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orbitariums · 2 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.

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warmth

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

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

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

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

“I was --”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You made it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected.

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

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

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

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

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

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

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

Clink clink clink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

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

Patrick scoffed playfully,

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

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

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

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

“Do you think about anything specific?”

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

“Just what good times we had.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re right, I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last,

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

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

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

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

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

Another chortle from you,

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

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

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

“Charles?”

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

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

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

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

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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“I think we should just go for it.”

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

“What are you talking about Patrick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be disgusting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1:10 AM.

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

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

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

What are you doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so proud of you, you know.”

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

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

Art rose to his own defense,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s asleep.”

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

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

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding sympathetically.

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

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

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

A beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No bets… but Patrick was saying…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Look at me, Artie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Through a mouthful, Art mewled,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm. So good, Art, you’re so good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words, Artie. Whatsa matter?”

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

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

You both laughed, genuinely amused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t apologize. You did so well.”

Suddenly, Art sat up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

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

“Do I seem that fragile?” you teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You yawned,

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

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

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

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

“Patrick,” he concluded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight,” he crooned.

“Goodnight,” you replied.

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

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

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seohwang · 2 days

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XXXX.

First kisses with Ateez - Jongho ver.

Genre: fluff

Word count: 755

Warnings: none, Jongho is just too smooth for his own good, that's all

A/N: While working on my other bigger projects, I've decided to post another member's part of my First kisses with Ateez reaction series!! This time, the member of choice is Jongho, as I've been especially focused on him lately. Hope you enjoy and see you again soon! ♥

A/N 2: Btw, this is part of a small event I did on both this blog and my other, more nsfw one, @kp-alice! Go check it out if you're interested in some fun sub!yeosang smut ♥

Now, I think Jongho is a simple man

Not in a bad way, of course not!!

He just likes to take things at a slow, comfortable pace, especially when it comes to relationships

So he would definitely be one of the less nervous members when it came to your first kiss

He wouldn’t worry about it much, deciding that he’d stress about it when it actually happened

And in the meantime, he'd want to get to know you as much as possible, resulting in many relaxed, quiet dates where the two of you would get to hang out and talk, or even just vibe silently in the other’s presence

Whether it would be at a park, at home, or at some cute and cozy café - much like right now

You were just planning on taking a short walk around, wanting to enjoy the unexpectedly pleasant weather today

But then you saw this cool hand-made artisan shop, and this beautiful public art display, and-

Before you knew it, you strayed way off your original starting point, walking through unknown streets and exploring your new surroundings

Had it been just you walking around, you would have been a bit worried by now, pulling out your phone to try and find your way back

But with Jongho, you knew you had nothing to be concerned about

He just held your hand and pulled you along, a small smile never leaving his lips as he did so

And really, this did help you relax and allow yourself to roam freely

Until you noticed the sullen, grey sky looming above you, warning the two of you that the weather wouldn’t be staying nice for much longer

You told Jongho right away, making him reluctantly agree with you to call it a day just to be safe

But not even a few minutes later, rain started falling from the sky, growing in intensity with every street you passed

This alone would have been doable, but once the freezing wind picked up as well, you were starting to question your life decisions

Noticing your wet shirt, Jongho offered you his jacket to warm yourself up, but you quickly refused, not wanting him to get sick

But Jongho obviously didn’t want that for you either

And so, after a second failed attempt at convincing you to just take the jacket because he’d rather catch a cold himself than have you suffer, he thought of a different plan

Before you knew it, you were being pulled into the nearest café, a small bell chiming above your head as you entered

You tried to protest, but Jongho just gently shushed you, tugging you with him to a cozy table tucked in a far-away corner

There, he helped you get seated before taking off his jacket and sitting down next to you

“Jongho, we really don’t have to stay here, we’re not that far from-” “Of course we’re staying. I’m freezing cold and I was wearing more layers than you. No way I'm letting you out there before the rain stops,” he quickly retorted before reaching for the menu on the table

“But,” you tried again, nervously biting on your lip as you continued, “I didn’t even bring any money, I didn’t expect us to order anything today…”

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, silently scolding yourself for leaving your purse at home

The entire day was going great, but now you were going to ruin it with a small, stupid mistake

You wanted to apologize, to try and maybe save this situation somehow, but then…

???

Before you could say anything, you felt Jongho’s lips on yours, effectively shutting you up

Instinctively, you closed your eyes, resting a hand on his thigh for support as you leaned in for more

Shortly after, Jongho pulled away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear

“And who said I’d let you pay?” He retorted with a smile, lowering his hand to cup your cheek, “I chose to bring us here so it’s my treat. All you need to do is warm yourself back up and stop worrying.”

And with that (and a light blush blooming on his face), he turned back to the menu, skimming the drinks to find something for the two of you while you still sat there, shocked

Needless to say, thanks to Jongho, you did feel a lot warmer already.

Thank you so much for reading! And remember, feedback is always appreciated!! <3

#ateez x reader #jongho fluff #jongho x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #jongho imagines #ateez fluff #atz fluff #ateez oneshots #jongho oneshot #ateez oneshot #ateez headcanons #jongho headcanons #jongho imagine #jongho headcanon #ateez fanfic #jongho scenarios

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muffinrecord · 14 hours

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Current Plans + Musings

I don't plan on playing Exedra to the degree I did for Magia Record, or playing it at all. Because of that, I won't be taking an active role in the community and archiving anything for it. Of course, if Exedra has like amazing gameplay and stories then this is all subject to change, but for now I think I'm done with phone games.

The two youtube channels will stay up and I'll check em periodically to make sure there aren't copyright strikes against the content. I've saved all my raw files, especially for the battle animations, so I can remake them in the future if the music ever becomes a problem for some reason.

Google Drive will stay up until Google rots away. I haven't recorded footage in a long time (as in stories, I do for the character doppels and such), but I'll upload things if they're sent to me.

Magia Union Translations still plans on translating things and making videos, especially leading up to the end, but also for after the game is over for whatever wasn't made in time. I'm not sure what form this will take in the future-- if it'll be manual captions added to the videos or not, but I know it WILL happen.

As for this blog, I'm not going to delete it or anything. However I'm going to be taking a step back. I'd like to say that I'll do liveblogs but I mean... *gestures at blog* I've been saying that for years and the only one I really did successfully was the Oriko one lmao. Ahhh oh well.

I'll have more words later, but it was really fun to be part of a fandom experience like this. I'm excited to work on my own original story projects though and quiet down a bit.

...

When I started this blog, I never expected it to have people actually read it. Or look at it. I just wanted a place to gush about how much fun I was having. I didn't even want to tag the posts with "Magia Record" at first because I was terrified people would be mean at me, haha.

But I'm glad I did. I made so many good friends through this game. I'm glad it existed. And it made me happy to have a place where people cared about what I had to say. Some folks actually got their news from here, can you imagine that? They had notifications turned on for this blog. My god.

