. Art revealed himself to be interesting when tennis wasn't the sole topic. Eventually, he checked his watch and rose from the bed. "He's waiting for me." He remarked as you watched him retrieve his crumpled clothes from the floor and dress up in hurry. You felt a bit abandoned but the fact that he did not invite you to come with him. You knew he was going to join Patrick at the court for a nighttime match. "See you later." You murmured, disappointed. He leaned in for a sloppy kiss that you broke after a few seconds, tasting yourself on his tongue. You briefly considered mentioning that your juices were spread all around his chin and cheek but you didn't. "For sure." He responded with a grin so wide that everyone could tell he just had some action and then left your room.

●

You were having lunch with your English literature classmates when you noticed Patrick leaving the cafeteria alone. Without hesitation, you stood up, excused yourself, and followed him outside. If he was going for a smoke, it was the perfect opportunity for a private moment. As you opened the exit door, you saw Art already there, sitting on a bench and chatting with Patrick. Fucking parasite. He smiled and waved at you as you approached and took a seat between the two. "Hey there." Patrick greeted you with a smirk, making your heart skip a beat. You glanced at Art, who was grinning from ear to ear. Of course, he had told Patrick. If fucking Art finally made Patrick see you in a different light, hell, you'd do it every day. "What are you guys doing?" You inquired, already aware of the situation. "Just chatting." Art responded, smoothly extending his arm behind you, his fingertips lightly brushing your spine. What was he trying to prove? "How was the game last night?" You asked, though you weren't particularly interested. "Fun. I'm sure Art enjoyed himself a lot." Patrick snickered as Art shot him a dirty look. You looked from one to the other before rolling your eyes. "I'm sure the game didn't go as well as he hoped. I heard he couldn't play the final set." You commented, taking a jab at Art. He looked at you in disbelief, while Patrick laughed at your remark. You nibbled at your lower lip, wondering if you had gone too far. But you didn't really care, you were the reason Patrick was laughing. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Art's gentle pinch on your back eased your racing heart. "Alright, I should head back to my table. You can get back to your gossip." Before you could stand up, Art caught hold of your arm. Leaning in close, he whispered in your ear. "Wanna hang out in my room tonight?" You shrugged. Did you really want to? Not particularly. But it was too late to back out now. Patrick would be grilling Art for details in the morning. His room, though? Tonight was definitely the night. He was so tactless that you wouldn't be surprised to find his bed littered with condoms. "Sure." You replied, then swiftly left the scene.

●

Art's room wasn't that different from what you had imagined. It was clean, with the bed made and the room smelled like deodorant. There were also more personal items : trophies, medails, posters and pictures. You looked closely at all the pictures of the wall. You didn't know the vast majority of those people although you could guess that some of them represented his parents due to the resemblance. There were many pictures of the Mark Rebellato academy players. You could even spot your brother in the background of one. But Patrick's face was present in every picture but one of them caught your attention. It was a recent picture of the two of them, plastered about the bed. Patrick had that side smirk that made your clit throb while Art was smiling with all his teeth.

As soon as you sat on the bed, Art joined you, sitting by your side. He smiled, gently brushing your hair away from your neck before kissing you passionately. It was clear you weren't there to chat.  You tilted your head, giving him room to explore your neck, while you placed a hand on his thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. "Honestly, I thought I'd be greeted with you tossing condoms like confetti." You chuckled, your hand sliding up his thigh, nearing his crotch. "I kind of pictured you running to the store first thing in the morning." Art grinned at your comment, then leaned over to his bedside table, grabbed a handful of condoms, and playfully tossed them at your face. You threw a few back at him before pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. You lifted his shirt, exposing his bright pink nipples and hairless chest. "Did you go around telling everyone I gave you head?" You asked. Patrick wasn't just anyone, though. He shook his head. "I only mentioned it to Patrick... Sorry about that. And just so you know, he's also aware of the pussy-eating part." You shrugged as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper. "Patrick's fine, don't worry. But now you're going to have a reputation. Plenty of girls lining up at your door." You teased, tugging at his underwear to take a peek. "Let's hope they knock loud enough, we might not hear them tonight."

●

You watched, captivated, as Art smoothly rolled the latex onto his erection, his eyes never leaving yours. You couldn't back out, Art was on top of you, ready to enter you. It was official, Patrick wouldn't be the one deflowering you. 

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer after all that foreplay, you begged him to enter you. As Art penetrated you, the pressure was intense yet exhilarating. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly as you tried to adjust to his size. At that moment, you hoped that he couldn't tell you were a virgin. Art began to move within you, his thrusts slow but steady. Each time he sank further into your warmth, your senses heightened, your mind lost in the sensations coursing through your veins. You let out a breathy whine and bit into his shoulder, trying your best to not name the wrong man.

