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angxlwritez · 2 days

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Pretty Picture

➳♡゛PAIRING: Sukuna x F!Reader

➳♡゛SUMMARY: Aware of your little kink and captured by your presence, Sukuna decides to help you out.

➳♡゛WARNINGS: Smut (MDNI), P in V , Kissing, Explicit Language, Creampie, Fingering, Masturbation(F+M(?)), Praise Kink, Mirror Kink, Female Reader, Unprotected Sex, Basically no plot. (Word Count: 1.5K).

➳♡゛A/N: I'm backkkkk! Dropped a lil somthing since it's been a minute lol.. i'll have more soon<3

Sukuna was definitely aware of your fascination, he’d notice the way your eyes would travel to the mirror over the bed even including the full-length mirrors propped up against the walls, your gaze ever so often lingering on your reflection as if you were searching for some hidden truth that the mirror held.

Many times you tried to ignore it, but there was something undeniable about it that drew you to it. Some would say that it was narcissistic but you didn't think it to be that way at all.

It didn’t take much time for his suspicions to be fully confirmed though. He quietly watched you in the dimly lit room, as you were too distracted to notice him too caught up in your own pleasure.

As you laid in front of the mirror admiring the way your body moved and contorted with each touch the room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths and soft moans. He couldn't help but feel a surge of desire course through him. The way you were looking at this very moment ignited something within him.

Slowly making his way to you, the sound of his footsteps echoed across the wooden floors. "Such a pretty girl. I see you've found a new way to captivate me," he murmured.

The sound of Sukuna's voice briefly startled you, causing your eyes to widen in surprise and briefly stop. You looked at him as he sat on the end of the bed his eyes never once leaving your reflection on the mirror as you were on the floor.

To be caught like this nervousness washed over you, but so did a hint of excitement. The sight of seeing yourself lose control and knowing that he was here to witness it sent a shiver down your spine.

You could feel your heart racing yet the throbbing ache between your legs persisted.

Sukuna grinned his voice sounding predatory. “I don’t remember telling you to stop Y/N and yet you have," his fingers gently brushing against your arm causing goosebump to raise against your skin. You licked your lips nervously your eyes widening as he ran his fingers down your arm and moving them closer to your exposed neck to then tilt your chin up towards him. "You know what to do, don't you?"

You nodded softly, unable to speak as you watched him move closer the desire in his eyes matching the hunger that was building within you.

“Then do it. I want you to finger your pretty pussy for me Y/N.”

You bit your lip swallowing hard as your nipples pebbled against your chest. His words echoing in your mind as your eyes never left the mirror. Your hand trembling as it reached down hovering just above your pussy.

Sukuna watched your reflection as a quiet groan escaped him. “Go on Y/N,” he whispered with slight desperation.

Finally you let out a shaky breath and slid two fingers into your pussy, groaning softly as you felt the sensation of your own heat and wetness. Your eyes met his in the mirror and he smiled reaching down to undo his own pants.

“That’s it. Show me how much you like it.”

Your own moans continued to filled the room as you surrendered to your desire. Sukuna could feel his own cock growing harder in his pants as he pulled his pants off completely, revealing his thick erection.

You watched as he slowly stroked himself, matching your own rhythm with your fingers still deep inside you.

"That's right," he growled his eyes locked on the mirror. "You're such a naughty little slut for me, aren't you?"

You could feel the tension building within you, the desire to cum overpowering everything else.

"Cum for me Y/N," Sukuna commanded, his voice low and rough. "Let me see how much you need me."

Your back arched letting out a loud cry as you felt yourself on the edge.

He drank in the sight of your intense pleasure as his hand continued to stroke his erection moving in perfect sync with the rhythm of your fingers.

"That's it, pretty girl," he grunted his voice filled with lust.

You cried out again, your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure reached its peak. Your orgasm washed over you, waves of euphoria crashing down on you as you felt heat surge through your pussy.

Sukuna watched captivated by the sight of your climax. His grip on his erection tightened as his own pleasure was reaching its breaking point.

"You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and rough. "Seeing yourself cum like that, feeling how much you need my cock?"

You nodded breathlessly the tremors of your orgasm still coursing through your body. "I-I do," you managed to choke out, your voice heavy with lust.

"Good. Then let me give you what you want." Sukuna smirked as he spoke.

With that Sukuna stood up and walked over to you, reaching down pulling you up by your hips.

"Can you do something for me?" he demanded, his voice deep and husky.

Nodding your head without a word he guided you to sit on the edge of the bed as Sukuna stepped between your legs and grabbed your hips, positioning yourself over him.

He sucked on the tender skin of your neck as he spoke softly in your ear, “I want you to ride my cock as you look at your reflection in the mirror. I want to see your eyes light up when you feel me inside you, and I want to see your pretty face when you cum again."

Your eyes widened in surprise and arousal, looking back at him with pure desire in your gaze. With Sukuna's guidance you slowly lowered yourself onto his hard cock, feeling the pressure and warmth as it filled you completely. A soft moan escaped your lips as he slowly thrust into you matching your pace.

He whispered in your ears as his hands gripping your waist tightly. "You're going to ride me until we both cum."

Your body felt a heap of sensations as you rocked your hips against his, meeting his thrusts with your own. The feeling of being reunited with his cock sending shivers down your spine as the intensity continued within you.

Sukuna's grip tightened on your waist pulling you closer to him. Your nails digging into his shoulders as the pace increased.

He let out a groan before he spoke. "Look at yourself in the mirror, how wet you are for me. You want it just as much as I do hm? Now be a good girl and cum for me just like before."

You gazed into the mirror watching your body move, your hips rocking back and forth, your eyes fixated on the sight of Sukuna's thick cock sliding in and out of you. The sound of your moans and his growls filled the room, creating an intoxicating symphony of pleasure and desire.

His grip on your waist tightened once more as his thrusts became more urgent. Your eyes met his darkened gaze in the reflection, and you could see the hunger and desire that mirrored your own.

You felt your body begin to tremble on the edge of orgasm as Sukuna pulled you closer, his cock hitting your tight spot with every thrust.

"Oh my God," you gasped, your voice echoing through the room. "You feel so good Sukuna!"

His eyes narrowed his own desire evident. "You want it Y/N? Tell me where you want it."

Groaning softly you didn't waste any more time. "I want you-I want you to cum in me.”

Sukuna complied his hips moving with a newfound urgency. The bed creaked beneath you as his cock pounded into your wet pussy, and the intensity of the moment felt almost overwhelming.

Beads of sweat trickled down both of your flushed faces, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room. You were breathless, your nails digging into Sukuna's shoulders as he continued to thrust into you. The sight of your reflection in the mirror was mesmerizing, your naked body glistening with sweat, your breasts bouncing as Sukuna continued his pace.