Anyways, I'm going to be here for the next two months, and tomorrow I'll start reblogging fan projects and initiatives, plus general news. Maybe this blog will turn into a dumping site for art and fanfic reblogs, who knows. I might watch the remaining stuff and add various thoughts here and there.

Otherwise, you can find me on my main blog @malignmuffin, which only reblogs stuff (I don't talk much if at all there). I have another tumblr blog for my comic, but I think I'll reshare the name once I actually have content you can look at on it. It's pretty bare bones for the moment.

Actually it'll be funny if the end of this game is what makes me finally work on it again. I was in the process of working on it when NA came out, and it totally derailed me. Stopped writing, drawing, just focused on this silly little phone game. Now it's like those five years have gone by and I'm going back to where I started, except I think my lil comic is going to be a bit better than it was before. If I actually make it, that is.

If I ever do actually make my comic and start posting it, I'll be sure to update y'all here. hah

Anyways, thanks for being on this wild ride with me. The memories have been great, and I'm glad I had this experience, even if it had to end.

#Magia Record

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seirei-bh · 1 day

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My opinion and theories about Jason's route ep 4

This post focuses only on Jason's part of the episode, I'll be playing Amanda and Thomas' routes in a few days, so I'll save my thoughts about their images, moments and dialogue in detail for later. And I'll do also other post about general curiosities facts of the ep, but I prefer to wait a few days for that.

BIG SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT, you're warned!

Well, first of all: if you are Devon, Amanda, Thomas or Roy, you are in luck, this is your chapter! But if you're the Jason route, you might be disappointed (it wasn't like that in my case, but I've seen a lot of people disappointed for understandable reasons, I'll leave my opinion below)

A summarize about Jason's moment:

-We met him in the cafeteria by coincidence, but he didn't see us yet.

-Thomas says he secretly follows Jason on his Instagram account.

-Elenda hints that maybe Jason has a crush on Ysaline. While Brune is worried because she thinks maybe Jason is trying to "hunt" Ysaline.

-Then Thomas and Devon start speculating about Jason's relationships. They insinuate that he must be a womanizer and someone who see people as prizes to be won because he is with different several women in photos and it doesn't seem like his relationships last long.

-HOWEVER, Jason suddenly appears because he has heard the conversation. He seems to feel offended, he hints that he feels disappointed by the others' attitude. Jason also says that regarding his private life and romantic relationships "there are reasons why I prefer not to commit long term" but that it's none of their business. And then he leaves.

Okay. Let's theorize here!

Apparently, and in the opinion of Thomas, Devon, and most of our peers, Jason is a womanizer. But the fact that he says very seriously that there is another reason behind why he only has short relationships and not long ones, I have a few theories about it, and yes, I think it will be a bigger issue than it may seem.

-A while ago I did a headcanons post about Jason in which among his headcanons, I got right the fact that he has only had brief relationships so far, and there are some possibilities that I mentioned there that could be that reason behind all this :

1- He simply doesn't have time for long relationships. This man is married to his job, and perhaps most of the partners he had didn't understand that, and he doesn't give his 100% in relationships either because he thinks they're not worth it and are a waste of time.

2- Since he is a rich, handsome and powerful man, he either believes that he has a perfect image to maintain and he fears that any woman could discover some weakness to use against him, so he prefers to end the relationship before it becomes serious. If this is the reason, he may have had a serious relationship in the past that caused him some emotional damage, which made him more cautious later (which could be something he had in common with Ysaline). And maybe even his family pressures him to keep that perfect image too.

3- And this is my favorite theory, as I speculated in his headcanons post: his poliosis was a consequence of a Waardenburg syndrome. A syndrome that also can cause him to suffer from partial deafness and even vision problems. And for this reason, perhaps he doesn't want or thinks that he should never have children, so he prefers not to have long relationships, so that no woman can find out this fact and become disappointed with the issue of not being able to have children with him in the future, other than that it would be for him to admit a weakness that could cause him to be fired from his job (I have a family member who lost his job because he turned partially blind from a hereditary disease, so yeah these kind of things can happen). And for a man like Jason, who values his job so much, losing him for something like that could be a big blow for him. Also, on a plot level it would be an interesting plot twist for his character, in my opinion.

Now let's get to another tricky part of the episode.

-After Jason leaves, Devon explains to us that the reason for his enmity with him was that, a while ago, they both entered a contest, and apparently, Jason copied the work that Devon did, that's why Roy calls him in the ep 2 liar and thief.

-However, there is something in this whole story that doesn't add up: Jason presented his project days after Devon, and that caused Jason was fired and lost the city council's own confidence. And when Devon asked him for an explanation for the plagiarism, Jason blamed Devon. So… what really happened??

-We lack information here. I think we won't know the full truth until Jason tells us his pov in all of this.

-If Jason had plagiarized and stolen from him on purpose, then he should have submit his project before Devon. It would have been the logical step to avoid being harmed. There's also the possibility that Jason just had a BIG coincidence of ideas similars to Devon's, but Jason wouldn't be so offended or attack Devon so much if it was just his own fault…

-I have a theory that there is a third person involved in this story.

-Perhaps that third person was one of Jason's colleagues, or one of his private investors, or perhaps someone from the city council or a person from another company who was a fake friend of Jason's and wanted to secretly harm him. I think that person found out about what Devon was going to do, and that person gave that idea to Jason without telling him that it was Devon's idea, like "hey, I've this idea, let's share it for this project" and then when it was shows it belonged to Devon, that third person told Jason that it was Devon the one who had stolen the idea from them. That person twisted the story.

-Now, the biggest disappointment of the ep if you're Jason's route: you only talk to him for a minute.

-Yeah, it was disappointing to spend so little time with him after waiting a whole month. Although I still enjoyed his moment because of the theories it made me think about it and I still think his route worths it. Besides, If I had enough patience in the past to deal with Leiftan's very very VERY brief moments in the first eps of Eldarya, then I can also deal with Jason's route being frustrating that way XD That's what you got when you're playing the secret route: your're going to suffer always in th firsts eps lmao.

-There is only a brief dialogue with all your companions in front and then you check out his Instagram. I really hope his part in the 5th episode is longer ToT

-His image it's the promotional image that we have already seen of him, but it doesn't surprise me, I already expected that image to be in an episode soon or later, he looks hot anyway, although I thought that the context would be more interesting, like seeing him in some important event instead of on Instagram.