Soon, his rhythm quickened, becoming more urgent. But even as your body responded eagerly to his touches, your mind wandered back to Patrick's face, frozen in time in the picture on the wall. He pushed inside you, savoring the way your muscles clenched around his shaft. You moaned softly, arching your back and inviting him deeper.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy." You wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips beneath him and melting into him completely. Despite Art being an attentive lover, you couldn't bring yourself to climax, your mind too cloudy with conflicting emotions. Finally, Art exploded in a series of shuddering spasms. He collapsed onto the mattress, spent and exhilarated. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, you let out a small groan before leaning into his embrace, feeling more confused than satisfied. Was this really what you wanted? There was tenderness here, gentleness. You wanted raw, unbridled passion, the kind that threatened to consume you whole.

"I came so hard." Art whispered soft words of praise into your ear. "Did you?" You felt a pinch of guilt stirring inside you once more, wondering whether you should confess your true feelings. But then, you remembered why you started sleeping with Art in the first place: to get closer to Patrick. And so, you forced a smile and assured Art that you had a good time. "Yes." You breathed, pulling him into a deep kiss to avoid dwelling on the question. Sex was enjoyable, but it didn't live up to the glamorous portrayal in the media. Perhaps it lacked satisfaction without emotional involvement. You attempted to push these thoughts aside as Art's fingers traced down your spine, sending shivers down your body. Yet, whenever he kissed your neck or whispered sweet nothings into your ear, your mind wandered back to that photo.

●

It only took a couple of weeks for Art to ask you to be his girlfriend. The reason for that decision was still a mystery to you. Because outside of sex, which had gotten so much better with time, you weren't really seeing each other. Maybe he felt obligated after using up your holes so much. Perhaps he had asked you because he was so busy with you that he didn't have time to meet other women?

You had no idea how long it had been since his last partner because that boy was always horny. You would spread your legs for him every day, sometimes meeting him twice a day. And when you weren't together, you would receive grainy pictures of his erect penis. One positive aspect of all the sexual activity was that now he could make you climax most of the time. But you still wondered how he would manage to find all that energy after tennis practice.

The officialization of your relationship had been pretty much uneventful. He had uttered the words as you laid in bed, your face nestled in his hairy pits, fully inhaling his scent. Sex being the only time you could savor Art's faint smell of sweat. "Should we be exclusive?" His choice of words amused you because you knew for sure that he wasn't fucking any other girl since you already had the talk about giving up condoms and getting on the pill. You had thought about your answer for a second. In your wildest fantasies, Patrick would have been your one and only but you said yes anyway because being with Art was as close as it was to being with Patrick. 

No one knew Patrick like Art. And Art knew a lot. He would tell you about Patrick's history, his family's business, his tastes in music, his previous girlfriends whom he always found weird, or about his seeding position before each tournament he would take part in. You were told numerous tales of their childhood adventures. You barely remembered Patrick's appearance as a boy. These anecdotes predated your teenage infatuation with Patrick, yet you couldn't help but smile at the genuine love with which Art recounted his bond with his best friend. While some stories were cute, some would turn you in unspeakable ways, like when he told you about his first experience with masturbation. You couldn't help but imagine them stroking themselves in sync, Patrick instructing Art on which move to make and Art acting like a studious learner. You could tell you were completely wet at the thought, so much so that you had suggested recreating the scene, masturbating in front of each other.

"Why would I jerk off when I have you?" He was hesitant at first until you grabbed his hand and slid it down your panties. Your underwear was soaked with your juice. Of course, he tried to insert a digit into you but you tugged on his hand to remove it from your pants. His hand and fingers were now coated with your secretion. "Use me as lotion." 

You were both lying side to side, on your backs, Your eyes were focused on Art's hand grasping his tip. "Does that feel good?" You breathed, locking your half-lidded eyes with his. He nodded, breaking the contact with you and staring at your hand between your legs. "Describe to me what you're doing…" You found his request hot. "It might sound weird but I actually prefer my legs crossed, it creates more sensation. And then it's all about clitoral stimulation." You explained with a whine. Your hand was furiously rubbing your clit. It wouldn't take long for you to climax, you had done it so much, you knew how your body worked. "What about you? What do you like to do when you're alone?" Art was fisting his cock at the pace as you were stroking yourself. "I love holding it very tight, when it's on the edge of hurting." He grunted, tightening his grip. "Come for me.." He continued to stroke himself, twisting his wrist to his tip. The head of his penis was red and throbbing. He moaned  your name and released himself all over his stomach. "Fuck, you're so hot." You turned to him, your hand still between your legs, rolling your hips at a faster pace. Your eyes were now closed and you were biting your lower lip as you could feel your orgasm coming. You grabbed your clit and let out a low moan. Your breasts were lifting with each pants as you tried to catch your breath. "Was I better than Patrick?" He laughed and pulled you closer into a kiss.

●

Being Art's girlfriend, the clean-cut and sweet guy, could have been worse. He would take care of you, speak highly of you, always make sure to include you in every activity he was a part of. You enjoyed his company but it was clear that you didn't love Art. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the fact that Patrick loved him.