"Cum for me Y/N," he groaned, his determination to bring you to the edge evident in his eyes. "Let me see you cum, let me feel your pussy tighten around my cock."

You were lost in the moment, unable to control your own body or the sheer intensity of the pleasure that was overwhelming you. You relished in the power of submission, the empowering feeling of giving in to the moment, and the desire to feel Sukuna's cum deep within you.

Turning your head you slightly wrap fingers around his throat pulling him closer deepening the kiss. Your lips met his tongues intertwined, exchanging hunger and desire. As you felt his cum pour into you, and your orgasm coming quickly after.

As the two of you exchanged a kiss the reflection in the mirror was a sight to behold, a perfect reflection of lust and desire a moment captured in time. It truly was a pretty picture indeed.

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orbitariums · 3 days

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warmth | patrick zweig, art donaldson + black fem reader (pt. 1)

you guys really liked the snippet i posted so it's finally here! this will probably have a second part <3 (let me know if you'd like to be tagged for that!)

content: smut (oral f. receiving, fingering, handjob), childhood best friends trope, patrick and art are acting like high schoolers again, reader is rich bougie conniving hippie writer hybrid ...

reader, patrick and art are childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite.

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more.

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end.

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him,

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat.

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered, already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking over at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers.

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast.

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway.

The both of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies.

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end.

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead, you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half of that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were practically draped in that baby blue silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school, now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twentysomething industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here.

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly sucked you in.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently.

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that clung to his jaw, and the detergent still fresh on his clothes.

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing.

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected.

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh.

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom, and they fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs inching further and further up, their lips ghosting against your soft skin, had them panting like puppy dogs, only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.”

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. It was just the process of growing up. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from reintegrating into your life. Your childhood best friends.

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore.

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed.

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

Clink clink clink.

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options.

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it.

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that.

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither of them wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year, more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in the midst of their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag.

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table.

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly.

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied.

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee.

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt.

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips.

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm)— before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly.

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal.

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider.

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease.

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken.

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place.

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you.

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes.

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last,

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?”

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five-bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly.

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile.

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental. Still, the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath.

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — they were just two pubescent boys all over again.

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“I think we should just go for it.”

Patrick lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling with his hand on his stomach, speaking aloud as if into the clouds. Art, who had been gazing into the distance, sitting up against the wall on his side of the room, shook his head at Patrick’s words.

“What are you talking about Patrick?”

The two of them sat in the room that you had put together. They had showered and dressed in the pajamas that were waiting for them, just as you said they would be. The house was practically silent, it was the dead of night. Though you’d left hours ago, that same heaviness in the air seemed to remain in their chests.

“You know… I mean, she invited us here for a reason, don’t you think?”

Art glared over at Patrick, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown,

“Don’t be a creep. We’re her friends.”

“Who want to fuck her, and she knows it. Pretty sure she wants to, too.”

“That was high school, Pat. Get over yourself.”

“Like you weren’t getting your dick wet just from looking at her. C’mon.”

Art throws a pillow at Patrick. It lands square at his feet.

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m just saying, she’s not innocent. She knows what she’s doing. She’s just as perverted as the both of us.”

“Yeah? So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Fucking — I don’t know, something. We should just both go over there and knock on her door.”

Art couldn’t help but sigh heavily — Patrick was always creating some elaborate plot or scheme, but rarely did he ever actually go through with something unless Art was onboard.

“Patrick, she’s not trying to have a threesome with us. I’m not interested in your porn addict fantasies. Plus it’s the middle of the night, she’s probably asleep. Think she’s gonna wanna sleep with two idiots who fucked up her nighttime routine?”

“So then why are you still here?” Patrick retorted.

“What? What do you mean?” Art tried to sound normal, but his defenses were up, and they both knew exactly why.

Patrick turned so he was on his side, facing Art, making sure his words hit just right.

“You know what I mean. You could’ve just gone home. Could’ve told her that we’ll catch her some other time. But look at you, sitting here, feigning innocence. She’ll think we’re cowards, you know. Seven years later and we still can’t come out and say what is that we want.”

Art swallowed, staring blankly into the distance like Patrick’s words didn’t sting his side. He was right. He almost always was, even if his wording wasn’t the most politically correct or precise. It was just how they were — one too careful, the other one so not. Most of the time, they came together to balance each other out: like fire and ice. But sometimes, like this time, they just threw each other out of whack – an oil spill in a pristine lake.

“I want a friendship. If you want a fuck, go and tell her that. Goodnight, Patrick,” Art spat, rolling onto his side and turning his light off.

Patrick sighed heavily like a petulant little boy who’d just been denied a cookie. Maybe in college or high school, Art would have been all ears, and they would have risen from their beds like triumphant kings, and gone on the hunt for their king. But maybe he was right — that was high school. They were too old now, and it was embarrassing. At least if Art had agreed, even if he didn’t fully believe in Patrick, they would’ve gone in together. And so, swallowing his disappointment, Patrick stared up at the ceiling, ruminated for just a bit, and then turned off his light, forcing his eyes shut so he’d fall asleep faster.

1:10 AM.

That was the time on the clock when Art opened his eyes next. He woke with a start, like there was something he was meaning to do. Then immediately, he was a bit disoriented. This room was far too big. It wasn’t his. He remembered where he was, and just what he had to do. He rose like an automaton and found his feet swinging to the floor. He threw on the Calvin Klein shorts and shirt your assistant had given him (his pair was white, Patrick’s was black), and slid easily into his slippers.

Only once he stood did he really catch his breath, and seemingly also his determination. It was like he knew what he was doing, and he was completely okay with it. He even peered over just slightly, to see if Patrick was still asleep. And by the slow rise and fall of his body on his side, he could tell that he was. He was stuck in this dream state between idiocy and confidence, making for mindless determination as he sauntered out of the room and down the hall. He had intent, his head was screwed on straight. He knew where your room was, and he practically marched down the end of the hall.

As soon as he reached your door, he realized what he was doing, truly realized. He stood there stock still, like a rabbit that had just gotten caught eating a carrot from someone’s garden. He was suddenly confronted by the fact that he was completely alone; your room was at the very end of the hall and completely cut off from the other rooms. Now the heartbeat in his chest was loud and clear, and the slight shifting sound of the fabric of his shorts rubbing against his inner thigh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Nervous tics settled in, and he felt a rattle go down his spine at the recognition of what he was doing— the sheer arrogance, the assumption he was making. He thought of Patrick, and the betrayal this would be, considering he had just shut him down so profusely earlier. He thought of the fact that it was so easy for him to be so double-sided, to just get up and attempt it on his own, even making sure that Patrick couldn’t possibly be involved. How easy it was for him to be so unfair. He thought of himself, standing there with suddenly sweaty palms and a dry throat. Like a high school boy with blue balls.

