#within temptation as always is very good | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kckt88 · 4 months ago

Text

God Is A Woman.

Summary:

Aemond has always had a thing for his brother's wife, and of course Aegon being the good brother that he is offers to share.

Warning(s): Language, Temptation, Consentual Infidelity, Threesome, Unce/Niece Incest, Brother/Brother Incest, Kissing, Body Worship, Smut, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), Fingering, P in V, P in A, Lactation Kink, Breeding Kink, Muliple Orgasms, Mention Of Same Sex Encounters, Allusion to Child Birth.

AEGON x O.C NIECE x AEMOND

INSPIRED BY THE SONG - 'ARIANA GRANDE - GOD IS A WOMAN'

Word Count: 7944

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Aemond sat at the dining table, his one remaining eye observing the room with a mix of detachment and intensity. His gaze settled on his brother Aegon, who was leaning in close to whisper something into Vaella's ear.

The sight of her giggling and blushing, batting Aegon's hand away from where it rested on her thigh, stirred a storm of emotions within Aemond.

As Vaella leaned in to kiss Aegon on the cheek, Aemond felt a pang of jealousy swirl in the pit of his stomach. He wished it was him who was married to Vaella, not Aegon.

Despite knowing it was wrong to covet another man's wife, especially his brother's, he couldn't help the longing that gnawed at him.

Vaella's beauty and grace had always captivated Aemond, and her marriage to Aegon only intensified his feelings. He watched her now, her laughter like music to his ears, and felt a stab of envy as Aegon wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

Aemond's jaw tightened as he tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the goblet of wine before him. His duties as commander of the City Watch demanded discipline and control, yet his heart betrayed him.

He tried to drown his thoughts in the rich red liquid, but the image of Vaella and Aegon together persisted, a constant reminder of what he could never have.

Vaella's laughter softened as she caught sight of Aemond staring at her from across the table. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, a mixture of longing and something she couldn't quite place.

Leaning closer to Aegon, she whispered something in his ear, her eyes never leaving Aemond's face.

Aegon, catching the note of curiosity in his wife's voice, followed her gaze to his brother. When he saw Aemond quickly look away, a smile spread across his lips. The sight of his brother, usually so composed and stoic, caught off guard was rare and amusing.

"Seems Aemond has a lot on his mind tonight," Aegon said with a chuckle, his voice just loud enough for Vaella to hear.

Vaella's eyes lingered on Aemond for a moment longer, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. She couldn't deny the sensation that ran through her at the sight of Aemond's lingering gaze.

Though she loved Aegon dearly, there was something about Aemond's silent, brooding nature that had always intrigued her.

Aemond, realizing he had been caught staring, felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He quickly diverted his attention, pretending to be engrossed in his wine, as the conversations around him continued, his mother talking to Rhaenyra of Helaena’s happiness in her marriage to Cregan Stark and Rhaenyra’s joy at Luke and Rhaena enjoying their stay in the Vale and Jace and Baela’s success on Driftmark as they had recently welcomed their first child a girl named Laena.

There was a time when all of them sitting around the table like this as a family seemed almost impossible, but after the unfortunate death of his grandsire Otto over six years ago any plans to usurp the throne had since fallen by the wayside and upon Viserys’ death, Rhaenyra had ascended the Iron Throne peacefully.

Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of shame and frustration roiling within him.

He cursed himself for being so careless, for allowing his emotions to slip past his carefully constructed defences.

He could still feel Vaella's gaze on him, and he dared not look up again. Instead, he focused on steadying his breath and calming the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

But even as he tried to push the feelings aside, the image of Vaella's soft, curious eyes remained etched in his mind. He knew he would have to confront these emotions eventually, but for now, he would bury them deep, where they couldn't betray him again.

As dinner came to an end, Aegon leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I think I’ll stay a while longer," he announced. "A few drinks with Daeron sounds perfect."

Vaella smiled at her husband, then turned to bid goodnight to Rhaenyra, and Daemon. "Goodnight, Mother, Father," she said softly, exchanging kisses on the cheek with them.

“Goodnight sweet girl” replied Rhaenyra brightly.

Turning to Aemond, she asked, "Will you escort me to the nursery so I can say goodnight to the children?"

Aemond nodded silently, rising from his seat. As they left the dining room, Aemond was oblivious to the subtle nod Aegon gave Vaella.

The corridor was quiet, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The tension between them was palpable, yet neither spoke a word. When they reached the nursery, Vaella pushed open the door gently and stepped inside.

Aemond watched from the doorway as Vaella approached the small beds where Aerion and Valaena lay sleeping.

Their silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, Vaella's face softened as she stroked their hair, pressing a tender kiss to each of their foreheads.

"Good night, Issa byka zaldrīzoti" she whispered, her voice full of love and warmth. (My little dragons).

The nanny, standing by with a watchful eye, bowed respectfully to Vaella. "Thank you, Elinda" said Vaella softly before turning to leave.

Aemond followed her silently as they made their way back through the winding corridors to her chambers. The castle was quiet at this hour, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the walls.

As they reached her door, Vaella paused, turning to face Aemond. "Thank you, Aemond," she said, her voice sincere.

Aemond inclined his head slightly. "Goodnight, Vaella," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vaella paused at the threshold of her chambers, turning to Aemond once more. "Aemond, please, come inside. I wish to speak with you."

Aemond hesitated, his sense of propriety warring with his curiosity. "Vaella, it is improper-"

"Please," she insisted, her eyes searching his. "It will only be for a moment."

Aemond took a deep breath, then relented. "Very well," he said quietly, stepping into the room. He moved to one of the chairs and sat down, fiddling with the edge of his gold cloak nervously.

Vaella gave him a grateful smile before excusing herself. She ducked behind a screen to change, the candlelight casting a soft glow around the room. Normally, she would have her maids assist her, but she didn’t call for them.

Aemond's gaze wandered despite himself, drawn to the silhouette of her body illuminated by the flickering light.

He tried to look away, telling himself it was wrong—she was his brother's wife, and he had no right to covet her. Yet, he couldn't help but stare, the shape of her form was mesmerizing to him.

It had been some months since he’d last had a woman to warm his bed and he could feel his body responding in earnest to the sight before him.

Vaella's movements were graceful, and Aemond's heart raced as he watched her, guilt mingling with desire. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breath, but the sight of her was too powerful.

Finally, Vaella stepped out from behind the screen, now dressed in a simple nightgown that clung to her form. She approached him, her expression earnest. "Aemond, we need to talk," she said, her voice soft but firm.

He tore his gaze from her and met her eyes, trying to regain his composure. "What is it?" he asked, his voice strained.

She hesitated, searching for the right words. "I’ve noticed the way you look at me," she began, her tone gentle. "And I think we need to address it."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat, fear and hope intertwining. "Vaella, I-I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention."

Vaella simply smiled and shook her head, taking a step closer, her eyes holding a mixture of determination and vulnerability as she spoke. "Aemond, I like the way you look at me."

Aemond slowly stood, his breath hitching as she approached him. Her presence was intoxicating, and as she reached out to touch his scarred cheek, he closed his eye, savouring the gentle sweep of her thumb across his skin.

With a soft click, Vaella unclasped his eye patch, revealing the sapphire nestled in his eye socket, her whisper like a caress. "Sīr gevie," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine admiration (So beautiful).

Aemond's heart raced in his chest, his hands twitching nervously at his sides. "Vaella, we shouldn't do this," he said, his voice shaky with a mixture of fear and longing.

Vaella's eyes softened, her hand still resting on his cheek. "It's okay, Aemond," she reassured him. "You can touch me if you want to."

His hesitation melted away under her gaze, and slowly, he lifted his hands to cup her face. The warmth of her skin against his palms sent a shiver down his spine, and he leaned in, his lips brushing hers tentatively.

As their mouths met, a surge of emotion coursed through Aemond, overwhelming his senses. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration, but as Vaella responded, it deepened, a hunger and longing they had both been suppressing now finding release.

Aemond's hands slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he poured all his unspoken feelings into the kiss. Vaella's hands moved to his shoulders, her touch encouraging him,

Aemond stood silently, his heart pounding as he watched Vaella's delicate hands move to unclasp the belt that held his weapons. The loud clunk as it hit the stone floor echoed around the room, resonating with the tension between them.

She then moved to remove his gold cloak and black armour, piece by piece, her movements deliberate and gentle.

Each touch sent a shiver through Aemond, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady. As she removed his cotton shirt, the cool air of the room met his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from Vaella's fingers.

When she lowered herself to her knees to remove his boots, Aemond's gaze never left her, the intimacy of the moment leaving him breathless, he could scarcely believe that this was real, that this was actually happening.

With each boot removed, Vaella rose to her feet, her hands running down the smooth planes of his chest, his muscles twitching under her touch. The sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, each caress sending waves of heat through his body.

Vaella's eyes met his, her expression a mixture of tenderness and desire. She traced the scars from the training yard that marked his chest, her fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Aemond's hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as their breaths mingled.

"Vaella," he whispered, his voice hoarse with longing and uncertainty.

Her hands paused for a moment before continuing their exploration, her touch light yet possessive. "Aemond, I want this, I want you" she said softly, her voice steady despite the intensity of the moment.

Aemond looked into Vaella's eyes, and he saw the same need reflected back at him. Slowly, he lowered his head, capturing her lips in a deep, fervent kiss, her hands now sliding into his long silver hair.

Suddenly the door to the chambers creaked open, and Aemond jerked away from Vaella, his heart racing in panic. Aegon stood in the doorway, an amused grin spreading across his face as he took in the scene before him.

"Aegon, I-" Aemond began, his voice filled with guilt and apprehension.

But Aegon simply laughed, shutting the door behind him and locking it. "I see that you decided to start without me," he said, walking over to Vaella and kissing her passionately.

“He is very eager-” whispered Vaella.

Aemond tried to apologize again, his words stumbling out in a rush. "I'm sorry, Aegon. I didn't mean—"

Aegon raised a hand to stop him, his expression turning serious but still playful. "I see the way you look at my wife."

Aemond blushed, his gaze dropping to the floor.

But Aegon stepped closer, placing a finger under Aemond's chin and lifting his head so their gaze met. "I don't mind it, brother. In fact, we both think you should join us."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat, stunned by his brother's admission. "J-Join you?"

Vaella nodded, her eyes warm and inviting. "If you don't want to, it's okay. You can leave, and we will never speak of this night again."

Aemond looked between Vaella and Aegon, his mind racing. The weight of the decision hung heavy in the air. Aegon began to pull off his own clothes, each piece falling to the floor with a soft rustle. When he was fully bare, he stood in front of Aemond, his body confident and unashamed.

"Aren't you just a little curious?" Aegon whispered, his voice low and enticing as he pulled Aemond in for a heated kiss, the intensity of it sending shockwaves through Aemond's body.

Aemond's mind reeled, the conflicting emotions battling within him. But the touch of Aegon's lips, the warmth of Vaella's gaze, and the tension in the room were undeniable.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he allowed himself to respond, his hands moving to rest on Aegon's shoulders.

Vaella stepped closer, her hands joining Aemond's as they traced the contours of Aegon's body. The three of them stood together, the air thick with anticipation and desire.

“Vaella” moaned Aegon as she slipped her hands around his waist and stroked his rapidly hardening cock.

“Do you want this Aemond? Do you want us?” asked Vaella softly.

Everything Aemond had ever wanted was standing in front of him, and all he had to do was say say-

“Yes. I want you”

Vaella smiled and moved towards the bed with a graceful, unhurried elegance, her hands reaching up to the thin straps of her nightgown.

With a fluid motion, she let the garment fall, pooling around her feet and leaving her completely bare. Aemond stood speechless, his gaze sweeping over her body, mesmerized by her body.

"Isn't she beautiful, brother?" Aegon asked, a hint of pride in his voice as he watched Aemond's reaction.

Aemond nodded quickly, unable to tear his eye away from Vaella. Her pale skin glowed in the soft candlelight, each curve and line a testament to her allure.

Vaella motioned for Aemond to come closer, her eyes filled with a mix of warmth and desire. Aemond hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, his fingers shaking as he unlaced his breeches.

As he struggled with the laces, Aegon reached out, his hands steady and sure, and pulled them off, leaving all three of them bare.

"Come, brother," Aegon muttered, his voice low and inviting, as he sat next to Vaella on the bed.

Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the moment settling over him. He joined them on the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The closeness of their bodies, the mingling of their breaths, created a heated atmosphere that left him exhilarated and terrified.

Vaella reached out, her hand gently tracing the lines of Aemond's face, her touch soothing and reassuring. Aegon leaned in, pressing a kiss to Aemond's temple, his fingers combing through his hair.

“Kiss her brother-” whispered Aegon.

Aemond leaned forward and pulled Vaella into a heated kiss. With a soft moan, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Aegon began pressing a series of soft kisses to Vaella’s shoulders as Aemond’s hands slid around her bare back, pulling her closer, as his kisses growing more fervent.

“My turn-” muttered Aegon as Vaella pulled away from Aemond who watched as Aegon wrapped a hand around Vaella’s throat and ran his tongue over her lower lip before kissing her passionately.

Aegon released then Vaella’s mouth and bent down to lick one of her nipples.

“Oh” muttered Vaella as she flung her arms over her face, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

Aegon ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Come Brother-You have one, I’ll have the other”

Aemond leaned forward and slowly ran his tongue over one of Vaella’s nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff peak.

“A-Aemond, A-Aegon” gasped Vaella.

“Hmmm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suckle at her breast, gorging himself on her delicious mothers milk.

Aemond looked over at Aegon as they indulged themselves in worshipping Vaella’s breasts, their gaze locked upon one another.

Suddenly Aemond reached around the back of his brothers head and took hold of his roughly shorn silver tresses, pulling him away from Vaella and seizing his lips in a brutal kiss.

Savouring the taste the mother’s milk upon each of their tongues.

Suddenly Vaella let out an adorable squeak, Aemond looked and noticed that Aegon had his fingers inside her cunny.

“You should touch her too” exclaimed Aegon as his mouth once again descended onto one of Vaella’s breasts.

Aemond gently ran his hand down Vaella’s body and had to recite a number of the faith of the seven prayers to stop himself from coming when he felt how wet she was.

“I-Is she always-” rasped Aemond as he slipped a finger inside Vaella.

“-This wet?-yes, my wife-so sensitive” muttered Aegon.

“A-Aegon-please” whined Vaella as their eyes connected.

“Patience my sweet pearl” replied Aegon as his fingers began teasing her slick folds

Aemond watched with awed fascination as Aegon expertly fingered his wife, the way he used his fingers and thumb in tandem with one another to tease her little pearl.

Aemond knew that Vaella was close to her peak, as he could feel her cunny fluttering around the finger, he had inside her.

However, Aegon removed his hand and sat back on the bed, his amethyst eyes darkened with lust as he pressed his fingers against Aemond’s mouth.

“Taste her” growled Aegon as his brother took his fingers in his mouth.

“Delicious” muttered Aemond as he swirled his tongue around Aegon’s fingers.

Vaella clearly not happy at being denied her peak, began to whine impatiently.

“Aegon-“

“-Now wife. I want you to sit on Aemond’s face, whilst I suck his cock” exclaimed Aegon.

“Brother” exclaimed Aemond shocked and very aroused by the thought of his brother willingly putting his mouth-there.

“Before my marriage I indulged with a number of men, this is nothing new for me brother, trust me-I think you’ll like it” replied Aegon.

“We will take good care of you-Issa gēlenka zaldrīzes” whispered Vaella (My silver dragon).

Aemond nodded and reclined on the bed, his cock standing hard.

Aegon’s mouth was watering just looking at it, his little brother the absolute twat had truly been blessed.

The largest dragon in the world and a cock to match-no wonder he was so smug all of the time.

Vaella hovered above Aemond’s face, her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Aemond”

“So pretty-" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaella’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaella her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaella.

“FUCK�� groaned Aemond as he felt Aegon’s mouth around his cock.

Devouring his good sister’s sweet cunny as she sat on his face was one thing, but to do it whilst his brother sucked his cock was other worldly.

He enjoyed the feeling of Aegon’s mouth around his cockhead, his tongue teasing his slit, as the salvia dripping down his shaft.

None of the women that he’d previously experienced had ever made him feel this good.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaella, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaella "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“T-That’s it, fuck-Aegon” breathed Aemond, as his brother wrapped a hand around his cock and began to move in sync with his mouth.

“Oh" whimpered Vaella; her chest heaving as she began to roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, thrusting his own hips.

Vaella was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing their chambers would surely hear as Aemond’s nose bumped repeatedly against her pearl.

Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“Come for me baby, come foryour qȳbor” moaned Aemond (Uncle).

Finally, he felt Vaella’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaella’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

After a few minutes, Vaella moved off Aemond’s face and flopped down onto the bed beside him.

Vaella moaned quietly as she caught sight of Aegon sucking Aemond’s cock, she could feel herself getting aroused again, as she watched Aemond placed his hand on the back of his brother’s head, forcing him to take more of his cock inside his mouth.

Suddenly a naughty thought entered into Vaella's head and before Aemond could stop her, she bent down and began running her tongue along the part of his cock that wasn't in Aegon's mouth.

"SEVEN FUCKING HELLS" roared Aemond.

Aegon and Vaella shared a knowing look before they both began to take it turns slowly sucking Aemond's cock, taking him the brink only to stop.

"V-Vaella, s-stop-" groaned Aemond, he needed her, he needed her now.

"Yes"

“Come here” rasped Aemond, his chin still shining with her slick.

Vaella leaned forward and wiped her tongue across Aemond’s bottom lip before taking it in between her teeth and biting down gently.

“You naughty girl” muttered Aemond as he surged forward and pressed a kiss to her sumptuous soft lips.

One hand tangled in his brothers hair and the other in Vaella’s

“A-Aegon-enough-stop” groaned Aemond his hips stuttering, he could feel the urge to come building in his abdomen.

“Spoil sport” muttered Aegon as he wiped the spit from the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t want to spill in your mouth-”.

“And where do you want to spill your seed brother?” asked Aegon smirking.

“I-I w-want-“ stammered Aemond looking around awkwardly.

“It’s ok-you can fill my wife‘s cunny with your seed-put a babe in her” replied Aegon.

“W-What?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Don’t you want your seed to take root, to see her all swollen with your child” muttered Aegon.

“B-But it would be a bastard” said Aemond.

“Not like anyone would be able to tell the difference, besides I know that you enjoyed seeing my wife round with child-imagine how good it will feel to know that it’s your child inside her”

Aegon was sure his brother was about to blow his load right there, judging from the way his eye rolled back into his head at every word that was spoken.

“Do you want that Aemond?” asked Vaella.

“Y-Yes” said Aemond as Vaella moved over his body, her slick folds rubbing against his cock.

Gods he was so hard, it was bordering on painful.

“Imagine-right here, your seed taking root, your babe-your son” said Vaella as she took his hand and ran it over her stomach.

Losing the remainder of his control Aemond seized her hips, and surged up, ploughing his hard cock into Vaella’s soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaella.

"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaella, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“Aegon-husband-please” breathed Vaella as she felt his warm chest press against her back, his hands gently caressing her sides as he pressed a series of gentle kisses along the back of her neck.

“Do you want my cock as well?” asked Aegon, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

“Y-Yes, please. I want it-I want you both inside me” moaned Vaella.

“I need to prepare you first” whispered Aegon as he took hold of the small bottle of oil that he’d retrieved from the nightstand.

Aegon uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of the oil onto his palm, spreading it over his fingers.

After discarding the bottle somewhere on the bed, Aegon reached down to her arse.

“Hm-yes, I-like it-please” whined Vaella, biting her lip.

“Be patient” urged Aemond as Vaella began to squirm against him.

Vaella gasped as she felt Aegon’s finger on her little rosette, and it felt so naughty, it was good.

“Yes, or no?” asked Aegon.

Vaella didn't even have to think.

“Yes, Aegon” moaned Vaella as he slowly inserted his finger into her body.

He worked in silence for a while, easing his finger in and out of her arse until she could take it easily.

Aemond began teasing her pearl with his fingers, his cock throbbing inside her.

Pulling out, Aegon added a second finger and brushed both around her hole.

“Yes, or no?” Aegon asked again.

“Aegon. I want you take my arse, I want both of you to fuck me until I scream out your names. I need to come, please. Do not deprive me any longer” begged Vaella.

Aegon let out a breath of air, but no words. Silently, he breached her arse once more.

Vaella screamed, “Oh god it feels so fucking good”.

Aegon continued to work his way into her tight space, his cock was like stone. When his fingers were fully inside her, he put his lips to her ear again.

“I'm going to breach your arse with my cock and fill you all the way up. It's going to feel so good, love, I can't wait for you to come around Aemond’s cock in your sweet cunt, whilst my cock shoved in your arse”

Vaella’s teeth were gritted, and she grunted low in her throat each time his fingers surged in.

“Yes” moaned Vaella loudly. Aegon slapped her buttock, and she wailed again.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy” moaned Vaella. She was pushing back against his hand, so he spread his fingers inside her, accommodating her to his size. At last, she was ready for him.

Aegon pressed the head of his cock to the entrance of her arse, and Vaella moaned in need, he pushed through her entrance and past her tight ring of muscle, swearing loudly as it gripped him unbelievably tight.

“Oh gods. Oh yes” moaned Vaella, flinging her head back. Aegon eased himself slowly into her tight anal passage, trying not to pass out from the sheer fucking bliss of it.

Eventually, Vaella took his entire cock.

The three of them remained unmoving as Vaella got used to having both Aemond and Aegon inside her.

“I-I’m ready” whispered Vaella.

“We’ll go as slow-” muttered Aemond his hands resting on her hips.

“-as you want” said Aegon as he placed his hands on top of Aemonds and entwined their fingers together.

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaella as both Aegon and Aemond began to move, finding their rhythm and thrusting gently.

Both brothers moving in tandem with one another, a slow sensual pace, that drove Vaella to the brink of insanity.

"Faster, please" begged Vaella.

"Patience, Issa zaldrīzes" chided Aemond (My dragon).

“I-I’ve taken Aegon there before” admitted Vaella softly.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond at Vaella’s admission.

“I know but you’ve never taken us both at the same time” replied Aegon as he gave a quick shallow thrust.

“Yes, Aegon, just like that-" panted Vaella.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“Oh-Aemond you feel so good” whimpered Vaella as she ran her hands over his arms, his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaella" grunted Aemond, as he began to move.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaella "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me your seed. I want another babe-”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaella was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaella wanted faster and he was going much faster now. His pace increasing with every filthy word that dropped from Vaella’s luscious lips.

“Fuck Aemond” groaned Aegon, the force of his brother’s thrusts moving Vaella on his cock.

“A-AEGON-“ screamed Vaella as she reached behind her and wrapped her hands around the back of his head.

She craned her neck back and dragged Aegon’s head towards her, she wanted to feel his lips on hers as she took both of their cocks.

Aegon released his grip on Aemonds hands and slowly caressed her skin until he reached her breasts, both hands squeezing them as his tongue moved against hers, his cock thrusting inside her.

Both of them were cock deep inside her and it felt glorious, it was just a shame they’d waited so long to do this.

“Faster-I can take it-I can take both of you-please” stammered Vaella as she released Aegon’s hair from her tight grip.

Aemond and Aegon shared a quick glance before nodding.

Now they were both quickly thrusting in and out, the force of their combined movements shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Vaella was meeting them thrust for thrust.

“Aegon-Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaella.

Vaella looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

“Make my brother a father-give him a child” exclaimed Aegon.

Vaella clamped down around Aemond’s cock so hard he could hardly move. That, combined with how glorious Vaella looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“God. Vaella” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside her wet heat.

Aegon followed not long after, his cock twitching as he spilled inside Vaella, his head falling to her shoulder.

His chest heaving with every breath he took; he had never come so hard in his life.

“Aegon-“ whispered Vaella as he gently pulled his softened cock from her.

“You were so good” replied Aegon as he laid on the bed next to Aemond.

“Hm-so perfect for us” said Aemond as he also pulled his cock from Vaella and moved over so she could lay in between the brothers.

Their sweaty bodies pressed against one another as they came down from their high.

Afterwards, the three of them lay together in a tangle of limbs, the room quiet save for the soft breaths of Vaella, who had fallen asleep between Aemond and Aegon.

Aemond, still grappling with the intensity of the evening, found his mind unable to rest.

"Aegon," Aemond whispered, turning his head slightly to look at his brother. "Were you serious when you said you wanted me to get Vaella with child?"

Aegon nodded, his gaze steady. "Yes, I was serious."

"But why?" Aemond asked, confusion evident in his voice.

Aegon shrugged casually. "You’re so good with Aerion and Valaena. And since you have no plans to marry any time soon, I thought it would be nice for you to have a child with the woman you've been in love with since you were a boy."

Aemond tried to deny it, shaking his head. "Aegon, it's not—"

"It's okay to feel the way you do, brother," Aegon interrupted gently. "I know you curse the fact that you're a second son, that if you had been firstborn, then you would have married Vaella instead. I hate that I took the one thing you've always wanted, besides Vhagar, of course."

Aemond's heart tightened at his brother's words, the truth of them cutting deep. He had harboured feelings for Vaella for as long as he could remember and seeing her with Aegon had always been a bittersweet torment, but as Vaella and Aegon were the oldest their marriage was seen as a way to unite the family, especially after the incident on Driftmark.

"But I love Vaella too," Aegon continued, his voice softening. "She's the only good thing I've ever had in my life, and our children-I never knew I could create something so pure and beautiful. I can't give her up, but I can share her with you, if you're willing."

Aemond looked at Aegon, stunned by the sincerity and generosity in his brother's eyes. "What does Vaella think of this?" he asked hesitantly.

Before Aegon could respond, Vaella stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She smiled sleepily at both of them. "I couldn't possibly turn down the chance of being sandwiched between two beautiful dragons," she said, her voice laced with affection and amusement. "But you two need to shut up and get some rest. If we want to increase the chances of Aemond's seed taking root, then we must be ready to lay together again very soon”

Aegon chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Vaella's forehead. "You heard the lady, Aemond. Let's get some rest."

Aemond, still processing the whirlwind of emotions, nodded. As he lay back down, feeling Vaella's warmth against him and Aegon's reassuring presence, he finally allowed himself to relax and drift off toe sleep.

In the weeks that followed, the bond between Vaella, Aegon, and Aemond grew stronger. Their nights were often spent together, indulging in each other’s pleasure.

Sometimes, Aegon would be content to sit and watch as Aemond fucked Vaella, with his own hand bringing him to completion.

It pleased him to see his brother grow in confidence as he began to take Vaella in different positions, his particular favourite was when he would watch Aemond take Vaella from behind, the raw sensuality of it was truly a sight to behold.

There were even times when Aegon and Aemond would take turns in experience their newfound desire with one another, but as Aemond wasn’t fully comfortable with fucking Aegon or getting fucked by him they only indulged one another with their hands and mouths.

There were also moments of soft intimacy when Vaella would allow Aemond to rest his head on her bare breasts and she would stroke his hair, whispering words of love and comfort to him as he spoke to her of the days events and some moments from his childhood.

Aegon never mentioned those moments, it was something private between Aemond and Vaella and he allowed it because he knew his brother needed it, as he himself needed it from time to time.

It wasn’t sexual, it was comfort and his sweet wife provided them both with what they needed without question and Aegon loved herall the more for it.

Given the frequency in which Aemond spilled his seed inside Vaella it wasn't long before she gave them both joyous news: she was expecting Aemond's child.

Aegon's happiness for his brother was boundless. He watched as Aemond's usually stoic demeanour softened with wonder and tenderness whenever he was near Vaella.

As the weeks turned into months, Aemond would gently stroke Vaella's swollen stomach, whispering words of love and promises to their unborn child.

Aegon would smile every time Aemond's face lit up with pure joy upon feeling the babe move within Vaella. It was a sight that filled Aegon's heart with warmth, knowing that he had played a part in granting his brother this happiness.

Deep down, Aegon knew that others might not understand or accept their unconventional relationship. The world beyond their chambers was filled with judgment and rigid expectations.