-While Ysaline is looking his photos on Instagram, she thinks he seems to be "a big red flag" lol, although I'm not surprised after what her boss and colleages said about him, and because of this girl bad experience in the past (damn you, Ioan)

-This has made some players think that Jason is going to be a disappointing route, but personally I don't think so, not only because of the theories I have given, but because in UL I've been Castiel route and Nathaniel route, and both characters in the first eps they are very popular with women and you heard they had many short relationships of one night or a few days, and the beginning with both characters and Sucrette in UL is complicated… (Nath disappeared and got into trouble non-stop, We even find him flirting with a girl in chapter 3 in front of us, and Castiel, after spending the night with you, ignores you for an entire ep and says he doesn't want a relationship) but then in later chapters Castiel and Nath turned out to be WONDERFUL routes with sweet/beautiful moments and boys totally in love with Sucrette, faithful to her and who loved her deeply. So I think Jason might be a little similar to them in this case, with a very complicate start, but he'll be worth it in the end. And I'm into that shit, come on, the enemies to lovers drama!

-Oh and Ysaline gives the Jason's photo a "like" by mistake! XD So I guess Jason will mention this to us in a message or in the next ep. Hohohoh *evil smirk*

Conclusion: I can't say I totally loved it, but I'm not totally disappointed either. At least I'm glad we got a part of explanation about all Devon vs Jason's mess. I hope that in the next eps with his moments are longer (pls!)

#if you had the patience to read this whole long post THANK YOU #sorry for not be able to do it shorter ;__;#I've been overthinking about Jason for the last hours XDD #mcl new gen spoilers #mcl new gen #jason mendal #BIG SPOILERS #my candy love new gen #my candy love spoilers #mcl jason

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untowardsthoughts · 2 days

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posting some of my dndads brothers au of jodie and glenn

more art and elaboration under the cut :]]

so basically the gist of it is 4 dads [darryl, henry, ron, and jodie] on a quest to save their lost sons

around arc 2 where theyre gettin their anchors, thats where they get introduced to glenn, jodie's deceased older brother whos a demon now cause its fuckin cool dawg why not listen i dont have every detail ironed out

when jodie sees glenn he is very much Not Convinced thats his brother and is instead, another trick from the omega daddies and vehemently tries to avoid him.

for the scene w the purple robes giving glenn the phone to call morgan at castle ravenloft, that scene wouldnt work for jodie, for obvious reasons

so instead, when he recieves the phone, its glenn's voice on the other side. his brother who died in a car crash alongside their father bill when they were younger.

which im deciding to say, pushed young jodie to becoming a highway patrol officer

i think theyre like 5 yrs apart in this au? so like, if glenn died at 19, jodie woulda been 14. also i cant decide if jodie's also a demon or not. listen man . im standin at this au's corkboard like im pepe silvia. i cant be coherent but i can sure as fuck doodle

#ive been insane over this au for a hot minute #also after bill and christine divorced bill got glenn [obv] and christine got jodie and she married dee snider #so jodie grew up w lesbian moms because i say so #also no one @ me for my glenn design constantly changing . im losing my mind #dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndaddies #glenn close #jodie foster #jodie foster dndads #glenn close dndads #nicholas foster #my art

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class1akids · 17 hours

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I wanted shigaraki to live so we can address “what now” with different victims of hero society… Someone said something like suicide squad and I don’t know. If foreign aid arrives after the defeat of afo, I don’t think that makes sense. But in the future maybe? I saw another say something about the lov escaping and I think that goes against what the story tries to say about owning up to one’s actions. But the story has failed in that department too so anything goes at this point.

Despite the whiplash, there are some very direct promises in this chapter that things won't go back to the status quo:

The doctor's panel put right under the rebuilding efforts.

2. Deku thinking of Shigaraki being the leader of the villains till the end (and are we sure it is with negative judgement?) and entrusting Deku and his friends with what to make out of the destruction:

3. Deku talking about how the end of the war doesn't automatically mean peace, and that the bright future has to be delivered, while we get the overview of Shoto looking through glass in the hospital (Toya), Spinner's scales on a medical tray and Ochako looking through the window (Toga). The way the panels are placed strongly suggest that the "bright future" includes figuring out what to do about the villains.

4. Horikoshi's author comment committing to a post-war arc - and acknowledging that after the fighting comes the rebuilding and that new era he promised.

So I guess let's see how he delivers on it. I have fairly low expectations and think that much of the epilogue will be spent with crowd-pleasing, cutesy, sentimental scenes like Eri singing. But I'm confident that he'll try to address the villains' fate as well.

I agree that - unlike post-PLF War - a suicide squad makes no sense tbh. But Tomura being the "hero of the LoV" should come with some kind of pay-off and I think the fact that he helped beat AFO could help with public perception to a more rehabilitative justice in the end.

I don't think that the LoV escaped, but I could see Hawks becoming HPSC president and offering Toga a deal of some sort to train to become an underground hero. Spinner's fate is tricky because he was the posterboy of the heteromorph uprising and treating him too harshly could really ignite those crowds, so I could see him get leniency in view of how he was treated.

Touya is the toughest, as he's not shown publicly much redeeming qualities, but I could see Endeavor taking responsibility for Touya's actions, leveraging his service to the public / exchanging his hero work for trying to get him a rehab clinic or a house arrest, rather than Tartarus. Shouto being the face of saving everyone at Gunga may also help.

Like I really don't expect the villains to fully escape prison / confinement. Even the reformed villains like Gentle and Nagant served prison time. But I think it's important how that time is spent, if they are given the tools / support to change and heal and prospect to rejoin society that will be livable for them.

#c1a asks #bnha manga spoilers #bnha manga leaks #lov trio #spinner #dabi #toga himiko #bnha 424 #shigaraki tomura

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zehiiro · 2 days

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What Daryl and Carol mean to each other

And why France may have been the best thing for Caryl

This idea has been sitting in my drafts for about six months, but now that we're only 9 days away from the Tribeca premiere, I finally decided to flesh it out and post it.

This post can be taken as part two of my previous one on what Carol means to Daryl [here], but it can also be read independently. And just as a disclaimer, this is just my understanding and opinions on Caryl and all the scenes I mention below. So grab a nice cup of your choice beverage and get comfy 'cause I had a lot to say, and this turned out to be a long one.

I want to start by pointing out some moments where Daryl and Carol got to enjoy each other's company and talk in peace.

Yup, that's all of them... a long list of 4...

I didn't realise how rare these moments were until I started looking through season after season. Don't get me wrong; I know there are countless sweet and meaningful moments that they've shared both on screen and off screen (implied), but very few that we've seen without heartbreak, grief, or danger looming over them. And even the moments in the gifs above were still sandwiched between disasters.

I've read and received many questions, such as, "Why have we had to wait all these years and are having to continue to wait for Caryl to be canon?" and "If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now." and I feel like the above gifs answer all of that.

These two have endured unimaginable pain before and after the outbreak, and throughout it all, they have been each other's light, held each other together, helped each other heal from their past, and become the strongest versions of themselves.