Dating Art came with another perk : you always knew in advance when Patrick would come visit. And each time you would ensure to fulfill Art's every fantasy beforehand. The kinkiest, the better, as you knew Patrick would be the first informed. And if Patrick knew you were willing to do all those degrading things, he would undoubtedly reconsider his relationship with Tashi.

The only issue was that Art's kinkiest fantasies were still quite vanilla, nothing noteworthy. From riding him to doggy style to 69ing, there wasn't anything that really excited you. You had succeeded in broadening his horizons, but you were always the one taking the lead. You had to guide his hands to encircle your neck and coax him to tighten his grip. Most of the time, he was so gentle that you could still breathe normally. As for public sex, that option didn't even cross his mind until you had massaged his dick through his pants in so many rooms of the university that he was unable to hold back anymore and screw you against a wall behind the main building. You also had to suggest to let you ride his face. It didn't take much convincing for him to say yes. If that man was a thing, he was a pussy eater. But as always you always wanted to take things further and one night after he had released himself in you, you sat on his face and let his own cum drop down his mouth and commanded him to swallow it, which he did. He was lapping your slit like a thirsty man, scooping his seeds out of you with his tongue. He had enjoyed every moment of it, but you were confident that he never shared the story with Patrick. And if anyone asked, he would likely act as if it had never happened. You could tell by the way he would shush you everytime you would call him your little cumslut. His shame was so enticing that you would occasionally spit his semen back into his mouth after blowing him. Watching him swallow his own load was the hottest thing.

There also was a time when you practically had to beg him to fuck you in the ass. He was uncertain about whether he would enjoy it, but you were confident he would love it even more than you did. You reassured him that he could stop at any moment if he felt uncomfortable, and with that assurance, he agreed to try. Ever the considerate and attentive boyfriend, Art had spent days researching online how to do it safely. Knowing this made you tempted to sneak onto his computer and check his search history to find out what kind of anal sex content he had looked up. After an hour of prepping you with lube and his fingers, which had removed parts of the fun, you were stretched out and he was ready. You were ready too, but deep down, you knew you didn't need all that preparation to begin with, you just wanted him to spread you open. You grabbed the headboard, holding yourself as you arched your back when he shoved himself into you from behind. You didn't feel any kind of discomfort, you mostly felt… full. Your ass wasn't as sensitive as your cunt, the feeling was entirely different. "Move already, you asshole." You snapped at him before he grabbed you by the hips, lifting them and violently slammed himself deep into your core.  Right in front of you was the picture of the two boys you were constantly looking at. You were starting to really enjoy it, staring at Patrick in the eyes while Art was pounding into you. "Touch me." You pleaded, grabbing one of his hands resting on your hips and placing it over your pussy. When he finally started spreading your folds and stroking your sensitive clit, you let out a growl. You were now bouncing back on his cock, rocking your ass against his hips as his fingers roamed their way to your opening, adding his middle finger. You whined, frustrated by his action. You didn't need his fingers in you, you needed the on your clit, abusing it. You grabbed his hand again and pressed it as hard as you could against your crotch. You were practically humping his hand at this point trying to create some friction against your bud. "You're such a horny slut." He was talking to you but all you could hear was his high cry when you would clench your anus and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You could feel him grow tenser in you, he was close to coming. "Pinch my clit, I beg you." You groaned as you could feel your climax build up. He acquiesced and grabbed your button forcefully, pinching it until you could feel your blood circulation being cut off. "P-..Art!" You cried out as you exploded. You felt him spurt his thick load into you. It had to be one of the best sex you ever had with him. Not having to watch Art's face as he climaxed was also a big plus. You despised it so much as it reminded you of the obvious fact that it was not Patrick. As you laid afterwards, tangled in sheets and limbs, you couldn't help but marvel at just how far you had come since meeting.

●

You were running low on ideas to spice things up, but your friendship with Tashi proved to be a valuable resource. Over the course of a month, your bond with Tashi had deepened. Despite not having much in common, and secretly hating her, you clicked well together. Additionally, you often joked about the unique situation of your respective boyfriends being boyfriends together, which led to a secret nickname between you: ‘The other women’. Having someone you could rely on was comforting, and Tashi felt the same. Being in a relationship with her boyfriend's best friend made you her confidante, and she would often confide in you, even though it was sometimes difficult to listen. Despite this, you couldn't resist the urge to learn every detail about her relationship with Patrick.

It had become a weekly ritual after a significant match: you and Tashi would retreat to her room, crack open a few beers, share a joint, and exchange amusing stories.

On one particular evening, fueled by a bit too much alcohol, you both felt mischievous. "Shotgun?" you suggested, and Tashi nodded, a smile playing on her lips. Taking a drag, you gently held her face and leaned in, exhaling the smoke into her mouth. Curious to understand the sensation Patrick experienced every time he kissed Tashi, you closed the gap between you and initiated a soft kiss. It was an innocent moment, devoid of sloppiness, yet kissing Tashi proved to be exhilarating. As you both pulled away, laughter bubbled up from within, leaving you both in fits of giggles. "Look at us, we could be girlfriends too!" Tashi suggested, her hands resting on her hips.