But Aegon didn't care. To him, this arrangement was an act of brotherly love and kindness. He had given Aemond the chance to experience the love he had longed for since childhood, and that was worth any scorn or misunderstanding they might face.

One evening, as they all sat together in the quiet of their chambers, Aegon observed the tender moment between his brother and his wife. Aemond's hand rested gently on Vaella's belly, his eye filled with adoration as he spoke softly to their unborn child.

"You'll be a great father, Aemond," Aegon said, his voice sincere.

Aemond looked up, his expression a mixture of gratitude and love. "Thank you, Aegon. I-I never thought I could have this. It means more to me than I can say."

Vaella smiled, her eyes shining with affection for both men. "We are a family," she said softly, her hands covering Aemond's. "And this child will be loved by all of us."

Aegon nodded, his heart swelling with pride and contentment. "Yes, we are a family. And nothing will change that."

Aegon and Aemond paced anxiously outside the birthing room, their faces etched with worry as Vaella's pained screams echoed through the halls.

Both of their mothers were with her, providing support and comfort, but the birthing room was no place for a man. They could only wait, helpless and hopeful.

Hours passed, each scream driving a dagger of fear into their hearts. Then, suddenly, the screams stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. Aegon and Aemond exchanged a glance, their curiosity and concern mirrored in each other's eyes.

Just when the silence became unbearable, the sound of a newborn's cry filled the air, bringing with it a rush of relief and joy.

Aegon and Aemond embraced quickly, sharing in each other’s relief when the door to the birthing room opened, and their mother, Alicent, appeared, her face alight with happiness. “A son!" she exclaimed; her voice filled with pride.

As the two men entered the room, Aegon went straight to Vaella, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. "You did wonderfully," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Aemond hovered awkwardly by the door, unsure of his place in this intimate scene. The maester and midwives bustled around Vaella, ensuring she was comfortable and cared for.

Once the maesters and midwives were finished taking care of Vaella, Aemond exchanged a curious look with Rhaenyra who nodded her head at him and gently requested that everyone leave the room to give Vaella, Aegon, and Aemond some privacy.

Alicent questioned why Aemond was allowed to remain, but Rhaenyra simply smiled, ushering her out of the room before closing the door softly behind her.

"Aemond, come here," Aegon beckoned, his voice warm and inviting.

Vaella, her face radiant despite her exhaustion, gently placed the tiny babe in Aemond's arms. "M-My son," Aemond whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek as he gazed at the newborn in wonder.

"What are you going to call him?" Aegon asked, his hand still holding Vaella's.

Vaella looked up at Aemond, her eyes shining with love. "His father should name him”

Aemond thought for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities before he settled on a name that felt right, a name that he’s always liked "Rhaegar," he said softly.

Aegon smiled approvingly. "A fine name."

Aemond carefully sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his son. His heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of happiness and fulfilment.

In that moment, as he looked at his son and then at Vaella and Aegon, he felt a profound sense of belonging and love

After Rhaegar was fed and had fallen asleep in his cot, Aemond and Aegon lay on either side of Vaella, who was fast asleep. The room was bathed in a gentle glow from the hearth, casting a warm light on the peaceful scene.

Aemond, still absorbing the reality of the day, whispered, "It still doesn't feel real that I have a son."

Aegon laughed softly. "Wait until you have more than one child."

Aemond turned his head to look at his brother, his eyes wide with surprise. "M-More than one?"

Aegon shrugged, his tone casual but thoughtful. "It's really up to Vaella how many children she's willing to birth since it's her body. But we did discuss wanting to have a large family shortly after we got married, so who knows."

Aemond considered this, a mixture of joy and concern playing across his features. "Our secret would be harder to keep if I father more children with Vaella, they already question why my chambers remain empty most nights-"

Aegon turned to face his brother, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "That's why Vaella and I have spoken about moving to Dragonstone. She is heir to the Iron Throne, and as heir, the castle traditionally belongs to her"

Aemond furrowed his brow, his sense of duty conflicting with his desires. "I am the Commander of the City Watch. I can't just leave my post to travel back and forth to Dragonstone. And I don’t like the thought of being parted from my son, or any future children."

Aegon laughed again, his tone reassuring. "Aemond, you would be moving with us, if you wish. You could retire from your post as Commander of the City Watch and become Vaella and the children's sworn protector. That way, it makes sense why you would move to Dragonstone with us."

Aemond let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, a smile breaking across his face. "You’ve really thought of everything"

Aegon grinned, his eyes sparkling with admiration. "It was actually Vaella's idea. She's incredibly intelligent and resourceful. We're lucky to have her."

Aemond's gaze softened as he looked at Vaella, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. "Indeed, we are."

Alicent stood at a distance, watching Aemond, as he prepared to leave. Vhagar looming behind him, her ancient eyes observing the scene with quiet understanding. Alicent's heart was heavy with concern and curiosity.

"What is going on, Aemond?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. "Giving up your position as Lord Commander of the City Watch—it’s not like you."

Aemond turned to face her, his gaze steady. "Mother, I was grateful for the opportunity given to me by Rhaenyra, I tended my duty well, but I wasn’t happy."

"And being a sworn protector will make you happy?" Alicent pressed. "I know you, Aemond. You are not one to stand idle, waiting for threats. You have to keep busy."

Aemond's eye softened slightly. "There is plenty on Dragonstone to keep me busy. Surely, you must know that I don't just love training with the sword. I also love to learn. The library on Dragonstone has items and histories from Old Valyria that I've longed to read ever since I was a child. And ensuring the safety of the heir to the Iron Throne is an important role."

Alicent scoffed, her suspicion clear. "I see how you look at Vaella." She stepped closer, her grip firm as she took hold of his arm. "Please tell me that Rhaegar is not your son."

Before Aemond could respond, Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension. "All set for the journey to Dragonstone?"

Aemond nodded, turning away from his mother. "Yes, everything is ready, Your Grace"

Rhaenyra's presence was commanding as always, her eyes holding a knowing glint. "Vermithor and Sunfyre have already taken wing, and the hatchling dragons are already on board the ship."

Aemond bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Your Grace. I hope my replacement as Lord Commander of the City Watch will live up to the high standard I've tried to set."

Rhaenyra smiled. "I have faith in Daeron. And thank you, Aemond, for becoming Vaella's sworn protector, it warms my heart to know that she will have you at her side"

Aemond nodded, his resolve firm. "It is my honour."

He turned to bid farewell to his mother. "Goodbye, Mother. I will write as often as I can."

Alicent's eyes were filled with unspoken words, but she nodded, a tight smile on her lips. "Be safe, Aemond."

With one last glance at his mother and sister, Aemond climbed the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle. He strapped himself in, taking a deep breath before giving the command. "Sōvēs" (Fly).

Vhagar's mighty wings unfurled, and with a powerful beat, she lifted into the sky.

Rhaenyra and Alicent stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the receding form of Vhagar as the ancient dragon flew above the ship sailing through Blackwater Bay. The powerful strokes of Vhagar's wings stirred the air, creating ripples across the water below.

Alicent broke the silence first, her voice low but insistent. "You know, don't you?"

Rhaenyra turned to her, her expression one of polite curiosity. "Know what?"

"That Rhaegar is really Aemond's son," Alicent stated, her tone a mix of accusation and despair.

Rhaenyra's lips curved into a serene smile. "I know nothing of the sort."

Alicent pressed on, her voice rising slightly. "It's wrong, Rhaenyra. The boy is illegitimate and a violation of the sacred vows of marriage."

Rhaenyra paused for a moment, considering Alicent's words before she placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Try not to think about it too much. They have their legitimate heir, and it's not like anyone can tell."

Alicent tried to argue further, her moral compass sharply pointed. "But—"

Rhaenyra shushed her gently, her voice soothing yet firm. "As long as our children are happy, that's all that matters."

Alicent huffed, clearly annoyed but unable to refute Rhaenyra's logic. The tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly as she sighed.

"Come," Rhaenyra suggested with a playful glint in her eye. "Let's have some cake. I'm feeling quite peckish."

Alicent looked at her, torn between her principles and the reality of the situation. Finally, she relented, her expression softening. "Alright. Cake it is."

Living on Dragonstone was a breath of fresh air for Aemond. He still woke up at the arse crack of dawn to train with the sword, often dragging a protesting Aegon along with him a time or two.

However, Aemond found his true element in the library. The scrolls and ancient texts were everything he had dreamed of.

He would often sit with Rhaegar on his chest, reading to his son from a book composed entirely in High Valyrian, and even though he was just a babe, Rhaegar loved nothing more than falling asleep listening to his father’s voice.

Aemond had his own chambers, but he rarely used them and even Vhagar seemed much happier with the warmth and all the sleep the old girl could ever want.

Once Vaella was sufficiently healed from birthing Rhaegar, she welcomed both Aegon and Aemond, and the three of them resumed their intimate encounters.

One of Aemond’s favourites was their encounter in the hot springs in an underground cavern. The warmth and seclusion added a new layer of intimacy and excitement to their bond.

Aegon in particular enjoyed himself as swimming meant no clothes, and more often than not no clothes led to far more exciting things.

When Rhaegar turned two, Vaella expressed her desire for another child. This time, Aemond fathered a sweet daughter, whom they named Vharla in honour of his dragon.

A year later, he fathered another son with Vaella, named Aerys. The final babe Vaella birthed was a daughter, fathered by Aegon, who they named Daenys.

After six children, Vaella decided she’d had enough of birthing children and was content to enjoy her life with her husbands.

Yes, husbands. Because Aegon may or may not have sneakily arranged for the three of them to marry in a traditional Valyrian ceremony, with only Rhaenyra, Daemon, Helaena, and Cregan as witnesses.

If anyone dared to ask him about it, Aegon would deny all knowledge of such an event taking place and trace the scar on his palm with subtle fondness, a reminder of the sacred vow shared by three dragons in love.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond x oc #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #aegon x oc #aegon x aemond

731 notes · View notes

senseofnewness · 5 months ago

Text

SILENT DEVOTION : twisted allegiance

♦ sequel to SILENT DEVOTION ♦

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

rating : explicit

word count : 23.3k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, cheating, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, rimming, masturbation, eating disorder

summary : Patrick Zweig had finally noticed you, but not in the way you had always dreamed of. After rekindling his relationship with Tashi only to break up soon after, he turned his attention to you, seeking revenge on both his girlfriend and his distant best friend. There started a secret relationship fueled by twisted desires and mutual manipulation.

Patrick Zweig wrote on your wall. Hey, need to talk to you. Add me on aim (zweigpat).

Your fingers trembled as you clicked on the aim icon and began typing Patrick's username. You had no idea about the matter he wanted to discuss, but specifics were irrelevant in that moment. Patrick Zweig wanted to talk to YOU and no one else. Homework could wait, and grades suddenly felt insignificant. This was far more important. As you typed the first word into the chat box, everything around you faded away, the world growing still and silent.

You: Hey Patrick: Hello! You: So what's up?

The message on your Facebook wall had vanished. Was he trying to hide the fact that he was talking to you? You didn't mind being his dirty little secret. If anything, it made the situation even more thrilling.

Patrick: Nothing much, I was just wondering how are you all doing? You: Sounds like bullshit, what are you scheming Zweig? Patrick: Alright, I want to get back with Tashi… And I don’t know if she would be open to the idea. I know you guys are friends and I thought maybe you could help me with that.

Friends? Hardly. The thought of helping him get back with Tashi made your stomach turn. Patrick was yours, and you knew you could never compete with Tashi. Yet, the temptation was undeniable. You longed to see him back on campus, to have him close, to watch him play tennis with Art, to see him devour lunch. You even missed overhearing him and Tashi through the door.

You: Have you talked to her? She's been quite down since you left..

You couldn't reveal that Patrick was actually the least of her concerns. Her recovery had been long and difficult. As the weeks passed, her prospects of regaining her status as a tennis prodigy grew more and more uncertain.

Patrick: Did she mention me?

She hadn't, but to keep the conversation going, you had to lie.

You: Sure.. Patrick: What did she say? You: Can’t tell you, she’d kill me! Patrick: Come on! You: I can only tell you that she feels lonely.

Considering how much time she was spending with your boyfriend, she was anything but lonely.

Patrick: Noted, thanks <3. How's Art, by the way? He's not really responding to my texts.

The sight of the heart icon on the screen stole your breath away. Butterflies swarmed within you until there was little of you left. Was it genuine? Or was it out of habit? Was this the kind of message he was used to sending to Tashi?

You: We haven’t been talking that much either… Patrick: Did you guys break up? You: Not that I know of, he’s just very busy. Patrick: Busy with what?

You were hesitant to tell him the truth.

You: Guess… Patrick Zweg is typing. Patrick: Oh, so they played us both? B-) You: Don’t worry he will be back when he’s horny. Patrick: Don’t say that. Art’s not that type of guy. He’s a good one.

Patrick held Art in high regard. And Art played that role perfectly. He was charming, endearing, the kind of man destined for marriage and fatherhood, fully devoted to his family. But you didn't desire that with him, and he didn't desire it with you.

After offering reassurances about your relationship with Art, Patrick signed off for tennis practice, leaving you staring at the screen. Finally, you had a means to contact him at any time, day or night.

●

It didn’t take long for Patrick to be back on campus. It appeared that Tashi lacked as much self-restraint as you did when it came to him.

Spotting him in the main quad under one of the colossal arches, despite being fifty feet away, you immediately recognized him by his unique aura. The man-of-your-dreams-you-want-to-ride-to-ruins aura. He leaned against a wall, cigarette in hand, observing some students playing footbag, a grin on his face.

He now sported a short, tousled beard with hints of red highlights. One of your high school girlfriends had once told you that her older boyfriend’s beard had been bleached by her pussy’s juices. You wondered if the same applied to Patrick. If so, who were the lucky girls and how many of them were there? It hadn’t been long since he had returned, yet you found yourself consumed with jealousy. Making yourself sick over a mere speculation, not even a fact.

You also wondered if his cock shared the same fiery hue? In your recollection, dark curls adorned his lower abdomen, though it had been quite some time since you last saw him bare-chested.

As soon as he caught sight of you, he dashed over and enveloped you in a hug, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He appeared before you in a simple ensemble of a sweatshirt and jeans, the fabric obscuring the contours of his arms and thighs that you once found fascination in observing. “Hey you!” Unsure how to respond, you shakingly wrapped your arms around him, returning the embrace. Inhaling deeply, you took in his scent, feeling a closeness you had never experienced before, yet paradoxically distant due to the barrier of his thick clothing. The blend of his cologne and sweat stirred a sense of homesickness within you, as if Patrick had always been where you belonged, your home.

He pulled away from the hug, a huge beam on his face. You were confused by his action. He had never so much as touched you before, so hugging you was a whole new level. Was the sudden intimacy due to the fact that it was only the both of you? Free from the presence of Tashi and Art?

“What brings you here?” You inquired politely. "Tashi." He replied, a sly grin forming on his lips. Your eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh? Congrats!" You mustered a semblance of happiness, though it was a challenge. What a fucking cunt. You were glad she had brought him back here, but you couldn’t shake the thought of Patrick being all over her later tonight and fucking her like never before. "I should get back. She’s waiting for me. Didn’t want me to smoke inside." He said, extinguishing his cigarette with a stomp. How could she? Watching Patrick smoke was the most enticing thing ever.

“I guess I will see you tomorrow for lunch?” You asked, hopeful. Tashi couldn’t monopolize your man like this. She should at least let you have him for lunch and dinner. Watching Patrick eat was one of your small joys. He was a messy eater and devoured his food as if his strict athlete's diet didn't exist. He often ended up with food all over himself and stains on his shirt, but you found it endearing. Every time, you had to resist the urge to lean over the table and lick his face clean. “Sure, see you.”

●

The day had been dragging on slowly. Classes were boring, and being back at your dorm wasn’t any better. You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the hours to pass. A knock pulled you out of your reverie. When you opened the door, you found Art standing there with a huge grin on his face. Of course, he was here now that Tashi was busy. “Hey babe.” He enveloped you in a hug and planted a kiss on your jaw. Babe? You had never been the type to use pet names before. "I missed you so much." He mumbled, his mouth all over your neck, covering it with kisses. You knew he was lying, you hadn't crossed his mind a single second before Patrick's return.

You tilted your head, allowing more of his attention, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. "It’s been so long, I thought I was single." You teased, a playful edge to your voice. Art whined softly at your comment, his pout making him look even more guilty. "You know phones exist, right?" He avoided the question with a nuzzle against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You think I’m just going to take you back because you’re acting all cute and affectionate?" He nodded eagerly, his eyes wide and hopeful. "You will have to work for it." Your hand moved to the waistband of his shorts, pulling it back just enough to peek at his growing arousal. "Work very hard." You added, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. Truth was, you didn't really want him back in your life, but horniness was making you take unwise decisions. The logical part of your brain screamed caution, but the way he looked at you, the sight of his beautiful cock, and the familiar scent of him clouded your judgment. Plus, at this exact moment, Patrick was likely balls deep into Tashi and you couldn’t do anything about it.

He flashed a triumphant smile at you, clearly pleased with your response. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Taking your hand, he guided you towards the bed, his touch gentle but insistent. Art’s intentions were clear. He was ready to show just how hard he was willing to work to win you back. The night was young.

●

You: Guess who came back sucking on my tits the second you came back. Patrick As expected? You do have really nice tits.

Had Patrick been paying attention to your body? His words kept replaying in your mind, each repetition making your core grow hotter. You had never considered your breasts as an asset until now. Sure, you knew you had decent-looking boobs, Art had been crazy about them, but realizing that Patrick looked at them with such appreciation changed everything. At that moment, you decided that bras were now out of your life.

You: Did you take a look at Tashi’s tits between two sessions of eyeing mine? How are things going between you two? Patrick: We talked. Kinda. Fucked too.

The news, although very predictable, hit like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You wanted to cry.

You: So that’s why I have Art back. He can’t do anymore ass kissing with Tashi if your tongue’s already there. Patrick: Why are you so mean to him? You: Don’t you think it was unkind to leave me alone for weeks?

Patrick did not respond to the message, leaving your question hanging in the air. Patrick was capable of doing anything except accept the fact that Art was a flawed human being.

●

Lunch in the cafeteria did little to alleviate the tension among all of you. While things seemed fine between you and Art, your relationship with Tashi remained strained. As for Patrick, you didn’t know. One second he was complimenting you and the other giving you the cold shoulder, so it felt. Aside from a few insignificant remarks, everyone was mainly silent. “Let’s go practice.” Art said, nodding toward Tashi. Tashi gave Patrick a gentle kiss on the cheek. You half-expected Art to do the same out of courtesy, but your cheek remained untouched. You didn’t exist when Tashi was around. They gathered their trays and headed to the counter, leaving you and Patrick alone.

“Art is pissed at me, I don’t get it. It’s not like I tripped Tashi.” Patrick blurted out. “Even Tashi forgave me!” He sighed, leaning back in his seat before switching to another. “To be honest with you I never understood why they were mad at you to begin with.” You shrugged. It had all happened so suddenly that you had no time to analyze the situation. Art’s unkindness was still a mystery. “Oh thank god, I thought I was going crazy.” He said, sitting down next to you and grabbing a slice of bread from your tray, taking a bite. There was something oddly captivating about his chewing and the crumbs scattered across his lips. You found yourself wanting to lick them off. “I can try to find out what’s bothering him, if you want.” You offered, your gaze still fixed on his lips. “You’re a saint.” He said, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss at you.

Was this how Patrick Zweig behaved when he saw you as a friend? His overly flirtatious manner was making it difficult for you to think clearly. “Oh, far from it.” You replied absentmindedly, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of laying him on the table, straddling him and tearing his clothes off. “You’re right, I’ve heard things.” He said with a playful grin. You rolled your eyes and stole the slice back from him, taking a bite. “If you want my best guess, he’s just being an ass. That’s his thing lately.”

●

The routine was back on : Art would clandestinely enter your room at night whenever the urge struck him. Without so much as a word or invitation, he'd launch into a monologue about his day. After a few minutes of venting, he'd typically undress you and fuck you until dawn. While the encounters were generally pleasant, not always culminating in climax. Art knew well enough how your body worked to make it worthwhile.

Art was sitting on your bed while you occupied the desk chair, both of you facing each other. "Patrick seems to be worried you're mad at him." You mentioned, uncertain of what response to anticipate. You were already convinced that Art was pissed off at his friend and deep down, you knew why. Would Art lie to you or be brave enough to assume his conflicting feelings toward his friend. As Art unbuttoned his pants, he glanced up at you, his expression almost incredulous. Was the idea of you conversing with Patrick really so unbelievable? "How do you know that? Do you two talk?" He questioned, a nib of jealousy detectable in his voice. "Sometimes. He used to ask a lot about Tashi and you while he was on tour. He wanted to ensure both of you were doing well. He missed you guys tremendously." Art snorted loudly, his tone tinged with amusement at your sudden interest in Patrick. "Typical of him. Chatting with everyone except the ones who matter." He remarked, pulling off his shirt. "He just wanted assurance that you'd be open to hearing from him. Can’t you understand that and be nice?" He tossed the shirt in your direction. "Are you joining the Patrick Zweig fanclub now? Should I call him up so you can give him a warm welcome?" He mimicked a fellatio, his fist thrusting towards his face as his tongue pressed against his cheek. Yes, please, do it. The idea was enticing, you couldn't deny. “You’re insane.” You sighed, standing up and throwing back the shirt with force. "I hate how effortlessly everything falls into place for him. He believes he can simply return, and everything will be back to how it was." You rolled your eyes as you sat beside him and gave his thigh a comforting pat. "He's your closest friend. He came back for you, and yet, you're treating him like shit. At the very least, you should have a conversation with him." You urged, pressing your lips against his in an attempt to soothe him. "He came back for Tashi." He corrected with a hint of frustration. Tashi again. You liked the girl, most of the time, especially when she would get Art out of your hair, but she was beginning to hit on your nerves. "And what if he did? You're always with Tashi too. Would you blame him?"

With a playful shove, you pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, firmly pinning his hands above his head. "Now, be a good boy and make up with your best friend before I really call him and give him a warm welcome." You teased. He laughed, swiftly rolling you over so that he was now on top, his hands gripping your thighs. You appreciated these rare moments when he would take control. "Give me a warm welcome instead." He murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You had to admit, it felt surprisingly good having Art back in your life. He was scratching an itch you couldn’t quite reach on your own. But you weren't naive, you understood why he was there. It irked you that he was playing the same manipulative game you were. If you didn't outwit him quickly, you would end up being the punchline of this twisted joke. You knew it was time to have a serious talk with Tashi.

●

After your passionate moment with Art, he decided to take your advice and talk to Patrick over a game of tennis. With the boys out, you found yourself standing in front of Tashi's door. When she opened it, her surprised expression spoke volumes. "Can I talk to you?" you asked softly. She hesitated only for a moment before widening the door to let you in. The room was filled with Patrick's belongings, his distinctive scent lingering in the air. You sat on her bed and patted the spot next to you, inviting her to join.

"I need to have this conversation with you because I consider you my friend and I trust you." The words felt hollow, a facade masking your true intentions. Initially, your approach was far from genuine, but over time, you'd grown to appreciate and even admire her. Yet her recent distance had revealed how little she valued your friendship and you simply stopped giving a fuck about her. "Even if I felt abandoned by you." You continued, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your voice. She nibbled on her lips, anxiety evident, and nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry about that." She murmured. "I know your injury isn't easy to handle, and I could have been there to help you through it. But you chose Art over me." Here came the guilt-tripping. If you wanted to regain the upper hand, they needed to see how poorly they had treated you. Perhaps realizing how much time they'd spent together lately would open their eyes and finally bring them together, leaving you to be Patrick's shoulder to cry on. "I didn't..." She began to explain, but her words faltered, lacking conviction. "I didn't see either of you for weeks. But then suddenly, yesterday, Art remembered I existed. And I know why. Because last night, you chose Patrick over him." You revealed, trying to play the part of the wronged woman. Lowering your head, you pretended to struggle with voicing your concerns. "You're being ridiculous, we're just friends. I swear." She protested. Whether she truly believed it or was simply an incredible actor, she sounded convincingly sincere.

“I don’t know what is going on between you two…” You played with your nails in an attempt to act hesitant. “Nothing!” She assured you once more. “But please, stop playing with us, it’s unfair. I don’t want to be the girl he uses to jerk off in when you’re not giving attention to him. And I’m sure Patrick doesn't want to be just a dick to you.” The words were crude but necessary.

“Things like this happen all the time. I can understand, I won’t make a scene. But please, stop lying to yourselves. And if I’m wrong and there’s nothing, please make things clear with Art so he finally stops hoping you will notice him.” If she didn't grasp your point now, Tashi Duncan truly was the dumbest girl you knew. "Alright. I will get going. Goodnight, Tashi. I hope I will see you around." She nodded and muttered a small ‘goodnight’ to you.

You closed the door behind you, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips. Tashi was feeling like shit. Good. You hoped she would question everything in her life. You knew your plan would work better on Tashi than on Art. More than being called a cheater, Tashi dreaded being called a manipulator and a bad friend.

●

You sat on the floor of your room, a magazine in your hands, tensely flipping through the pages but the words and images couldn't hold your attention. You were anxiously waiting for Art to arrive. You were supposed to go out tonight, and part of you wondered if he was trying to make amends for the distance he had put between you over the past few weeks. But he wasn't there. He was more than an hour late, and you had no message from him. Where the hell was he? More than the date itself, you were impatient to find out if Tashi had mentioned your little encounter to him.

Finally, a knock sounded on your door. "Come in!" You called out eagerly. When Patrick entered your room, your voice wavered. How unexpected. “Tashi just broke up with me.” He revealed, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. Your scheming had paid off. Tashi had made her choice, likely explaining Art's absence. A surge of triumph swept over you. However, Patrick appeared devastated so you held it in. Fortunately for him, you would be there to cheer him up.

"Grab a beer from the fridge.” You gestured, hoping to ease him into opening up to you. Gaining his trust was crucial, it could lead to anything. "What was the reason?" You inquired casually, masking your enthusiasm. "She said she realized what we had was going nowhere." He replied, bending over to retrieve a bottle from the fridge. Your gaze lingered on the curve of his backside. What a firm tasty looking ass.

"So I guess that's why Art's not answering." You questioned, though you already knew the answer. Flipping a page, you pretended to be deeply engrossed in your reading. "We were supposed to see each other, but I guess I'm nothing next to Tashi Duncan." You muttered, reflecting on how your perception of her had changed in just just a few minutes. You used to think Tashi Duncan was the shit, the girl who had everything you wanted. She had Patrick, a promising future, passion, and beauty. Now, she was just a single girl with a shattered future and a useless passion.

"What's his deal?" Patrick asked as he uncapped the bottle and settled down in front of you, his long, muscular legs crossed. Even the simplest gestures from Patrick ignited a fire within you, leaving your body warm and your mouth dry. You found yourself mesmerized by the curl pattern of his leg hairs and how his shorts barely grazed his thighs, revealing faint tan lines. "I'm not sure he's into me." You confessed, feeling vulnerable in Patrick's presence for the first time. Everything before had been calculated to sneak yourself into his life, but now you spoke the truth. No matter how much you had manipulated Art, it seemed he was playing you back. "Who wouldn't be into you?" Patrick's words echoed in your mind. Who indeed? Then why, Patrick, aren't you? You knew he was merely being kind, yet his comment caused your heart to skip a beat. You lifted your gaze to meet his, offering a grateful smile.

"I think his heart is elsewhere." You stated, locking eyes with him. "I'm sure there isn't anything between him and Tashi." He attempted to reassure you, though you sensed his own growing doubts. "I don't mean just Tashi." You interjected, raising your eyebrows, silently urging him to catch on. It took him a minute. "Oh. I don't think Art swings that way." He chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his beer to deflect the tension. "Do you?" You asked, curious to discover more about the man you had loved for so many years.

He gazed into the void, quiet for a few moments before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe?” His eyes absentmindedly fixed on your magazine. So it seemed boys were in fact also in the competition for Patrick’s heart. You fought the urge to sigh in frustration, not wanting to appear judgmental about his sexuality. “I actually had a crush on Art back when we were teenagers. Did he tell you about the jerking off?” His eagerness to share the story was palpable. “He did. We had a pretty wild night after that.” You replied, recalling the intense masturbation competition you both had after the story.