However, they have never been allowed to be selfish, to take a moment to think about what they deserve, or to imagine the possibility of accepting the love they want and need; why? Because they have been so busy protecting and making sacrifices for everyone else.

For the past 13 years, they have been content as long as they have each other in their lives, accepting their current circumstances as long as the other seems happy. But during all that time, they also connected in more ways than they had realised.

The major connection I wanted to point out is that their lives depend on one another now (mutually inclusive). Whether knowingly or unknowingly, they are alive at this moment because of each other. I don't mean this just in a 'save their life when they're in danger' way but also as a 'I can't imagine my life existing beyond yours' and 'I can't distinguish between my life and yours' kind of way.

I briefly touched on this in one of my previous posts about Carol [here], and the show, in general, has been a lot more open with us regarding what Carol wants, but here are a couple of more nuanced instances from the later seasons where we see those feelings show from Daryl and Carol's perspectives:

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl)

The first scene I wanted to mentions is when Alpha confronts them about crossing her border. The moment she says, "You have to be punished," and the whisperers reach for their weapons, we see Daryl shifting on his feet as he prepares to move at a moment's notice.

And as soon as Carol talks back to Alpha, calling her words "Bullshit", Daryl is already moving.

He immediately places himself between them to shield Carol in case Alpha decides to attack her.

Then, when Carol snaps and tries to shoot Alpha, Daryl grabs and takes complete hold of her.

He's not just trying to stop her; he's using himself to shield every inch of her from any possible incoming assault from the whisperers.

Once Alpha allows them to leave, he grabs Carol and her bow and arrows without a second of hesitation (leaving behind his own crossbow) and immediately moves Carol away from the situation.

Once again, when everyone is in danger all Daryl can think about is Carol, making sure she's safe and unharmed, with no concern for himself.

I also think it's so beautiful and important to point out here that while all Daryl could think about was shielding Carol, Michonne was also there trying to protect both of them ♡

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl) - Part 2

The second one I want to mention is later in the same episode when Daryl and Michonne rush Carol back to Alexandria/Siddiq for help after she cuts her arm open badly.

We first find Daryl holding onto a column outside to steady himself while he waits to find out if she's okay.

When Siddiq comes out full of hesitation and can't find the words to answer Michone when she asks if Carol is okay, we see a look of pure fear on Daryl's face.

He freezes; he's holding his breath and won't dare move or say anything because he feels like his whole reality is hanging by a thread, and in the moment, the smallest thing or whatever Siddiq is about to say next might make it all fall apart.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP9 Squeeze (Daryl)

The third moment I wanted to mention is when Carol is hanging off the edge of a rock in the cave, risking her life just so she can try to destroy part of Alpha's horde, but Daryl finds her and is so confused and terrified by what she's doing.

He tries to tell her, to warn her that she's gonna get herself killed if she tries to go through with what she's planning.

Look at how he flinches and instantly loses his breath when her hand slips a little... breaks my heart every time.

When she responds to him by saying, "She killed my boy", Daryl's fear is now also combined with desperation because he realised that he didn't need to warn her about the possibility of getting herself killed; he realised she knew the risk all along and was in such a low place that she was almost welcoming the consequences.

What previously was a tone of alarm in Daryl's voice turns into a whisper, and he's now pleading with her. Without saying the actual words, he's begging her to choose to live again, even if it's just for him.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP14 Look at the Flowers (Carol)

What Caryl wants is also kind of answered in 10x14, where Carol is having an internal confrontation with herself. Subconsciously, she has chosen and manifested Alpha (who is now dead) as the face and voice of the one confronting her.

Timestamp 19:10 - 20:15

When "Alpha" says to her:

"Being out on your own... you've tried it before. They always pull you back. Always wanting more. Love. Motherhood. Death. But they don't know what you truly want. Admit it. What do you want? Say it..."

Carol responded by saying :

"I want to be alone."

To which "Alpha" says:

"Yeah. That's not it."

So the question here is, if it's not love in general, motherhood, death, or being left alone, then what does Carol actually want?

It's important here to note that Carol already knows the answer to that question. She's only asking herself this question because she hasn't accepted it; she isn't being honest with herself yet.

Timestamp 33:15 - 35:20

While Carol is stuck under the rubble and can't get out as the walker is getting closer to her, "Alpha" taunts her by saying:

"Stop fighting. No matter what you do, you lose people. Sophia, Lizzie, Mika, Henry, Ezekiel... And if you go back, Daryl could be next."

To which Carol responds:

"I could never let that happen."

This internal confrontation with herself and the realization that even when everything else in her world is dark, just having Daryl and making sure he's okay is worth living for and fighting for and that it's not too late for her to start over. The acceptance that that's who/what she truly wants gives her the strength at that moment to fight again, dislocating her shoulder to get free and killing the walker that was about to reach her.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP16 A Certain Doom (Daryl)

Looking back at 10x01 for a second, Carol asks Daryl to run away with her, but he says no and explains that life in tiny boat cabins is not for him. Then Carol presents the idea of running away on his bike instead, and he's much more enticed by his idea; however, by the end of the episode, they both agree that they can't because they still feel responsible for the people around them and making sure that they're safe against the threat from Alpha.

Back to 10x16, after Carol went to lead the horde off the cliff, Daryl would have almost been expecting and terrified that she wouldn't come back, that she'd take this "out" and end her own pain in a permanent and self-sacrificial way like she's tried before, but this time, he wouldn't be there to beg her to come back to him and to save her.

Once again, we find him leaning and steadying himself against a tree, preparing for the worst possible news or, as the episode's title suggests, a certain doom.

And when he sees her again, he can't take his eyes off her.

He doesn't believe his eyes at first; he looks all over her to make sure she's not hurt, but when she speaks, asking him if he's good, he finally breathes again, letting out the breath he's been holding.

The community is safe (for now) since the horde has been dealt with, and his next immediate thought is, "You still got me" and "New Mexico is still out there." He immediately brings back the idea of running away together; why? Because he now knows that this time he got way too close to losing her forever and will not be risking that ever again. He's now ready to leave everything and everyone else he cares about behind, so he'll never risk losing her again.

He loves her so much that, once again, all else comes second.

When he hugs her, he pulls her in tighter than ever before, making sure he's holding onto as much of her as possible because he needs to know that this is real, that he's actually holding her, that she's right there, unharmed and breathing, and not just a part of a dream of what he wants to see.