What are you doing?

He thought to himself. He almost turned around, but he heard humming from the other side of the door. No doubt your voice, and no doubt you were very much awake. He could hear music, albeit muffled. He swallowed, closing his eyes like he was bracing for impact, and sighed. If he could remember the words to recite Hail Mary, he would have. Eyes still closed, he knocked. He heard the slight pause on the other side and imagined you perking up slightly and looking around the room to make sure you weren’t just hearing things. Despite his embarrassment, the knock was firm. It was clear it was someone else on the other side of the door. And so, a few seconds later, you swung the door open.

“Art,” you said, a hint of both surprise and relief in your voice.

“YN,” he replied, saying your name like it was a period to a sentence.

You were clad in a cream-colored silk slip with a lace trim. A dainty gold necklace adorned your neck, flush against your collarbone. You’d changed again since the last time he saw you, and this outfit did not make it any easier for him to tear his eyes off of you, starting from the necklace, to your breasts, to your legs. The slip was short and nearly see through, revealing your thighs which looked so soft and plush. The pucker of your nipples sheened underneath the thin fabric. The way it clung to your body was almost maddening. You looked fresh as a daisy — like you’d spent hours in the bath, rubbing countless creams and gels against your skin. Art felt suddenly embarrassed like he had interrupted your girl time with his boyish, base desires. You pulled him out of it though, with a slight smile and kind eyes looking up at him.

“You doing okay?” you asked almost playfully, still grinning slightly.

“Yeah, I just uh… wanted to… talk to you,” Art said, not even making eye contact with you and instead very obviously peering inside of your room. You looked over your shoulder like you were trying to see what Art was looking at, then looked back at him. Finally, he was making eye contact with you. He felt like you were scrutinizing him, searching for something to validate this interaction, to validate him. Your warm smile didn’t look all that different from a smirk anymore.

“Well. I am the host. Who’d I be if I didn’t indulge a late night chat?”

You stepped aside, pushing the door wide open with your back. You nodded at him like a coach, beckoning him,

“Come in.”

And so he stepped inside, and you closed the door behind you. Your room was how he’d expected it to be — reflective of your personality as long as he’d known you, but a hint more sophisticated. Everything rested on a plush chenille carpet. Your mattress, adorned with plush, deep red and green linens, sat on a large wooden bedframe, above which posters of your favorite bands and writers hung — Audre Lorde, Led Zeppelin, James Baldwin, Khruangbin. Across from your bed, there was an almost bulky yet fitting antique dresser. On top of it sat a 1935 Remington typewriter. In the corner, a leather armchair sitting beneath a scallop shade floor lamp, accented by a magnificent bookshelf behind it that was positively full. A desk, scattered with papers and pens and a pair of glasses, yet still tidy. And a vanity, where Art imagined you’d been just a moment before he came in. And dim, yet comforting lighting.

“Wow,” Art couldn’t help himself — he truly was an admirer of the details, the little things. And clearly, so were you. It had gotten you this far. He sauntered over to the typewriter on your desk, fiddling with the keys just a bit and tapping the top. You giggled at his nerdy lopsided smile. “This is sick.”

You smiled, placing two hands on your hips, beaming like a proud parent,

“She doesn’t work, but she’s beautiful. That’s honestly my most prized possession.”

Art grinned, truly touched. He turned to face you straight on, feet away from where you stood at the bed.

“I’m so proud of you, you know.”

The veritas in his voice rendered you bashful for just a moment, looking down and huffing an almost dismissive laugh,

“C’mon, Art, don’t go all soft on me now.”

Art rose to his own defense,

“I’m serious, YN! Look what you’ve done for yourself… I mean, I couldn’t expect any less, though.”

You waved your hand with a cheeky eye roll, and he started walking towards you, his footsteps causing the floor beneath to creak slightly. It was almost suspenseful, but you weren’t intimidated or in danger, just deeply intrigued and honestly, excited. You watched him, positively ensnared, as he closed the distance between the two of you.

He took two of your hands in his own like he was putting his life into your hands. That charming smile of his reared its head, accompanied by his blue-brown eyes, sparkling and wet and smiling too,

“We both are, you know. Proud of you.”

You smiled, genuinely at first. Then, it flickered. By the way he faltered momentarily, losing grip of the power trip that he dove into headfirst, you could tell he noticed. Your genuine smile turned slightly smug.

“Both of you? Why is Patrick not here, then, telling me how proud he is?”

Art did his best to keep smiling smoothly, cocking his head to the side slightly as if to say what can you do?

“He’s asleep.”

“Right… it is like, one AM. I’m surprised you’re even up, or that you assumed I would be," you kept on prodding.

“Hmm,” he smirked. He shrugged all too casually, so much so that it was cocky. “Guess I’m not that tired.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding sympathetically.

The both of you relished in this little game you were playing, a game of so few words but oh so much meaning. You held his gaze for just a moment longer, watching as his flickered from your eyes to your lips and back up. Then you sat down wordlessly onto your bed, never tearing your eyes away from his. You patted the spot next to you, and he followed, taking a deep breath that never seemed to exhale. You were sealing his fate in this one moment.

“I spend a lot of my time holed up in here. That’s why I make it as peaceful as I possibly can. Beautiful too, but not too beautiful. Otherwise, I’d just be distracted and a bit disgusted,” you chuckled at the end.

“Beautiful. Right,” Art replied, his gaze burning a hole into you.

A beat.

“So what’d you wanna talk about, Art?”

He knew he couldn’t be imagining the dulcet innocence in your voice that suggested anything but innocence all the same, nor the flicker of desire in your inquiring, wide eyes. All of it, combined with the slight pout on your lips, seemed to come together to create a face that was almost begging. His entire body softened. His eyes went heavy with the confession that was his utter, depraved need to have you. He slowly pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue and blinked slowly, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was leaning in more and more with every passing millisecond. You stayed put where you were, wanting him to chase you through and through. You kept that poker face, like you didn’t feel your heart racing too. As his face inched closer to yours, his hands started to roam as well, and you stifled a whimpery breath at the touch of those hands against your bare skin. For some reason, you’d always thought he’d have such baby-soft hands, but they were rough and calloused from the weight of the tennis racket that was forever stationed between them. It only made the touch that much better, made you realize how long you’d been waiting for this, his rough hands seeping into your skin like a scar of age.

“I don’t wanna talk,” he finally said, his voice lilted with need, and his lips nearly flush against yours.

Finally, he closed the gap between your lips. The kiss was slow and languid, but not for lack of passion. Years of distance would do that, would amplify the mutual pining. You thought, in this interaction that you knew would happen with one or the two of them, that you might be more calm and collected, still wearing that disguise of cool nonchalance, but you were on fire. Your hands were quick to wander as well, up to his face, gripping his jaw, one traveling up to his hair and finding itself tucked beneath the tufts of slight curls. And then his hands were traveling up from your knees to your thighs, to your waist, practically glued to the expensive fabric. The room was silent bar for the sound of the two of you panting like crazed virgins, and the wet sounds of your kissing.