"You're welcome." He chuckled, flattered by the revelation. You had never truly noticed the timbre of his laughter before, finding it almost heavenly. If you weren't already deeply in love with him, you might have fallen again right then. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself fixating on his teeth, marveling at their straightness and whiteness despite his smoking habit. When he grinned, it was like he had more teeth than seemed humanly possible, each one perfect in their own way. The desire to feel them sink into you surged through you, an urgent need that couldn't be ignored. You needed him. Tonight, you decided, would be the night you fucked Patrick Zweig. But for that, you had to make a move. "You know, my first time humping a pillow sort of involved you too.” You confessed, finally revealing one of your deepest secrets to someone else.

"Me?" You nodded, then continued with the story. "I was a young, impressionable girl, and what's more impressive than sweaty, shirtless tennis players? You just happened to be there." You lied. He was the sole focus of those fantasies. There was no one else present, just Patrick and his ridiculously tight shorts. Like tonight, just you and him and those damn shorts. "You're welcome, once more." He teased, bowing as if he were an actor on the stage of your imagination. "You should have approached me back then. I would have gladly helped you make those fantasies more vivid, maybe by showing you a ball or something." He remarked with a playful smile, to which you managed to respond, though inwardly you felt like crumbling. Years spent trying to capture his attention had led to nothing. And now, he was casually admitting to being open to anyone back then? Did that mean you weren't good enough to be even just ‘anyone’? "Do you ever remember seeing me back then?" You asked him, needing to hear the truth, no matter how painful. He pondered it for a moment, long enough for you to realize he didn't recall. "I wish I could.” He replied. Why did he wish that? Did he see your presence in his life as something valuable? You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the magazine, trying to absorb the words on the page to keep tears at bay.

"What about you, by the way? Have you ever experimented with a girl?" His question broke the silence, and you silently appreciated him for that, despite the randomness of the inquiry. You could feel yourself sink into sadness before that. “Maybe?” You answered briefly. “That’s all? Tell me more!” He took a sip of his beer and leaned closer, eager to hear your story. “It was brief and innocent so don’t get excited.” You sighed, pointing your index finger at him. “Too late!” He joked, smirking at you. “Your girlfriend, well ex.” You continued, noting the sudden change in his expression. His face had dropped instantly. “Just a kiss.” You reassured him. “I’m not sure how I would label myself but that night if she had wanted to experiment more, I think I would have gone along with it.” It was true, you would have fucked Tashi, regardless of whether Patrick had been involved or not. “Believe me, Tashi has experience with girls.” He remarked, leaving you momentarily stunned. It made perfect sense, though you felt a pang of disappointment. “Oh so it was just me not being her type?” You feigned heartbreak, clutching your chest as he nonchalantly shrugged in response. In reality, that revelation really stung, another missed chance to explore what Patrick had experienced. “That’s ok, I’m still young. I have time to fulfill my fantasies.” You said with a pretended tear-wiping gesture, masking your true feelings.

"What kind?" His question felt intrusively intimate. His body so close to yours as he was delving into your kinks. This scene reminded you of the scenarios you often imagined late at night while teasing your clit. “I don’t know. There are many things I haven’t experienced. Like eating a girl out, pegging, cuckolding, choking, stuff like that.” Why did admitting your kinks in front of Patrick make you feel embarrassed? You wanted him to see you as someone open to anything, a woman comfortable with her sexuality, and the epitome of a cool girl.

"Choking? Art doesn't even do that?" He asked, confusion written all over his face. Art had probably recounted the one disastrous attempt you both had made. "Not really." You admitted with a sigh. "We tried, but he's too scared he will hurt me so he was more or so… hugging my neck, like a scarf." You grabbed the beer from his hand, took a sip, and then placed it back in front of him. "I should give him a class.” He joked, smirking at you. "Oh, so you're an expert?" You teased, feeling the conversation shift into flirtation. You had to analyze your game and play your cards right. You watched him gulp down the rest of the beer, a proud smile spreading across his face. He nodded.

"The trick is…" He began. "...to place your hand near the collarbone, not up here." He pointed to the area beneath his chin. "It's not about applying too much pressure, unless that’s what you’re into, of course. It's about holding firmly. And it's better to squeeze the sides of the neck rather than the front."

"Like this?" You placed your hand around your neck, attempting to follow his advice.

"No, wait. Stand up." He instructed. Both of you stood, and he placed his calloused used-up hand around your thin neck, gripping it firmly. In that moment, you felt like his racket between his hands. You let out a slight gasp, licking your lips as your eyes locked with his. The moment his hand closed around your neck, you realized it wasn't the sensation of being choked that enticed you. It was the feeling of surrendering control, of putting your life in someone else's hands, that made your legs tremble. Without thinking, you reached for his crotch, grabbing his dick through his shorts. He was semi-hard. He looked at you, confusion flickering across his face as he immediately released his grip on your neck. "Don't do that, or I won't be able to control myself." He warned. You had crossed the line, there was no way back now.

You surely didn’t want him to control himself. You craved for him to take you right there, right then. Continuing to stroke his length, the fabric was the only thing separating you from the object of your fantasies. He buried his face against your shoulder, a mixture of neediness and hesitation evident in his actions. You slipped your hand into his underwear and pulled out his dick. After hearing Tashi talk about it so much, you had imagined plenty of things, but the reality was beyond your expectations. While its length was a bit above average, it was the girth that was truly remarkable. You couldn’t ignore the sight of his uncircumcised head. You had only seen those in porn before, and you weren’t sure how to proceed. "Wow…” You stepped back until you reached your desk, sensing his inner conflict about whether to retreat as well. Perching on the edge of the desk, you seized the elastic of his pants and pulled him closer. You licked your palm, ensuring it was slick with saliva, then wrapped your hand around his length. Slowly, you pulled back his foreskin to reveal his head. Your eyes remained fixed on the captivating beauty of Patrick's member. Patrick’s hands, which had been resting still on your knees, slowly made their way up your legs. His touch burnt your skin. If he touched your thighs just right, you knew you could come on the spot. His hands were now under your dress, exploring the fabric of your panties. You were thankful that Patrick had found you on a date night. You were clean, shaven, and wearing your sexiest underwear. You gasped when you felt one of his hands slip inside your panties, his fingers brushing against your folds. Oh my god, Patrick Zweig was touching your pussy, and you were touching Patrick Zweig’s dick. You bit your lower lip, anticipating as he rubbed your cunt. You continued to jerk him off, reveling in the sounds you were eliciting from him.

In a swif movement, he slid the straps of your dress down, exposing your bare tits. With one hand, he fondled your breast, while his index finger delved inside you. Leaning in closer, he circled your nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Patrick..." It was the first time you had moaned his name directly to him, a name usually reserved for your private moments alone. You parted your legs, inviting him closer, still stroking him energetically with your hand. A second finger quickly joined his buried index but you wanted more, you wanted him. "Fuck me..." You pleaded, gazing at him with desperate eyes. He met your gaze and withdrew his hand from your panties, stirring a whimper from you at the loss of contact. You could sense the conflict in his expression. He knew it was wrong, but the desire was overwhelming. You knew it was for you. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling heavily, then shifted the crotch of your underwear aside. You felt the tip of him rubbing against your entrance before he swiftly entered you. If he wrestled with his conscience, it was a fleeting battle. You wrapped one leg around his hip and gripped his buttcheeks, pulling him closer to you, seeking the intimacy and connection you had desired with him for years.

There was nothing tender or affectionate about your actions, you both moved with an animalistic urgency. Patrick was fucking you in a way that no one had before. The noises escaping your lips were uncontrollable, matched by Patrick's own passionate moans. Determined to give him an unforgettable experience, you poured all your energy into matching his thrusts with your own, both of you lost in ecstasy. While Patrick lavished attention on your nipples, your lips yearned for his touch, craving attention amidst the raw intensity of your pounding.

Both of you were so absorbed in outperforming each other, striving to make the other come the quickest, that neither of you noticed the sound coming from the door. There were insistent knocks. “It’s me, I’m sorry I’m so late.” Hours late, Art's voice finally came through the door. Patrick placed his hand over your mouth to silence you. The presence of Art outside seemed to drive him to fuck you even harder. You sank your teeth into his hand and tugged at his hair, determined to elicit delicious sounds from him. You were silenced but he wasn’t. You were willing to risk being caught just from the thrill of it. Just for the sensation it would bring you in that exact moment.

“I talked to Tashi… I understand if you’re mad…” Oh, you were the opposite of mad right now. “Text me if you’re awake.” And with that he left. Had Art been more persistent and attempted to turn the doorknob, he would have stumbled upon you, legs entwined around his closest friend, who was avidly thrusting into you with his shorts pooled around his ankles.

Patrick's hand left your mouth and returned around your neck, the other firmly gripping your ass. The lack of air made you desperate to moan his name, but all that escaped were gasps as you tightened your legs around him, drawing him nearer. Despite feeling dizzy, you continued to bounce against him eagerly.

You longed for him to meet your gaze and kiss you, but Patrick kept his head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed. The only sounds were the manifestations of his pleasure through his moans and cries. You sensed his body shudder against yours as he gripped the base of his dick, preparing to withdraw.

“No! Fill me up, please.” You begged, voice barely audible. You reached between you, grasping for his balls and squeezing one firmly. They were full, brimming just for you, and you couldn't bear to waste a drop of that precious seed. “I’m on the pill.” You assured him. Patrick only needed little persuasion to remain deep inside you. As a final effort, you tightened around him, intent on luring every last drop from him. He grunted your name as he climaxed inside you. His gaze locked on you as you welcomed his release, each slow thrust pushing you closer to the edge. It was watching Patrick reach his peak and call your name that finally pushed you over, making you explode in a breathy moan.

Patrick Zweig had come inside you. You had made Patrick Zweig come. You! Patrick Zweig! The reality of it was almost surreal, but the warm sensation inside you served as a proof.

He finally released your neck, and you let out a loud gasp, panting to catch your breath. As he slowly pulled out, you whined at the loss of contact, quickly closing your legs to keep his load inside you for as long as possible. The silence that followed made you anxious. He had not said a word yet, just looked at you, biting his lower lip nervously. Was he regretting it already? Then he started laughing. What the hell was so funny? He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head against your breast. You let yourself melt into his embrace, stroking his hair. "I wanted to do that for a while.” He confessed. Did he? Really? "Me too." You replied quickly, relief and joy flooding through you.

●

Afterwards, you had continued to fool around in your bed for hours. Mouths and fingers exploring every body part. Now it was daylight and you laid sprawled across him, your limbs entangled in an intimate embrace. Your head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a comforting melody. As your fingers twirled the soft curls of his chest hair, Patrick held you close, his fingertips gently caressing your hip in a soothing motion. You wanted him to fuck you once more, but something seemed to be holding him back.

You could hardly believe it had happened. The only evidence was the state of your sheets: wet and stained with various body fluids. And the ache in your cervix. Tashi had been right about that too. Patrick loved sliding himself fully inside, regardless of the pain it caused.

The delicate way he touched you felt far more intimate than when he was inside you earlier. You still craved his kiss, which he refused to give. Every single time you had tried to move closer to his face, you were met with his cheek. Weren’t you good enough for him?

“I’m going to break up with him. As soon as I regain the use of my legs.” Patrick chuckled, playfully hitting your thigh. “No, don't do that.” No? Why not? You just had sex with your boyfriend’s best friend. Wasn’t this the beginning of your life with Patrick? “If he’s going to mess around with my girlfriend, I might as well borrow you from him.” Your heart sank. Was this all it was? Revenge? You wanted forever with Patrick, not just a quickie to get back at his ex and his friend. Yet, if this was the only way to have him, you were willing to be part of his scheme. “You know I messed around with your girlfriend too.” You reminded him, hoping he would see how ridiculous his plan sounded. “Should I fuck Art to get back at you then?” He proposed. Okay, so he thought all of this was a joke. “Only if you let me watch.” You said, a smirk on your face. You were going to play his game until he would realize that you are the only one for him. You could do that. Fuck Art. Literally and figuratively. In response, he pinched one of your nipples. You whined, sinking your teeth into his in return. “Do you have any place to stay tonight?” You asked, covering his chest with gentle pecks. You were curious to know if he would accept Art’s invitation to sleep on the floor of his dorm when you had a perfectly good bed for him. All he had to do was fuck you.. "I guess Art’s room.” So you weren’t even good to sleep next to. “Art invited me to the Kappa Sigma party." Patrick mentioned casually. Ah yes, the party. You had received an invitation as well. The captain of the tennis club, a frat boy, had extended invitations to the entire club. It appeared both you and Patrick were Art's plus ones.

You weren't particularly looking forward to the event. Tennis players were so… psychotic. Except Patrick, of course.

“I’m invited too. Won’t it be awkward to be in the same room as Art?” You traced kisses up his neck, following the curve to his jaw. Gradually, you moved towards his lips, but just as you approached, he turned his head, and your lips brushed against his cheek. He still refused to kiss you. You had fantasies of becoming his little whore for years, and now those desires were becoming a reality. You were only good enough for his cock. “Why would it be? You’re his girlfriend, I’m his best friend.”

●

After a second and third round, Patrick finally left your room. Despite the hurtful words he sometimes spoke, having sex with him felt instinctive. Whether your legs were draped over his shoulders, wrapped around his waist, or spread beneath him, he always knew how to make you come.

Time had come to prepare for the party.

The most challenging part of your routine came first : taking a shower and erasing every trace of him. Unsure of whether you would be able to experience feeling Patrick so deeply inside again. The fleeting thought of stopping your pill and keeping your legs crossed for a couple days to try and baby-trap him had crossed your mind. Yet, you quickly had dismissed it. If you weren't good enough to be kissed, surely you weren't the ideal candidate to be the mother of his children. Yet. You had to convince yourself that it was only because he didn’t know you well enough yet, to prevent bursting into tears in the shower.

Once you finished cleaning yourself, you turned on the radio, filling the bathroom with music as you applied makeup in front of the mirror. You had gotten better at this. With effort, you could clean up nicely. Gray eyeshadow was a reliable choice as well that complemented any outfit, ensuring you couldn't go wrong. Adding a touch more blush than necessary, you finished with pink lipstick. Releasing your hair from its tie, you slipped into a short red dress with spaghetti straps. You paused to scrutinize your reflection in the mirror. Your stomach had flattened noticeably, yet it still lacked the tone you desired. You also noticed the creases your thong was creating against your hips. You discarded the problematic underwear and replaced it with simple black lacy panties. It wasn’t the most appealing choice when naked, but it looked much better under your dress. You doubted you would end up with Patrick tonight anyway. At best, you might lure a drunken Art into your bed, and that man didn’t care about anything other than your bare cunt.

Art and Patrick knocked on your door around 8 PM. When you opened it, they stood side by side, the tension between them seemingly dissolved. Was mutual betrayal the secret to a long lasting friendship? They looked striking together, almost like a destined pair drawn to each other despite their differences. Art, the polished one, sported blue jeans paired with a buttoned-up blue shirt, his hair styled just the way he knew you liked. Patrick, the more casual counterpart, wore a black T-shirt, that you knew was borrowed from Art, and washed denim jeans. His hair, ruffled and wild, seemed to have escaped a brush since you had viciously tugged on it earlier. Art was a sight, you knew it by the heads turning every time he walked into a room. But Patrick was the one who cut your breath away.

"Hey babe." Art greeted, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "Looking good.” He added, his eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. "You look like a slut." Patrick mouthed. You beamed at him. From that man? That was the best compliment you could get. "Thank you." You answered Art, though your gratitude was directed at Patrick. “Hello Patrick.” You greeted him. He only responded with a nod.

The frat house lay just a short ten-minute walk from your dorm, yet at that moment, you regretted choosing high heels over flats. Why did girls always have to dress sexy, enduring the cold just to catch the eye of their crush? Shivering slightly, you felt Art's arm wrap around your waist, drawing you close as you walked together. Patrick trailed behind, silent.

Arriving there, the frat house lived up to your expectations : it was smelly and not particularly clean. You stayed close to Art and Patrick as a group of boys and girls engaged in a lively discussion about the next tennis match. Their enthusiasm for the sport amused you. In that moment, you couldn't help but think of tennis players as the nerds among jocks. As the conversation shifted to the US Open, you noticed Patrick had drifted away. Probably dreading the moment they would finally ask him how his career was doing. Spotting him leaning against a wall with a beer in hand, you couldn't suppress your grin, feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl showing all her teeth. He returned your smile. A simple gesture that filled you with warmth knowing you were the reason behind that blinding smirk.

Your moment was interrupted by Art’s hand on your back, inattentively stroking it. His fingertips ventured under the stram of your dress, lightly tickling your skin beneath the fabric. While you and Art weren’t the most affectionate couple in public, reserving touch for intimate moments, his gesture on your back was one of the few he dared to display openly. You sensed Patrick's gaze burning into your back, his stare affecting you more than Art’s touch. You watched him drink his beer, his eyes fixed on your back. When he finally looked up and met your gaze, he tilted his head, silently commanding you to follow as he left the room. Without hesitation, you stood and followed him, though you quickly lost sight of him. Suddenly, a hand grabbed you, pulling you into the bathroom. It was Patrick, leading you into a cubicle. Once inside, he locked the door behind you both.

The small cubicle barely had enough room for both of you, and the smell made you want to gag. But those details were insignificant, your heart was pounding faster than ever. Patrick had requested you. He set his empty beer on top of the toilet and stood before you. "Blow me." He commanded in a whisper, his gaze fixed intently on you.

He didn't need to ask twice. You dropped to your knees before him. There was something deeply degrading about kneeling on the piss-stained floor of a frat house bathroom, but you were more than willing to endure it for Patrick. You unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them, then pulled his pants and underwear down his legs.

This was all you had ever wanted : to worship him like the god he was. Kneeling before him, you showed your devotion, rubbing your face against his full sack, nuzzling him like an animal in heat. You never knew a smell could make you so wet until now, the mix of sweat, soap and musk drove you wild. You tried to wrap your lips around one of his balls, eager to suck on it, wanting them in your mouth. Looking up, you saw him watching you with curiosity. Maybe you should save your freaky side for later.

Grasping the base of his cock, you trailed your tongue along his shaft, coating him with saliva. You looked up, striving to maintain eye contact with him. You wanted him to see how well you were taking him, to realize that you were made for him, that your mouth was meant to receive him. You pulled his foreskin back, licking around the crown and flicking your tongue over his slit. He whimpered, running his hands through your hair before grabbing handfuls and tugging on it. Wrapping your lips around his length, you started giving his cock big sloppy sucks, cheeks hollowed. "Look at you..." He whispered, before pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You moaned at his action, sending vibrations to the head of his cock nestled at the back of your throat. While you loved having him inside your pussy, nothing compared to the sensation of him filling your mouth. Cupping his sack, you started palming it, applying just the right amount of pressure. You bobbed your head, taking more of him with each movement. As his pubes began to tickle your nose, you knew you were close to taking him fully. Yet, you pulled away, wanting him to beg you to swallow his nut. “No, don’t stop, please…” That was fast.

In an effort to make this as pleasurable as possible, you teasingly licked your index finger, sucking on it long enough to give him the chance to stop you if he wasn’t comfortable. When he didn't, you placed the wet tip against his asshole, pushing past the barrier of flesh slowly, quarter inch by quarter inch. You weren’t sure if Patrick had ever experienced anything there before, but he didn’t seem to mind your finger seeking out his sweet spot. Your curiosity had led you to spend hours researching prostates online, so you knew exactly how to find it. You curled your finger, applying pressure to his prostate, causing him to whine. He loved it.

Your lips returned to their place, wrapped around his length and Patrick wasn’t static anymore. He was now fucking your throat like you were just a hole for him to use. Each thrust drove his tip against the back of your throat. Drool dripped uncontrollably from your mouth. You gagged once but quickly refocused, determined to keep your throat open. It felt as if your future with Patrick hinged on the quality of this blowjob. Tonight, no sore jaw or nausea would stand in the way of your goal. Your finger movements matched the rhythm of his thrusts, intensifying the sensation. After a few minutes of intense sucking, he pulled back slightly, keeping just the head of his cock in your mouth. He was throbbing. He came, mouth agape and eyes shut in ecstasy. God, he looked stunning.

You swallowed his semen and stuck your tongue out, showing him what a good girl you were. You had swallowed a lot of Art’s cum in the past, but this had been an entirely different experience. A revelation. You had tasted Patrick, and now you wanted to consume him whole, to suck him dry every hour until his balls ached and he begged you to stop. You craved only his DNA inside you, nobody else, not even yours. You wanted to disappear and become an extension of him.

Patrick rubbed the tip of his dick against your tongue, making sure he was clean. He then wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, fixing your smeared makeup. Your makeup was now ornamenting the base of his dick. You withdrew your finger from inside him. He started dressing up next, hiding his still semi-hard cock in his underwear, adjusting it. You helped him pull up and zip his pants before rising to your feet. It was time to leave. This was usually when he would begin to act distant, as if you somehow repulsed him in a post-nut clarity. Smiling awkwardly, unsure how to behave, you exited the cubicle.

Although a part of you had wanted to lick your finger clean and get another taste of him, you had opted to scrub your hands with soap instead, not wanting him to think of you as even more of a freak. You were bent over the sink when he placed his hand on your butt, massaging it firmly. You weren’t disgusting to him anymore? You could feel one of his fingers pressing against your asshole through your underwear trying to return the favor. “You have the most fuckable ass on earth.” He whispered into your ear, his warm breath tickling you. Was he out of his mind? You had starved and pushed yourself to your limits to get a butt like Tashi's, and you were still far from achieving it and yet he wanted to fuck yours. You looked at him, confused, in the mirror's reflection, almost in awe that the man of your dreams was drawn to you. "It sounds so tempting, but you know we can't stay here forever…" If the thrill of being caught was a motivation for him to act interested in you, you could play along. Patrick's fingers were now caressing you through the fabric, from your clit to your ass. He could feel how wet you were. You let out a gasp and quickly slapped his hand away. "Behave, and maybe I'll accidentally leave my room unlocked tonight." You left the bathroom first, trying to appear inconspicuous. No one was around to see Patrick following you out of the cramped restroom.

When you joined him, Art was engrossed in conversation with his classmates about a demanding coach and difficult training, topics that went over your head. Had he paid any attention to you, he would have seen the smeared makeup and disheveled hair, but he didn’t. You found their discussion boring and wished they would talk about something more general. Boys could be so boring. Except Patrick, there was nothing dull about Patrick. Where was he now by the way?

You scanned the room, expecting to find him alone in a corner or engaged in conversation with some guys. But that fucker had chosen to piss you off. Your attention was drawn to two girls deep in conversation with Patrick. Both were attractive, one a tall redhead and the other a petite brunette. Though they were only chatting, you sensed their interest in him. It seemed everyone wanted to fuck Patrick given the chance. One of his remarks made them both laugh. Who the hell were those whores? The only thing that reassured you in this situation was the way his eyes would occasionally meet yours while he spoke, as if he was silently watching over you.

You leaned closer to Art, resting your head on his shoulder, hoping to elicit a reaction from Patrick, but nothing. You needed to grab his attention. You trailed soft kisses from Art's shoulder to his neck and finally whispered behind his ear. "I really want to kiss you." You attempted to sound seductive, but your voice remained raspy from the aftermath of Patrick's cock forcing its way down your throat.

Art smiled at you and leaned closer, offering himself to you. You eagerly grabbed his face between your hands and passionately kissed him. His lips tasted like liquor and you could tell he had consumed a significant amount by his lack of concern regarding the presence of his peers witnessing the sloppy kiss happening before their eyes. You were practically shoving your tongue down his throat. The idea of kissing him with the very same mouth that had just taken Patrick’s load moments earlier was more thrilling than the kiss itself. Would Art taste his best friend on your tongue? Would he attribute the tangy aftertaste to the drink you had earlier? As you pulled away, you noticed Patrick watching you both with a smirk. You could tell he had thought the same exact thing as you.

You pulled away and whispered into Art's ear. "Baby, I'm really tired. I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow." You kissed him goodnight and left the common room.

You already anticipated that Patrick would follow you to your room minutes later to finally have what he couldn't get earlier.

●

The doorknob to your bedroom turned, and you knew it was him. You were lying in your bed, on your stomach in your underwear, pretending to read a book. In reality, you had meticulously prepared yourself the first few minutes, ensuring you were immaculately clean inside. The remaining quarter of an hour was dedicated to selecting the perfect position for him to discover you in. After locking the door behind him, he stood for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand roamed over your thighs and the curve of your butt.

"I can’t believe you kissed Art with that nasty mouth." He chuckled, playing with the elastic of your panties, his fingers brushing against your ass cheek. You dropped your book on the floor, rolled onto your back and looked at him with a taunting smile. “Oh I’m sure he loved the taste of it.” You teased. His hand now rested on your lower stomach, gently stroking it with light fingers. Your skin was burning under his touch. He seemed much less interested in that part of your body. “I used to spit his jizz back into his mouth and he would always swallow it like a good boy.” Patrick let out an unexpected snort, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of your bedroom, catching you off guard. Was he making fun of you? “I can’t believe you even exist.” What did that even mean? Was he repulsed by you and your actions? The fact that his hand lingered so close to your womanhood, yet he refrained from touching you to ease the fire in you, didn’t reassure you much. What if you had ruined everything?

He leaned in closer, closing the distance between your faces. It was something you had observed about Patrick before : how intimately he needed to be to communicate. He looked at you with a yearning in his eyes, a playful giggle escaping his lips. It was clear he had indulged in a few drinks as well. "What?" You asked, a smile on your lips as your eyes remained locked with his mesmerizing green gaze. "I want to taste that tongue too." He said. Oh god, it was happening, the moment you had always waited for, when everything in your life would suddenly click into place. "Then do it." You teased, sticking your tongue out playfully at him. Kissing him would mean crossing a new boundary in your relationship. It wouldn't just be about fulfilling primal desires, it would also satisfy your craving for affection.

You could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. You closed your eyes as his tongue brushed against yours with an hesitant lick. His light touch, more a hesitant exploration than a proper kiss, initially caught you off guard. Deciding to take charge, you closed the remaining distance and drew him into a proper kiss, imbued with urgency.

You wanted to consume him entirely, to have him whole within your mouth. Your lips pressed fervently against his, tongues dancing and exploring. Patrick tasted of beer, a sharp reminder of his earlier indulgence and the actions that followed. In that heated moment, you wondered if he could sense the lingering taste of his own flesh and Art's touch upon your tongue. The kiss was wet, a bit too eager, your mouths struggling to find harmony. Patrick was a messy kisser, and you savored every chaotic second of it. His enjoyment was evident in the sounds he made : a captivating blend of moans and gasps for air.

Saliva mixed as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, needing more of this connection. His hands found your hip, drawing you in until there was no space left between your bodies. Each movement desperate, as if trying to convey all the unspoken words and feelings you had kept hidden all at once.

When you parted to catch your breath, you kept your lips pressed against his, inhaling his oxygen as if it were your own. Wow. You thought, still trembling from the encounter. Your world would never be the same now that you had experienced such bliss. Once more, the visions washed over you, images of wedding, babies, and growing old together. But they were abruptly interrupted by Patrick's impatience. "Roll over, I want to see your ass." He demanded. He didn't need to repeat himself. You existed to fulfill his every command. If he desired you as his slave, you would oblige without hesitation. You surrendered onto your stomach, glancing sideways to observe his next move. He gently pulled down your panties, and you assisted by lifting your hips. His hand came down hard on your butt, delivering a sharp spank that silenced any further movement from you. A startled moan escaped your lips in response. It seemed like if there was one thing in this world Patrick Zweig took seriously, it was ass play. After the sting of the slap, he replaced it with warm, tender kisses on your bottom. He slid his fingers between your cheeks, circling your asshole before gliding down to your womanhood, plunging his index finger inside you. "You're so wet for me..." He murmured. You bit your lower lip, nodding eagerly. You were always wet when it came to him, as if his presence kept you in a constant state of arousal. He added a second finger, spreading them apart to widen you. "Get on all fours for me. Spread those sweet cheeks of yours." He commanded. You obeyed without hesitation, getting on your knees and reaching back to spread yourself open for him. Your chest supported your body weight as you positioned yourself, completely exposed and vulnerable, offering yourself fully to your lover, your panties hanging on your legs.