I believe he forgives everything in that instant, including her actions that led to losing Connie, because his pain is not worth causing her any more of it. He will now carry that guilt for himself, taking as much of her burden as possible just to make living a little easier for her. Because he'd rather shoulder all the pain and guilt than lose her, and because he can live with the pain and guilt, but he can't live without her.

~~~~~~~~

S11 EP24 Rest in Peace (Daryl & Carol)

I believe the events of the season 11 finale forced them to come to a new level of internal acceptance. Seeing the people around them lose the ones they love the most started a spark, and it started to force them to have those internal conversations.

The reality began to sink in for both of them that there had been too many close calls to keep denying themselves what they truly wanted, and It's now more true to them than ever that their tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

We all expected this to be the moment they went for what they'd wanted for so long, but we were wrong; their wounds were just too deep, and their instinct to self-sacrifice was once again too strong.

A year later, we see them once again dedicating their lives to helping others, Carol taking over Hornsby's job and helping put the commonwealth back together, and Daryl setting out to see what's left out there, hoping to find Rick and Michonne and bring them back to their family.

~~~~~~~~

TOWL S01 EP04 What We (Daryl & Carol) - A Parallel

There's a pretty important parallel that I'd like to point out as well. In episode 4 of TOWL, when Micheonne asks Rick what the CRM took from him, Rick responds to her by saying:

"When I got taken, I fought, and I fought, and not just by trying to get away, but by how I would dream. I'd meet up with Carl in my dreams. And that's how I survived in here. Kept me alive... But then I started dreaming of you [Michonne]... and it kept me going... I can't live without you. Without you, I die."

It's important here to note that Rick is speaking to his wife. When he was taken away and at his lowest, he survived because when he went to sleep, he dreamed about Carl (his son) and Michonne (his soulmate) and his happy memories with them.

So what does Daryl dream about when he's taken away and at his lowest? (TWD:DD S01 EP01)

He dreams about Judith (his surrogate daughter) and Carol (his soulmate).

He dreams about Judith telling him that he deserves a happy ending too, and his very next thought is of Carol, seeing her again and being with her again because that's the happy ending he truly wants.

And what does Carol dream about when she's at her lowest in season 10?

She dreams about Henry (her adoptive son) and Daryl (her soulmate)

She dreams about the life she's always wanted, a home, a family and a life with Daryl because that's the happy ending she truly wants.

Also, just a quick mention that even Michonne refers to Rick (her husband) as her friend when speaking to Virgil in TWD 10x08 (TS: 40:00 - 41:20)

~~~~~~~~

So why is TBOC going to be any different? And why was Daryl ending up in France the best thing that could have happened for Caryl?

Because they have finally reached a point where they almost believe they've lost the other, they have been forced to feel the dependence of their existence on the others.

They have never been truly separated before, not to this extent. And what to them was previously only a fear has now become a reality.

When they're reunited, it's going to be with a completely new perspective and total understanding of the extent of their need for one another, and the idea of just having one another in each other's lives will no longer even remotely come close to being sufficient.

I'll elaborate a little...

After all these years, we've seen them constantly save one another and be terrified of losing each other. But no matter what, nothing got them to the point where they felt they needed (more than anything) to confess to the other. So far, everything they have faced during the main show has been different shades of the same thing, and the urgency was never high enough to outweigh their self-doubt and insecurities.

What France has given us is a whole new level of steaks. Where we'll find them in season 2 is on the verge of believing that they'll never be able to see each other again; this, coupled with the fact that they don't even know if the other is even alive, and the fact that the distance and time apart has given them a true taste of how much they need the other, we now have the perfect and unique recipe for something that outweighs their self-doubts and insecurities.

It's the age-old idea of you don't know what you have until it's gone. The difference between:

Watching everyone around them lose the people they love most: they empathise with them, their heart breaks for them, they may even be devastated by that loss, and ultimately, it probably makes them cherish the ones they still have even more.

They, themselves, losing the person they love most: this is something that needs to be experienced to be understood. It's reality shifting, and the pain/loss outweighs anything else.

And now, after experiencing that loss for themselves, by some miracle, they're given another chance with that person... what a way to completely shift someone's priorities and ability to act past insecurities.

~~~~~~~~

To wrap up I wanna go back to Norman's words from the NYCC TBOC press conference:

"[Carol] feels something's wrong. They have that kind of bond, where there's a lot of unspoken things that are said... the bonds that we made in the flagship show are still very strong... [Carol] can take care of herself, of course... but the bond just keeps getting stronger and stronger..."

And David Zabel's words from his interview with Entertainment Weekly (interview link):

"The main focus of season 2 for me was always Daryl and Carol coming back together and what does that mean? And it becomes ultimately a story about how we as people can save each other. She's trying to find him, but in the process of telling that story: How are they ultimately getting to a place where they're kind of saving each other?...showing what's happening inside these characters as people in the most intimate personal way"