You needed to gain control back, and quickly. So you pulled away, putting on your best smirk. Deep down, you felt like Art knew it was an act, like he was looking right through you. But at the same time, you knew he was far too ecstatic and anticipatory to call it out or really even notice it in full. And besides, you didn’t care. It was you who held all the glory, both back then and especially now.

“You two place a bet or something? That was quick.”

Art was still breathing heavily, gazing at you like you were the solution to all his problems. His hands were still roaming widely, like your body was an expanse of wild land, his hands gripping your shoulders and caressing your arms up and down. The confidence boost in him was visible and almost amusing.

“No bets… but Patrick was saying…”

“What was he saying, hmm?” you placed a hand on his chest and caressed the warmth there. “Why’d you come here, Art? Thought you should close the gap, huh? Answer the age-old question? Wanting to prove yourself?”

You slipped your hand between his legs, grasping the meat of his inner thigh and glaring into his eyes. You felt how he stilled, how his confidence stuttered. Both because he’d been called out, and because if he wasn’t hard before, he was raging now.

“No…” you squeezed his thigh, your hand ghosting over the erection that sat directly above it, forcing the truth out of him with your touch. He shuddered. “Maybe. Yeah, fuck. Yes. I-I wanted to prove myself.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, slinking towards him like a black cat. You placed one leg over his lap, straddling him. Positioning yourself so your clothed cunt was directly over his erection, which dared to rip through both his boxers and his shorts. You rolled your hips over his cock gently, just once. “This helping you prove yourself?”

You pushed him back, back, back, until his head rested firm on the pillow and you were directly above him, the shape of your entire body clear to him as you straddled him on your bed. He couldn’t speak, only stare up at you in awe, his heavy breaths loud and desperate. You only stayed like this on top of him for a minute before you shimmied down until you were at face level with his crotch. You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest and stomach over his white t-shirt, and then took the bottom of it in your mouth, pulling it up with your teeth in a motion so effortless and tigress-like that Art nearly came on the spot.

“Hmm?” you probed him to answer the question with a demanding hum, the soft fabric of his t-shirt still in between your teeth, gazing up at him from beneath wispy lashes. You let go once he was decently exposed, his tight stomach rising and falling frantically.

“Fuck, yes,” he rattled, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

You pushed his hips back down immediately and like a reflex, he started to apologize,

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

You ignored him and instead, you practically ripped the shorts off of him and started to palm him through his boxers, admiring the way his cock twitched and jumped beneath the small of your hand. You were attentive, watching as precum started to leak from his tip onto his boxers. You tsked.

“We’ll have to get someone to wash those.”

He squirmed and swallowed a wild grunt in his throat. His head was fully thrown back like he was in the most immense pleasure of his life, and you hadn’t even really started yet. You ground the part of your hand just above your wrist over his erection before peeling his boxers off. You watched as his cock sprung up in the air, thick and red and leaking. A tuft of strawberry blonde hair sat at his mound, but he was still put together. You sat up just a bit so you could place your hand on his cheek lovingly.

“Look at me, Artie.”

Your voice was so enchanting and soft that he almost forgot you were fucking his entire mind up, and he opened his eyes and looked down at you with the shaft of his cock enclosed in your hand.

“Fuck,” he huffed, resisting the urge to throw his head back again.

You maintained eye contact with him as you circled your finger over his wet, pleading tip, spreading the leaking precum around the head of his dick. He glanced away from you and looked at what you were doing, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. It was taking everything in him not to give in completely, and not to cum.

“No- no - I… I wanna make you feel good first. Please.”

Something in Art’s voice nearly made your heart drop — the wholehearted desperation and earnestness in it. It also made your pussy throb around nothing. The whole night Patrick and Art had been desperate, but now it was like you were finally seeing the extent of it. It was somehow endearing, a reminder of the love between all three of you. Art had always been a giver, and he sought out praise any place he could get it. It came as no surprise to you that he was the same now, but still, it made you indescribably horny.

You hardly realized you hadn’t responded. That wasn’t supposed to be part of your act, but Art was still pleading all the same,

“Can I? Can I just… taste you or — f-feel you, I-”

You kept your wrist moving in slow and controlled motions up and down his shaft, studying his face as you did: the way his eyes fluttered open and closed with a pleasured squeeze, his mouth perpetually open in gratification.

“It’s so fun watching you fall apart, though,” you replied, but you found yourself working your way up anyway, sneaking your legs up his body like a snake, one on either side of him.

He grasped onto your hips immediately, groaning at just the sight of you. The moonlight shone through the windows and brightened up the darkness of your room, illuminating your features and painting you under something like a spotlight.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, looking at you with hooded eyes. You steadied yourself, your hand reaching out to grab the bedframe and one of his hands gripped the fleshy underside of your thigh to help you. The more you inched up, the more he could see up the slip, catching a glimpse of your cotton panties, cream-colored with a tiny black bow in the middle. The print of your cunt through them was like an outline, a map to promised land. He sucked in a breath, almost like he was in pain. Your necklace dangled just inches away from your neck, like it was teasing him too.

“Wanna taste me?” you asked teasingly, lifting your hips above his face and hovering there, forcing him to tilt his head back and look up directly at your cunt, still hidden beneath your panties. You rolled your hips, letting your clit brush against the tip of his nose. He was enamored by the scent, had to physically stop himself from taking a deep sniff. “Hmm?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” he groaned, slightly arching his back up off the mattress just to get closer to you. “Please.”

He pressed a closed-mouth kiss to your clothed cunt, his eyes closed. It was such a gentle, delicate touch that you almost wouldn’t have believed how desperate he was if it weren’t for the longwinded moan that involuntarily escaped his lips when he made contact with your core. You bit down on your lip, breathing out from your nose, and started to grind your hips against his face. He kept kissing at your cunt over and over until it was almost indiscernible what was fabric and what was flesh— your panties had gotten so wet from his mouth and your slick. The wet trace made the friction unbearable, and your pussy throbbed through the fabric onto his face.

Through a mouthful, Art mewled,

“You taste so good. Please let me eat this pussy.”

This time, his lips peppered kisses around your inner thighs, soft but quick touches, taking in your musk. You decided to stop torturing him, that enough was enough. You lifted yourself up just a bit, and pushed up your slip. You were about to reach your hand down when you stopped and cocked your head with a smirk.

“Go on, then,” you said. Softly, like it was a suggestion more than it was a command. And Art took it in perfect stride.