Then, his lips joined in, and you felt his tongue on your clit, softly sucking the bud. A moan of his name escaped your lips. His face was buried deeply between your legs, the tip of his nose brushing against your entrance. It was so different from when Art went down on you. Art was meticulous and slow, but Patrick was messy and eager, mirroring his kissing. You couldn't tell if you were extra wet or if Patrick was just salivating like a starving man. His tongue slid up to your asshole, and he began flicking it there, sending shivers through your entire body. His fingers had withdrawn from inside you, but they still lingered, teasing your swollen folds, roughly massaging your clit, almost abusing it. You were a moaning mess. It was the first time Patrick took the time to focus solely on your pleasure. Sure, it was likely a prelude to fucking you afterward, but for now, his own gratification wasn’t directly involved. He just wanted to make you come. He was lavishing you with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue, starting from your ass and trailing to your pussy, teasingly inserting the tip into both openings each time. As his tongue worked its magic on your pussy, you felt the waves of your first orgasm building. You gasped, pushing your hips back toward him. "Pat-..." You moaned, your legs trembling, making it difficult to stay on all fours.

His fingers neared your asshole, his index circling it before slipping the first joint inside, your juices acting as lubricant. The sensation was underwhelming, you could barely feel his touch. Why was he acting like you were a virgin? Why was he handling you so gently? You yearned for him to ravish you like a wild animal. "Fuck me already!" You whimpered, glancing back at him. He withdrew, gazing at you as if seeking confirmation, then hastily pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off in a rush.

"Got any lube?" You nodded, opening the bedside drawer. It was filled with an assortment of accessories that made Patrick snort. "You’re well prepared." He joked, leaning over you to rummage through the drawer. When he grabbed the lube and started to pour some onto his fingers, you stopped him. "Not too much. I want to feel you stretching me…" You said, watching as he bit his lower lip, clearly affected by your words. He coated his length with a quick stroke of his hand, then positioned himself behind you, teasingly rubbing his tip against your entrance. You had always thought it was impossible to hate Patrick but in that moment, you found yourself oddly resentful of Patrick. After several agonizing strokes along your crack, he finally pushed himself into your ass. You gasped, unprepared for the sudden fullness and the way he stretched you wide. You expected him to at least take his time with his cock, that wasn’t the case.

"You've got all these toys, but deep down, you're just a cockslut." He remarked. And maybe he was right. After all, most of those toys had been used with thoughts of Patrick's cock in mind. "Look at you, swallowing me whole. So hungry." He observed as you clenched around him with all your might. It wasn't as effortless as he made it sound, but there was no need for him to know that.

He rested his hands on both your hips and began moving inside you at a deliberate pace. You instinctively pushed back against him, syncing your movements with his. The sensation of his balls slapping against your entrance sent a rush of heat through you. His balls were undeniably your favorite part of him. Was it because of their symbolic significance, representing the potential to mother his child one day? Or was it their aesthetic appeal, hanging so perfectly beneath his thick cock? You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason. Releasing your grip on your cheek, you placed your hand over his on your hip, interlacing your fingers with his as he thrust into you with increasing intensity. Oh my god, you were holding Patrick Zweig’s hand. Well, sort of.

You really were losing it. Patrick Zweig was fucking you in the ass, and all you could fixate on was the sensation of your hands touching. “Fuck, you’re so tight…” He murmured, spurring you to tighten even more for him. As enjoyable as his thrusts were, it was his voice and fervor that pulled the moans from your lips. His free hand left your hip and stealthily made its way to your clit, massaging it with the same intensity as his movements. The combination of his fingers on your sensitive bud and the rhythmic impact of his balls against you sent waves of exquisite pleasure through your body.

You glanced back at him and were struck by his breathtaking beauty. Sweat droplets clung to his hair and nose, his mouth hung half-open, and his eyes were locked on the point where your bodies met. When he caught your gaze, he placed a firm hand on your head, pressing you into the pillow. Without missing a beat, he continued to ram into you, his grip holding you down as he drove you both to the edge.

Tears streamed down your face, but there was no pain, only an overwhelming sense of euphoria. This was divine. The joy of being with him, of fulfilling his desires, consumed you entirely. It was an ecstasy you could no longer contain. "More…" You pleaded, pressing yourself closer to him, needing him with an intensity that bordered on desperation. He was pounding into you like a man possessed, your comfort an afterthought. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The delicious sound filled your ears, heightening your pleasure. When your second orgasm took you over, you weren’t quite ready for it. You wanted to explode at the same time as him to experience bliss by his side but your body had betrayed you. You tightened around his cock and let out a high-pitched moan, almost too quiet to hear. Patrick continued a few more thrusts before reaching his own climax and when he finally came, he collapsed onto you, pressing you into the bed. His chest heaved against your back, his breath hot on your neck, his cock still buried deep between your cheeks. You felt him more intensely than ever before, his heat consuming you from the inside out. Breathless, sweaty and tear-streaked, you buried your face in the pillow, feeling him panting above you. He brushed the hair off your face and kissed your neck tenderly. “Wow… baby…” He whispered in your ear. Baby? If he wanted to kill you, he had just found the way.

●

Patrick had stayed the night, and it had been far more intimate than the previous one. After fucking, you both had showered together, which inevitably had led to more sex. The shower had felt somewhat pointless as you had ended up lying naked together on your stained sheets. Patrick had lit a cigarette, and amidst casual conversation that covered everything and nothing, he had mentioned his concerns about the tour not going well. You did your best to reassure him, emphasizing how he was the best player you knew and only needed to regain his confidence. He had also confided in you about the pressure from his parents to pursue a more conventional career. You had always assumed being the golden child of a wealthy family would be the easiest thing in the world, but Patrick seemed to be struggling under the weight of his family's expectations. After discussing his challenges, he had turned the conversation to you, asking about your classes and showing genuine interest in your life. It had made your heart flutter, while you enjoyed hearing about him, it meant a lot that he had wanted to know about you too. The night had continued with passionate making out until your tongues were sore, and eventually, you had both drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Yet, your bubble was on the verge of exploding. He was officially leaving campus tonight. Determined to prolong your time together, you had skipped classes, rarely venturing out from your room except to fetch food. Clothing had become an optional inconvenience, discarded whenever possible.

You both lay naked on the bed, your head at the foot while Patrick rested at the other end, his legs extended. The room had fallen into a comfortable silence. Between the moans that had ceased and the exhaustion that lingered, words seemed unnecessary. "You've got cute toes." Patrick remarked suddenly, his finger tracing a line along the arch of your foot. "Toes?" You asked, taken aback by the unexpected attention to such a trivial body part. Was Patrick secretly a freak like you? “Yeah, mine are all fucked from the tennis shoes.” He raised his foot to your face, exposing bunions and calluses. As you examined his foot closely, memories of a particular sock hidden under your bed flashed through your mind. A sock you had savored so intensely that it had become even more pungent, forcing you to wash it reluctantly. The desire to experience that tangy taste again overwhelmed you. Fixating on his foot, you seized it and enveloped his big toe with your lips, sucking gently as you gazed into his eyes. As you continued, you pressed your own foot against his crotch, massaging it. Despite the redness and swelling from the intense attention it had received throughout the night, Patrick seemed to overlook any discomfort, lost in desperate moans of pleasure. You switched to his second toe, giving it the attention it deserved. And so on until all of his toes were covered with saliva. "Had worse in my mouth." You chuckled, your foot still working him over. Patrick bit his lower lip, curious. "Like what?" He asked. "Oh, you know, your best friend's cock." You shrugged, causing him to sigh. "No need to be a bitch about it, you sucked him plenty, no?" Was trash-talking his friend off-limits? Wasn’t what he was doing even worse than that? "I thought it was alright until I got a taste of yours." You explained, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I've never felt like this before." You confessed, inching closer to Patrick to meet his gaze. You sensed your words had stirred something within him. "I will never be the same." Cupping his face, you compelled him to look directly into your eyes. "Do you think I can go back to how I was living before you?" You didn't wait for his response, pulling him into a deep kiss. Deep down, you knew his answer wouldn't be what you wanted to hear. Kissing Patrick felt inexplicably right, it was a sensation you doubted anyone else could comprehend. His tongue entwined with yours, sending sparks through your body, his rough lips meeting yours in a perfect union. When you finally pulled away, you both lingered in a silent exchange, words seeming futile. "Let's grab lunch, he's probably waiting for us." Patrick muttered, stepping back and retrieving his clothes from the floor. If you wanted Patrick all for yourself, Art needed to get the fuck out of your lives as soon as possible.

●

"Did you make it home okay last night?" You inquired, your gaze fixed on Art. The glare you shot him betrayed your frustration. You hated him for even existing. "Yeah, I got back early." He replied calmly. The three of you were seated at a table, sharing a meal. You couldn't help but notice how effortlessly Patrick reverted to his usual self, while you struggled not to fixate on him and envision his fingers up your cunt. It infuriated you that he could act so nonchalantly, treating you almost like a stranger. "Really? Then why didn't you text this morning?" The accusatory question slipped out unintentionally. You hadn't bothered checking your phone much that morning, but the absence of any message from Art had surprised you when you finally did. You were itching for a confrontation, and any excuse would do. "Practice. Lost track of time." Art explained, sensing your displeasure. He knew he was in hot water. "I was waiting for your messages." You replied curtly. "Patrick and I had a lot to catch up on." Patrick? Your Patrick? The same guy who was fucking you all night? "Oh really? You were with Patrick?" You squinted at Art. He turned to Patrick, hoping for backup. Patrick nodded. "Yeah, we hung out." He lied. You had always sensed that he would choose his best friend over you, and now you were certain of it. "You're a terrible liar." You accused Art, raising your voice. "And you're no better." You pointed at Patrick, disappointed by his lack of support.

Pushing your barely touched tray away, you stood up. "I was with Tashi, but I didn't want to upset you... I knew you'd get mad." Art confessed finally. "I'm just mad that you're a liar." You sighed. "I talked to her, I think you’re mistaken about us." Art tried to reassure you. "So you don’t only talk to me when you're horny?" You confronted him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. "I don't do that." He claimed. What a fucking liar.

"Then why do you disappear when it's not about sex?" You demanded. "I haven't forgotten our date two days ago. Just one date, and you couldn't make it until it was too late to go out because you were with another girl. Do you think I'm stupid?"

At that point, you were grasping for reasons to end things with him. You didn't care if he had slept with the entire team on the frat house floor, or even Tashi. What mattered was that he was holding you back from your love story with Patrick. Without waiting for his response, you walked away from the table. You may have been the one labeled a cheating lying whore, but Art was the one left feeling in the wrong. Good.

●

You were hiding in your room, seething with anger at both boys. Patrick, for siding with Art, and Art, for simply breathing. A knock on the door interrupted your fuming. You walked over and opened it to find Patrick standing there. "I wasn't expecting you." You said, stepping aside to let him in. No matter how angry you were, you couldn't leave him standing at the door. You locked it behind him. "I told Art I’d talk to you after your fight." He began. You sighed, already bored with the conversation. "What was that about, anyway?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. He didn’t seem to grasp how irrationally you could act when it came to him. "I'm mad at you too." You confessed, crossing your arms in front of him. "Me? Why? I was just trying to act unsuspicious." He said, raising his hands innocently. "So no matter how sore my ass gets, Art is always going to be your favorite?" You asked, hoping he would reassure you of your importance to him. He didn't answer. "I said I would try to talk to you, but I was thinking of using my tongue in a better way." Sex, again. The only thing that really worked between you two. He wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss against the side of your neck. You tilted your head, letting him nibble on the skin there.

Before you knew it, Patrick was beneath you, his hands on your breasts as you rode his face. His tongue delved deep inside you, expertly fucking you with it while his nose rubbed deliciously against your clit. You could tell by his gasps for air that it was getting harder for him to breathe, but you loved it. You had never had sex as much as you had this weekend, and the muscles in your thighs were terribly sore, your clit on fire, and your walls irritated but you couldn't stop. You didn't know if you would ever see Patrick again, and if you did, who knew if you would become his dirty little secret once more? You rolled your hips over his tongue, your fingers tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it. No matter how much you focused on his mouth, you just couldn’t relax. Both exhausted and saddened by his impending departure. His beard was also chafing you so bad. You lifted yourself off his face and chose to straddle his hips instead. “Don’t like it?” He asked as you moved away from his mouth. “Love it, I just want to feel you.” You replied, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. His face was covered in your juices, and kissing him felt like eating your own self out. Patrick’s hands found their way to your ass, spreading your cheeks as wide as possible. You started grinding against his crotch, rubbing your swollen clit against his length. Both of you moaned into each other’s mouths. You knew you had to be quick. It would be suspicious for the two of you to spend too much time together. But you didn’t want to rush, you wanted to give him a proper goodbye. After a few more rubs, you slid your hand between your bodies and aligned his length with your entrance. As you sat down on his cock, the pain was sharp, your inner walls could barely handle the friction anymore. You weren’t wet enough. You quickly pulled away and grabbed the lube bottle, spreading some into your palm and coating his length. If your body couldn’t accommodate him naturally, you’d find another way to ensure he could move inside you. Tossing the bottle aside, you sat back onto his length. The slickness made it much easier.

Despite the pain, you were determined to make him come. You wanted to see his face in that moment of release, to feel him fill you up. Ignoring the discomfort, you bounced on him with relentless determination. He started thrusting up to match your pace, and you clung to his chest, riding him with fierce intensity. Nothing about your union was pleasurable anymore, but you continued, driven by a desperate need to connect one last time. You simulated a few moans to keep him engaged. The fact that you were having sex with Patrick Zweig and faking it was such a crazy idea. However, it seemed to work well enough for him to assist you in bouncing faster on his cock. He continued to fuck you passionately. Your thighs were in such pain that you wanted to give up, but you couldn't. You had to be enough for THE Patrick Zweig. Sweat was streaming down your forehead as you continued to rock your hips on top of him.

He was nearly there. His fingernails dug into your skin, and he closed his eyes. When you felt him pulsating inside you with little to no release, you realized that his body was as exhausted as yours. You collapsed on top of him, embracing him as tightly as you could. "I don't want you to leave." You told him, your eyes welling up with tears. "I know." He responded, pulling you into a soft and slow kiss.

“Now make up with him and go be a good girlfriend.” Is that what he wanted you to do? Sure, you would do anything for him.

●

Watching him depart was heart-wrenching, even though you knew he'd return soon, for Art's sake. Standing in the parking lot with Art, waving goodbye as the car pulled away, a knot tightened in your stomach. You wanted to cry, scream, throw a tantrum like a child, but you couldn't afford to. You had to maintain composure in front of Art.

"I'm still sorry about earlier." He said. After your intimate farewell with Patrick, you had called Art to apologize for overreacting. Blaming it on your menstrual cycle, you had claimed you forgot to take your pill yesterday, and Art had paid the price. This excuse also bought you a few days' respite from him coming near your inflamed crotch. Or so you thought.

He enveloped you in a hug from behind, nuzzling your neck. "Did you go for a run again? You smell." He remarked, catching a trace of Patrick's sweat. Despite your shower, it seemed your body was becoming intertwined with Patrick's. "Yeah, I will go take a shower." You replied, meeting his gaze. "Let me come with you, I could use one too." He suggested eagerly. Dread filled you, but if Patrick wanted you to pretend nothing had happened and fuck Art, you'd comply.

In your bedroom, you hurriedly shed your clothes, aiming to get to the shower and scrub yourself clean between your legs before Art joined. "Did you smoke in here?" He asked, making your heart race. Caught red-handed. Despite opening the window and changing the sheets, Patrick's scent lingered. "No, but Patrick was here earlier, trying to convince me not to dump your ass." You deflected, shrugging it off as you stepped into the shower and drew the curtain. Desperate, you lathered soap over your folds, trying to erase any trace of Patrick. It stung horribly. Art joined you in the shower, his hands exploring your body eagerly.

"Art... We shouldn't... My pill." You pleaded, attempting to halt his eager touch on your swollen clit, but he persisted. A gasp and a grimace of pain escaped you, mistakenly taken by him as sounds of pleasure. "I can still make you feel good." He insisted, dropping to his knees and lifting your leg onto his shoulder, burying his face in your crotch. You whimpered as his tongue teased your clit. Why was he so fixated on eating you out? Couldn't he be more like other guys who enjoyed being blown? "What if I'm bleeding?" You tried to dissuade him, but he disregarded your concern. "I don't care.” He replied. Freak. "You're so swollen, I think you might really be ovulating." He commented, his tongue still flicking over your pussy. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, praying for this to end as fast as possible.

Thank goodness, Art proved to be a gentle lover with a smooth chin. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable, but at least it didn’t exacerbate the discomfort you were already feeling. Once again, you summoned your acting skills to feign enjoyment, letting out a fabricated moan as he continued to explore your labia with his mouth. Gripping his wet hair firmly, you emitted another simulated whimper. Art delved his tongue deeper, and you silently hoped any trace of Patrick was long gone. "I'm close..." You murmured, then closed your legs around his head, simulating an orgasm. He released your leg and stood up, wrapping his arms around your neck and kissing you deeply.

For a brief moment, guilt crept in within you for manipulating the boy. However, you quickly reminded yourself that he had only ever been a conduit to Patrick, nothing beyond that.

●

It had been a few days since Patrick had come home. Although he was physically far from you, your relationship had grown stronger. You would talk online for hours, and on lucky nights, you would get to hear his voice when he called you on the phone.

That day, you had spent hours at your computer, waiting for Patrick's AIM icon to turn green. It was already too late for you, you could tell you were madly in love. Your life revolved around Patrick, and you wanted to be available whenever he needed you. You lived to serve him. You had always been a bit excessive when it came to him, but now you were a lost cause.

You: So what’s up with you? Patrick: Thinking about your tight cunt. You: Are you? Patrick: Send pics.

He wanted a picture? Of you? That was concrete proof that you were a significant part of his life. Significant enough for him to want to keep a part of you with him while he was away. You hastily kicked off your sweatpants and hurried to your desk to grab your compact camera. Setting the timer, you bent over and spread your cheeks in front of the lens. Flash. Grabbing the camera, you examined the picture closely. You looked huge. Placing the camera back on the desk, you reset the timer and sucked in your stomach this time, ensuring to spread your labias wide. Another flash. This one looked a bit better. Your crotch looked so much healthier than during his visit. You connected the camera to your laptop and dropped the picture into the conversation.

You: You sent a picture. Patrick: Fuck, I want to be inside you so badly. You: Can I get a picture too? Patrick: Patrick sent a picture.

It exceeded all your expectations. The photos revealed Patrick's lower abdomen, his hand gripping his erect penis tightly, and his large sack prominently displayed. Unfortunately, you couldn’t see his face. Was he biting his lips? Were his eyes closed? Was he looking at your picture while touching himself? It didn’t really matter, your hand was down your panties anyway, touching yourself.

Patrick: I qualified for the Sacramento Capitals. We could see each other then. I could come pick you up tomorrow. You: Really? I would love to.

Ever since Patrick had filled you and made you complete, classes seemed utterly pointless. Skipping a few days and failing them didn't concern you. It was evident you were securing your future as an athlete's wife. However, Art posed a challenge. He expected you to always be there, playing the role of the sweet, devoted girlfriend.

You: What do I tell Art? Patrick: I don’t know, find an excuse. Your family cat’s dying or something like that. You: You know my pussy’s already dying for you.

It only took a second for your cell phone to ring. “Hello?” You answered, a smile on your face. “Am I speaking to the aching pussy?” He teased. "Aching is the word. You fucked me so hard I could barely piss without it burning like hell." You whimpered, prompting a chuckle from Patrick. "I know the feeling. Is it still sore?" It had only just started to calm down after four days, the perfect amount of time to feign a painful period and keep Art's dick as far away from you as possible. "No." You replied. "Then make it sore for me again." He said, catching you off guard. Patrick wanted phone sex? "Grab one of those little toys you have.” He instructed. You opened the drawer and picked out your favorite purple vibrator. "What should I do with it?" You teased, you knew what to do but you wanted to hear him say it. "Is it a vibrator?" He asked, his voice husky. You hummed in confirmation. "Play with your clit.” He commanded. Positioning the toy against your bud, you switched it on. "It's on." You gasped, the vibrator buzzing against your clit. "Are you stroking yourself too?" Your voice was breathless with anticipation. "Like hell, I am." Patrick replied, his voice deep and filled with desire. You imagined him as he appeared in the picture he had sent you earlier, and a moan escaped your lips at his revelation. "Imagine it's my pussy milking you." You whispered, matching the rhythm of the vibrator with the pace of Patrick's heavy breathing. "I'm fucking you so good, you're so tight around me." He groaned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You closed your eyes, picturing Patrick above you, his body pressed against yours. "Play with your tits, just for me." Patrick urged, his voice thick with arousal. With your free hand, you slid under your shirt, grasping your breast and massaging it, imagining Patrick's hands on you. "My nipples are so hard. Like my clit." You moaned, your arousal building with every word he uttered. "Patrick..." His name escaped your lips like a plea. "I'm so hard too, baby." Patrick murmured, the endearment sending a rush of heat through you. Minutes passed in a haze of pleasure and desire. You felt your pussy clench around the vibrator as it vibrated against your folds, mirroring Patrick's intensity on the other end of the phone. "Patrick!" You groaned, the sound echoing through the room. You heard him whimper on the other side of the line, confirming he was just as affected. "Good girl, I hope you'll be as good tomorrow." Patrick whispered huskily, his voice low and intimate, leaving you breathless and eager for more.

"I miss you so much. I can't wait to see you." You panted, the dildo still vibrating beside you. He had already hung up.

●

Coming up with an excuse had been easier than expected. Art was a family man, so when he heard about your sick aunt's health declining and your mom wanting you to be there, he nearly insisted you leave immediately. You mentioned that your cousin could pick you up tomorrow for the drive back home. It was the best you could come up with, knowing he would have insisted on meeting any other family member.

That night, he had decided to stay over to offer his support. Throughout the night, he had managed to remain appropriate, but now it was morning, and you were both cuddling in bed. His morning wood was pressing against your stomach. "I will miss you so much." He murmured, his hands wandering to your ass, giving it a squeeze. You could feel his desire, his need for you. Your aunt was dying, and he wanted to have sex? What a weirdo. There was no way you were going to let him spoil your body. You needed to be squeaky clean for Patrick. "I will miss you too." You lied, trying to keep your voice steady. His hands became more insistent, sliding into your pajamas, but you were determined not to give in. You pulled his hands out of your pants and shook your head. "I'm not really in the mood... Want me to blow you?"

Fellatio was the easiest way to get him to come. It only took some energetic sucking and a few tight strokes before he would make that weird sound and release himself. Today wasn't any different. After about ten minutes of bobbing your head and moaning as if it were the most appetizing treat, Art exploded in your mouth. Exactly what you didn’t want. You had hoped to trick him into coming into your hand, but he had not warned you beforehand. Now what? You had always swallowed before, you couldn’t just suddenly spit it out. So you swallowed his cum reluctantly, then hid your face in his neck, pulling him into a hug. You felt sick.

You glanced at his watch. Saved by the bell. "Don't you have to go?" He followed your gaze to his wrist and sighed. "My coach is waiting." He placed a soft kiss on your lips and began dressing in the clean clothes he had brought from his room. You watched him, feeling indifferent. "Don't forget to text me once you're there." He reminded you. You nodded. "Have fun at practice." With a wave, he exited the door, leaving you alone.

The moment he left your room, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. You shoved your fingers down your throat, forcing yourself to be sick. You needed to purge any trace of Art from your body before meeting Patrick. You wanted to be pure for him.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you confronted your reflection. You were about to live the romance you had dreamt of for two full days with the man you loved, yet you had never felt so ugly. Apart from the few precious moments Patrick granted you, you hated your life and yourself and it was showing from the outside. You brushed your teeth hard, trying to scrub away the taste of your boyfriend.

●

With your travel bag slung over your shoulder, you made your way to the drop-off area. It was risky for Patrick to pick you up right outside the campus, but you didn’t care. Sure, Art knew many students, but not many were aware of your relationship with him. You were willing to risk it, you had missed Patrick way too much. Besides, you wouldn't be exactly heartbroken by a breakup.

When you spotted Patrick's car, you hurried toward it, your steps quickening with excitement. You opened the passenger door to find Patrick greeting you with a big smile. You jumped into the car, closed the door behind you, and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Your tongue eagerly met his, tasting cigarettes and energy drinks. You felt like you were finally home, nestled in his embrace. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten how much you loved him. "Hey, handsome." You greeted him, your heart fluttering. "Hey, beautiful." He replied, giving you butterflies. You knew he was just mirroring your words, but you chose to ignore that fact.

Once you were buckled up and had placed your bag on the back seat, Patrick started the engine and drove off campus. The drive was only a couple of hours long, but you were excited to spend time in his company.

He offered you snacks and soda, which you declined. There was no way you wanted to feel bloated and fat in front of Patrick. The radio played some pop songs that Patrick hummed along to, making you smile. You decided to sing along, inviting him to join you. Soon, both of you were singing out loud, as if you were the only two people in the universe.

“I’m so proud of you for winning your spot there.” You suddenly said, reaching for his ear and playing with it. It was the first time you had dared to touch that part of him. Somehow, it felt like one of the most precious parts of his body, maybe because you cherished it so much. “Thank you.” Patrick replied with a smile, his eyes still focused on the road as he held the steering wheel. You continued discussing tennis and university, carefully avoiding mentioning Art.

Remembering that you hadn't texted Art, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message.

← [To: Art - 8:13 PM] I’m with my cousin, we’re almost there.

You tried to hide who you were texting, but Patrick noticed. He fell silent. You quickly slipped your phone back into your pocket. “Where are we staying?” You asked, trying to divert his attention from your texting. “Hotel.” He replied curtly. You couldn’t believe that Art had managed to ruin things even from miles away. “What kind of hotel?” You pressed, trying to get him to talk more. “I don’t know, a nice hotel?” He shrugged, no longer smiling. You already missed the sight of his teeth. You turned to him and placed your hand on his crotch, grabbing his dick. “Will you fuck me there?” You asked, squeezing him hard to get a reaction.

He glanced at you, biting his lower lip, and nodded. You pulled your seatbelt aside and leaned over, pulling his cock out of his shorts. “Can’t wait.” You mumbled, holding his length in front of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking on his foreskin. “Don’t.” He whined, leaning back against his seat. “I took the car right after practice and I’ve been on the road all day. I haven't had a chance to shower yet.” You looked up at him. “You think that will make me stop? I want to do it even more now.” You said. You loved it when he was all smelly and musky. You loved your Patrick all nasty. His scent had the power to drive you mad.

“You’re a freak.” He said, a smirk on his lips. You gripped his shaft firmly at the base, your other hand caressing his balls, while your tongue traced every inch of his length. Your mouth was all over him, intent on reminding him of what he had been missing out on. The intensity with which you pleased Art earlier paled in comparison to the energy you now put into drawing passionate moans from Patrick's lips.

Whether it was the distance or the thrill of performing the act in plain sight, Patrick came in no time, filling your mouth with his warm release. As you withdrew and tucked his member back into his shorts, his cum lingered on your tongue, a taste you adored. You yearned to savor him endlessly, wanting to hold onto him forever. Eventually, you swallowed, feeling his warmth settle in your stomach. It was probably the best spot to store it after your pussy and your ass.

When the car stopped at a red light, he grabbed your neck and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as if searching for something. You moaned softly, taken aback by his boldness, enjoying every moment of his embrace. The green light allowed you to catch your breath. “How come you never try to spit it back to me?” He asked, glancing at you. How could you explain to him that you wanted to consume all of him, not letting a single drop go to waste? That you needed to be filled by him, that it wasn’t just a want but a need? That his cum belonged to you alone? That it wasn’t even his anymore?