The notion wasn't as off-putting as you initially imagined. Tashi was undeniably attractive. If Patrick proposed a threesome, you wouldn't hesitate for long. You might not be experienced in eating a woman out, but you were willing to learn. After all, you had no knowledge of sucking dicks just a few months ago.

●

When Tashi was tipsy, she became so chatty it was difficult to stop her. But there was one specific topic she couldn't seem to stop talking about: Patrick.

She would complain about how he would never shut the fuck up during sex. And how he was constantly talking dirty to her, no matter the time and place. How was that a problem? Patrick could whisper his shopping list into your ear and you would come on the spot. Or the way he was always demanding blowjobs, even in the most random places. Was she aware that you would blow him on the tennis court in front of the audience if he would ask? She almost killed you on the spot when she mentioned how he liked coming on her breasts but she hated it. What a spoiled brat. You would let him completely cover you with cum without even thinking twice. You would even ask for more. His enormous uncircumcised dick bumping into her cervix and making her feel uncomfortable for days was apparently an issue too. It only sounded like the most heavenly way to die to you. Or when he would try to slide it into her ass which she refused to do. What a cunt.

You took a mental note to check all those boxes with Art so he could brag to his friend, like boys usually do, and make Patrick die of jealousy. "What about Art?" What about him? You thought about it for a second. You didn't have much to say about Art but maybe if you praised the quality he possessed that Patrick didn't, it would intrigue Tashi into experiencing it. "He's very attentive to my needs if you know what I mean." You held your index and middle finger up in a V and flicked your tongue between them which made Tashi snort. "Maybe that's cheesy but he's the best sex I've ever had." Only sex you ever had, but she didn't know that. You knew exactly what would pique the ever-demanding and controlling Tashi Duncan's interest. Leaning closer, almost whispering as if sharing a secret, you said, "He's a bit of a sub. Quite a strap fanatic." That was a lie. Once, you had suggested fingering his ass while blowing him, and he freaked out, insisting he wasn't gay, which led to a snort from you and an ensuing argument. 

"Really?! Now that you mention it, he does give off that vibe." Tashi responded. Ah! Take that, Art. "Have you ever..." You mimicked a thrust. "...with Patrick?" She shook her head, slightly pouting. "No. Wouldn't it be weird if I refused to give him my ass but asked him to give me his?" You took a sip of your drink and shrugged. "I don't think it's weird, when you love someone, you are willing to do everything to make them happy." Of course that comment was targeted to her as well, planting the seed in her brain that she might not love him as much as you 'loved' Art.

To be truthful you actually knew even more than Tashi suspected about her intimate life. Every time Patrick would visit, you would sneak at night just to listen to them through her dorm's room like that first time. Except now, you had your hands down your panties massaging your swollen clit. It was even more exciting to think that someone might surprise you in the corridor. You had become intimately familiar with the sound of his balls slapping against Tashi's ass, his loud moans, how long he lasted, and the noises he made when he came. Sometimes, you would finger yourself to climax in sync with him. Afterwards, you would slip into Art's room and have sex with him without offering any explanation. Often, you would mimic the exact actions you had heard through the door, your eyes still fixed on the picture of Patrick on the wall.

●

You waited until dinner time to ensure no one would be in Tashi's room. Sneaking in and going through her things wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, you had been planning it for weeks. You had tried a few times before, but the door was always locked. Today, however, you grabbed the handle and pushed, and to your luck, the door opened. You stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind you.

Her room was unusually messy, a stark contrast to her typical tidiness. The disorder could only be attributed to Patrick's presence. His bag was tossed in the middle of the room, with his shoes and clothes strewn across the floor. You started rummaging through Patrick's things.You weren't entirely sure what you were searching for.

One of the first things you noticed was one of his rackets. Though completely worn out, you admired the shaft, noting how Patrick's sweaty hands had eroded the handle. The blue grip tape had turned brownish and frayed. Lifting the racket to your mouth, you kissed the handle, tasting the saltiness. Your mind wandered back to countless hours watching Patrick dominate opponents on court, sweat pouring down his face as he hit each ball with precision and skill. You pictured his toned arms flexing as he swung the racket, sending the ball hurtling towards his opponent. But tonight, the racket would serve a different purpose. A crazy idea had crossed your mind. If you couldn't touch Patrick, you could let Patrick touch you. 

You slipped off your underwear, exposing your bare cunt beneath your dress. Sitting on the edge of Tashi's bed, you spread your legs wide open. Guiding Patrick's racket between your thighs, you closed your eyes and let out a moan, pressing yourself against its handle. As your body responded to the sensations, you gripped the racket tighter, drawing yourself closer to ecstasy with each stroke. You maintained the rhythm of thrusting the handle into your pussy while simultaneously rubbing your clit with the same pace. The intensity built with each thrust until finally, you cried out in a hushed moan, overwhelmed by pleasure.