He practically ripped your underwear off, pushing them to the side with a brute swipe of his hand that contrasted wildly with the gentle kisses he had given you before. Literally pushing your panties to the side. He looked for a second, eyes glazed over at the sight in front of him, taking in the sight of your dripping pussy. It looked so warm and wet and inviting, if he weren’t a better man he would’ve had to force himself not to bury his dick inside of you. When he felt he’d gotten a good look of it, savored the moment just enough, he wrapped his arms around your waist, smashing your cunt against his face. His mouth connected with your folds and you felt him sucking vehemently, before slipping his tongue in between your slit, pressing the tip of it against you. You cried out as he collected all the slick from your weeping center, keeping a hand on your stomach to stabilize himself, the other against your asscheek, squeezing every now and then.

“Oh,” you moaned, immediately starting to grind your pussy against his tongue, your clit once again nudging his nose each time you moved up. Art kept up, positioning the tip of his tongue just right so you rode it each time you wound up, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Yes, Art, just like that.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, the vibrations causing you to clench over his face and around the tip of his tongue. Then he flattened his tongue so he could capture the entire surface of your cunt. This time the grip on your ass grew stronger, and soon enough both his hands were squeezing your ass, supplementing your movements. You kept the time you wanted, Art just assisted you in rolling up. You honestly needed it, the way your thighs were starting to shake.

Art hummed satisfactorily again, enclosing his lips around your clit and suctioning, keeping his tongue out just enough so you could feel both sensations. You nearly squealed, your hand flinging down to push your panties out the way even more. Your back arched in pleasure, creating a whole new angle for Art to lick at and please. His fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your ass, like he was leaving some imprint. Now it was you writhing and moaning, but Art never forgot who was in control. That is, until he took firm grasp of your hips and used that to flip you over so that you were on your back. It was like he never lost contact with your pussy, diving right back down before you could even register what had happened. He yanked your panties all the way down and threw them over his shoulder.

“Take your shirt off, baby,” you panted.

He obliged, throwing his shirt off too, and then leaning back in so he could get to work. His arms wrapped around the inside part of your thighs, spreading you apart for him. Before you even felt his mouth, you moaned at the sight of his back and shoulder muscles flexing as he worked. He placed sloppy kisses against your inner thighs and kissed closer and closer to your mound until finally, he was wrapping his lips around your clit once again, using what he could of his tongue to lap up your juices at the same time. You were nearly trembling in pleasure, your hand flying to the back of his head to keep him secure where he belonged. He moaned in response, and you squeezed tufts of his strawberry-blond hair.

“That’s it, I want you to feel good. Make yourself feel good for me,” he murmured, his nose buried in your cunt, eyes closed in satisfaction and concentration. You glanced down to see that he was grinding his hips ever so subtly into the bed — getting off by getting you off, and you threw your head back.

“Mhmm. So good, Art, you’re so good.”

This seemed to set him off into a frenzy as he placed open-mouth kisses against your pussy, kissing it like it was a mouth. His tongue lapped you up and sucked you in, making precise, timed movements with the close of his lips around your clitoris. He used his hands to gently push your legs back so they were angled slightly in the air, the new angle causing you to whine. He angled his neck ever so slightly so he was licking the lips, a slender finger prodding at your wet, tight entrance.

“This okay?” he asked, just dipping the pad of his finger in and opening his eyes to look up at you, as if you weren’t lost in your own world of pleasure, eyes shut tight. You opened them momentarily, looking down at what he was doing, the sight of his face engulfed in your pussy and his finger slipping up and down your slit now. You could only manage a moan along with a strangled nod, and he obliged, sliding a slender finger inside of you. Your pussy stretched and then collapsed around his finger, suctioning in like a glove, and now he used his tongue and lips to go from your lips to your clit, all spit and drool and your arousal as he worked his finger inside of you.

“Fuck,” a strangled grunt left your throat, your pussy tightening around his finger, which made him moan in response. “Art, fuck. I’m getting close.”

“Yeah?” he replied, muffled as it was. He slipped another finger inside of you with ease, wishing he could watch as he felt your pussy sucking him in greedily. Now the slow thrusts of his fingers became more forceful, pushing deep inside of your walls. You nearly screamed at the addition of his finger and the way he curled them inside each time they came to a stop inside of you.

“Y-yes, fuck, just like that, Art, don’t stop.”

He moaned something incomprehensible, or maybe it was a groan mixed with a sigh, as he continued the expert deft movement of his fingers inside of you and mouth against you, bringing you to rock your hips against his face. You were muttering to yourself now: “so close”, “gonna come” until his fingers finally hit that sacred spot, his lips closed just right around your clit, spit drooling from his mouth, and you fell apart. That devastating feeling peaked in your stomach as Art brought you to your high and you gushed around his fingers and into his mouth. Your moans were girlish and deliciously sweet, momentarily wiping away that facade you’d been playing so good at all night.

“Fuck, I’m coming!” it was like you were announcing it to yourself, squeezing your legs around his head and practically clamping down on his hair with your hand as you released. He helped you ride out that high, not stopping, but slowing his fingers and easing his lips against your pussy to keep you grounded.

When you’d finally caught your breath, Art pulled back, his chin and cheeks absolutely soaked.

“You taste so fucking good, YN,” he said it like it was a fact of life, as simple as “the sky is blue,” trying to ignore the fact that his load was prone to explode any second now.

“C’mere, I wanna taste,” you implored. Shakily, he pulled himself up and above you, letting you cradle him in your arms, one around his back and the other cupping the nape of his neck, as you captured him in an open-mouthed, sloppy, slow kiss. You could feel his cock sticking out of his boxers and poking your leg and in one swift movement you slipped your hand between the two of you and pulled him out, your hand wrapping around him. He couldn’t help but take notice of how your hand fit him perfectly, like a glove.

His hips started to stutter, quite literally, he nearly fell on top of you, gasping desperately.

“Fuck,” he drawled slowly, lips still brushed against yours, pinching his eyes closed. “T-this is s-so—”

He spoke between full-body twitches and spasms of his cock. You pouted slightly, running your fingers through his hair,

“Use your words, Artie. Whatsa matter?”

He chuckled, hanging his head low and shaking it slowly,

“It’s just I’m so — fuck,” his words morphed into a whine when you used your finger to circle around his tip, which was positively leaking with precum. “I… I’m so sensitive right now. I’ve been trying not to come for like thirty minutes.”

You both laughed, genuinely amused.

“You wanna come?” you entreated, gazing at him with a look that almost resembled concern.

His smile dropped as his face morphed into that of desperation, that of need, and he nodded earnestly,

“Yes, please. Please make me come, YN. Make me come h-however you want me to.”

“Yeah?” you implored, the palm of your hand closing over his tip to gather slick and then spreading it all down his shaft. “Want you to look at me while you come. Can you do that for me?”