“You’re too tasty.” You mumbled, looking out the window.

●

“This place is crazy.” You had not visited a lot of hotels but this one had to be one of the high end. “Courtesy of daddy.” You didn’t know much about Patrick’s parents except that they were extremely wealthy. You imagined Patrick’s dad to look similar to him but with salt and pepper hairs and lines on his face. In that moment, you wished to still be around in the future to witness Patrick grow old and gray. You pulled him into a tight embrace and grabbed his butt. “Could I get the discourtesy of daddy then?”

“I have to sort my bag before the match and then I’m all yours, babe.” He said, placing a soft peck on your lips before pulling away. He started rearranging his rackets and replacing the grip tape on one of them. You watched him work, tempted to tell him what you had done with his rackets in the past when you were desperate for his touch. But some things were better left secret for now. You could however reveal how seeing him with a racket was a true turn on.

"You know, I used to fantasize about your backhand." You confessed as you watched him inspect his racket intently. "My backhand?" He responded, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "Yes." You continued, unabashed. "I wanted you to swing that racket at me with all your strength, just like you do with the ball." By now, he understood how violence was a turn on for you, but he had never ventured into anything that could potentially harm you. Did he have it in him to be the rough motherfucker you wanted him to be? "I wouldn't even care if it put me in a wheelchair or killed me." You added boldly. "I would gladly die that way."

He stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue, as if you had proposed the most audacious plan. Yet, beneath his initial reaction, you sensed he was intrigued by the notion. When he rose from his seat and took his racket, sitting at the edge of the bed, you knew exactly what was about to happen. He patted his lap invitingly. "Come here." He said softly. You obediently stretched out across his lap, presenting your butt to him. With a gentle touch, he lifted your skirt and slid your panties down, exposing your bare skin. The first smack of the racket against your flesh made you jump slightly. You whined like one of those porn girls but you couldn’t help it. "Hard, you said?" He asked, his voice low and teasing. You nodded, biting your lower lip, eyes closed in anticipation. He lifted his racket high above his head, poised as if preparing to serve, and then struck you with all his might. A scream escaped your lips, tears welling in your eyes from the undeniable pain. The impact reverberated through your body, the sensation lingering deep within your core. The pain was intense, but a part of you loved it. "Is this everything you dreamed of and more?" He asked, his voice tinged with amusement. You couldn't respond, the pain rendering you speechless. Instead, you nodded, burying your face in the sheets of the bed.

"I could play tic-tac-toe on your ass." He remarked playfully, setting aside the racket. Leaning in, he placed gentle kisses on the red marks, his touch tender against the lingering sting.

Things had escalated quickly. Both naked, Patrick's head was now nestled between your legs, lavishing attention on your neglected pussy. He sucked on your clit thoroughly, as if his life depended on it. Your hands tugged at his ears, now bright red and matching the color of your swollen bud. A wave of pleasure surged through you, and you moaned his name repeatedly, like a mantra.

His tongue had soon been replaced by his cock, stretching your entrance as he pounded into you with relentless force. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands tangled in his hair, and you struggled to keep up with his pace. The intensity of his thrusts reminded you of the first time Patrick had fucked you, but this time, his tongue was all over your mouth, filling it with his spit. You wondered if this was how he always acted when desperate for cunt. The sensation was overwhelming. You could feel yourself leaving your body, every muscle tensing up as you clenched hard around his dick. The orgasm surged through you, and you moaned into his mouth, your cries muffled by his eager kiss. Your body trembled, riding out the waves of pleasure as he continued to thrust, his own moans mixing with yours in a symphony of ecstasy.

"I'm about to come…" He gasped, swiftly withdrawing. He knelt over you, stroking himself as he hovered above. His gaze locked onto your breasts as he exploded all over your chest. Though you had fantasized about being covered in his semen countless times, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that all that cum was going to waste.

“This is so hot. Can I take a picture?” He queried, grabbing his phone on the bedside table. “You don’t need to ask, I would do anything for you.” You confessed, posing for the picture, eyes staring into the lens and legs parted.

●

That morning, you woke up nestled in Patrick's warm embrace. Despite the lingering soreness from the night before, you felt a rare sense of complete happiness. Patrick slept soundly beside you, his arms wrapped around you. With the match scheduled for the afternoon, you knew you had time to enjoy the quiet moment, watching his peaceful expression. It still amazed you that such a handsome man belonged to you, in a complex, undefined way, but still belonged to YOU. You cherished every part of him. The unruly eyebrows, the envy-inducing lashes, the delicate freckles on his prominent nose, his full lower lip, and the stubble that adorned his square chin. You gazed at him, knowing deep inside that you could never love anyone more. You remained there, lost in admiration for over half an hour until he stirred awake. As he opened his eyes, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, finding charm even in his morning breath.

You sat upright in bed, the sheets draped over your naked body, feeling discomfort radiate from your sore ass. Every movement seemed to intensify the pain, so you opted to recline back against the pillows.

"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Glancing at the clock, you replied. "10:53 AM." His yawn was contagious, even though you had been awake for a while already. "Let's get dressed and go grab lunch." He suggested, rolling off the bed to head for the shower. You briefly considered joining him but decided to use the time to text Art, reassuring him that everything was going smoothly. When Patrick emerged from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, you couldn't help but admire him with a sense of awe. Truly, you felt like the luckiest girl alive. "Your turn." He said, nodding toward the bathroom as he moved past you.

You felt like you had reached a new step of intimacy when Patrick casually entered the bathroom to use the toilet as you brushed your teeth a short while later. He nonchalantly pulled out his dick and pissed in front of you. It seemed odd to think so, but you found it insanely hot. Not the piss part, although if Patrick had that kind of fantasies, you wouldn’t mind, but his ease around you, making you feel like you were already his wife.

An hour later, both of you were showered, dressed, and on your way to find something to eat.

Even a trip to a burger joint with Patrick felt like a date, or at least you hoped it was. Opting for water, you mentioned feeling nauseous to justify your choice. There didn't seem to be anything remotely healthy on the menu. Meanwhile, Patrick ordered a full meal: burger, fries, and coke.

Watching him devour his food with such happiness filled you with an inexplicable sense of contentment. You couldn't suppress the smile that spread across your face as he indulged in his meal, sauce smearing his chin and nose. He looked like a child. You couldn't help but picture your future children being just as messy as he was. Perplexed by your hungry gaze, he extended a fry towards you.

"I haven't had fries in ages." You remarked as Patrick offered you one. You hesitated briefly, aware of the calorie count in just one fry. More than five. You had checked the info every single time you had craved some. The grease made you think twice, but you took a bite to please Patrick. "Don't they serve these almost every day at the cafeteria?" He asked, his mouth full. "I've been on a diet." You confessed, hoping for some praise on your efforts. Art had mentioned Patrick noticed the changes in your body. Instead, he frowned, scanning you from head to toe. "I don't think you need to diet. You're perfect as you are." Perfect? You weren’t ‘just fine’, you were perfect. The compliment shook you. "Even before? I was so chubby." You said, surprised. He fed you another fry. "I never thought you were chubby." He admitted. You knew he hadn't paid much attention to you in the past, but how had he missed that? "You hardly noticed me before. But admit it, you wouldn't have fucked me earlier this year." You said, rejecting the last fry offered. "You know why I wasn’t eyeing you before." Tashi. Or was it because of Art? "But I always thought you were hot." Did he? It was hard to believe him given his previous lack of interest. "You were always Art's hot girlfriend in my mind. Well, you are Art's hot girlfriend." He corrected himself. Why did he have to bring Art into this? You dreaded whenever his name was mentioned in the conversation, knowing it could spoil the moment. Hoping to sidestep any tension, you reached out and placed your hand on his thigh, then slid it up to his crotch, giving a gentle squeeze.

"You're insatiable, aren't you?" You shook your head playfully and kept teasing him through his shorts while sipping your water innocently. "I have to save my energy for the match." He said, removing your hand. “I would usually allow a quickie but I know that won’t be enough for the little slut that you are, so keep your hands to yourself.” He whispered into your ear. You pouted like a child at his remark. You knew the sudden name-calling, as hot as it was, was due to the mention of Art. You were starting to know Patrick by heart. He suddenly felt dirty for what he was doing to his friend so he needed to degrade you to make himself feel superior. You were the whore who seduced him. He didn’t mean to fall for it. You didn’t mind that he blamed you. What bothered you was the lack of physical touch.

If Patrick wasn't going to give you what you desired, you were determined to make his life miserable until he did.

After lunch, you chose to sunbathe on the balcony of the room. You had discarded your top to achieve an even tan. "Everyone can see you, you know." Patrick commented as he settled at the foot of your lounge chair. You shrugged. Why did he care about your breasts if they weren't going to be in his mouth? He cupped one of your tits, squeezing it. "No, save your energy for the match." You mocked, echoing his earlier remarks. "Such a whore." He pinched your nipple in reprimand for your attitude, then turned and walked back into the room.

In the hours leading up to the match, you busied yourself by dropping random objects and bending to pick them up in front of him, occasionally ‘accidentally’ brushing against his dick. You could see the frustration building in his eyes. He was fed up with you.

The drive to the court was brief, yet you couldn't resist teasing him more by slowly pulling up your skirt at every turn. You felt his gaze on your legs and chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Your outfit wasn't drastically different from usual, but going commando added an element of novelty, showcasing your perky nipples and tight cunt to him. He clearly didn't fully comprehend who he was dealing with.

Once he parked the car, you hopped out and helped carry his tennis equipment. If fucking you was too much for him, then carrying his rackets should be, too. You had spent the entire morning treating him like he was incapable of anything by himself. You opened doors for him, wiped the corners of his mouth, assisted with his dressing, and even offered to wipe him when he excused himself to the bathroom, always using the excuse of conserving his energy. It was obvious he was amused by the situation and also enjoyed being treated like a princess.

Standing in front of the building, he took his bag back from you. “I don’t fuck losers, so you better win.” You warned him. In truth, you didn't care about the score, but you knew he needed the motivation. You were convinced his recent losses were due to a lack of support. He needed someone to cheer for him. “I’m just saying this for you." You teased, giving his ass a playful slap. "The guy you’re playing against is kinda cute. He will do." You shrugged and climbed up the bleachers to find your spot in the audience. As you settled in, you watched Patrick disappear into the building, a smile lingering on his face.

●

The first set had been a display of Patrick's skills, his forehand blistering the lines and his serves thundering past his opponent's defenses. Cheers from the crowd echoed around the stadium, encouragement punctuated by the occasional groan of dismay from his rival. You applauded enthusiastically. Perhaps you were biased, blinded by love, but Patrick's talent on the court was undeniable. You couldn't fathom why he hadn't already won a Grand Slam.

But as the second set unfolded, you knew why. The match took a different turn. Patrick's focus wavered, and with it, his precision. Unforced errors crept into his game, and his opponent, seizing the opportunity, began to make his way back point by point. The scoreboard tilted against him, the second set slipping away 6-4.

"Zweig, come on! I know you've got more in you than that!" You shouted at him. He glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. Meeting your gaze, Patrick felt a surge of determination. This match was far from decided.

Entering the decisive third set, Patrick knew he had to regain control. The tension was high as the score grew tighter with each point. Sweat covered Patrick's forehead, his muscles tense. With every stroke, he fought to assert his dominance once more, refusing to let doubt cloud his mind.

At 5-5, the match hung in the balance. Patrick served with newfound determination, his first serves finding their mark with accuracy. He broke his opponent's serve with an impressive passing shot, seizing the opportunity with a groan of victory.

Serving for the match at 6-5, Patrick felt a surge of adrenaline. His serve was met with a return, but he anticipated it perfectly, sprinting to the net to deliver a crisp strike that left his opponent stranded. Match point.

As he walked to the baseline, he caught your eye in the stands. You subtly uncrossed your legs and parted them, revealing your lack of panties to him. You didn’t care that all the court could see your pussy right now, you wanted Patrick to fully admire his prize. You could sense his distraction at the sight of you, but he swiftly refocused himself. Winning was crucial if he wanted to claim you. The final serve was met with a powerful return, but Patrick was ready. He moved forward, anticipation guiding his racket as he unleashed a cross-court winner.

The stadium erupted in an echo of applause and cheers. Patrick dropped his racket, arms raised in triumph. He had won, not just the match, but the game you both played. Amidst the applause, he searched for your beaming face in the crowd, acknowledging the essential role you had played in his victory. He wiped his face with his towel and shook his opponent’s hand. You waited until the court's audience had dispersed and the cameras were no longer rolling before you joined your man.

Leaping into Patrick's arms, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He instinctively gripped your thighs for support, his body glistening with sweat, looking more attractive than ever before. "Congratulations!" You exclaimed, drawing him into a passionate kiss. His lips tasted salty from the sweat covering his face. "Follow me." He murmured against your lips as he carried you inside the building. If he thought he could easily shake you off now, he had another thing coming.

●

Dropping you to your feet, Patrick led you to the locker rooms, which were empty for now. He pushed you into a cubicle and locked the door behind you. The scent of the room brought back memories of the frat house’s bathroom. "You've been teasing me all day. Now, you're going to pay for it." He warned. Pay for it? How? You grinned at him, sticking your tongue out playfully. He bit down on it gently, pulling you into a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your ass, groping you possessively. “Aren’t you tired after focusing so much on your tennis?” You teased, sliding your hands down his damp shorts to grasp his ass as firmly as he was gripping yours. “You’re such a cunt.” He grabbed your hands, removing them from his shorts as he flipped you over and shoved you against the way. Your nipples hardened against the cold wall. He pulled out his hard cock and plunged himself into you without any foreplay. You gasped at the sudden penetration, feigning dismay even as you loved every second of it. “People will hear us..” You whimpered as he started thrusting into you “Let them hear, I don’t care.” He retorted sharply, thrusting into you as your moans filled the room. You ensured your cries were loud enough to trick him into giving you deeper thrusts. Gripping your neck, he kept you facing the wall as you arched your back, inviting his forceful entry. Patrick exploded inside you without warning, then withdrew, leaving you frustrated. Noises beyond the door indicated you were no longer alone.

"I should punish you like that and not let you cum." He whispered in your ear, eliciting a whimper. "Please…" You pleaded, spreading yourself for him. "I will be good, I promise." You reached for his cock, but he slapped your hand away and re-entered you slowly, inch by inch. This was how he was making you pay for it : agonizingly slow thrusts that left you desperate. Moaning louder, you urged him to quicken his pace.

Laughter and whistles drifted through the walls, signaling that your little fun was no secret to others. Everyone knew someone was being fucked in there.

Finally giving in, Patrick began to ram vigorously, the wet sounds of his powerful thrusts reverberating through the room as you struggled to stifle your cries. "Patrick!" You moaned, your voice muffled by the wall you were almost kissing. Your orgasm washed over you, your legs shaking as you silently thanked the wall for supporting you. He slowly pulled out and flipped you around, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.” You giggled, pulling down your skirt. You could feel his cum running down your thighs, but you didn't care if anyone noticed. You wanted to parade your used-up cunt like a trophy. Patrick’s second trophy of the afternoon. Stepping out of the cubicle had been a challenge. As you stepped out, all the players turned to look at you, their faces adorned with wide grins. They knew what had happened in there, and it truly felt like a walk of shame. However, with Patrick standing beside you, holding your hand proudly, you felt like you could face anything.

●

Both of you had just emerged from the shower, wrapped in the hotel's luxurious bathrobes. Patrick sat on the bed while you positioned yourself behind him, legs on either side, tenderly brushing his hair. "I wish it could always be like this." You murmured, as Patrick closed his eyes in bliss. "What do you mean?" He asked. You dropped the hairbrush onto the bed and began to massage his scalp. "You and me." You replied. He sighed, already knowing where this was headed. This wasn’t the first time you had expressed your desire to be with him exclusively. A request he would simply ignore, no matter how much you would make him come to try to convince him. "I can't stand seeing their faces anymore. No one understands me quite like you."

“I don’t get you. You’re just totally freaky and I accepted it.” He said, unsure if his comment would sting. But it didn’t, it was true, and you both knew it. “Please, let me be yours.” You whispered in his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart pounded as you waited for his response, hoping that this time, things might be different. Patrick leaned back into you, his body relaxing further under your touch. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. “I won’t be demanding. I will let you do anything you want to me. I will let you use me and toss me around. And when you’re done with me, I will let you fuck every pretty thing you see and not be jealous, I promise.”

Your pleas elicited a burst of laughter from him before he fell silent, lost in his thoughts. "We can’t." He finally admitted, his voice barely audible. "I’d be the worst friend in the world."

Your hands paused in their gentle massage, and you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Fuck Art.. Claim me. I promise to be good." You pleaded softly, your voice a mix of desperation and longing. You eagerly began to nibble on his earlobe, craving his closeness.

Patrick turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "He’s my best friend and I already ruined things between us. This would destroy him." He replied, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

You understood that this wouldn't shatter Art. He didn't invest enough in you for it to cause any real pain. However, Patrick's betrayal would certainly sting. Yet, it would serve as the ideal pretext for Art to sever ties with Patrick, freeing himself from a friendship that held him back from Tashi.

"Plus, you probably only find this so endearing because you like chaos. You’re drawn to the secret rendez-vous, the homewrecking and the desperate fucking. I told you, you’re fucked in the head."

You sighed, resting your forehead against the back of his head. And here he was again with the agression. "You know that’s not true. I have wanted you ever since the moment I laid eyes on you. Remember the US Open Junior championship? Recall the girl waiting for Art outside the locker rooms? Did you truly believe I was waiting for Art? I simply couldn't compete with Tashi. But I promise you, I can be better than her."

He didn't respond immediately, but his hand reached up to cover yours, squeezing gently. Though he didn't speak, his subtle gesture conveyed a clear message, urging you to remain silent.

You slid off the bed and positioned yourself in front of him, loosening the belt of your bathrobe until it fell away, leaving you standing bare before him.

"Please. Tashi can’t make you come like I do.” You whispered, feeling the heat of his gaze tracing every curve of your body. You knelt before him once more, this time in a physical plea. If he sought devotion, you were prepared to demonstrate desperation.

"What about Art?" You loosened his robe and pressed your face against his crotch, nuzzling between his legs. “He can’t fuck you like I do.” You chuckled, savoring the musky scent from his balls as if it were the strongest drug. Though you had never indulged in any substances, Patrick was undeniably more addictive than anything else in the world. “I can’t do that to him…” He gazed down at you as though he were weighing the prospect of claiming you for good, even though you had been his since you were fourteen. You sensed he was on the brink of surrender. “He chose Tashi over you months ago.” You sensed his muscles tighten beneath your fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up.” His words were sharp, and so was his touch. He roughly shoved you aside, causing you to fall back onto your butt. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed up at him, searching for a hint of the connection you thought you shared. But it was clear : Art mattered more to him than you ever could.

"Please" You whispered, voice trembling with a mix of heartbreak and anger.

Patrick's eyes were cold, devoid of the passion that burned between you a couple of hours ago. "You’re the one who fucked up, he didn’t do anything. They didn’t do anything." He replied, his tone harsh and unyielding. Of course, you were the only one to blame. "It started as a game, but now... I can't do this."

“Now what?” The weight of his silence crushed you, the realization that this relationship had no future was cutting deeper than any physical pain.

“Tell me you don’t like me and I will leave you alone...” Without saying anything, he looked at you with conflicted eyes, then turned away abruptly, leaving you with a heavy silence that spoke volumes.

●

Patrick hadn’t uttered a single word at the hotel after that. The only time he spoke was to urge you to get dressed, as it was time to return to campus. The car ride back to the university was painfully silent, with only the radio and your muffled sobs breaking the quiet.

Once close to the campus, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and pain. The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you leaned over and kissed him. For a moment, he kissed you back with a desperate intensity that made your heart ache. But then he pulled away, breathless and shaken.

"I do care about you. More than I ever thought I would.” He whispered so quietly you had to strain to hear him. In that moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. Those were the words you had been dying to hear, and it felt like he was only willing to admit them out loud once. Patrick Zweig cared about you. Maybe not as much as you cared about him, but it was a start. You were confident you could find a way to make him love you.

With a smile, you reached over to his crotch and slid your hand down his shorts, massaging him. That was the thing with Patrick, you didn’t know how to show your affection in any other way than through your body. Everything else felt...forbidden. Was it because you were in a relationship? Not exactly. Was it because you had idolized this man for so long that he had become some kind of god to you? Most likely. Patrick seemed unreal to you, and feeling his body was the only way to make sure he was real. He allowed himself to get lost in your touch for a moment, moaning at the sensation before abruptly stopping you. “Fuck, you’re truly mad.” He removed your hand from down his pants. “We can’t. Let’s drive you back.”

You had imagined countless ways to convince him to keep you. You could remain his side piece for the rest of your life, offering him your body before he went home to his wife and kids. Yet, you were certain he would find a way to reject you anyway. Deep down, you knew it all came down to his loyalty to Art, not your relationship with him. Now, you were parked in front of the campus.

“I love you.” You had wanted to tell him that ever since you first noticed him at fourteen. Saying it felt like the most natural thing in the world, it felt as natural as breathing. You nibbled on your lower lip, looking at him with hopeful eyes. You didn’t expect him to reciprocate because you knew he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. No one in the world could love as fiercely as you loved him. But you needed him to acknowledge it. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if absorbing your words. Taking a deep breath, he nodded in response to your confession. Of course, he already knew.

He unlocked the door, signaling for you to leave. Reluctantly, you opened the car door and stepped out. Patrick took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Take care of Art." Not a word for you.

"I will." You lied, your voice barely audible. You did not give two fucks about that asshole. You despised him and hated your relationship with him. Just thinking about him made you feel nauseous.

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of a relationship that was never meant to be. For a fleeting moment, you considered stepping in front of the car and ending it all, hoping he might finally take you seriously and feel enough pity to let you stay even just an afterthought in his mind. But when you looked back, he was already far gone.

●

Not knowing what to do now that your life had been shattered, you wandered to Art’s dorm, hoping to find some comfort. You knocked on his door with urgency until he finally opened it. “Fuck, are you okay?” He asked, noticing your tear-streaked face and runny nose. “No…” You admitted, unable to hide the heartbreak you were experiencing. “Is she okay?” Who? Oh, right, your aunt. You remembered the lie you had concocted to slip away with Patrick. “She’s really not doing well. I think she’s going to die.” You replied, knowing deep down you were really talking about yourself.

Wrapped in Art’s bed, cocooned by the blanket, your face nestled against his neck while his hands traced gentle patterns on your back. Using him to dull the lack of Patrick had become a habit over the months, but now it felt unsettling, almost like betraying him. “I can’t keep lying to you. There’s someone else. Or there was.” You murmured against his skin, sensing his body tense beneath yours. “I already know.” He confessed. He knew? Why would he persist in perpetuating this farce of a relationship? The only rationale behind this seemed to be that the relationship held some benefit for him. Was it the intimacy? The status it afforded in Tashi’s eyes? “How did you find out?” You asked, seeking clarity on the matter.

“First of all, you never feel like doing it anymore, and you’re the horniest person I know.” He said. You barely had enough energy to fuck him, plus you couldn’t scrub yourself hard enough to remove the dirty feeling. “You have marks that I know aren’t just accid—” He poked at the bruise on your thigh, an obvious bite mark.

“And you don’t care?” You cut him off. You withdrew slightly to study his eyes, but he remained silent, offering no response. “God, you really don’t care.” You slightly raised your voice at him. You disentangled yourself from his embrace and slid out of the bed. Standing before him, hands firmly planted on your hips, you confronted him directly. “I truly wonder what I am to you. Don’t you think I went and fucked someone else because I just got tired of my boyfriend ignoring me to spend so much time with his ‘friend’ Tashi…?” You emphasized the word 'friend'. It was wrong, shifting the blame for your infidelity onto him. But you couldn't help it. You couldn't bear to be the villain in this story. Patrick was your soulmate, and Art was just there in the meantime.

“You know she needs us." Art attempted to explain, perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on you. "Us? She doesn’t need me, believe me." You reassured him. Tashi couldn't care less about you, and now that she was out of Patrick's life, you felt no obligation to keep her in yours. "Maybe because you're playing besties with her ex." He said, the way he phrased it sparking doubt about what he truly knew. Was he aware of your secret relationship with Patrick?

"Maybe someone needs to. You barely treat him like he's your best friend. And for what? Because he satisfies your little girlfriend in ways you never could?" You intended to talk about Tashi, but the parallels with your own situation felt uncomfortably apt. From the way Art glared at you, it was clear he understood the message perfectly. "You're a coward, Art. If you made a move, you could have her. But you prefer your comfort. You like having me around to keep your dick wet, but you don't love me. I'm just convenient." His eyes were red, though he wasn't shedding tears. You couldn't discern if he was sad or simply enraged. That was the perpetual challenge with Art : his reluctance to communicate. Even now, he maintained a stubborn silence. "Why her, by the way? Is it because she chose Patrick and you can't get over it? Just fuck her already. Get it out of your system. Or maybe you already have? Did she get down on her fucked-up knee and worship your talent?" You regretted mentioning Tashi's knee, but it was at the heart of the matter. The catalyst for everything.

“I fucked someone else and you won’t even react. Call me a whore, insult me, be disgusted by me. I don’t care, just say something. Grow some balls and end things with me.” You practically begged him. Patrick had no issue calling you all the names in the world. Why couldn't Art do the same?

"Let's end it." He finally muttered. You weren't sure if that was truly what he wanted, but it was definitely what you desired, and the ever-so-accommodating Art might have just said it to please you.

“Finally.” You clapped at him, more mocking than applauding his courage. "Thanks for everything." Grabbing your shoes, you left his room without looking back. Walking barefoot down the dorm hallway, a lump formed in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks. You were crying. Who would have thought Art fucking Donaldson would ever make you cry?

You wouldn’t miss Art, but you couldn’t believe that you had let the opportunity to be with the man of your dreams slip away because of a relationship that had ended with a snap of a finger. Art had shattered your life's blueprint, the plans you had crafted since adolescence.

●

You were finally free, and you had to tell Patrick right away. At last, you could be together with the man you were meant to be with. Practically sprinting through the corridor, you hoped to reach your room before his bedtime. Grabbing your laptop, you opened AIM, hoping to see a message from him. Thank goodness he was online, but there was nothing from him. You clicked on his username and opened your chat box, scrolling through the dozens of nude pictures you had sent him.

You: I just broke up with him. Can I see you, please? Patrick: You truly love making my life insanely complicated.

You watched the "typing" indicator flash, but despite your endless waiting, nothing ever appeared on the screen. He was now offline. In a final desperate attempt, you sent him a ‘Please,’ only to be met with an automated response:

zweigpat can't receive IMs right now. Status is unavailable or offline.

●

As you lay in bed, tears staining your cheeks, you couldn't shake the feeling of rejection that hung heavy in the air. The weight of Patrick's silence felt suffocating, leaving you to wonder if he had blocked you out of his life completely.

Hours passed, the room growing darker as evening fell. Your stomach rumbled with hunger, yet you felt emotionally drained, as if life had been sucked out of you. A knock on the door shattered the silence, momentarily pulling you out of your misery. Could it be Art offering explanations? He had to be the last person you wished to see at this moment. Was it Tashi coming for a fight? She would destroy you. You had to admit, dying in her hands sounded quite sweet at the moment.

You hesitated before making your way to the door, the anticipation gnawing at your insides. With a shaky hand, you turned the doorknob, half expecting to see Art standing there with a remorseful expression. Instead, you were met with the sight of Patrick, his face etched with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in his presence, your mind struggling to process the sudden turn of events.

Before you could say anything, Patrick had closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true. There he was, standing before you. Patrick Zweig. And he was yours.

He yearned for you with an intensity you had never seen before. His desperation for your touch, his craving for your lips and body, his longing for your love. All of it consumed him completely, making him a shell of himself. The roles were now reversed, and Patrick Zweig, once unattainable, now laid vulnerable at your feet. The power had shifted to your side. The longing in his eyes, the very thing you had waited for since you were fourteen, now seemed pitiful. He truly looked pathetic, and a twinge of revulsion began to creep into your thoughts. Patrick Zweig was yours and it felt disgusting.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478 @serenadingtigers @justzluv

n/a : Here is part 2 of Silent Devotion. I'm not sure if this calls for another sequel. Is this turning into a series? I don't know, to be fair. I like writing about obssessive!reader (even though, she's not as remotely freaky as she was in part one) but it's always A LOT. I lose sleep over this. I also love that we got to see more of Patrick in this. Hope you liked it! (The amount of researches I had to do about facebook in 2006 and AIM.... I don't want to talk about it.)