You didn't take time to catch your breath as you had to be quick before any of them returned. Carefully, you pulled the handle from your folds and placed the racket back into his bag, relishing the thought of his hands covered in your dried juices during his next match. You pulled your panties back on. Now onto your next treasure.

Patrick hadn't packed many clothes, so stealing one of his shirts would be too obvious. Instead, you rummaged through his belongings and settled on an old, worn pair of socks. Bringing them to your nose, the initial whiff was pungent and overwhelming, yet strangely captivating. As you buried your face in the fabric, the scent became a heady mix of musk and earth. He smelled divine. Unable to resist, you discreetly tucked one of the dirty socks into your bra before quickly leaving the room with your treasures. 

On your way out, you spotted Tashi's pink gym shorts, the ones she had been wearing earlier before her encounter with Patrick. Upon closer examination, you noticed an obvious wet spot on the front of the shorts. Whether it was Tashi's or Patrick's doing, you didn't care. Without hesitation, you grabbed the shorts and exited the room for good this time.

When you got back to your room, you couldn't wait to begin exploring those newfound objects of desire. You couldn't help but smile at your mischiefs. 

The sock was perhaps your most prized possession. It carried the scent of Patric, Patrick after practice. You inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma before biting into the fabric, sucking on the spot where Patrick's toes had been earlier. You knew you were acting irrationally, but you couldn't resist. You were addicted to his scent, his taste, to him.

Next up was Tashi's shorts. You longed to mix your own wetness with Tashi's juices. However, when you attempted to put on the shorts, they wouldn't budge past the middle of your thighs. In that moment, you felt larger than ever before. Was this the type of woman Patrick desired? Reflecting on it, Tashi had a lean, sculpted body. Quite the opposite of yours. You tried to suck in your stomach, attempting to force the shorts over your hips, but to no avail. You had to confront the truth: you felt enormous. Perhaps your mother was right? It was time to start watching your diet. If you hoped to capture Patrick's attention, you had to become worthy of it.

You swiftly hid the items in a suitcase under your bed and decided to get to work immediately.

●

Youtube was a never ending source of working out videos. Every morning you had a routine of pilates and running around the block. While at first it had been hard to move your body so much while continuing to have enough energy to satisfy Art's needs, you were now used to the challenge. You were also following a strict diet. While the app you had downloaded suggested a 1200 calories a day diet, you were now down to 500 calories a day.

As you entered the cafeteria, you scanned the crowd for them. The trio had secured a spot near the window, leaving room for you. You settled in, placing your soda and an apple on the table. Greeting them, you cracked open your diet coke. "Hey you." You placed a quick peck on Art's cheek. "Your highness." You waved at Tashi "Patrick." You nodded your head in his direction "Hey. Well fuck, you okay?" You raised the can to your lips and glanced up at him, puzzled. Was his question directed at you? His gaze seemed fixed on you, leaving you uncertain. Was he concerned about you? You flashed your brightest smile and nodded. How could you not be okay now that you knew he cared? He raised an eyebrow and went on about his tour. He wasn't doing too well, and Tashi was giving him a hard time about it. However, he seemed to enjoy himself otherwise, sharing stories of parties and sightseeing in numerous cities. The boys were chatting energetically while both you and Tashi remained silent, only listening. It felt as if you didn't exist anymore. They had so much to discuss and were planning to stroll by the courts. You were jolted back to reality when you felt Art's soft lips against your nape. "See you later. Your dorm?" Art gave you a familiar look, the same one he always gave before asking for a blowjob. How amusing it was that nothing seemed to make both of you hornier than Patrick's visits. Patrick planted a gentle kiss on Tashi's lips. You already felt nauseous but now there was no way you were going to touch that apple. It pained you to see how your misery deepened as the months went by and Tashi and Patrick's relationship flourished. You knew this love was slowly killing you physically and mentally. The boys left the table, waving goodbye.

Wrapping his arm around Art's neck, Patrick put him in a headlock and guided him out of the room. You could still hear their voices. "Your girlfriend looks..." Was Patrick referring to you? Art's glance back at you confirmed it. What was he talking about?

As you refocused on your meal, you noticed Tashi sitting across from you, lost in her own thoughts. "Can I trust you with something?" You nodded in response. "This conversation stays between us." Despite Tashi being the primary obstacle to your happiness, she was now your only confidante, with Art no longer filling that role as he was way too busy filling something else. "Did Art mention another girl Patrick was seeing while on tour?" Another girl? Oh no, you could feel the anger growing in you. Was he seeing someone else? Tashi was one thing, but another bitch? You were RIGHT THERE, ready for him to fuck you into oblivion, why would he need another girl? "No, I never heard anything about that. Why do you ask?" She toyed with her food, clearly uncertain of how to proceed. "Art said Patrick is not in love with me." You couldn't believe your ears. Art had grown balls and was going on the offensive. Leaning back in your chair, you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms. "Uh. Did he?" Your mind raced to devise a strategy that would benefit you. "Do you think Patrick told him that?" You asked, trying to gauge the situation. "I don't know... I can't think of any other reason why Art would tell me that." She responded. Oh, you could think of plenty of reasons. "I swear those two are just waiting to drop our asses and just buttfuck each other." You sighed, trying to lighten the mood. Her lips twitched into a small smile."If you want my advice. You should talk to him. Like, it's ok to not be in love so early in a relationship, but it's not when there's a difference in intensity of feelings."