Art felt pressure building in his chest as his breaths grew more and more erratic and he forced himself to look you in the eyes, responding with an affirmative albeit strangled whimper that was supposed to resemble the word “yes.” You rewarded him by stroking him faster now, your hand a tight grip around his shaft, the sound of his wet skin and your open hand slapping against his balls overwhelmingly lewd. His eyes fluttered closed for just a minute, and his head cocked to the right, his mouth opening while no sound came out. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his hips started to buck up into your hand, supplementing your strokes.

“F-fuck, YN, that’s– fucking incredible, Jesus Christ. Please, I’m gonna–” he stammered, looking up at you like he was pleading with you. You simply returned his gaze and smiled, that warm, all-knowing smile of yours, and he fell apart. His entire body, hot to the touch, seemed to shake uncontrollably as he burst, thick ropes of cum spilling out of him and splashing onto your hands and your thighs.

“Fuck!” he whined almost pathetically, his hips faltering to an unsteady stop as he released.

You kept your hand there, slowing to languid, gentle strokes as he rode out his high until you were sure he’d emptied the last of his cum in the crease between your thigh and hip. He tried his best not to collapse on top of you, but you knew he was weak.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, and he fell on top of you with a limp thud, groaning as he buried his face in your chest.

The two of you lay there catching your breaths, sweaty and hot to the touch. When Art finally got up, he laid next to you on his side. His face was red, and not just because of the exertion.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me, probably crushed you,” he laughed apologetically.

You replied by using two fingers to gather what you could of his cum, smiling writhely as you licked them clean. He watched intently, absolutely enraptured. You did it again, reaching down to your thigh and gathering up his cum. This time, your fingers prodded at his lips. He nearly rattled with arousal. Easily, he obliged, opening ever so slightly, and wrapping his lips around your fingers, sucking the taste of himself clean off. You smiled at him admiringly. He couldn't help but laugh around your fingers,

"Fuck, that's so hot. I'm so sorry."

“Don’t apologize. You did so well.”

Suddenly, Art sat up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You giggled, your eyes twinkling as you looked up at him, amused by this sudden display of responsibility.

“Do I seem that fragile?” you teased.

“Oh, on the contrary. I just, I don’t know. Aftercare is important.”

So you spend the next half hour being doted on by Art as he soaped down your body in the tub. It’s the most intimate you had been the entire night, and he realized now that this was the most detailed he’d seen your body. He wanted you like this forever, being carefully pampered under his adoration, gazed upon by his eyes only. For a moment, you worried that this was somehow crossing a line, but you swallowed those thoughts just as quickly as they surfaced. The line had already been crossed when you reached out to them. Sure, you wanted to see how your two favorite white boys were doing, and you were excited to rekindle the friendship that had molded your life for so long.

But like Art walking to your door, you knew what it was that you wanted, and you knew that you were opening up a can of worms. Besides, you really did love Art, and you loved Patrick too. It was the sort of platonic love that could only be understood by people who had been friends as long as the three of you had. The kind of love that was still there for the taking years later. It didn’t need constant stoking to keep the flame. So, neither of you made this routine— this gentle touch in the water, loofah running across your back and Art’s fingers digging into your shoulders to loosen you up — a big deal.

By the time the water drained, you were absolutely zonked. You didn’t realize how late it was and just how much energy the whole ordeal had taken out of you. Your orgasm was so strong you were surpised you didn’t fall asleep then and there. Art used a towel to dry you off and had to practically carry you to your bed. He was lucky you didn’t see the shit eating, self-satisfied grin on his face — he liked being a caregiver, and throughout all the years that you had been friends, it was rare that you ever let him take care of you like this.

You threw the sheets over yourself, lashes batting as you looked over at Art, who was kneeling on the floor next to you, at face level with you. He was smiling so wholesomely that you couldn’t help but reach your hand out and stroke his face, your thumb resting on his sharp jaw.

“You’re good to me, Art. You both are. I really did miss you two. I keep saying it but I want you to know it’s true. Didn’t just invite you guys here to live out some old fantasy.”

“I missed you so much,” Art could melt from the touch of your hand on his cheek. He tilted his head slightly to kiss your fingers gently, cupping your hand over his. “I know you, YN. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

You yawned,

“I’ve been a rotten friend, though. Don’t know what took me so long to invite you guys to one of these. I thought about it every year, but decided against it every ime.”

Art waved his hand, shaking his head in dismissal of your comments,

“You’re a perfect friend. We’re the rotten ones.”

“See? You’re just the sweetest,” you grinned, your eyes sparkling. “I’d let you sleep with me, but—”

“Patrick,” he concluded.

“Don’t want him to be mad you didn’t tuck him in,” you giggled.

In the back of Art’s mind, he wondered if it would’ve gone the same way if Patrick had been the one to knock on your door. He knew it would, but it was nice to pretend that it was something he had to think about. He wondered what you would’ve done if they’d both shown up. Almost laughed to himself at how little self-control he had, while you were like a rock.

“He’s asleep anyway, but I should be there in the morning so things aren’t weird… things won’t be weird, will they?”

You shook your head, though some part of you knew that Patrick would even out the scorecard soon enough. He always did, competitor that he was. He was so hard to resist, and it’s not like you were resisting him very much in the first place — you’d invited the both of them, it was just a quirk that Art had been the one to do it first. You’d half expected Patrick to show up by himself, if it wasn’t the two of them. But one thing about Art was that he wasn’t some stick in the mud — he could be a wild card, and if he was anything like that ball of energy he was back in high school, you knew he could get shit done.

“It could never be weird. It’s us,” you replied with certainty.

Art leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

“Go back to bed, Artie. I’ll see you at breakfast,” you grinned.

“Goodnight,” he crooned.

“Goodnight,” you replied.

He stood up and walked out the room, though part of him was longing to stay there for just a bit longer, if not the whole night. But he knew this was just a one-time thing, just a way to let out that pent-up tension. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already thinking about showing up to your door tonight, and the next night, spending each warm summer night here buried inside of you, pulling his name from your mouth in pleasured sobs, making you come undone with his fingers once again. But, dutiful as he was, he walked back to their room, careful not to make a sound as he pulled off his shirt and stepped back into bed— staring up at the ceiling while he replayed moments over again in his mind. Like high school all over again.

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

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hookhausenschips · 19 hours

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Tangled In My Soul {JB22}

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Summary: Y/N struggled with feelings of loneliness and public scrutiny while waiting for Jenson, but during their drive home, he reassured her of his love and commitment. They spent the evening reconnecting emotionally and physically, finding solace and happiness in each other's presence.

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Y/N was sitting in the car park outside of the Sky Studios where Jenson had been working all week when he got out of the building and walked towards the car. He had been gone since Monday morning and they hadn't really spoken much over the weekend, it had been hectic with him traveling up north to see his family and then having to go back down south for work again.