See you next time!

#challengers 🎾#challengers fanfic #challengers fanfiction #challengers fic #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan #challengers smut

579 notes · View notes

moronkombat · 1 year ago

Note

asking for a friend, can i get hcs for Bi-han, Kuai Liang, Kung Lao, Liu Kang, Kenshi, and Raiden with an s/o with big boobs? im a simp for all these men..i mean what??

Just the very sight of you is enough to have Bi-Han collar feeling far too tight around him. His eyes watch the dips and curves of your body and his mouth is watering

In public, he remains restrained in a physical sense. But his eyes? Those eyes hunt you like a tiger that stalks it prey, waiting for that perfect moment to pounce and consume

When in private, he wants your clothes off quickly. He's pulling, he's tearing just to see more and more of you. Those hips should not be concealed. Those pillowy breasts must be held in hands most calloused

During sex his lips always find your chest. If he goes unchecked, there he will remain for hours, suckling and licking. He can't get enough of your breasts, often finding himself rather lost within them

Someone help this man. He is sweating under his collar, practically burning up when you walk by. It's perverted, it's wretched how his eyes follow the swing of your hips. Yet, he won't look away

Try as he might to avert his gaze, there is just something about your hips that make his mind spiral. He thinks thoughts most vile and the blush on his face so evident.

When he has you alone, he is worshipping your body. Warm hands will run up your thighs before hands sink into fleshy hips. He cannot get enough of you

Prefers when you ride him so he can see your breasts move and feel your hips come colliding down on him. No thick walls in the world can conceal the moans you bring from him

Now Kung Lao likes to talk big game act cocky but the sight of rounded hips and shapely thighs? His mouth is suddenly dry and his jaw is slack

Definitely tries to flirt with you often but gets distracted by what he's seeing and ends up turning rosy pink. So much for his expert flirting skills

You bring him the closest to heaven when you ride him. His hand covers his eyes, the mere sight of you undressed and exposed overwhelming him

He's panting, cursing, telling you how beautiful you are and how good you feel wrapped around his cock right now. Kung Lao wants to keep you there forever but he is provided no such paradise as pleasure overtakes him

Even a god is subject to temptations and Liu Kang's temptation is you. Your curves live in his mind. The swell of your chest. They are all consuming

Glowing eyes scan you up and down and Liu Kang thinks for a moment much longer than he will admit what it would be like to bury his head between your thighs

When the two of you are alone, he does not need to wonder that anymore. That is the first place he drawn to and there he will remain

He cannot help but thrive when your thighs press against him. The God of Fire would moan low and wanting. He never wants to leave your shapely thighs

While sight may not be his strongest sense, he still can feel you under his palms. Honestly, Kenshi prefers it that way.

Sento can provide him help to receive your imagine which Kenshi does well to remember. Though he seems to prefer tracing you likeness with you

When in bed, he wants to feel absolutely all of you and so he does. For hours he will comb your body with fingers over each and every one of your curves

Loves to take you from behind so he feel you ass clap against his hips. Kenshi is practically drunk off how your skin ripples with each thrust

Raiden is flustered, overly so. Those hips, your breasts...would his hand even be able to encompass them. He isn't sure but his thoughts are daring him to find out

Tries not to look at your chest but they are practically staring at him. Raiden will hold eye contact with you but ever so slowly his eyes drift to your cleavage and suddenly his throat is tight

In the privacy of the bedroom, his hands are trembling, shaking when he gets to touch you for the first time. Raiden is overwhelmed with your curves and he is not sure where he should touch first

Don't worry though, he'll find his rhythm and once he does, there is no part of you left untouched. It's going to be quite the long excursion for the two of you

Havik loves your curves. He sees them as more flesh to carve and paint with crimson

He does not hide his attraction to your hips and breasts. Havik will happily grope onto you, whispering in your ear just how much he wants you

And Havik will take you hard and unforgiving. Teeth bite into your rounded flesh again and again, covering them in bruising bite marks

You end up painted and well carved and Havik is sated but for how much longer? Well your curves are ever tempting

Really enjoys your curves probably more than he should but who is going to stop him? Definitely not you

Takes great pride in seeing you. He proclaims to everyone how curvy and attractive you are and how you are his partner and no one else's

Loves when you ride him. It is the the best way to see all your curves and features in action. One hand is on a hip while another gropes and plays with your breast

Smirks the whole time, vocalizing just how attractive you look and all the atrocities he will commit to your body and so he does but you don't complain

You are simply enchanting to Rain. He wishes to worship your gloriously curved body in ways that are pure sin

Can't help but stare at you when you walk by nor can he avert his gaze when speaking to you. He wants you and he will not hide that

Spends much time glorifying your body when he has you alone. You are his goddess and he is the ever devoted apostle

Loves to grip onto your rear while he lays himself into you. He wants to feel your flesh mold and move under his fingers

2K notes · View notes

just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 18 days ago

Text

As we are now (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

Warnings: evil!reader, smut, oral (Sauron receiving, he gets rough but reader is completely on board with it), p in v, dom!Sauron but it’s kind of back and forth, reader and Sauron being deep in denial about their desire for a bit of normalcy

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar’s betrayal and infiltrated herself as a smith of Eregion, where she awaited her husband’s return.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

You burst into delighted laughter the moment you are in the privacy of your own chamber. The light, the smoke, the speech, the look—be still your black little heart and your poor loins, the look.

It was a good thing you had worked as closely as you did with Celebrimbor and so-called Halbrand before your husband had been forced to leave Eregion, for the Elven Rings were in great part your achievement as well, and so Celebrimbor had deemed that you had just as much right to learn what had become of them upon Halbrand’s return. It was also a good thing you were standing behind Celebrimbor, and that he was entirely enraptured with your husband’s divine appearance as ‘Annatar’ made his grand entrance, because the hand with which you had covered your grin could hardly conceal the shameless glee in your eyes.

To see his deceit at work is always a joy. But even greater is the delight of knowing he shall join you in your chamber shortly, just as soon as he is finished entertaining the awe-struck Celebrimbor for the night. You stand at your window, hoping your wait will not be long. You haven’t had the chance to be alone with your husband since he had returned to Eregion, and somehow the last moments before the promise of reunion always feel like the longest.

He moves within the shadows, as quietly as them. You do not need to hear the opening and closing or your door, or even the steps approaching you, to know that he is there, even before arms snake around your waist from behind and lips press to your neck. You chuckle, leaning into your husband.

“A messenger of the Valar. A being of pure light, sent to unlock his grandest abilities.” You turn around in his arms, and wrap yours around his neck, grinning. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Celebrimbor quite so close to spending in his breeches before.”

“How crudely you speak of your dear friend,” your husband pretends to admonish, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Can you fault a poor Elf for falling to his knees in the face of his greatest desires coming true?”

“Fault him? Of course not.” You lower your voice to a sensual purr, leaning in so that your breath warms his lips as you speak. “In fact, if I were him, I’d have done far more than kneel.” You shrug. “Or tried, at the very least. Surely, an emissary of the Valar is above such worldly temptations.”

His lips are only a moment too slow to catch your teasing ones. You nimbly slip from his hold and walk past him—to no destination whatsoever, for you know you are to be caught nearly at once and relish the short anticipation. You still give a small yelp when he catches your wrist and spins you around, pulling you flush against him. There’s hunger in his eyes, and playfulness, as he secures your waist into a hold not so easily escapable as the last.

“Not even the Maker himself is above admiring true beauty,” he says, lifting your chin with a gentle knuckle as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “And you, my lady, are the most exquisite of his creations.”

He can pay you a thousand compliments, and you would still swoon each and every time. On the inside, at the very least, for at the moment you simply remove his hand from your mouth.

“Is that all you wish? To admire me?” you tease still, ignoring the impatient tick in your husband’s jaw. “It would be such a pity if the Lord of Gifts did not receive some form of gratitude in return for the blessings he carries. Does one as pure as you even know of what I speak?”

You hold his gaze as you catch the tip of his thumb between your teeth, giving the pad the lightest lick. Your husband’s throat bobs as he watches.

“Do enlighten me,” he rasps out.

And you fully intend to. His lips are so plump and tempting, close enough that you can all but taste them. You haven’t kissed your husband since before he left for Adar’s camp in Mordor, an obscenely long amount of time already.

“With pleasure,” you whisper—close, so close to giving you both the meeting of lips you so crave...

Not quite.

You push his chest, just enough for him to let you take a step backward with a frustrated little breath. His eyes hold a glint of warning, hunger that might just surface to end your little game if you push it a smidge too far over the edge. But in the end, you like to play, and he likes to indulge you. And it isn’t as though you are dallying about as you slide his outer robe off his shoulders and down his arms. In fact, you are quite unceremoniously hasty, and so your husband straightens his arms by his sides, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a graceless heap around his feet.

Now, for the grey robe beneath, covering him from neck to ankle, humbly adorned with only a simple pattern along the collar... you could, in theory, remove it the old-fashioned way. But you don’t feel particularly inclined to go through the hassle of lifting all that material over his head, and something wild is stirring in your chest, and it’s in your nature, after all, to do things just because.

You produce a dagger from a concealed pocket of your dress, grab your husband’s collar, hook the blade into it and rip! goes the dull fabric with a yank of your hand. Down to his waist the destruction continues, tear after tear as you pull the material away from his body so as not to nick the skin you so greedily reveal with the slashes of your blade.

He does not flinch once, save for a coy lift at the corner of his lips as you toss away the dagger and relieve him of the ruined garb, adding it to the pile of crumpled fabric on the floor. You pay it no more mind than you do his now bare torso, determined to admire him in all his splendor when you finally take him in, head to toe.

“You speak of giving something in return,” he remarks quite casually as your hands next reach straight for the fastenings of his trousers, “yet all you seem to do is take—the very clothes off my back, no less.”

You smirk up at him. “Well, I should like to lay my eyes upon the gift for which I am to repay you first.”

You pull his trousers down in one quick move, proudly stripping him of the last shred of divine decency with which he had clad himself for Celebrimbor’s benefit. He cooperates smoothly as you crouch to yank the pants off his legs one by one, then toss his modest footwear to the side as well, and when you rise back to your full height, your husband stands before you with not a stitch on him.

The most skilled of Elven artists could not capture the exquisite painting which graces your roving eyes. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t begin to describe him—not that you ever regard him as anything less. But in this specific form, he is the very picture of Elven beauty and grace, likely to enchant the eye of most, if not all beings of your kind.

He is much smoother than Halbrand was. The hair on his body is less evident, as light in color as the blond tresses framing his face and not as coarse to the touch, you determine whilst trailing your fingers down his arm, shoulder to wrist. He is no doubt appealing, but you had been quite fond of the dark smattering of hair on Halbrand’s chest, and will surely miss the equally dark trail leading the tantalizing way between his navel and cock.

Speaking of which—that part of him is as glorious as ever, and already quite visibly eager. It would require but a graze of your fingers to grow into his full hardness. But you purposefully avoid that particular bit of enticing flesh as your fingers next trace a delicate line up his thigh, taking a detour along his hip instead. You let your nails scrape his skin ever so slightly as they venture higher, feeling his firm abdomen twitch faintly beneath your touch. He is sculpted with perfect balance, the lines of his muscles painting a stunning picture of bodily strength without too dramatic of a bulk, still allowing for elegance. Your fingers ascend to his chest, traveling across its alluring plane, and come to graze one nipple, earning a hitch in your husband’s breath. Otherwise, he stands perfectly still, subjecting himself to your quiet exploration.

You circle him slowly, your touch uninterrupted as your fingers trace his skin on a path to his shoulder blades. In the meantime, you release his newly long hair from the silver headpiece he had given himself, letting it fall onto the heap of clothes on the floor. You come to a halt facing his back, as beautifully muscled as the front, and—for the love of the Valar you have forsaken, there is nothing objectively different about the shape of his buttocks, but you swear they have grown even more enticing than before. You give one an appreciative caress, fingers following the plump curve of flesh between his upper thigh and lower back, before giving it a most satisfying squeeze.

Your husband releases a short huff of a chuckle. You press yourself against him, still groping his behind as you brush his hair over his shoulder to press a kiss to the top of his spine.

“I find myself in quite the predicament, I’m afraid,” you murmur into his skin. “So exquisite is the gift, I cannot imagine how I am to pay in kind.”

“A gift, by definition, is not paid,” your husband says, giving you a pointed look over his shoulder. “But you may begin by putting an end to this teasing.”

You grin, giving his behind a sharp pinch with just a bit of nail scratch. That finally earns you an undignified gasp from his throat, followed by a scolding tsk as you turn him around by the shoulders.

“I am merely beholding your ‘natural form’, my lord,” you mock Celebrimbor’s earlier words, caressing your husband’s face and chest as you meet his scalding gaze with your sensuous one. “So I may know how best to worship it.”

You all but lunge forward to catch his lips, finally, after the wait of separation as well as your self-imposed delay—

A large hand clamps around your neck. It is your husband, now, who keeps you at bay, lips hovering one tantalizing inch above yours as he grouses, “I believe you mentioned something about kneeling.”

He pushes down on your shoulders with just enough force that you gasp as your knees bend, dropping to the floor at once. He might as well have reached down your throat and ripped the breath from your lungs with his fingers. You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

“Well, my lady?” His tongue curls around the respectful title in such a way, it somehow sounds degrading. He tilts your chin even further back with a firm knuckle. “How is it that you worship your gods?”

You swallow nothing at all, eyelids fluttering as you stare upwards like a believer at prayer. He does this sometimes, playing along until he doesn’t, flipping the tables and taking charge in the blink of an eye. It almost feels like a physical stroke of your clit, creamy arousal gushing from your core in an instant.

It’s such a slippery slope. The submission. The rawness of it. You’ve both known what it was to be at the mercy of another before, one who had no such thing as mercy. But you do not despair, and you are not afraid. For this is not Morgoth, nor are you a slave. You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

“I have one god, and one alone,” you murmur, holding his gaze as you embrace his legs, clinging to the flesh just below his buttocks and striving to look up despite the angle at which you then bend. “I kneel only to him,” you lay a kiss above one knee, “I worship only at his feet,” then the other. “I would kill for him,” you kiss him mid-thigh on one leg, “I would die for him,” then the other. “I would live,” you place a kiss right to the side of his cock, “through endless torment,” as well as the other side, “only for him.” You rise on your knees slightly, and press your lips below his navel, pleading with your eyes. For what, it matters not. For anything he might give.

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. He takes in his fists your hair and his own hard length, keeping you where he wants as he drags the tip of his cock from the base of your neck to your chin, as though splitting the skin upon the blade of his desire. Arousal smears a trail up your throat. He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

As if you had not already. As if you do not always. But you are beyond glad to remind him. Your tongue darts past your lips to give the slit a sole lick. As he releases his cock to plant his hand onto your shoulder instead, you take hold of his length yourself to flatten it against his stomach. You spare a moment to admire it, so promisingly full and flushed with want, then press your lips to the underside, right at the base, and work your way to the tip with a string of doting kisses. How you love this most sensitive part of him, and cherish each and every twitch with which it responds to your affections.

His hands tense impatiently on your head and shoulder, but he needs not handle you into further action as you finally take his cockhead in your mouth, sucking gently. Then firmly, and over again, until you’re truly fucking him with your mouth, your hand working in tandem to cover the length you cannot swallow with each bob of your head.

The crease in his brow betrays his pleasure, though he stands above you tall and stoic as ever. Even when you swirl your tongue around his tip the way you know drives him wild, even when you reach underneath to fondle the sensitive sack at the base of his manhood. You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be. And so you take him deep, as deep as he can go inside your throat, all while piercing him with your wanton gaze.

Your husband curses. His fist in your hair tightens, tugs at the roots with just enough force that it stings most deliciously. Control is ripped from you once more as he drives his cock into your throat at his own merciless pace, and if you could, you would smile at your victory in breaking his composure. You grab hold of his buttocks, nails digging into the soft flesh as he buries himself in your mouth, over and over. You’ve gathered more than enough skill over your years together to withstand such an act whilst still drawing some air into your lungs, even if only the barest minimum. Still, a tear slides down your cheek, and you groan around his length, knowing the sound will only add to his pleasure.

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

His mind nudges at yours, such a stark contrast between the immaterial caress and his ruthless handling of you. The answer he seeks is written in your eyes, your mind, the same message ringing out over and over from every corner of your being: Grip me, keep me, ruin me. Spill in my mouth. Fill it with your taste. Give me everything.

The enormity of your need for his pleasure is what does him in. He doesn’t stifle, doesn’t deny you the sound of his wrecked groan as he ceases upon a final thrust, cock shoved so deep down your throat that your nose is buried in the fair curls at his base. You shut your eyes as he spills and spills, relishing the throbbing of his flesh on your tongue and the essence of him gliding down your throat. Breathing can wait. Not forever, but for a while.

Your husband, of course, allows it long before you’d have truly struggled. But you still pant for breath the moment he pulls out, and your forehead drops to his thigh as you wipe the mess left on your chin. Not a moment later, your husband tilts your head back, demanding your misty eyes to meet his.

“My love,” he breathes out, the lust in his gaze having melted into something akin to awe. “Oh, my love. How desperately you crave my pleasure.” His chest begins to heave, eyes growing feral with fresh hunger. “As I crave yours.”

He bends down, grabs your waist and hoists you from the ground straight into his arms, at last claiming your lips as you wrap your legs around him with an elated moan. It is as though his end did nothing but spur him into wishing for another, this time whilst buried in your depths. Barely a moment later, he lays you down on your bed, his bare body pressing your clothed one into the mattress. His hips are already nestled between your legs, grinding relentlessly as you write and whine beneath his ravenous kisses of your mouth, then of any bare inch he finds of your neck and chest.

He fists his hands in the shoulders of your dress, and he needs no blade to rip the fabric down your chest unceremoniously. You gasp, mildly indignated—you had been rather fond of that piece. But the sacrifice is well worth it for the unbridled desire on his face as he admires your bare breasts, as though it were his first time seeing them. “This is all I could think of,” he rasps out, “whilst I stood waiting at the gate. What I would do once I could finally touch my wife’s skin, her flesh...” He kneads one breast, staring in marvel as that wonderfully pliant part of you yields beneath his fingers, “This lovely, soft flesh of yours. Look how it calls to me.”

His thumb swipes over one pebbled nipple, indeed straining upward as though reaching for your husband’s touch, just before he descends upon it with the heat of his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, arching into him greedily. “But my flesh has remained unchanged... for centuries,” you strive to argue as his tongue lavishes that most sensitive peak, teeth tugging in a mean tease at the flesh around it. “Tonight,” you gather your resolve, “I was supposed... to be exploring... you!”

With a great push on that last word, you flip him onto his back. Your husband lets loose a wicked laugh as his head hits the pillow and you roll on top of him, panting.

“It is hardly my fault that you are so easily distracted.” He grins up at you without an ounce of shame. Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

“As if you are any better,” you retort, and swiftly prove yourself right. You dive much like a vulture aiming to snatch its prey, one hand sinking in his hair as you catch the brand new pointed tip of his ear between your teeth and tug, hard. Your husband gives a sharp grunt, hands flying to grip your hips.

“Hm, I’ve missed these,” you say, suckling at the tender skin as if to soothe the sting you purposely inflicted whilst your husband groans beneath you. “Remember when I made you spill simply from biting them?”

“A most admirable feat,” he growls, “for which I have not the patience at the moment.”

He means to lift his torso off the bed, but you hold him down with a firm hand pressed to his chest. “Ah-ah,” you shake your head, slowly rising to sit up astride him. “I wish to stay right here,” you say, gathering the skirts of your dress pooling over his crotch to help yourself to his newly straining erection, “and admire the view.”

And what a wonderous view indeed. From here, he is laid out below you like a grand feast, offering to the pleasure of your eye every little twitch of the muscles in his neck and abdomen as you give his length a few preparatory pumps. His hair is splayed out on your pillow in fair waves, like the halo of the divine being he now claims to be. You can nearly see why Morgoth had so wished to corrupt him, when he truly was a being of pure light. Though in Morgoth’s place, you would never have been so foolish as to fail in cherishing Mairon’s loyalty like the most precious gift that it was. In Morgoth’s place, you’d have punished your beloved servant with nothing but the most wicked of pleasures, and rewarded his terrible feats in your name with a throne beside yours and a crown placed upon his splendid head.

“Admire?” your husband raises a coy eyebrow, even as he throbs in your fist. “I thought you wished to reward me for my generosity,” he reminds you of the little game you had been playing at the beginning. You are no mighty Vala who can offer him everything he has ever craved on a silver platter, but you need not be, when you are what he needs most desperately.

“What better reward than this?” you smile, and sink onto his length in one swift move, pulling a moan from yourself and a brisk curse in Black Speech from him. Having engulfed him to the hilt, you plant your hands onto his chest, savoring the divine stretch.

“How does it fit, my love?” your husband asks, thrusting up ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect,” you moan. “So... so perfect.” As always, but you can’t deny you’ve landed at an angle which hits especially right, even before you’re begun to truly ride him.

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble…”

You say it with false modesty, though this is barely a fraction of the lengths to which he had gone for you in the past, as well as barely a necessity. Even a shaft as inauspicious as the handle of a hammer could become an instrument of your pleasure in your husband’s hands, if it were wielded with his incomparable skill and intimate knowledge of your flesh. But whilst form alone is not everything, there is such a thing as a more or less natural fit for any given body. And this particular appendage with which your husband has endowed himself… the length and girth, every vein, every ridge, is specifically tailored to suit your needs. To stretch you perfectly, just on the right side of the light burn he knows you relish without causing you real pain, to rub and press exquisitely against your walls in all the sweetest ways and spots he knows by heart that you would most enjoy.

“No trouble at all, my love,” he says, hands roaming over your thighs. “I made each part of myself to suit my purpose. I desire no offspring, and have no bodily needs apart from those awakened by my wife. So, you see, the sole purpose of my cock... is to pleasure you. Us.” He brings your hand to his lips, the kiss he presses to your knuckles as reverent as though he were greeting you in the midst of an elegant ballroom rather than naked in your bed, buried inside you to the hilt. “I worship only at the feet of my goddess as well.”

He says it like a vow. This time, when he rises from the mattress to gather you close, closer, you make not the slightest move to stop him—distracted again. But you are beyond caring. Beyond teasing games. There is no slow seduction, no calculated rhythm to the manner in which you begin to move, hips rolling frantically into your husband’s.

“Yes, my love,” he urges fervently. “Take what you need.”

As you do, he makes quick work to relieve you of the remnants of your dress, jaw clenched as your heat swallows him over and again in its velvety depths. He pulls and tears at the fabric, throws it away as if it were standing between him and the healing of Middle-Earth itself, and his wife is at last bared atop him, bouncing prettily on his cock.

“Nothing beneath,” he remarks, a most delicious reprimand as he gropes at your waist, urging you in your movements. “Is such the custom among the ladies of Eregion these days?”

A short laugh finds its way through the string of gasps and moans that leave your throat. “I’ve not worn undergarments since you arrived at the gate.”

“Of course not,” he purrs, the twisted pride in his gaze going straight to the onslaught of pleasure already between your legs. “My beautiful wife, waiting for me with open arms and a bare cunt. Soaked the moment you laid eyes upon me, were you not?”

All the answer he gets is a pitiful whine, and your lips sloppily catching his in a needy kiss. Seated in his lap, with your arm wrapped around his shoulders and your hand sunk into his hair, you are in control over the pace of your thrusts as well as utterly helpless with adoration. He holds you in the circle of his arms so fiercely, tears gather at the corner of your eyes as you pull away to take in your beloved’s expression. His beautiful lips, slightly parted in pleasure. His eyes, darkened to near slits with unbridled desire for you. Only for you.

“I love you,” you all but sob, your hips clashing into his so ruthlessly, you would fear for the anatomy of any lesser being of male form subjected to such treatment. Your mind is as frantic as the tempest in your core, on the verge of unraveling. “I love you, I love you so much—”

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

If that wasn’t enough, the heat of his seed filling you to the brim does you in. Your peak has you clenching around your husband’s throbbing cock as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

You slack against him, breathing heavily into his neck. Incoherent fragments of endearments leave your lips, but not even you can tell what you are saying. Your husband cradles your head, shushing you softly through the aftershocks of your release, and lies back against the pillows with you securely in his arms. You hum tiredly as he pulls out, and use the little strength left in your limbs to shift downward so that you may rest your head on your husband’s chest. He needs no heartbeat, but it soothes you to feel it beneath your cheek, strong and slowly settling down after the wonderful exertion through which you had put his form.

“I take it, then,” he says into the blissful silence that has fallen between you, “that my new visage is to your liking.”

You give a soft, tired laugh. Lifting yourself enough that you can gaze down at your husband’s face, you cup his cheek with an adoring smile.

“I liked you rough around the edges, imperfectly human,” you murmur, fingertips grazing the fine lines at the corner of his eye. “I like you smooth and pristine, descended from a great cloud of golden light. I like this face as well as any other, so long as I am looking in my beloved’s eyes.” You press a short kiss to his smiling lips. “It does not hurt, of course, that he tends to be unbearably fair.”

A small chuckle rumbles from his chest to yours. “I do try. But I admit I wonder,” he goes on, growing thoughtful, “now that I am able to change at will once more... whether you would prefer me as I was.”

His question gives you pause, your brow knitting slightly. He does not find such a prospect hurtful, you feel, but he is rather curious to know the answer.

“Would you prefer me as I was?” you ask in turn. “If I were... changed somehow, as you have been?”

His eyes caress your face as his knuckles graze your cheekbone, deeply tender. “I cannot say I would not mourn, if only for a while, the exact arrangement of lines and curves which shaped your form when I first held you in my arms,” he confesses, soft-spoken. “But I would prefer my beloved as she wishes to be.”

Many times, he has been loving to you, but there is a particular flavour to the moments when he is so plainly… sweet. His words move you in a way that makes you feel oddly fragile, sending your heart aflutter as only a being much younger and less scarred than you might be able to feel. You lay your head on your husband’s chest, closing your eyes to savour the sentiment. Yet, as his fingers graze your skin in loving patterns, a trace of old sorrow creeps into your heart. How lucky you are to be lying in your husband’s arms, discussing whether you would prefer one face over another, when you had once wondered how many Ages would have to pass before you could finally be at each other’s side once more.

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. “When they took you. For a long time. Ill of mind. As though part of it had shattered and the splinters kept shredding at what little was left of it. I began to... slip, between reality and waking dreams that felt so real, I could no longer tell the difference. At times, I was grateful for it. Because in the ruins of my mind, you had returned to me with a crown upon your head, and you took me in your arms and I was whole again, if only until the fiction fell apart and left me even more bereft than I had been before. Sometimes, I fell into memories, reliving Morgoth’s torments as though they had never ended, but even within those I longed to remain forever. For there, you were with me, and no pain could compare to that of being without you. But once... once, I lived not the past I craved, nor the one that had come to pass. I was... someone else. Someone I had been before Morgoth. And so were you. In fact... there had never been a Morgoth.”

The hand with which your husband was caressing your hair comes to a hesitant halt. You feel him tense, in body and in mind, feel his disquiet upon hearing such words. But he remains silent, and allows you to gather his hand in your own.

“It came to me in glimpses, moments over time, strung together into one story,” your voice is soft in a foreign way as you begin the tale, your fingers idly playing with his before your far away eyes. “What I first felt was light—the light of the Trees, warm upon my face. The skies of Valinor, clear abovehead, the soft grass grazing my bare feet where I sat by the creek. I was… singing. A song of my own making which I cannot remember, and which I am not sure I ever truly knew. But it was cut short, for I was startled by a sudden presence. Rising in haste to my feet, I turned to find the mightiest of the Maiar of Aulë himself standing only a few paces out of reach, his beautiful face awed as well as a touch apologetic. You had not meant to disturb my peace. But so enchanting you had found my voice as you were passing by, you said, that you wished to capture it in one of your creations.