Daryl and Carol have loved and cared for each other so profoundly, especially when they couldn't love themselves, even to the point of sacrificing their own happiness to prioritise the others. If that is not the true meaning of soulmates, then I don't know what is. And we all know that some of the greatest loves are routed in the truest friendships.

~~~~~~~~

Thank you to everyone who read through this! I know it was an extra long one, and it could have been even longer, but I've decided to post their moments from 10C separately, as there's a lot more to break down there. I really enjoyed writing this, and I'm so happy/grateful that I have this platform to share these thoughts with you all. I'd love to know your thoughts on the things I've mentioned or missed ♡♡♡

As some of you already know, I'll be attending the Tribeca Premiere for TBOC in 9 days. After that, I'd like to write and share a spoiler-free-ish afterthought for this post, including what I've taken away from episode 1, what was said during the cast panel afterwards, and my thoughts on what's to come for Caryl. If anyone would like to be tagged when that's posted, please let me know.

I'll be posting a more detailed and spoilery analysis of Episode 1 once it's actually released.

#daryl dixon #carol peletier #caryl #the book of carol #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #my gifs #caryl positivity #CarylArchives

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nightgoodomens · 13 hours

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How do I love irony? Let me count the ways …

Yesterday GM couldn't be bothered to repost support for Staged on the Britbox Jumbotron, a show she co-produced and acted in.

Today GM asks followers to vote for Staged 3 for an NTA Award.

GM makes no mention that Good Omens season 2 (a much better show, sorry GM) is also nominated for an NTA.

GM makes no mention that her husband is nominated for an NTA for Doctor Who.

Yesterday, AL couldn't be bothered to repost support for Staged on the Britbox Jumbotron, a show she acted in.

Today, AL asks followers to vote for Staged 3 for an NTA Award.

AL says that if they win, there will be another photo of all 4 of them together AND

says "Do it so we can get another group picture where Georgia doesn't pretend like she doesn't enjoy our company." 8a. Pretend? 8b. AL means GM is smirking instead of smiling naturally. AL. Who cannot smile naturally for a camera to save her life, or more to the point, any potential career she might have had.

Since things were re arranged big time after Oliviers, the choices became very unsubtle and desperate because ladies have been cut off big time… GT and AL went through five stages of grief since Cali/Disneyland… From insane desperation to ugliness to snapping to asskissing to very controlled posting… I don’t have a single care in the world left for the ladies now that it became so clear who they are 😅 It is just embarrassing so I’m looking away in second hand embarrassment. They purely self serve now pretending these men aren’t the only reason anyone is interested in them and the reason why they had these jobs and why the show was popular in the first place 😂 I did note them pretending GO doesn’t exist and that DT was nominated for DW… Says it all really.

#NightGoodOmens talks PR #however I am laughing at people telling Michael to spend time with AL on Twitter #WISHING YOU SPEND TIME WITH HER #considering Michael refuses to talk about her it’s borderline demanding from fans at this stage hahahahaah #he didn’t say he wants to spend time with her #why are antis over compensating so bad #oh right because the dude acts like half of the perfect couple goals doesn’t exist #who’s parasocial here eh

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212thghost · 3 days

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Obi-Wan Kenobi and Maul: Perfect Character Foils, In My Opinion

buckle your seat belts this is gonna be a long ass yapfest.

To clarify, this is not a ship post.

for starters, a foil in media is a character that contrasts with another character. these characters are used to highlight the qualities of one or both character. a foil is, generally, an opposite.

Obi-Wan:

this might be controversial to say, but Obi-Wan is the best Jedi. by no means, am I saying that he is the strongest Jedi (though in my opinion he's up there), nor am I saying he is the ideal Jedi. when it comes to the adherence to the Jedi Code and Jedi morals, Obi-Wan excels in a way that others simply do not. He is not without flaws, but his qualities outweigh them.

-> for the sake of my sanity: Love ≠ Attachment -> The issue "Kanan 7" of the canon comic series Star Wars: Kanan offers a differing version of the Jedi Code which I will be using in this analysis as canon, mainly because I prefer it and view it as the more canon of the two. This Code states: "Emotion, yet Peace. Ignorance, yet Knowledge. Passion, yet Serenity. Chaos, yet Harmony. Death, yet the Force."

Emotion, yet Peace: Obi-Wan is not emotionless, he does not allow his emotions to rule him. It is something he had to work at, as seen in the comparison in how he wins Duel of the Fates, in which he uses his anger and despair to defeat Maul, and when he encounters Maul on Mandalore. When he reencounters Maul on Mandalore and Maul kills Satine, he does not lash out and recklessly attack Maul. He allows himself to feel the pain of losing Satine as he holds her as she dies, then is able to regain his sense of Peace and escape Mandalore. As seen in season 7, Satine's death still hurts, but he does not allow that pain to control his choices.

Ignorance, yet Knowledge: This goes without saying, but Obi-Wan is incredibly smart and wise. Though, he knows there is always more to learn. This is what makes him such a skilled duelist. Obi-Wan was not a naturally profoundly skilled fighter, but always kept training and learning and this is what caused him to be the powerful fighter we see in ROTS.

Passion, yet Serenity: The best example of this I believe is Obi-Wan's mental state on Tatooine during the Kenobi series. In the beginning of the series, the Obi-Wan we see is broken, drowning in his despair. By the end of the series, Obi-Wan has reconnected with the Force. Throughout the show, he was about to heal from (some) of the intense pain, guilt, and sadness that came from Anakin's Fall and was absolved of his guilt through Vader's words in the finale. He was able to see Qui-Gon once again through the serenity he found.

Chaos, yet Harmony: Despite the chaos that was the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan did not falter in his core morals and values. Though he became more skeptical of the the Council, he held fast in the morals that the Jedi should represent.

Death, yet the Force: Obi-Wan allows Vader to strike him down and become a Force Ghost. He does not fear death, he trusts in the Force.

Attachment: The best example is Obi-Wan defeating Anakin on Mustafar. Despite his love for his brother and best friend, Obi-Wan was able to strike down Anakin for the chance that the Republic would be saved. He loved him, but he was not willing to sacrifice the galaxy. This is most comparable to Anakin joining Palpatine to save Padme--his love had become possessive, even saying "I can't live without her"--and caused the fall of the Republic and genocide of the Jedi (not bashing on Anakin, i love him, but Anakin Critical). Similarly, Obi-Wan loved Satine and would have left the Order to be with her, but was able to let her go when she chose her duty as Duchess.

This code, as well as the Jedi's focus on conquering the inner Dark, is the baseline for Obi-Wan's character. He is kind and compassionate for all living things.

There are many, many, instances in Obi-Wan's life where he could have and even probably should have Fallen to the Dark Side. Yet he never does. He is tempted, but does not give in. This is best summed up by this quote:

"I think the real tragedy of Obi-Wan was that he deserved better. He played by the rules, he always strived to be better, to be kinder, to be wiser and he never let his friends down. And he lost everything he ever loved anyway. The greatest Jedi who ever lived, the man who sacrificed all that he had, all for a reward of nothing." -Eddie Curtis

Maul:

In perfect contrast to Obi-Wan, I think Maul is the perfect Clone Wars era Sith. Again, I don't think Maul is the strongest Sith, but in relation to the Sith philosophy, he's perfect.

The Sith Code: "Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me."

Passion, strength: Maul, in true Sith fashion, used his emotion to gain strength. His hatred for Obi-Wan kept him alive in junk pits for ~17ish years and allowed him to frankly beat the shit out of Obi-Wan in the Clone Wars episode Revenge (s4 ep22).