She could feel herself getting more and more angry every day that went past, especially since she knew he would be talking about her on the television. She didn't like hearing other people talk about her behind closed doors let alone millions of people watching her live. She knew it was something he couldn't avoid but it still hurt.

She tried not to take it personally but sometimes it was hard, she wasn't used to this kind of attention. She wasn't even sure if she wanted this kind of attention.

Jenson sat next to her and kissed her cheek before opening the door for her. They both climbed into the car and buckled up before starting their drive home. It was always so quiet during these drives.

“How did it go today?” Y/N asked breaking the silence between them.

“Fine, just another day at the office.” Jenson replied looking over at her. “How have you been?”

“I've been fine thanks. I’ve missed you.” Y/N said giving him a smile and leaning over to kiss his lips softly. He smiled back and placed his hand on top of hers.

They carried on driving in silence for a few minutes until Jenson spoke again. “I know it’s been hard this week and I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long, we don’t get many chances to spend time together anymore.” He looked over at her again. “And I know it’s difficult to hear everyone talking about you all the time, it must be hard.”

“It’s okay Jens, you can't help it. It’s your job after all. But I do miss spending time with you.” Y/N gave him a little smile.

“I know you do. We should go somewhere nice soon, get away from everything and relax. Maybe we could even try and make some memories.” Jenson smiled back at her and turned his head to look ahead onto the road.

Y/N nodded but didn’t say anything else, she could feel her eyes starting to fill with tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of Jenson but she also felt like she needed to let it out, she was just so upset.

“Hey what’s wrong? Are you ok?” Jenson reached across the seat and placed his hand on her thigh, rubbing it gently.

Y/N sniffed trying to fight back the tears. “I-it’s nothing I’m just a bit sad that’s all.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“Don’t cry please, it’ll only make things worse. You can tell me what’s going on, I won’t judge you.” Jenson squeezed her thigh slightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/N wiped the tears away from her face and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I’m just tired of people making fun of me all the time, saying things about us because of our age difference and that I'm only here because of who you are. It hurts me, it hurts me so much. I love you and I know you love me too but I just wish people would stop hurting me like this.”

Jenson pulled over to the side of the road and put his hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him. “Listen to me Y/N, I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

“Yes, yes.” Y/N sniffed again and wiped the last remaining tears away.

“I love you more than anything else in this world, you mean everything to me. I would do anything for you. And I know what it feels like to have people say bad things about you all the time, I know how it makes you feel. So trust me when I say that those people don't matter, they are nothing compared to what we have.” Jenson stroked her hair and ran his thumb along the back of her neck. “I know it’s hard but you can't let them get to you, you have to ignore them or else they will win.”

Y/N nodded slowly, taking in everything he said. “But I just want people to like me, I want them to accept me and understand why we are together.”

“That’s not going to happen anytime soon Y/N, no matter what happens or what you do people will always find something to say about us. Even if we were perfect they would still find something.” Jenson kissed the top of her head and rested his chin on top of it. “So please stop worrying about what other people think about us, focus on what matters most; us.”

“But I'm scared of losing you Jens, I don’t want you to leave me.” Y/N buried her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“Oh darling, you will never lose me. You are the most important thing in my life right now and I wouldn’t ever dream of leaving you, you mean too much to me for that.” Jenson rubbed her back soothingly. “I promise I will never leave you, you are stuck with me forever.” He laughed lightly and kissed her forehead.

Y/N lifted her head off his chest and smiled at him, “I love you Jens.”

“I love you too, my angel.” He smiled back at her and leaned forward to kiss her lips. Their lips moved against each other softly and lovingly as they enjoyed the moment. After a while they broke apart and Jenson started the engine again.

“We should probably get going, we don’t want to be late for dinner tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” Y/N grinned and snuggled up close to him as he started driving again.

They drove back home in silence but it wasn’t awkward this time. There was no tension between them, just pure happiness and contentment.

* * *

When they arrived back at their house they went straight through to the kitchen and started cooking dinner together. Jenson was making spaghetti bolognese while Y/N was making garlic bread. It was one of their favorite meals to cook together, they both loved Italian food and it was easy enough for either of them to make.

They chatted happily as they cooked, sharing stories about their days and laughing together. They both enjoyed spending time together like this, it was rare for them both to have free time at the same time so when they did they made the most of it.

After finishing their meal they cleaned up the dishes and then headed upstairs to their bedroom. They changed into their pajamas and climbed into bed together under the covers. They lay facing each other on opposite sides of the mattress and held hands tightly as they watched TV.

Jenson turns and looks at Y/N, his eyes memorizing every detail about the woman who has held him captivated in every waking moment since they met. Y/N looks up and blushes at the attention. "What are you staring at?" she whispered.

Jenson smiles and reaches over to run his fingers through her hair. "My beautiful girl," he murmurs. "I am simply admiring my favorite view."

Y/N blushes deeper and leans into his touch. "Are you going to stare at me all night?" she teases.

Jenson laughs and shakes his head. "No, my dear," he replies. "There is something else I intend to do instead."

Y/N arches an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? What might that be?"

Jenson grins mischievously and sits up. He moves over to sit beside her and begins to undress her. "Well," he says, "I want to show you exactly how much you mean to me."

Y/N watches as he removes her clothes, leaving her in nothing but her panties and bra. He runs his hands over her body, caressing her skin and causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. She shivers with pleasure. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

Y/N smiles and leans into his touch. "Thank you," she breathes. "You're not so bad yourself."

Jenson laughs and pulls her close, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. His tongue dances with hers, exploring every inch of her mouth. Y/N moans into his mouth, her body responding to his touch.

Jenson breaks the kiss and looks down at her, smiling. "You're absolutely stunning," he murmurs. "And I'm going to treat you like the queen that you are."

Y/N blushes and looks down, feeling shy. "Thank you," she whispers.

Jenson kisses her forehead before he began his descent below, kneeling between Y/N's spread legs. He leans down and presses his lips against her clit, flicking it with his tongue. Y/N gasps and arches her back, pushing her hips up against his mouth.

Jenson chuckles and continues licking her, using his hands to massage her breasts. Y/N moans louder, her breathing becoming ragged. "Oh god," she pants. "Jensen... fuck!"

Jenson starts sucking harder on her clit and massaging her breasts more forcefully. Y/N cries out and wraps her legs around his head, holding him against her. "I'm gonna cum," she gasps. "Oh god, I'm gonna cum!"

Jensen continues pleasuring her, his tongue working furiously as he brings her to orgasm. Y/N screams as she cums, her juices flowing freely onto his tongue.

He climbs back onto the bed and straddles Y/N, pressing his cock against her entrance. "Ready?" he asks.