“And so, at your invitation, I began to visit the great forge where the wonders of your mind were brought into being. I was so… shy, I barely dared to address you. But there was such peace in the silences we shared, such ease, that even though we were near perfect strangers, I felt as though we had already spoken every word in the world, and nothing remained to be said of our existence which we had yet to confess to one another most openly.

“You asked me to sing as you shaped metal, as you gave form to wondrous gems. And when I did, you looked at me as though I were the most precious being to have ever breathed in the light of the One. At times, you would forget yourself, and whilst precious materials awaited to be shaped before you, your hands would find mine instead. And they were able to do so with ease, for the more times I joined you in your forge, the closer together we stood.

“But you would not tell me what it was that you meant to craft, shrouding the work of your hands, somehow, from my eyes, even when I looked closely. Only because I let you, though. I knew I could look past the illusion and peek at any moment, but I made a game of it—trying to guess in what manner of adornment you meant to capture my voice. And each time I returned, you would gift me the very jewel I had last guessed, whether wrongly or not. Not the creation you meant to achieve in the end, but lesser ones crafted in my absence, during uninterrupted hours of toil. ‘Lesser’ being but a manner of comparison, for they were the most exquisite I had ever laid eyes upon. But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands.

“On the day your work was finished, my heart was filled with such sorrow thinking our hours together might come to an end. For however plainly our eyes and joined hands had spoken of our feelings, such was my timid nature that I had never dared voice them, and you had never risked bringing offence to my virtue by speaking of yours. Not until you had completed your work, and you finally revealed to me what your end had been from the very beginning. It had not been one jewel you meant to craft, but two. Two splendid rings—neither of power, nor of symbolic importance to any but you and I. With your gifts, you had woven my voice into the gems, and in a way impossible to capture into words, the light reflected upon it shone with the echo of my song. Only then, as you placed one of the pair into my hands, did you confess that you had loved me since the moment you had first heard my voice, and your greatest desire would be for those twin jewels to become the symbols of devotion with which we become wed. Nevertheless, were it not my wish to bind myself to you, the other ring would be mine, to gift, if I should like, to the most fortunate being with whom I would choose to share my soul, whilst you would content yourself to love me from afar, and wish me nothing but the greatest of joy for so long as existence should be. At once I confessed that such a thought was not only absurd, but also too painful to bear—for my heart had been yours since the moment I had laid eyes upon you.

“And so we wed in song and merriment, and we danced under the radiant branches of the Trees, celebrated by your kin and mine alike. We made love in a meadow, soft and slow, and for hours you caressed my skin with petals yielded by a blossom tree in honor of our union. Even that act of passion was somehow so clean. So pure. So...” you search for the right way to describe it, “...wrong.”

It’s as though a spell breaks upon that last, dissonant word. You roll off of your husband, settling onto your side to face him as he does the same. His expression is hard to read, some blend of unease and intrigue in the furrow of his brow.

“For the first time, when the fiction ended, I did not weep,” you tell him, your voice no longer dreamy, but returned to a more familiar fierceness. “For I knew not those beings I had seen. Devoid of purpose, endlessly demure. Light and songs, desire kept secret beneath bashful smiles,” you scoff. “I wanted back the husband that I loved, not some unrecognizable version of him wearing his face. Not some children’s story of infuriating innocence.” With a small shake of your head against the pillow, and a soft, mirthless chuckle, you shift closer into your husband’s arms, both of you adjusting so that you are embracing on your sides. “So, no, my love,” is the answer you ultimately give, “I do not wish for either of us to be anything but what we are, here and now, in body as well as spirit.”

Your husband only hums, deep in thought. He has not said a word since you began to speak, and the longer his silence stretches, the more you begin to wonder whether your confession has displeased him, somehow. Perhaps he does not wish to hear of this romantic scenario your mind had invented, despite its protagonist being but a different version of himself. Or perhaps...

You’ve rarely spoken of what came before. It is a surprise as well as a relief, then, when he does so without seeming too unsettled by the fact that you had alluded to his former self in the first place.

“I was not as you described, indeed,” he murmurs in the end. “Even with my original... disposition, I’d not have hesitated to make my desire known, should I have had any such inclinations towards another. I have always hated a waste of good resources—time is no exception.”

You smile slightly. You know that all too well.

“Nor was I some helpless maiden who shied away from the slightest of amorous attentions,” you assure him. “I doubt it, either way,” you shrug. “I can hardly remember.”

Elven memories do not dim. You do remember what your life before Morgoth was like, but the details of it—the faces, the words spoken, the feelings… those have long been tucked away in a deep corner of your mind, never to be spoken or thought of again. For what use was there to it? That life had been burned away, along with everything you used to be.

“Either way,” you go on, brushing off even the merest thought of that distant past, “it was but a dull fable, conjured by a broken mind. I healed soon after. Reminded myself why I needed to remain sane and strive to do all that I can towards our goal, whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

“Let us not dwell on the past, or things that never were,” he murmurs in his deep, comforting tone. “I am here. And I shall not leave your side again.”

There is still an oddly meditative lilt to his words, a certain sense of wistfulness that does not quite hold the same flavour as the longing you had felt so many times shared between you. But you make no attempt to pry at the sentiment with your mind. Especially as he closes the distance between your lips, kissing you with utmost gentleness.

The kiss deepens, lasts for ages, but remains achingly tender. Utterly disarming. Your legs intertwine, bringing your hips flush together in the tangle. His flesh finds yours, and before long you are joined. There is no power play, no teasing, not even the desperate, nearly pained gasps, wails or groans you so enjoy to wring from one another. Only every inch of him pressed against every inch of you, soft moans melting onto each other’s tongues, the languid pleasure of moving together to an end that envelops you in its warm embrace, leaving you trembling in your husband’s arms and him moaning your name like a most sacred prayer.

In its wake, you are beyond words. All you can do is bury your face in your husband’s chest as he holds you close still, his fingers drawing soft shapes on your skin.

“I’d have made my desire for you known,” he repeats his earlier words in your ear, hushed but fervent, “and I’d never have bowed before Morgoth. For no promise of power could have swayed me to risk your safety. And we’d have stayed servants of the Valar, pure and obedient. It is only as we are now, my love, that we shall be masters of our own fate, and rule above all others.”

You shut your eyes, nuzzle further into his neck, his words sending a shiver through your very soul. This life you have shared is not easy. Not pretty. But in the end, it shall be glorious, better than any other that you might have lived. Truly.

It has to be.

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Previous fic with same reader -> As one

Next fic with same reader -> A true gift

#annatar x reader #sauron x reader #annatar smut #sauron smut #the rings of power

176 notes · View notes

homunculus-argument · 3 months ago

Text

Come to think of it, I really like doing worldbuilding in common misconceptions caused by survivor/sample bias. I got too gleefully into infodumping about worlds I made up, so I'm going to be merciful and throw a cut-off right here:

(damn, you're still reading? Well, that's on you. Here we go.)

In The Book I Am Not Writing, the fisher folk have very strict concepts of ritual purity, being strict about seemingly arbitrary rules of cleanliness, and they simply don't do extramarital relationships. They are, however, polygamous both ways, so consulting the other spouses about introducing another wife or husband into the marriage is always an option. They also seem to have absurdly large flocks of children. Being both an unusual ethnicity who are commonly considered pretty, and also essentially completely off-limits for casual sex, they are often fetishised, and there's a myth that fisher men are so insanely good in bed that their wives simply cannot resist the temptation of their four sexy husbands even if they're otherwise absolutely done getting pregnant all the time.

The truth is a lot more complicated than that. First of all, in the multiple-spouse marriages, all children are raised between all parents and many clans consider it inappropriate to inquire which kids are biologically whose, so if one or two of the partners has fertility issues, nobody from the outside would know. And the seemingly arbitrary purity rules aren't all that random either - many of them actually ensure a higher standard of hygiene than what other cultures around them have. This, and restrictions about marrying within one's own clan to avoid inbreeding, ensure healthier children. They aren't fucking and getting pregnant more than any other peoples, they have more children because of lower infant mortality.

The Travellers are also "outsiders" living in diaspora, who are - as their name implies - itinerant and never stay in one place for long. Not by choice, though many of them will say they'd rather live this way than to ever settle down, but because almost all towns and cities have discriminatory laws explicitly prohibiting Travellers in particular from staying in the city for too long, or limiting how many of them can be allowed within the city walls at the same time. They don't call themselves Travellers, but refuse to tell outsiders what their own language's name is for their own people, out of fear that the name would be appropriated and turned into a slur. Secrecy is the only privacy that they are allowed to have.

An unusually large number of Travellers also have unusual physical traits, dysmorphic structural features, and congenital disabilities. This is used as xenophobic cannon fodder by citizens of the Empire, treated as proof that the Travellers are so morally crooked that it even deforms their bodies. This, of course, is bullshit. In truth, Travellers do not have any more disabled or deformed babies than anyone else - what they do have is a strong culture of NEVER abandoning one of their own. No matter what. So while people of the Empire associate health and beauty with moral goodness, and consider having "imperfect" babies shameful, Travellers simply don't practice the common peoples' common habit of abandoning or discreetly 'disposing' of children who aren't likely to survive into adulthood, or who will need support their entire lives. "What can be done to one of us, they will do to all of us" is how they live, so nobody gets left behind.

On the opposite end of society there are the Baronesses, the Empire's all-female army of trained magic-wielders. A military class, whose inherent magical powers do not even manifest in every child or even every generation, but when it does, it's always on girls. Daughters are trained for combat, they are the ones to carry on the family name. Since a woman does not need to be married in order to be sure that all her children are hers, sons are not particularly valued even as political tokens for arranged marriages. It is considered common knowledge that there's something in "wielder blood" that makes the male carriers of it weak just as it makes the female ones strong, and that is considered the reason why the male members of wielder families tend to be so dysfunctional, emotionally frail, rampant with substance abuse and more likely to die in the womb or in early infancy.

It is politely never questioned how downright convenient it is that it just happens to be the less wanted sex who are far, far more likely to simply perish away for no apparent reason, especially when it comes to the most harsh, highest-ranking, and most competitive wielder families.

Far across the great ocean, on the opposite corner of the map of the world that the Empire knows of, are the Northlands. Almost mythical mystical lands, that are the source of the various types of thick white pelts and some other exotic goods, commonly supposed to be populated by completely wild, savage people. Northmen are all lumped together, as most people of the Empire would find it hard to believe that the Northmen have even one civilised culture, not to speak of consisting of several cultures and creeds with their own languages and customs. The only few Northmen that the Empire has seen have been foreign sailors in port towns, or perhaps someone's unit of rare exotic bodyguards, undoubtedly a weird flex.

Northmen are considered feral, and the "civilised" ones a strange exception to a supposed rule. It is said that they are exclusively carnivores, eating only meat like tigers and drinking only alcohol. That they are nocturnal, with eyes like cats and wolves that gleam in the dark, and that sunlight hurts them. The sun never rises in their lands, so naturally the people are as pale as cave olms, just like the pelts of their animals are all white. And just like cats and wolves, their infants are all born with blind blue eyes, which either stay blue or turn yellow once they grow.

This, too, is a mishmash of myth and half-truth. Northfolk who venture this far south are more likely to eat meat than any fruit or vegetable they are offered, since they are more familiar with what goat or chicken taste like than any fruit of this strange climate. Northland alcohols are generally bitter ales and dry wines, and the sweet liquors and strong wines of Southlands are a treasured luxury for the ones who are familiar with them, and a very fast way to get shitfaced if one isn't. They aren't nocturnal at home, but having no other protection from the relentless sun, they do prefer to move at dusk to avoid getting sunburn. And The Long Night only lasts a few weeks or months, but that's difficult to explain to people whose common language doesn't have words for "snow" or "winter."

There are no Nothfolk with yellow eyes, but blue eyes are very common, and to Southland people to whom both eye colours are unnatural and associated exclusively with beasts and carnivores, they rarely notice that they've never seen a yellow-eyed one. And being born with blue eyes like wolf pups and kittens isn't a myth, that really is a thing that happens to white people.

#holy shit wall of text #I apologise nothing

374 notes · View notes

bamfkeeper · 10 days ago

Text

Faded Restraint. | K.W

a/n: Hi, I'm not dead. Sorry it's taken me a while to get back here. I have been distracted with other blogs and a bunch of stuff going on at home. The poll was half smut half fluff so I went with smut. I hope you enjoy, it's a little drabble, I have a long fic I've been working on for Kurt coming out soon. I'm trying to push to keep writing more often, it's just been hard rn. Sorry no pics or anything, I didn't feel like searching for any today. Unedited. ; wc: ~860

"Bitte...do not tease," Kurt muttered, looking up with lidded eyes as he watched you straddle him, the head of his cock barely poking at your entrance. He could feel the heat oozing out of you, your body fluttering against his cockhead as he struggled to keep his composure.

"You're so impatient Kurt, maybe I won't sink down...~" You teased him further as you spoke in a sultry tone, your hips gently rolling in a circular motion and allowing his head to feel how damp and tight you'd be, IF you sunk down. "Your cock would feel so, so good inside, but if you wanna talk, I suggest you really beg for it."

His eyes were dimly lit with desire in the dusky room, nearly rolling back as you continued to push him to his limits. It had been ages since you'd been such a temptation, the change was both thrilling and maddening for someone with a usually calm resolve. You had been so attentive to him lately, fulfilling his every request and leaving him breathless. He'd made sure to express his gratitude, always the perfect gentleman.

But now, oh now, you were testing his restraint.

Kurt's hands found purchase on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh. He possessed the strength to take control of the situation, but he resisted the urge. His voice came out as a husky whisper, "Bitte, bitte, you naughty minx...I ache to feel you." His words were a desperate plea, laced with need and want. As he spoke, his tail twitched and coiled, slowly wrapping itself around one of your ankles in a sensual caress.

He lifted himself just enough to press his lips against your sternum, the contact sending shivers down both your spines. With such a tender display, you finally relented, allowing your hips to sink down onto him. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, the sound muffled against your chest as you enveloped him completely. His arms instinctively tightened around your frame, pulling you flush against him as he reveled in the exquisite sensation of being fully sheathed within you.

Kurt held on tight as his hips gently bucked up against you, your slick walls tightening around him and squeezing every bit of arousal out of his cock. "Ach - you feel...so divine, Liebe" he whispered against your skin, drooling onto your chest as his body practically curled around you. He held you in his lap, feeling your weak, lazy movements to meet his shallow thrusts.

"You feel good too, baby," you breathed, your voice a soft, sensual whisper. Your hips undulated in a mesmerizing rhythm, each movement encouraging him to delve even deeper within you. As your bodies moved in perfect synchronization, his cock explored new depths, igniting sparks of pleasure in places you didn't even know existed.

Each increased thrust struck more sensitive spots inside you, causing your movements to grow increasingly urgent and desperate. A slow-burning fire of ecstasy began to build, its tendrils of electric bliss radiating through your body, shooting from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It felt like pleasurable static, in a weird way, your digits flexing as you held onto him, trying to process the near-overwhelming sensations.

Kurt's tail slithered up the curve of your spine, dancing across your skin in a teasing manner. It coiled gently around your throat while his strong hands guided your hips with increased fervor. The air in the dark room was filled with wet, primal slapping of skin on skin, punctuated by the hot, heavy pants and groans escaping Kurt's lips. His warm breath caressed your chest, contrasting the otherwise chilly air of the room. This interplay of hot and cold sensations only served to heighten your awareness, making every touch, every movement, every breath feel hypersensitive against your skin.

"I'm going to come," Kurt warned between labored breaths, his body still pressed firmly against yours. He clung to you with a desperate intensity, as if he were a man deprived of affection for an eternity. The urgency of his desire drove him to shift his position. He moved from laying back on his ass to kneeling, all the while keeping you in his grasp and leveraging this new angle to increase the depth and force of his thrusts.

A sudden jolt of pleasure coursed through your body, causing you to gasp and tremble. Your eyes widened in surprise and ecstasy as Kurt's cock head finally found that sweet spot deep within you. His cock caressed and teased that elusive area, that tender bit of flesh that caused orgasms to shake through you.

The world behind your eyelids seemed to explode in a dazzling display of white-hot fireworks, your vision blurring as the overwhelming sensations threatened to consume you entirely. You found yourself crying out Kurt's name, desperation and bliss mingling in your voice.

You pleaded with him not to stop, your words tumbling out in a breathless litany of need. Your unrestrained reactions amused Kurt and a knowing smirk played across his lips as he leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear and his goatee tickled the skin of your cheek.

Playful triumph dominating his voice, he whispered lowly to you as he buried himself inside, "Now who's the one begging?"

Thanks for reading <3

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #kurt wagner x you #nightcrawler x you #kurt wagner smut #nightcrawler smut #kurt wagner x reader smut #nightcrawler x reader smut #nightcrawler x men #xmen #x men 97 #x men #🎠my works

273 notes · View notes

dqrciedaily · 8 months ago

Text

baby arsenal, arsenal wfc x teen!reader

a/n: y/n is so younger me coded minus the fact that she is german

also promise more fics coming soon x

y/n y/l/n, the sixteen year old rising star of not only the german national team but also arsenal women's football club, had seamlessly transitioned from the bustling streets of cologne to the vibrant city of london. her two older brothers, max and louis, had started her passion for football from a young age, sculpting her into the strong defender she was today. they always had her in the garden with them having a kick about before urging their father to let her go for trials at the local club, which deemed to be extremely successful.

arsenal had scouted y/n whilst she was playing for fc köln. three weeks later her and her parents were signing papers and organising living arrangements as well as the school situation. they settled on her living with lia as well as her attending the local school in the area.

as the first initial weeks passed, her once shy demeanor melted away, replaced by a vibrant personality that charmed everyone around her. she had also very quickly picked up the name ‘baby arsenal’ from fans and soon her teammates had started calling her that too. kyra and y/n had almostly instantly became friends, pulling y/n out of her nonexistent shell within two weeks, along with victoria, teyah and laura, y/n settled in quickly.

one friday evening, y/n found herself invited to a party by her school friends. eager to fit in with the english teenage life she hastily accepted. embracing the opportunity to get to know her new friends in a different environment, as well as allowing herself to fully relax since moving to the foreign country.

ignoring the cold english weather, y/n slipped on one of her favourite backless black dresses and a pair of her friend’s high heels, that her long legs definitely weren’t accustomed to. many pre drinks later they arrived at the party at nine pm, the minute the group of girls arrived at the party they were straight into the open arms of their other friends. music was blaring as y/n slowly let herself relax, she couldn’t even remember how many new people she had met.

however, the temptation of the party proved too intoxicating, the drinks flowed freely, and before she knew it, the world was slowly tilting on its axis, spinning out of control as she succumbed to the intoxicating haze. the party deemed to be a bit boring now that it had reached past eleven pm, so on her unsteady feet y/n managed to walk out the party and onto the side walk. with her vision blurred and her balance faltering, she fumbled for her phone and dialed kyra’s number, interrupting what was supposed to be a cozy game night for the rest of the team.

"ky! oh my goodness i can’t believe you picked up, i have so much to tell you!” y/n giggled into the phone, "there were like so many pretty girls here tonight and i’m bloody freezing over here. i also had so many drinks! oh and I can't get home. oh and have i ever old you how much i love you! ich liebe dich ky ky…"

throughout the phone call kyra switched it onto speakerphone meaning that everyone could hear the state y/n was in. without hesitation, steph, one of y/n’s self-appointed team mums sprang into action. definitely breaking some speed limits as she rushed to y/n’s location, she found her disoriented but relieved to see she was still standing. quickly getting out the car she wrapped an arm around her guiding her to the

upon their arrival back to lia’s house, leah, kim, lia, beth and steph gathered around y/n, their concern evident in their expressions. "y/n," kim began, her voice gentle yet firm, "you can’t be going around getting drunk, especially at sixteen! what were you thinking?" but before kim’s rant could continue leah placed a hand on the skippers shoulder, “you're young, and we understand that, but you have to be responsible, especially considering the position you're in.” kim nodded her head in agreement before saying, “you're part of this team now, and that means holding yourself to a higher standard than this.”

with a deep breath, she nodded in acknowledgment, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "i'll do better, i promise."

with that kyra, stina and laura lead her upstairs. the high heels long forgotten in the hallway as steph urged her to take them off after watching her stumble around in them. laura mumbled soothing words in german as she slipped an oversized t-shirt over y/n’s head, letting the dress fabric pool at her ankles. stina handed laura shorts for her whilst kyra rummaged around in the bathroom for makeup remover.

with tender care, kyra removed the remnants of makeup on her face, before stina tucked her into bed with gentle hands. laura laid the dress over the back of her desk chair as y/n’s eyelids drooped with exhaustion, her body finally catching up with the events of the evening as she sank into the embrace of her plush duvet.

kyra brushed a stray lock of hair from y/n’s forehead, with a final exchange of reassuring smiles kyra, stina and laura bid her goodnight, their footsteps fading into the distance as they left her to sleep. alone in the quiet of her room, y/n closed her eyes, a sense of peace washing over her as sleep overcame her senses.

but just as she began to drift into slumber, a soft knock sounded at her door, and lia entered, her face lit up by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. In her hands she carried a glass of water and a small packet of tablets, her expression one of concern and care.

"here you go, y/n/n," lia said softly, her voice a whisper in the stillness of the room. "drink this, and take these tablets. they'll help with the headache in the morning." she sat down on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on y/n’s leg, rubbing soothing circles on it. “they’re not mad at you i promise maus. let’s just keep the drinking on the cool for now, okay?”

y/n accepted the water and tablet with a grateful nod, as lia got up to leave the room she turned off the bedside table before whispering “schlaf gut maus.” the door closing behind her, the room going pitch dark allowing y/n to finally drift to sleep.

#darcie’s drabbles #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc

476 notes · View notes

lilacxquartz · 2 months ago

Text

part 4 of 19 of kinktober: dreams

bill cipher x reader

plot: you couldn’t truly escape bill, not even when you slept and tonight, he had a special sort of visit arranged — a/n: there is some plot to this one — themes: yan!bill cipher, dreams/mindscape, teasing, orgasm denial, gn!reader, dubcon — w.c: ~1.6k

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

Sleep was something of a fifty-fifty endeavour for you.

In the best case scenario, you would wake up fully rested with no further issues, but in the worst case? You’d see him there; his looming presence haunting the darkest depths of your mind—forcing you to remember just how much control he truly had over you—again and again.

For a while, he left you alone, letting your mind recover for just long enough to be lulled into a false sense of security. Tonight however, just as you finally were about to fall sleep… you got a bad feeling.

Bill was waiting for you and you could tell.

(It was all too good to be true. You were never free to begin with, you silly thing.)

Your dreamscape itself was pretty simple, as far as you understood it. Your mind presented memories in a large paper calendar with core fragments highlighted in a red marker. A lot of what was stored was mundane, but if you flipped the pages back far enough, you could relive the one and only time that you allowed Bill to get close to you.

It wasn’t just highlighted in red marker, but it had been tampered with; decorated around the borders by Bill himself. Small yellow triangles scratched in glittering ink and etchings of singular eyes familiar to his own.

A memory locked away of you being just nineteen, maybe twenty, wasting away over the summer back home from college. You didn’t have much going on and the temptation to let Bill in was stronger than ever.

You shouldn’t have done so…

(…But you did.)

You hated that memory; a sign of momentarily lapsed weakness captured and replayed for as long as you lived. Dreams were something you didn’t have anymore otherwise. It was either nothingness or it was something like this.

You were exhausted.

The memory was always the same, too.

You watched on from within the shadows as though you were a helpless passenger with no control of the vehicle; witnessing the time that you let Bill in when you shouldn’t have. His sudden appearance and mocking demeanour betrayed no hint at him likely anticipating it at the time—so smug and prideful—a willing victim fallen to manipulation.

It was a humiliating sight to witness as your past self became so flustered and overwhelmed like soft putty in his hands. You had no choice but to endure this replaying memory, watching as his arm snaked towards your lower body, going places where you should never have let him go.

Curse that… entity.

That wretched demon.

Why did he have to make you relive this scene again and again? Was it because he knew about your struggles to get off in the waking world? You betted that he did. Watching from the shadows as you tried to touch yourself to relive that moment, only to be shamed by your own self out of doing so.

You couldn’t ever follow through.

Not when he was potentially watching.

(And you would hate for him to tell you that he told you so, that you can’t help but still want him back. Oh no, no, no. The very least you could do was to deny him that pleasure.)

While distracted, you accidentally gulped just loud enough for your voice to bleed into the memory. Shit. You managed to avoid him for so long by enduring and keeping quiet, but now you had inadvertently doomed yourself to something else.

Bill dislodged from your past self, leaving them to sulk back onto the floor. His voice was deceptively enthusiastic as always, emanating an eerie whimsy, “Well, well, well. Look who’s all red faced from spying on what was supposed to be a private moment? Who knew that it would get you so worked up?”

“I’m not…” you trailed off, feeling less than confident in your reply, “I'm not worked up.”

“No?” he taunted, sounding disbelieving before pointing his cane back to your dream self, still sulking but otherwise panting and recollecting their breath from stolen pleasure. “I think that you’re lying…! Or, no… Could it be that you’re—that you’re jealous? Oh wow, now this is rich!”

You didn’t dare reply but you did freeze a little as he resumed his actions on you instead. This was a new development. He pushed his cane in between your legs, willing you to clench tight against it with an unseen force before wriggling it around long enough to elicit a pleasured response.

“Oh, don’t tell me that this is all it takes to get you going these days?” Bill mocked, slightly pumping and stirring the stick around your clenching form. “I didn’t think that you would be so sensitive, so desperate and dare I say… needy? You really are full of surprises!”

Finally finding your backbone, you attempted to put a stop to the madness, “Get out of my head, Bill.”

He could only let out a dry, humourless laugh before sliding out the cane from your teased sex at last.

“Silly you!” he beamed once more, pushing you up against the wall from that same hidden power from before. “Why not just admit it, huh? You actually kind of liked that! Didn’t you?”

“N-no,” you denied with an unconvincing stutter, “it’s n-not like that.”

Bill however didn’t waver, slipping his hands beneath the fabric of your crotch, reaching to feel the evidence of your arousal. “Wow! So excited and just from a little touch! If you didn’t like that, then why are you reacting that way, huh?”

“Stop—“ you tried to punch back, your own words betraying you as you in fact didn’t want him to cease.

“—yeah, yeah,” he sneered, pulling back at your request, but you could tell that it was far from over.

You watched as he floated around with some sort of purpose, the once nostalgic interior of your old bedroom fading away into a blank void, along with your past self dissolving into nothingness.

“You can pretend to hate me now,” Bill continued after a moment of tense silence, “but deep down, I know you crave a release, don’t you? And hey, I’ll tell you what. Give in to me and I’ll leave you alone for a whole year.”

“What’s the catch?” you wearily sighed.

Bill laughed heartily to himself before propping the came back to where it was, his voice thoroughly amused, “Aw, nothing! Why do you always think there’s a catch?” he asked, lazily stroking at your sex, seemingly taking pleasure in watching you writhe, “I can be nice… sometimes! As long as you can admit that you can’t live without me… then I’ll give you that and more.”

“You know that I’ll never do that,” you shot back.

“Still playing hard to get?” he asked, swirling the wand around some more. “Not a problem. I can always rekindle that spark. How about I remind you exactly why, that for a while, you couldn’t stop thinking about me all the time…” he trailed off slightly, his voice temporarily fond before returning back to ridiculing, “…or maybe I’ll tease your past version who did like me over and over. Or better yet! Maybe I’ll just stick around in your head forever. You’re too much fun to mess with, after all.”

The atmosphere in the void pocket then dropped to something else, something thick with danger and perhaps even longing possession. His form faded towards you, flashing up tight against you in stark, jarring clarity.

With a wide, manic eye, his voice became low, methodical and even suggestive, “Let’s face it, you’ll never get rid of me… at least not fully. I’ll always be a part of you and because of that… I’m… not… going… anywhere!”