Strength, power: This one is self-explanatory, but is best shown by how Maul uses his strength to defeat Pre Viszla in the duel for the Darksaber. This duel and use of his strength allowed him to rule Mandalore for a brief period of time.

Power, victory: Using his power as ruler of Mandalore, Maul was able to lure Obi-Wan to Mandalore where he killed Satine, thus winning a victory over him. While he ultimately did not defeat Sideous, which was his overarching plan, he did not stop in his quest for victory over Obi-Wan.

Victory, freedom: Maul believed that killing Obi-Wan and enacting his revenge would satisfy him and became his purpose. He was consumed by his desire for victory.

Maul was ruled by his emotions, particularly his anger. Despite this, he was cold and calculating. Maul craved power and victory, and often had rage-fueled outbursts at the mere mention of Obi-Wan. -> While Sidious is the most successful Sith, Maul's raw rage and uncontrollable passion are what makes him a more perfect example of the Sith philosophy. Sidious has a strong control over his emotions while the Sith Code preaches unbridled emotion.

Foils:

Where Obi-Wan is the perfect Jedi, Maul is the perfect Sith.

These characters are inherently intertwined, as their first interaction causes a domino effect that makes them the people they become. If Maul was never cut in half by Obi-Wan, he likely would have been murdered by Sidious or a new apprentice (such as Dooku) when he was no longer useful to Sidious's plans. If Maul never killed Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan would not have trained Anakin and become the person we know him as. If you enjoy Legends, it is even possible Obi-Wan would never have been knighted, as Qui-Gon was willing to repudiate him to train Anakin. Both Obi-Wan and Maul were apprentices of a higher power, the Jedi and Sith respectively, and were tools in Sidious's plan. In the Duel of the Fates, they fight over Anakin's fate, with Maul both winning and losing. Both Obi-Wan and Maul are unaware of their impact on the galaxy, but their actions here change everything, including each other.

Their characters cannot exist without the other.

Where Obi-Wan is ruled by a serene mind, Maul is ruled by his emotions. Where Obi-Wan is kind, Maul is equally cruel. Where Obi-Wan loves, Maul hates. They are complete opposites of each other and only highlight the other's personality traits with each interactions. Everything one of them does, the other will inherently do the opposite.

Maul, in a sense, is a symbol of the Dark itself and Obi-Wan is the Light. Neither ever waver from their respective sides. (Mortis fans please don't attack me).

My favorite example of their mirroring is The Duel of the Twin Suns in the Rebels episode Twin Suns (s3 ep20). It is best explained by Sam Witwer, here.

This duel begins with Obi-Wan and Maul's typical opening stances, with Obi-Wan using Soresu and Maul activates both sides of his lightsaber. After a moment, Obi-Wan switches to the Ataru opening stance once used by Qui-Gon, knowing that Maul would attempt to kill him in the same way he killed Qui-Gon. He was correct. Obi-Wan has played that duel on Naboo over and over in his mind and Maul was so set in his ways that he fell right into the trap. Obi-Wan defeats Maul in about three moves when Maul attempted to hit him with the hilt of his saber like he did with Qui-Gon.

What stands out the most to me about this battle, is that Obi-Wan catches Maul and shows him compassion, going as far to close his eyes and even bury his body. Despite the fact Maul killed Qui-Gon, Satine, and was attempting to murder and humiliate him, Obi-Wan is kind to him in his final moments. In this moment, Obi-Wan is compassionate as Jedi should be and Maul was vengeful as Sith should be. They are, in a sense, the Twin Suns. Their characters are narrative twins, so opposite that they become similar.

TLDR:

Maul and Obi-Wan's actions shaped each other into the characters we know them to be starting with the Duel of the Fates.

#obi wan kenobi #darth maul #star wars #the clone wars #star wars rebels #character analysis #media analysis #maul #what am i doing #character foils #narrative foils #star wars analysis #the jedi order #not shipping #feel free to add anything!!!

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standfucker · 2 days

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"My Boy"

Characters: Jinbe

Reader: trans male

Word Count: 4k

CW: explicit N.SFW content, monsterfucking vibes, size difference, vaginal penetration, double penetration in one hole, creampie, exhibitionism/risk of getting caught, oral (giving)

Summary: Polite interactions with your newest crewmate turn a little less polite when you catch each other ogling during a shared bath.

Ao3 Link

@jinbeioyabun

🎉🎉 Happy Birthday El! 🎉🎉

For most of the crew, the best part of getting swept up into yet another conflict is the post-battle celebration. You tend to be more like Zoro–you enjoy the fight itself more than anything, a chance to really cut loose and prove your worth. But when the town you’d inadvertently saved offered the crew their private hot springs to use, it wasn’t something you were going to pass up on, either.

The other men had already finished their soak and gone ahead to the feast. You lag behind purposefully to have the springs to yourself, wanting some peace and quiet to relax properly. As much as you love to fight, it takes you a while to wind down from all the chaos, needing a few hours to really calm your body and mind. You care for the others, but you’d prefer to bathe without the background noise of Zoro and Sanji bickering, or Brook and Franky’s general silliness.

Warm, humid air wafts into your nose and hugs your skin as you step out into the men’s private springs, the warm humidity a comforting promise of the steamy bath you’re about to enjoy. There’s several natural pools in the hot springs, the biggest sporting a cluster of rocks in the middle that men liked to jump off of. You’re about to step into the biggest one when you notice someone off to the far side of the spring. Only his head is sticking out of the water, but the color of his skin makes him stand out against the gray of the rocks. A twinge of disappointment quickly dissipates–it’s just Jinbe, his eyes closed and a serene look on his face. The placid, honorable helmsman is the most favorable of your crew to run into here; you can look forward to a calm soak if it’s just him around.

Jinbe opens one eye upon hearing your footsteps, then closes it again after seeing it’s you. Sliding off your towel and folding it up, you step into the springs. The hot water around your legs is a stark difference to the air around you, almost a little too warm, but you don’t wait to adjust, walking down the scarped steps cut into the rock.

An involuntary sigh escapes you as you’re immersed up to your shoulders, the heat wrapped around your body pleasant and soothing. It’s a little more intense around your healing cuts, close to a sting, but your tired muscles are so relaxed by the therapeutic heat that it well makes up for it. You hear a gruff chuckle come from the other end of the pool.

“It’s really nice, isn’t it?” Jinbe says, smiling warmly. “I never got to experience hot springs until long after I became a pirate. Such a luxury is exquisite…”

“Mhm,” you agree, feeling the bottom with your foot to get an idea of how deep the pool goes. It’s deep enough that the bottom slopes away from your feet, and at least deep enough that Jinbe can soak his entire body. That’s saying something, given that he’s almost ten feet tall. “Makes sense. They don’t exactly form under the sea.”

“No. A shame–the hot water feels great going through your gills.” Jinbe dips his mouth into the water, taking a gulp, and you watch with some fascination as the water flows out of his gills and trickles down his neck. He lets out a sigh of contentment. Your eyes widen slightly as he rises, his massive upper body breaking the surface so he can hook his elbows onto the bank and lean back. “The contrast is nice, too. I enjoy how cool the air feels on my skin.”

“Mm,” you reply, the sight of his broad, broad pecs erasing proper words from your vocabulary. They’re hefty and thick, a layer of fat that you know hides powerful muscle underneath. His upper arms are the same, deceptively soft looking until he flexes and shows the bulging of huge muscles. You’ve always had a thing for big guys, and even more so for Fish-men. Finding Jinbe attractive was a given, but you didn’t really anticipate the effect seeing him naked would have on you.

That’s probably why he catches you staring. You realize it too late, your eyes meeting before you rip your gaze away. At least he’s too polite to say anything about it. He scratches the back of his neck while you look anywhere else.