Y/N nods and spreads her legs wider, inviting him inside her. Jenson pushes himself into her wet heat, groaning as he fills her completely. "Darling I don't think I'll ever get over this feeling."

Y/N gasps and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. "Mmm," she moans. "That feels so good."

Jenson smiles, "Yeah?' as he slowly drags his cock in and out of her tight pussy. "You're so fucking beautiful," he grunts. "You feel amazing."

He wanted to take her apart slowly.

He wanted her to be able to remember this night forever.

He wanted to make sure that she remembered that she was his. That she belonged to him, and only him.

Tonight was about making love. Not fucking.

Jenson pushed himself in and out of Y/N's wetness, moving faster as she began to moan and writhe beneath him. He leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with hers as he continued thrusting into her.

"Fuck," she gasped. "You feel so good."

Jenson smiled against her lips, "Good?" He asked, before kissing her again. "I thought you were going to say something better than that."

"You're being ridiculous." Y/N pouted.

"Am I?" Jenson raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to prove it?" He asked, smirking.

"Prove it? Prove what?" Y/N frowned.

Jensen laughed, "That you're not the only one who can give you orgasms." He leaned down and sucked on her nipple, his hands gripping her hips as he continued pumping into her.

Y/N cried out, her head falling back against the pillow. "Oh god, Jens..."

"Shh," Jenson soothed, kissing her throat as he thrust harder. "Just enjoy it baby."

Y/N moaned and threw her head back, arching her back as she welcomed him inside her. "Harder!" She cried. "Please!"

Jenson complied, pounding into her with renewed vigor. He could feel her walls clenching around his cock, squeezing him tightly. "That's it, baby..." He growled. "Take it all!"

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply. Y/N moaned into his mouth as he began thrusting into her harder and faster. He gripped her hips tightly and pounded into her relentlessly, his balls slapping against her ass.

Y/N cried out as the pressure built inside her, her walls contracting around his shaft. She came hard, screaming his name as her juices flowed out onto his cock. Jenson groaned and continued thrusting into her, drawing out her orgasm. Jenson slowed his pace, allowing her to recover before finally pulling out of her.

Finally, he released her hips and collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. Y/N lay beside him, trembling and covered in sweat. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as they recovered from their intense session.

"Wow," Y/N said, finally able to speak again. "That was incredible."

Jensen chuckled and kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, "but we're not done yet." He rolled over and pinned her to the bed, looking down at her hungrily.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, surprised.

Jensen grinned, "I mean that I'm not finished with you yet. I plan on showing you all night just how much I love you." He lowered his head and kissed her collarbone, then trailed his tongue down her stomach. He paused to nip at her navel before continuing further down.

Y/N gasped as his mouth found its way to her core. His tongue flicked over her clit, sending delicious waves of pleasure through her body. She arched her back, pushing herself against his mouth.

Jensen chuckled against her skin and continued eating her out, alternating between licking and sucking her clit. He slid a finger inside her, pumping it in and out slowly as he worked on bringing her to climax.

Y/N moaned and writhed beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. "Oh god..." She whimpered. "Don't stop... please don't stop!"

Jensen chuckled again, "As if I would ever stop," he murmured against her skin. He added another finger, scissoring them inside her as he licked her clit faster and harder.

Y/N screamed as she came, her walls contracting tightly around his fingers. Jenson groaned and continued pleasuring her, drawing out her orgasm as he brought her to climax once again.

Finally, he removed his fingers and crawled up her body, positioning himself above her. "Now," he said, "let's finish what we started earlier." He leaned down and captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. Jenson smiled against her lips and began thrusting into her again.

"My darling, you will never be unloved by me. You are too well tangled with my soul." Jenson said as he slowly thrusted in and out of Y/N, looking down at her with adoration. "You are my sunflower."

Y/N smiled at him, "And you are mine," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

Jensen smiled against her lips, "Of course I am," he murmured, "I'll always be yours."

They kissed passionately for several minutes before breaking apart to catch their breath. Y/N smiled up at him, "I love you so much, Jens."

Jenson smiled back at her, "And I love you more than anything, my darling." He leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time.

Y/N sighed contentedly, "That was amazing." She murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder.

Jenson chuckled, "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, "but we're not done yet." He leaned down and captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. Jenson smiled against her lips and began thrusting into her again, picking up where they left off.

They fucked for hours, pausing only to catch their breath before resuming their passionate lovemaking. Finally, they collapsed onto the bed, exhausted but satisfied. Jenson wrapped his arms around Y/N and held her close, kissing her forehead tenderly.

"I love you," he whispered. "More than anything in the world."

Y/N smiled up at him, "And I love you too," she murmured, "more than words can express."

Jenson smiled back at her, "Goodnight, my darling." He whispered. "Sleep tight."

Y/N yawned sleepily and snuggled up against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "Goodnight," she murmured. "Sweet dreams."

Jenson chuckled and kissed her forehead, "Sweet dreams indeed," he whispered. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of their perfect future together.

* * *

Bonus; Y/N woke up the next morning to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. She stretched languidly, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

She glanced over at Jenson, who was still asleep beside her. She smiled and leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek.

Jenson stirred and opened his eyes, smiling at her. "Good morning," he said sleepily.

Y/N snuggled closer to him, savoring the peaceful moment. "Good morning," she whispered back. "Did you sleep well?"

Jenson nodded, wrapping his arm around her. "Yeah, I did. How about you?"

"Perfectly," she replied, resting her head on his chest. "I love waking up next to you."

He kissed the top of her head. "Me too."

The two of them lay there for a few more minutes, enjoying the tranquility before the day fully began. Eventually, Y/N sighed and sat up, looking down at Jenson with a playful grin. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Jenson chuckled. "Surprise me."

Y/N got out of bed and padded to the kitchen, her mind buzzing with possibilities. She decided to make pancakes, knowing they were one of Jenson's favorites. As she whisked the batter, she hummed softly, feeling a sense of contentment she hadn't felt in a long time.

Jenson joined her a little while later, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Smells amazing," he murmured into her ear.

She turned her head to kiss him on the cheek. "Almost ready. Can you set the table?"

"Of course," he replied, grabbing the plates and cutlery.

They worked together seamlessly, the kitchen filled with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of dishes. As they sat down to eat, Y/N felt a surge of happiness, grateful for the simple yet perfect moments like these.

After breakfast, they decided to take a walk in the park. The fresh air and the vibrant colors of spring invigorated them. They held hands, talking about everything and nothing, enjoying each other's company.

When they returned home, Jenson pulled Y/N close and looked into her eyes. "I don't know what the future holds," he said softly, "but as long as we're together, I know it'll be amazing."

Y/N's heart swelled with love. "I feel the same way," she said, kissing him deeply. "Here's to many more mornings like this."

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JB22 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @evie-119, @asparklysoul, @miarabanana

F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery

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