You hugged Tashi, gently rubbing her back and lightly tickling her with your fingertips. The heady scent of her shampoo and perfume filled your senses. You didn't want Patrick to love her, but at the same time, any guy who wasn't madly in love with her was an idiot. "Good luck tomorrow, champion. I'll be there to cheer for you." She thanked you as you left the cafeteria, abandoning your apple and can.

You walked back to your room, you had a lot to process. Art's scheming had added a new layer to your plan. Even if you benefited from Tashi and Patrick breaking up, would Art become a rival? What was his endgame? Did he want Tashi or Patrick?

You sat on your bed, still consumed by the fact that you had overheard Patrick mention you. Even though you had no idea what he had said, the thought filled you with joy. You longed to hear him say your name, to talk to you, touch you, kiss you, and more. Leaning over, you pulled out the suitcase hidden underneath the bed. Opening your treasure chest, you took out the sock and pressed it to your nose, savoring the fading scent. Your reverie was abruptly interrupted by Art's energetic knock on the door. Quickly, you hid the sock back in the suitcase and shoved it under the bed. You opened the door, and Art immediately jumped on you, smothering your face with wet kisses. "Art!" You whined, kicking the door shut.

●

Exhausted and breathless, you both lay intertwined, Art resting on top of you, his full weight pressing down, as you wrapped one leg around his hip. Cuddling you while still being inside you was one of his favorite things, which you found deeply bothersome. "Patrick said something earlier and I didn't really notice until now since I see you everyday but…" You looked at him curiously, excitement in your voice. "Patrick talked about me?" You could feel yourself getting in the mood again, the fire between your legs burning. This was so much more exciting than anything that had happened earlier. You slightly rolled your hips under him, trying to create some friction against your clit. He gazed at you, nibbling on his lower lip. That look made you wonder if he was now assured of the impact Patrick had on you. You hadn't been subtle about that one. "Yeah.. He said you have gotten really thin." So Patrick had noticed? This confirmed your suspicion, his type really was svelte girls, how shallow of him. You didn't care how bad that made him look though, you were a few steps closer to his type. You clenched around Art's length trying to get him to move as he went on about what Patrick had to say about you. But he didn't, he only huffed and kissed your neck.

You still had a long way to go to be perfect for Patrick. Tashi's shorts fitted you now but they were still quite snug around the thighs. "I want to get healthier. A couple of months ago, I was having a sleepover with Tashi and she gave me one of her pajamas. It was so tight, I could barely breathe. I realized how I had let myself go." You confessed wrapping your other leg around him, and grabbing his asscheeks in an effort to feel him deeper into you. If he wasn't going to relieve you, you knew what could get that little conniving bastard to. "Tashi always wears the best outfits. Wouldn't it be fun if we could lend each other clothes? I'd die to be able to fit into one of her tennis skirts." You knew that put ideas in his mind. In fact, you could feel himself growing hard again inside of you. "Just don't overdo it." He mumbled, his face in the crook of your neck. "Maybe I should get into tennis? I want a body like Tashi's. Her thighs are so firm and tanned." You rolled your hips once more under him to get him to start pounding into you. "Have you noticed how her breasts stand on their own? She doesn't even need a bra. She told me she doesn't even own any." Finally some movement. You let out a sigh of relief while he was biting into your shoulder. You had done it so many times before that you knew for a fact that he was trying his hardest to not pronounce the wrong name. "Have you seen how firm her ass is too? No wonder Patrick likes her so much." It broke your heart to say it out loud but you needed to bring Patrick back on the table. Art wasn't the only one who could get his little fun. "They make a hot couple though. He's gorgeous too."  He was now aggressively thrusting, deeply buried into you. "His thighs.." You moaned, back arched under him.

You were aware that his mind was filled with images of Tashi while he was ball deep in you. Or perhaps it was images of Tashi and Patrick. Who even knew at this point? Watching his eyes roll back, highly responsive to your words, you felt compelled to propose something to him to add excitement, an idea that had been on your mind for months. 

It would start with you being Tashi. Wearing one of her tiny tennis outfits, the kind that showed the underside of her ass everytime the wind blew. Pretending to train him to be a champion, calling a little bitch and insulting him at every mistake of his. You would make him overwork himself just to get a praise from you and even when he would do it, you would just command him to worship your cunt. When he would beg for a release, you would just let him jerk off while watching you play with your cunt.

And he could be Patrick. Even if you doubted Art had it in him. He would treat you like the little whore that you are. Making you gag on his gross sweaty cock right after practice. Wrapping his hands around your throat, while ramming into you. You would let him abuse every single one of your holes while reminding you how you're nothing to him and nothing without him. And even when he would be asking you to ride him, not willing to put any effort into fucking such a used-up whore, he would still be… dominating you.