His words built up in slowly charged pulses, practically erupting with menacing glee by the final word. In a way, you had to admit it, he was good at messing with you.

You had barely any time to process what he was saying however, before his hands were back to where they were. He stroked at you with more passionate fervour that time, stealing occasionally uttered moans that broke out of your lips, sending radiating waves of red that coloured your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Aw, look at ya,” Bill caught on, catching the note of your slipped whimper by holding one hand to the side of his linear surface, as though taking it into his body. “So confused, but so aroused…! Oh, that’s adorable!”

You bit your lip as the pleasure within you rose with simmering force, feeling a tightening stir boiling from within your lower abdomen. He knew exactly what he was doing—getting you all hot like that—writhing and squirming at his will and yet, as he drove you closer towards the edge, he stopped. Bill abruptly pulled away from you and didn’t allow you to have the final push that was otherwise needed for you to come undone. Being as cruel as he was, he yanked his hand back and hovered ever so slightly above you, feeding you a look of pure, utter contempt.

“Not so fast, silly. Looks like you got a little too excited, huh?” he laughed, propping his cane that time underneath your chin before forcing you to look up at him, “you know the drill: I’ll only play nice when you can finally admit that you need me… until then, enjoy waking up all alone, frustrated and confused.”

And with that, you tore upright into the waking world a cold, clammy sweat feeling angry. The last remnants of an already fleeting warmth evaporated away into nothingness—leaving you to wonder if it actually did happen—but if Bill had forced you to forget the pleasure he had caused.

Knowing him, that’s exactly what he did.

Just to be cruel.

231 notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 10 months ago

Text

Never Let Me Down Again.

Yan Nanami x GN Reader.

Synopsis: You have been acting well, and therefore are now treated well. Kento was proud, then, before he found something under the bed that shattered everything he thought of you, everything he thought of the progress you two were making.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, some infantilization, and implied violence.

Word Count: 600.

*~*~*~*

Kento finally found out where his old satchel went, after hours of looking for it.

It was under the bed frame, behind hastily and messily put shoes, your shoes to be precise. You rarely use them because Kento never takes you outside, even though he promises he will, those vows always break. Just like how his satchel was never worn, which was cheap and only meant to serve as a bag if there was an emergency where he only could pack a few essentials before running off from danger. He often tells both himself and you that it is too dangerous, with curses around every corner whose population seems to be growing more and more each coming day.

You’re asleep now, just above the crime that you committed. If Kento was not able to hold his anger, his sorrow at this betrayal, he would have shaken you awake already, screamed at you, because he knows that whatever could possibly be the contents of the near-forgotten pouch is not good, especially for the progress Kento thought you two were making.

Like Pandora and the Pithos Zeus had given her, he could not resist the temptation to see what was within.

What came first was packs of dried fruit and nuts. The small ones that Kento gave you for snacking, when dinner time or lunchtime was not too far away, by an hour or so. There seemed to be at least ten, so at the very least there were ten days you pretended to be hungry so you could put them in the satchel when Kento was not looking. After all, you were not allowed to go into the pantry by yourself, Kento always said that he did not want you to mess up the little organized society he made up of cans and other nonperishable foods. What came next was some cartons of sugar-free fruit juice, which made sense as Kento never has plastic disposable water bottles, preferring to use a water purifier that he keeps near the sink for both him and you to use. Both the food and the drinks you kept in hiding when Kento gave them to you as either a treat for a good job with whatever chores he gave you to do or as a snack when you got hungry when Kento was starting to make dinner or lunch or whatever other meal you two ate together. Despite thinking that you two were making progress, Kento now sees that you have lied to him, and that hurts more than the insults that you hurled his way along with the biting and scratches you gave him when he first stole you away.

Kento has always said how he despises liars, and such values are still held up tightly even when it comes down to you and the rotten words that came out of your mouth. He should wash them out with soap, until you are crying and have the urge to vomit, maybe even use the other tools at his disposal to prove that he is not just brains, but brawn too. Due to your actions, the bond between you and Kento has regressed to its initial stage. It is solely your responsibility for this setback, isn't it?

Upon discovering the concealed knife in the bag amidst everything else, Kento resolves to act according to his fury and animosity, aiming to make you regret every transgression and even regret the very day you were born.

#yandere #yandere x reader #aya abstractions #yandere nanami #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere nanami kento #yandere kento nanami #yandere nanami x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

471 notes · View notes

incendiobrock · 4 months ago

Text

Tainted Temptations {Chris Sturniolo}

Summary: After Chris had broken up with you, you had been having trouble focusing on your college courses. School was always your number one priority but with it being finals week your friends convinced you to go to a frat party to keep your mind off things (and to forget about Chris). What happens when you run into him at the party?

Pairing(s): frat!boy Chris x fem!reader

Warnings: Drinking, Language, Mentions of sex, Mentions of throwing up (not descriptive and very brief!)

A/N: I’m backkk🤞♥️

It was nearing the end of the semester and you were more than ready for your finals to be over. College had been kicking your ass and it had gotten to the point where you were anticipating your graduation, focusing on that more than trying to complete your work. You were always a stellar student, doing all of your homework and studying hard for your exams, but this semester had been hell for you. All your courses were draining, staying up late hours into the night cramming for exams, and your boyfriend had broken up with you after almost a year of dating.

You had met him your freshman year of college and began dating towards the middle of your sophomore year. When he broke things off, you were left heartbroken, not knowing how to be yourself without another person attached. It had been a good amount of time since then but it was still difficult being around him because of the memories it would bring up. He was in a frat and was pretty involved with the school so you were constantly running into him.

After a ton of convincing messages, your friends had managed to talk you into attending a frat party. They said you needed a break from the stress of finals week, and they were right. You took a look in the mirror that sat in the corner of your dorm room, trying to tell yourself that the outfit you had on was sufficient for the party. The dress you had on left little to the imagination, accentuating every curve of your body. You knew that you looked good, but the anxiety about him being there made you anxious.

It was no secret that Chris loved to party. Even when you were together he was always going on with his frat brothers, staying out until the early morning while you opted to stay in and study. School was always first in your mind, completely opposite to the boy.

You and your small group of friends had finally arrived to the frat house, you were nursing your red solo cup and trying to distract yourself from the thoughts of your ex. He hadn’t even crossed your line of sight but somehow you could just feel his presence somewhere within the depths of the house. Your heart was pounding against your chest as the loud music bumped through the air, your anxiety was off the charts.

“Relax girl, you look like you’re about to crush the cup in your hand,” One of your friends giggled, yelling over the music and chatter of the other party goers. Your tongue darted across your lip nervously as you glanced down at the cup in your hand, realizing that you had been squeezing the plastic. “Sorry,” You mumbled, trying to put a soft smile on your face so your friends didn’t question your behavior.

“What’s gotten into you?” Your other friend asked, noticing your unusual demeanor. You let out a shaky breath as your eyes scanned the room, unintentionally looking for the boy who broke your heart. He was still nowhere to be seen but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lurking somewhere in the shadows.

“Is this about chris?” Your friend asked, causing your eyes to almost pop out of your head as she yelled his name. “Can you keep it down! He might hear you!” You scolded. As soon as his name was said, the energy in the room seemed to shift. Every bodies eyes were on you as you anxiously swayed in the crowd, or so you thought. Without a word you excused yourself from your group, pushing through the crowd and sloshing your drink all over your hand and the floor. Maybe you shouldn’t have come out… It was finals week after all.

Finally the crowd seemed to dissipate as you made it to a new area in the house, trying to catch your breath as panic set into your body. The alcohol you had consumed wasn’t helping to calm your nerves. You stumbled slightly as you tugged at the bottom of your dress, trying to make sure your ass was covered despite the minimal coverage it offered. The wall behind your back became your new support as you swayed, leaning against it. There was a noise a few feet away from you and then laughter filled your ears, you glanced to your left with squinted eyes. You recognized that laugh from anywhere.

Chris stood down the hall with a group of his frat bros, one of them crushing and then dropping a beer can on the ground after successfully shotgunning it. The alcohol in your system set your skin a blaze, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes keep their hold on Chris. His laugh filled the atmosphere once more, joking around with his friends, completely unaware of your presences right down the hall.

The music began to ring in your ears as you realized you were significantly more drunk than you had once thought, stumbling to the side despite the fact that you were leaned against a wall. You were the one making noise now as you knocked a picture off of the wall, the frame shattering on the ground below you and almost making you drop to your knees. "Shit," You muttered, bending down to grab the pieces of glass off the floor as quickly as your drunken state would let you.

There were a million tiny shards of glass scattered across the smooth cement floors. With a delicately cupped hand, you picked the pieces up one by one, oblivious to the footsteps that were now walking over towards your body as it kneeled on the dirty frat house floor.

"Y/n?" A voice called, pulling you out of your trance and causing you to look up at the figure towering over you. All the anxiety, mixed with the alcohol, had your emotions running high. "I broke the frame-" You chocked out, tears filling your eyes as the guilt consumed you. Chris quickly bent down to your level, his hand immediately finding your face and cupping your cheeks. "Hey, hey..." He spoke almost urgently, using his hands to make you face him. "It's okay," He assured you, knowing this is how you got when you were too drunk.

"Dude what the fuck happened?" One of Chris' frat brothers laughed, joining in on the scene in front of him, watching you with a devious look as the tears began to stream down your face. "Awww, did somebody drink too much?" The guy teased, blissfully unaware that the drunk ditz he was teasing was his buddies ex girlfriend.

"Yo, knock it off-" Chris snapped, jumping in to defend you even though he owed you nothing. You felt humiliated, not only had you broken something, but you were way more drunk that you wanted to be, and of course Chris so happened to see you like this... The glass shards were still cupped in your hand as your arm fell limp into your lap, giving up on cleaning the mess in front of you.

Chris was quick to stand behind you and put his hands under your arms to lift you off the ground, "Come on ma," He whispered as his head dipped towards your ear, pulling you to stand in front of him. You sadly cupped the glass pieces, your body weak as he lifted you off the ground. Chris gently grabbed your wrist, flipping your hand over and dumping the pieces back onto the ground. Before you could protest his other arm swung out and smacked his friends chest, "Clean this up for me, I gotta take her home." His friend shot Chris a glare, looking confused by his command as he glanced over to the two of you. When he realized who Chris was consoling, then he realized why he was acting so demanding... "Yeah man, I got you," His friend said solemnly, knowing Chris was dead set on getting you out of the party.

Chris' hands were glued to your waist as he held you in front of him, rushing the two of you out of the crowded, sweat filled party. You swayed on your feet, trying to keep up with his fast pace as he maneuvered you through the crowd. Finally, you had reached the exit and the cool autumn breeze hit your glistening skin, causing goosebumps to prickle over your body. Chris hadn't let up on directing your movements, now walking you down the sidewalk and up the hill, the frat house slowly disappearing into the distance. There was a comfortable silence that hung in the night air, neither of you speaking. The wind picked up, causing the trees to sway around the two of you. Chris trailed his hands up to your bare shoulders, the spaghetti strap of your dress offering no additional warmth, rubbing his hands up and down your arms trying to warm you up and rid you of your goosebumps.

After what felt like an eternity to you, but in reality was only about five minutes, Chris had made it back to his apartment. His left hand dug into his jean pockets in search of his key, his other hand firmly holding your body against his in efforts to keep you standing upright. He dug out the metal key sticking it into the lock and pushing open the heavy, wooden door to let you both inside. As Chris shut the door behind you, locking it back in place, his voice finally cut through the silence, "You alright?"

You had made your way to the living room, plopping down onto the couch. Words wouldn't form in your mouth so all you offered in response was a weak, two thumbs-up, your head lolling back onto the sofa cushion. That response wasn't enough for Chris, he sighed softly, reaching into the fridge and grabbing a water bottle before joining you on the sofa. He sat close to you, your thighs touching as he twisted the cap off the bottle, "Use your words ma, how are you feeling?" He repeated, holding the bottle out for you. You shakily took it from him, bringing it up to your lips and taking a gulp before holding it back out for him. "M'fine," You slurred, your head falling back against the cushions again as your head spun in circles. His eyes watched over you carefully, not believing that you were fine. He knew you like the back of his hand, going out, getting drunk, especially on finals week... That wasn't like you. That wasn't like his girl.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight," He admitted, his voice gentle and cautious, not wanting to upset you. You let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to your face and rubbing your eyes, "They convinced me..." You whispered your confession. Chris' eyes never left your figure as he studied all your features, his eyes drawn to the tiny outfit you had chosen to wear. He nodded, knowing your group of friends tended to enjoy the party scene despite you being more reserved. "Drink a lot?" He asked next, his voice still gentle. "Didn't think I did-" You admitted, having not even planned to be anything more than slightly tipsy.

Chris let out a small, breathy chuckle, a soft smirk falling over his lips at your words. "So why'd you go then?" He pressed lightly, curiosity getting the best of him. A soft hum fell past your lips in response, as if that answered his question. His hand came up to your face, brushing your hair behind your ear so he could see your face more clearly, "Words mama," He encouraged, his hand falling to rest on your shoulder as he stared intently at you. Deep down he knew the answer. He knew you had only gone out to try and forget about him.

You shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to say your reasoning. His thumb began to rub over your bare skin, his touch setting your body on fire. “You can tell me,” He said in a low, husky voice trying to egg you on. Your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as your mind raced trying to think of what to say, “Needed a break from homework,” You decided on, knowing that it could be a believable excuse considering how intensely you would always study. Chris smirked again at your answer, “Come on, don’t lie to me now…”

Finally, you looked over at him with slightly wide eyes, becoming fully aware that you were in his presence, in his apartment, just like you used to be. His tongue darted out of his mouth, swiping a quick streak across his bottom lip as he bore into your eyes. “M’not lying…” You whispered, believing there was some truth behind your words, a white lie never hurt anybody... His eyes raked down your figure, drinking you up as if he were deprived of water for days. He brought his hand up, his thumb holding your chin in place so you had no choice but to look him in the eyes, “Alright. One more chance, why were you there?” His tone was serious, the almost rasp that dripped off his words sending you into a frenzy. You blinked rapidly, swallowing down a lump that had formed in your throat, “Chris, I-“ You chocked out.

His apartment seemed to shrink in size, despite it being an open concept you were suddenly feeling cramped in the space. Goosebumps rose on your skin once more as you noticed the wind from the ceiling fan above you. Chris couldn’t help but notice the way your nipples began to poke through the black fabric of your dress, making the tension in the room that much thicker. “That’s a nice, little dress you got on,” He complimented, emphasis on the word little as he meant it literally… That dress was barely even considered a dress. “T-thanks..” You mumbled, his thumb still holding your chin in place, reaching up to run it over your bottom lip, making your mouth part slightly. A shaky breath fell past your lips, he had always had this sort of effect on you.

Silence fell over the room again as Chris caressed your skin, his hand traveling from your lips down over your shoulder and arm, making his way down to your exposed thigh. He knew you were drunk, and he wasn’t a prude, but he couldn’t deny the tinge of excitement he felt knowing he still had this sort of control over you, leaving you breathless. His hand squeezed your upper thigh, kneading it between his fingers, sending butterflies erupting through your whole body. “It’s getting late….” Chris whispered, his hand inching slightly further up your thigh. A small gasp left your mouth in response, nodding your head slightly. “I’ll find you something to wear,” He continued, giving your thigh a friendly pat before standing up from the couch. A whine escaped you as you watched him walk out of the living room, leaving you alone on the sofa.

Chris dug through his dresser, searching for a soft t-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear as pajamas. A smirk played on his lips as he thought about having you in his bed for the first time in months, he couldn’t deny that he missed it. If he hadn’t run into you at the party tonight he probably wouldn’t have reached out to you. The fact that you were there made him feel like there must have been a reason. You were drunk and weak and you needed him, and who was he to not provide for you?

He walked back out into the living room to meet you at the couch, “Let’s get you changed, yeah?” He asked softly, holding a hand out to you in an effort to pull you off the couch. Your hand grabbed onto his, allowing him to assist you in standing up. The dress you had on had nearly ridden up so your whole ass was out for display, Chris quickly noticed, his breathing quickening. Gently, his hands pushed the small, sting straps over your shoulders before slowly pulling the dress down over your chest, exposing your breasts. Chris kept pulling the dress down reaching your hips, the small fabric hugging you tightly, practically peeling off of your skin. He pulled the dress over your ass before dropping it down to your ankles, catching your waist in his hands and steadying you as you stepped out of the fabric.

He couldn’t help but admire your body which was now almost completely bare in front of him. The only thing covering you was a small, black, lace thong that made his mouth water. “Arms up,” He demanded in a low voice, getting the t-shirt ready to slip over your head. You weakly raised your arms over your head, letting out a sigh as he pulled the shirt down over you, smoothing the sides of your body with his large hands. Chris then helped you step into the pair of boxers, allowing them to act as a pair of shorts. He patted your hips, “All done.” You looked up to him, meeting his eyes with a soft smile, silently thanking him for the clothes. Your feet dragged across the floor as you stumbled towards his bedroom, your heart aching as his scent invades your nose.

You couldn't help but glance around the room, taking in its familiarity. Everything was exactly how you remembered it being, it almost looked untouched since the last time you had seen it months ago. There was still a pair of movie tickets pinned to his bulletin board above his desk, the ones from the first date you had went on. Tears began to prickle in your eyes as you noticed all the little things that still occupied his bedroom. You walked slowly over to his desk, your eyes scanning the bulletin board carefully. Lightly, you traced your fingers over the tickets, an ache in your heart. Chris was now sat at the foot of his bed, watching as you studied his room. "I still have your toothbrush too," He admitted softly, causing you to pull your attention away from his bulletin board to look at him.

Tears lightly trickled down your face at this point, his confess hitting you hard. "Why?" You asked solemnly, your eyes searching his face for an answer. He scooted over on the bed, patting the free space next to him and urging you to sit down. Reluctantly, you obliged as you sat down onto his firm mattress. His hand immediately found your lower back, rubbing it gently before speaking up again, "I fucked up..." He mumbled, his sentence trailing off as he thought of the right words to say. He had hurt you when he broke things off, he knew that he did. "I still love you, you know?" He admitted cautiously, his hand still soothing over your back. Before you had the chance to reply he spoke again, "I never stopped."

You couldn't help the tears now as they left your eyes in a steady stream. You were sure that Chris could hear your heart as it beat against your chest. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, wiping your tears with his thumbs. "You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know," He comforted you, knowing his words were hanging over the room like a dark cloud. Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned your weight into his palms, letting out a shaky sigh. It felt almost cruel... Like the universe was trying to punish you for something. You had craved this moment for months, ever since the breakup, and now that it was here you weren't sure how to react. The suffering you had endured and all the anxiety felt like a waste. If he had felt this way, for all this time, then why hadn't things been different? "Why'd you break up with me then, Chris?" You whispered sadly.

Chris sighed, running a hand through his wavy, brown hair as he tried to think of a response. Before he could answer, your phone began to ring from somewhere in your purse which was placed delicately on his desk. You huffed, standing up from his bed and digging for your phone, holding it up to your ear, "Hello?" You grumbled. It was your friend on the other line, the loud music from the frat party almost swallowing her voice as she yelled into the phone, "Where did you go? We've been looking all over for you," She yelled. The phone shook lightly as you held it against your ear, your hand trembling slightly. There was a long silence over the line, you didn't want to admit where you had ended up. "Hello?" Her voice filled your ear again, the silence coming from your end of the line confusing her. With a shaky breath you replied in a whisper, "I'm um.. with Chris..."

It was her turn to be quiet this time, the line going silent yet again. "Chris?" She repeated, disappointment evident in her voice. As soon as Chris broke your heart your friends had decided that they weren't fond of him. Anytime you had brought him up they would change the subject, telling you that you could do so much better. They didn't see the side of Chris that you saw. They only saw him as some frat guy, some mediocre twenty year old that fumbled an amazing girl. "Yeah, he helped me get home..." You said, your voice still soft knowing that Chris sat only a couple feet away, hearing the whole conversation. "We could've left at anytime," She argued, upset that you went with Chris instead of your group of friends. You brought your free hand up to rub your temple, a headache beginning to form as you anticipated a lecture. She spoke again, "We're coming to get you. Are you at his apartment?"

"Don't-" You replied firmly, not wanting to leave. "Look, I gotta go okay? I'll text you," You said, giving her no time to disagree before you pull the phone away and end the call. You were quick to put your phone on do not disturb, shoving it back into your purse. With a guilty smile, you glanced back over your shoulder meeting Chris' gaze. "I'm sorry..." You mumbled, walking back over and sitting down on the bed once again. The room felt different now, the energy shifting because of the unexpected phone call. "Don't worry about it.. They're just worried about you," He reassured you, his hand immediately finding your back again as you sat next to him only inches apart now. Electricity seemed to charge your surroundings as his touch reminded you of what you once used to share. His eyes landed on yours as you glanced over to him shyly. With a soft touch, his hand moved from your back to tuck some hair behind your ear, “S’pretty,” He whispered, maintaining eye contact.

A lump formed in your throat, your breath getting caught by his compliment. You couldn’t help but glance down to peak at his lips, a small smirk playing across them. It was wrong, but you wanted to kiss him… He noticed your eyes wandering, leaving his eyes to wander as well as they were no longer held captive by your gaze. There was almost a magnetic pull between the two of you, causing you to lean slowly into him, resting your forehead against his own. The only noise filling the room being your staggered breaths and heavy heartbeats. With a small spurt of confidence you leaned in further, your lips almost making contact with his before he pulled away slightly. A frown decorated your lips, a soft whine escaping you at his sudden movements. “You’re drunk ma…” He said, a hint of disappointment in his tone. Your hand reached out, clutching a handful of his shirt in between your fist, “I need you.” You admitted against your better judgment, the alcohol clouding your mind. Chris let out a shaky sigh, wanting nothing more than to kiss you, but he knew you weren’t thinking clearly, and he would never take advantage of you like that.

The material of his shirt was being scrunched up even more as your fist tightened its hold, his lower abdomen barely visible now. You could see a little line of hair growing from his belly button to down bellow the waist band of his boxers. Chris let out another ragged breath, trying to decide if he should push you off of him or not. His hands had made it to either side of your waist, his fingers carefully dancing underneath his shirt that you were wearing, tickling your skin. The smell of his cologne was radiating off of him, pulling you closer and closer to his body, your lips only inches apart. Repositioning yourself on the bed, you moved deliberately to straddle his waist, his hands never leaving the vice grip he had on your waist. A small gasp left his mouth as you sat directly onto his lap, your hips playing a dangerous game on top of him. Instinctively, you lightly rolled your hips forward, wanting to be even closer to him. His fingers dug into your skin, trying his best to hold you still as he struggled to keep control of the situation.

"Chris-" You chocked out, wishing he would give you something, anything, to give you a hint of satisfaction. He squeezed your hips, his mouth failing him as he battled his thoughts. Chris wanted this just as badly as you did, maybe even more, but he knew you weren't in the right state of mind. How could he be sure that you weren't going to regret this in the morning? This was the first time you had even spoken to each other after the break up, let alone have sex. “We shouldn’t…” He said breathlessly, not making any sudden movements to remove you from your position. Your hips moved again, grinding down on him as your body craved friction. Chris couldn’t help but let out a low groan at the feeling. Quickly, he tightened his grip on your hips before flipping you over, your back hitting the bed. A gasp of air left your body at the sudden change of position, his hands now holding your shoulders as he leaned over you. “We can’t do this.” He restated his previous statement, his hand running through his hair as he pulled away from you, pacing around the foot of the bed.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching his every move. You could tell he was nervous, his hands shaky as he readjusted his t-shirt. If he was anything like your friends seemed to think he was, he would’ve fucked you right then and there…. But he wasn’t that guy. He cared about you for more than just your body. The only reason he had broken things off was because he was worried he couldn’t give you everything he thought you deserved, everything you needed in life. His love for you ran deeper than anybody could fathom. “I’m sorry Chris, I didn’t mean to…” You squeaked, feeling like you had crossed the invisible line. In an instant, Chris was back by your side, pulling you into a gentle hug and soothing down your hair, “Hey, hey, it’s okay… You don’t have to apologize for anything,” He whispered softly. His arms molded to your body perfectly, confirming that he was your person just based off the fact that you fit together like a puzzle piece. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in. You need to sleep,” He spoke, pulling away from the hug and guiding you up to his pillows so he could wrap you in his sheets. Without a word, you followed his lead, getting comfortable as he pulled the covers over you.

As soon as your head hit his pillow the tiredness seemed to catch up with you. Maybe it was from the alcohol you had consumed at the party, or the fact that it was nearing almost three in the morning. Your eyes began to flutter shut, slowly opening them again and doing your best to stay awake. It felt like you were laying in a body of water as your head swayed obnoxiously. "Lay on your side," Chris instructed softly, wanting to make sure you were safe in case you got sick in the middle of the night. With a deliberate movement, you flipped from your back onto your side, praying that it would stop the spinning in your head. Chris rubbed his hand gently over your shoulder, making sure you were comfortable. "There's a water on the bedside table if you need it. I'll be on the sofa," He said softly, about to make his departure. Your ears perked up at his words, "Wait-" You said quickly. Chris froze, still looking down at you as he stood at the side of his bed. "Stay with me?" You whispered, not wanting to be subjected to his bed all alone. A soft smile tugged at his lips, your request sending butterflies through his body as he walked around the bed to get in on the other side.

He assumed his position in bed, the side he would always take when you were still together, shifting underneath the covers. He maintained a friendly distance as you drifted off to sleep, listening to your breath steady in the process. The soft sounds of your breathing eventually bringing him to his own slumber. The next morning, when the sunlight began to fill his room, you woke up tangled in his arms. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you tried to remember the details of last night, wondering how you had ended up in his bed. A pounding headache took over your senses as you quickly untangled yourself from his grasp, rushing to the bathroom. You kneeled in front of the toilet, trying to not be sick as your stomach churned. After about twenty minutes, you had started to feel a little better as you flushed the toilet, disposing of the evidence. With shaky knees, you pulled yourself up to the bathroom counter, looking into the mirror to see the damage.

Your hair was disheveled and the remnants of last nights makeup were running down your face. As you stood in front of the mirror, studying your appearance, you couldn't help but notice the toothbrush holder that sat on the counter just below you. A strange feeling rushed over you as you noticed the light pink toothbrush that still sat in its place, right next to his. You picked it up slowly, examining it as if it were the most precious gemstone. "I told you I kept it," Chris' voice broke through the silent bathroom, making you jump slightly. Looking into the mirror you saw Chris stood behind you in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a small smile on his lips. You turned around to face him, the pink toothbrush still clutched between your fingers, "Why did you keep this?" You asked with a slight crack in your voice. He smiled a little wider, pushing off the doorframe and walking towards you, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders, "I guess I had hoped that maybe you would need it again." He confessed. It was your turn to softly smile as tears filled your eyes, his confession warming your heart. He gently cupped your face, wiping the stray tears that left your eyes before pulling you into a hug. You wrapped yourself around him, everything felt so right in this very moment.

After a few seconds, you pulled away from the hug, looking deep into his eyes before stealing a glance down at his lips. He noticed the glance immediately, leaning down and pulling you straight into him, your lips crashing together for the first time in months. It was slow and passionate, almost needy, as your lips melted into his. His hands cradled your face possessively as his tongue danced across your bottom lip, begging to deepen the kiss. A small moan left your mouth as you granted his wish, allowing him to explore further with his tongue, his taste was almost intoxicating. As the seconds went on you both started to run out of breath, reluctantly breaking the kiss with a sigh. Your foreheads rested together as you both struggled to catch your breath.

"See, now you can use the toothbrush and then we can do this all over again without the morning breath," Chris teased, pinching your ass cheek playfully. Your eyes widened as you felt a blush rush over your face, "Chris-" You gasped, playfully smacking his chest in response. He chuckled, your reaction reminding him of how much he used to love to make you flustered. He pressed a quick peck on your lips, turning back around to leave the bathroom and let you finish freshening up. You still had a headache, and the hangover was definitely going to be a pain in the ass, but somehow it all felt worth it if Chris was back by your side once more.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff

191 notes · View notes