Thinking about it, their relationship dynamic did not make sense. Was it a constant fight for dominance? Perhaps you had misjudged Tashi? But you couldn't be mistaken about Patrick, you knew him better than anyone else.

But you had too much on the line to make such a request anyway. In theory, he could only love the idea, but in fact? He was a coward who refused to see the truth. Would he call you a freak and put distance between you? And distance between you and him meant distance between you and Patrick. You couldn't risk that.

It didn't take long for you to climax, as you were already sensitive from the first round. Just a few precisely angled thrusts and Art's skilled fingers on your clit did the trick. You had to admit that Art had gotten better at pleasing you, you didn't have to fake it as much anymore. But it was also pretty easy when Patrick was occupying your mind. Art came a moment later with a low grunt. After a brief pause, he withdrew and rolled onto his back.

Your conversation with Tashi kept replaying in your mind. She appeared so insecure at that moment. How could she doubt Patrick's affection when he only had eyes for her? You were the best person to testify to that, as you counted the moments he glanced your way. Art had truly succeeded in toying with that poor girl's mind. Hold on a second. Were you feeling sorry for the woman who possessed everything you desired?

Art was now affectionately nuzzling your neck, planting gentle kisses behind your ear. Yet, his actions repulsed you more than it usually did. Were you angry at him because he had begun plotting to seduce another woman, or was it because he had taken a step forward in the race while you remained stagnant with Patrick? The scenario where he would begin dating Tashi, leaving you without him, Tashi and Patrick was now likely You found yourself in a position of weakness, a clear indication of the chaos in your relationship. You had shamelessly used him for months, but now that he was the one with the upper hand, that was unacceptable. It was time to call it quits. Art wasn't the one for you anyway. You were meant to be with Patrick. And Art was meant to be with Tashi or whoever else he pleased, you didn't really care anymore.

●

The next day, Tashi Duncan was playing against Maria Foster from Pepperdine. 

Patrick's visit that week revolved around the match, and tonight marked his departure. It would be months before another opportunity. Although you hadn't yet ended things with Art, your plan was to do so after the match. There wasn't any certainty that things would progress your way after that but you needed him off your back. One idea you had was simply offering yourself to Patrick. 

Showing him how much of a good girl you could be for him. His needy whore, little play toy. Dropping to your knees, your face buried in his balls, inhaling the exquisite musky scent of his sweat like an addict. You would then gobble on them like a starved woman. His hard sack felt warm and well-filled against your lips, it would take everything in you to not bite into them. You would then trail your wet tongue along his shaft following the pattern of his veins up to his head. Seeing his dick would be the well-deserved reward for all those years of longing. Without hesitating a second, you would pull his foreskin back, exposing his head and flick your tongue against it, paying extra attention to his slit, almost dipping your tongue into it wanting to taste every single drop of precum you could find. That cum was yours, it had always been yours. Wrapping your lips around the head, you would twirl your tongue around, tasting him fully for the first time before hollowing cheek, sucking him as hard as you could. You would probably slobber all over his length and he would love it, you were sure of it. With your head bobbing frantically, you would look like a maniac. You wouldn't even give yourself time to warm up before taking him whole in your mouth. The pain that would come with his crown hitting the back of your stiff throat was the most intoxicating part. Throating him desperately like the future of your relationship would depend on the quality of that blowjob. You would let him use your mouth like a fleshlight, fucking it aggressively, your nose crushing against the messy wet curls of above his cock. You would love the feeling of his strong hands pulling your head closer to buckle his hips into your mouth, his fingers pulling on your hair with force. Being able to breath would be the least of your worries as choking to death on his cock would be an honor. You would keep him in your mouth for hours, no matter how much your jaw hurt. But then your favorite part would come when he would. Swallowing his cum had always been one of your dreams but you wanted him all over you. You would pull away and stick your tongue out for him, drool running down your chin and clothes. Begging him to shoot his cum all over your face and tits, the same way Tashi refused to do. You wouldn't even bother to wipe his semen off, wearing it with pride, like a trophy, in Stanford's halls. But that was just an idea, of course.

In the worst-case scenario where you would be facing rejection, you planned to use Tashi's doubts about his loyalty as a justification. And like the exceptional friend that you are, you wanted to ensure he was worthy of your friend. You would both laugh it off and move on. 

But before that, you were stuck with Art, who was acting distant. You could feel something had shifted last night. You were both aware of each other's plans and everything felt forced. You and Art had agreed to attend to support Tashi, as good friends should. Or at least, that was Art's justification. For you, it was obviously because you wanted to fuck her boyfriend. That very same boyfriend who soon would be sitting on the empty seat beside you.

"Where's Patrick?" You asked, disappointed by his absence. The game was about to start, Tashi was entering the court and Patrick was nowhere to be seen. Art was typing on his phone. "Seems like they had a fight." Art shrugged and rolled his eyes, like their altercation was something predictable. You could tell he had something to do with it. A fight? You couldn't help the smile on your face. That surely helped your case. 

The game reached an intensity you hadn't witnessed before, with Tashi displaying an unprecedented determination to win. The ball darted from one end of the court to the other so swiftly that it was challenging to track. Tashi's backhands grew progressively stronger with each strike, her focus unwavering as she moved with agility. Suddenly, Maria Foster's throw forced Tashi to sprint across the court. In the midst of her movement, her knee gave out, causing her to stumble and fall.

With a scream, Tashi collapsed to the floor. Art sprang to his feet immediately, naturally the first to rush to Tashi's side. Could you blame him? If it were Patrick lying there in pain, you'd likely be by his side, holding his hand.

Without much of a choice, you had followed both of them to the infirmary. Waiting in the corridor for the ambulance to arrive was the best alternative to not witness their sickening intimate moment. Art had won the game. You also wanted to be available in case one of them would ask you to call Patrick. That way you would finally get a hold of his number.

But without a call, he showed up. There he was, finally, panting, his brown curls slightly disheveled, and his shirt clinging to his damp skin. Your smile faded into a frown as you noticed Tashi's shirt adorning his back, another indication of her ownership over him.

"Patrick, get the fuck out!" Art's raised voice startled you. Why was Art screaming at him? You didn't know the circumstances of the fight, but you could fathom Tashi being mad at Patrick. But Art siding with her and not his best friend? Was his friendship with Patrick just an excuse to get closer to Tashi all along? You would have never guessed how alike you and Art were.

Patrick walked out with red eyes and a visible lump in his throat, leaving the campus in a rush without a glance in your direction. That had been the last time you ever saw him.

●

Despite the weeks that slipped by, you couldn't help but cling to the hope that he might appear. That Tashi and him would somehow make up, that he and Art had maintained a friendship but no. Each morning you believed that today would be the day you would see his gorgeous face, only to have your hopes crushed by his absence. The disappointment became a part of your routine.

Art had left you for Tashi, using her recovery as an excuse. Although he never had the decency to formally end things with you, it was clear he no longer wanted to be around you. Every single free hour of his day would be devoted to training with Tashi or keeping her company during her physiotherapy. Sure, he would still smile at you from across the hall or kiss your cheek hello and goodbye when he would bump into you at the cafeteria. But there were no more texting or late-night visits to your room to release his built-up frustration. 

It didn't make sense, Patrick was out of the way, it was the perfect time to make a move on Tashi. He just didn't. It was not like you were an obstacle either, if he really wanted you gone, he only had to say it. But maybe he wanted Tashi to believe he was still taken and harmless, just a friend without ulterior motives, a good guy helping her out of the kindness of his heart? How noble of him. It made you gag.

She wasn't any better than him. Tashi was avoiding you as well, likely feeling too guilty about her growing affection for your boyfriend to face you. Not that it mattered anyway. Patrick was gone. Forever. And it was all their fault. You hated them for it.

●

Stanford seemed rather dull now. You had spent months with them and had barely made any friends outside of Tashi and Art. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all spent alone from now on. At least the weight of your courses and the ever-growing pile of homework kept your mind busy. As for Patrick Zweig, he only crossed your mind from time to time at night when you would rub yourself to sleep. You had almost accepted the fact that you would probably never see him again. As you opened your laptop to begin typing your overdue essay, a notification on your Facebook wall caught your eye. 

Patrick Zweig accepted your friend request.

You can find part two here.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478

Thank you everyone for taking time to read my stuff. If you have any criticism, please feel free to send a message. I'm trying to improve my writing.

See you next time!

[urfriendlywriter]

'okokok x lalala' love prompts:

(req by @fordo-wifey | usually I'd be like 'me when' or 'god, when is it my turn' but nowadays.. > < feel free to usee n yall better be tagging ME!!! i love LOVE love reading yalls stuff :) )

adoring whenever the other person snuggles closer and talks about their day

the talkative person lighting up an entire room with their personality and their silent partner proudly watching them <3

"do you want to just rant, or do you want me to give you a solution?"

the lalala person defending their okokok partner when they don't defend themselves.

"oh.. this is.. the wrong order.. it's fine-" "excuse me, yeah, you got my partner the wrong order, could you please get the right one? thank you :)"

"you've been too quiet today, what's on your mind, sweetheart?"

"i feel like i talk too much sometimes..." "love, my dear, it is when you remain silent, the world becomes deafening to me. so please, don't ever think that."

"i see you. i see you, always have, always will." "oh." (my bff said this to me. i cRIED)

the quiet person looking a bit too down and their loud partner doing everything in their ability to cheer them up

orr the loud person losing their shine and the quiet person's world is crumbling down

picking up on each other's mannerisms and when the loud person sees their introverted partner do something out of character, they smilee endeared <333

when the quiet person opens up to their partner, they are ready to embrace them and be all ears for their love ::))