“You fought well today,” he says awkwardly, but sincerely. “Given my brief time in the Straw Hats, I haven’t had the chance to see how everyone fares in combat.”

“What, did I surprise you?” you ask, grinning at him.

“Yes and no. I knew you’d be strong, but I didn’t expect you to tank hits as well as you did. I’m always impressed by the resilience of humans. Especially the smaller ones.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you shrug. “But I’m alright. Look, this is the worst that I got today.” You stand on the tips of your toes so your shoulders come out of the water and point to your clavicle. There’s a long cut across the middle, and while it bled a lot initially, it was just shallow enough to not need stitches.

“You were injured?” Jinbe says, pushing himself off the wall before you can respond. Dipping low again, he moves through the water toward you swiftly and gracefully. Even on land, he moves elegantly, surprising considering his size, but it doesn’t compare to how he swims. The water seems to part around him, barely disturbed like a swan gliding across the surface.

“Just a little,” you say, taking a step back despite yourself as he reaches you, rising up out of the water. He’s even bigger up close, looming over you. The proximity makes your heart pick up its pace. You can’t help it–he’s just so big, and he’s looking at you with such concern.

“Has Chopper seen it?”

“No. It seemed minor. I didn’t want to bother him while he was helping people who really needed him.” You have to crane your neck back to look up at Jinbe.

“As a former captain, I’d admonish you…but truthfully, I would have done the same.” He chuckles. “I’m no doctor, but I have treated my fair share of injuries. Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Oh. Uh…” You hesitate, caught between flattery at his concern and bashfulness. “No, I don’t mind.”

Jinbe lowers himself in the water so he’s at eye level with you again, inching closer to get a better view of your cut. You turn your head as he leans in, unable to meet his eye at such a close distance. You can feel his breath on your skin, the soft warmth making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Despite the warmth of the hot springs, you still feel a heat creeping into your cheeks.

“It’s not bad,” he says after a minute. “You made a good call this time. Did you disinfect it?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Good! It should heal up nicely.” He smiles big, making your heart leap, and then he perks as he notices something else. “That’s a nasty bruise there.” He gently rests his fingers on your arm, right below the deep purple bruise on your shoulder.

“It’s, uh, it’s no big deal,” you shrug. Jinbe’s lifted your arm slightly to inspect your shoulder better, and you swallow at the touch. His webbed hand is so large it wraps entirely around your arm. “J-Jinbe…”

“Ah!” he lets go, seeming to notice your unease. “Am I making you uncomfortable? My apologies.”

You laugh nervously, trying to play it off. “Come on. Being doted on by a big, handsome guy would make anyone tense.”

Jinbe’s completely taken by surprise, mouth slightly open as he goes quiet. He clears his throat, and a slow, adorably shy smile stretches across his mouth. “I must say, it’s not often you get that sentiment from humans.”

“I’ve always found fish-men attractive,” you say without thinking. Immediately you realize what you said and start stammering. “I mean, um, you know. You guys are often pretty big, and, uh, really strong, and, I look up to that, and…”

His smile grows as you talk yourself into a corner. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “it’s not unheard of for fish-men to be interested in humans, either.”

Your stomach does a funny little flip. “Do you…do you know any fish-man like that?”

“You could say that.”

You finally meet his eye. His sheepish grin makes you smile, too, even as your heart pounds. He doesn't move away, and up close, you notice the darkened, violet mottling above his left gills.

“You're bruised, too,” you say, reaching for his neck. Jinbe lets you, angling himself to give you easier access. You brush your fingers lightly over the spot, careful not to press down, and hear his breath catch. Glancing at him, you see the skin of his face tinged violet as well, something you somehow missed earlier. You touch his cheeks gently. “Oh–you also got hit in the face, huh? That's never fun.”

Jinbe clears his throat. “Actually, er, that's just a blush,” he admits, gaze averted.

“Oh!” You yank your hands away. “Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable this time?”

“Naturally,” he grins cheekily, “being doted on by an attractive young man would make anyone nervous.” Your cheeks flare even hotter at the revelation, more so when Jinbe takes your hand, enveloping it in his large one. “I don't mind. It's nice.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “I think so, too.”

He puts your hand back where it was on his cheek, glancing aside shyly for a second before looking at you again. He steels his resolve, taking a breath, before he says your name so gently it makes a shiver run down your spine. “Y/n…”

“Yeah?” Entranced, you lean in until there's only a few inches of space between you, and Jinbe answers you by closing the distance, pressing his lips to yours hesitantly.

The contact is fleeting, a brief testing of the waters, but it feels like little fireworks setting off beneath your skin. You two blink at each other, and then you place your other hand on his cheek and pull him back in for another. Like the first, it’s soft and uncertain. The next kiss is more sure, and by the next one, he’s placed his hands around your hips, squeezing when you gently lick along his lower lip.

It’s a little different from kissing a human; his mouth is so wide, for one thing, that he can’t really close it over yours properly; instead he lets you do most of the work, your tongue probing and tracing patterns across the expanse of his. Bringing his hands up your sides to support you, he tilts you back, pressing heated, messy kisses against your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck, just able to dig your fingers into his hair at the base, and kiss along his lower lip, nipping by one of his large lower fangs. You can’t resist a little chomp on his fang, either.

Jinbe growls, a sound that goes straight to your dick. “Careful,” he rumbles as you press your cheek to his fang. “They’re sharper than they look.”

“I guess you biting me is off the table?”

He chuckles. “I won’t bite you, no. But if you hold very, very still,” he warns and promises at once, “I can do this.” With the utmost delicateness, he drags the points of his upper row of teeth down your neck and over your shoulder, leaving faint, ashy lines. The sensation tickles and teases, the razor’s edge of danger, drawing a soft whimper out of you. His control is so good it doesn’t even sting.

“Jinbe,” you breathe, running your hands down his broad chest and scraping your nails against his skin–comparatively dull, but he groans appreciatively all the same. “Would you think less of me if I told you I really, really liked that?”

“Of course not,” he chuckles and pecks your lips fondly. “I find it attractive.”

“Okay,” you say, “‘cause for the record, this is my first time kissing a Fish-man, and it’s better than I imagined.”

“Than you imagined?” Holding onto you, Jinbe rolls over so you’re propped up on his chest, both your lower halves beneath the water as he swims backward easily. “You imagine yourself with Fish-men often, do you? What else do you imagine?”

He’s confident now, shining eyes fixed on you, and you meet his challenge. “Why don’t I show you?”

Jinbe pulls you in for another kiss, the two of you making out until his back hits the opposite wall. Now in only about three feet of water, you slide down between his legs while Jinbe leans back on the sloped bank.

Through the water, you can see the faint outline of his cocks–there’s two–each one at least as thick as your forearm and just as long. Arranged vertically, they’re slightly darker than the rest of him, with a purplish flush beneath the skin. The top one is erect and rigid, the other one halfway there. You try to act nonchalant at the sight, as he’s currently watching you with some amusement. Rather than make a comment, you reach for the lower one, and Jinbe sucks in a breath as you wrap your hands around it.

The skin is silky and warm even under the hot springs. You stroke him from base to tip, thumbs pressing into his frenum, making him gasp. The lower member quickly swells from the attention, stiffening until it’s as big and rigid as the upper one.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Jinbe comments.

“Didn’t want to be rude.” you respond, making him grin. “You’re, um…you’re impressive, to say the least.”

Jinbe’s about to reply when you take one cock in each hand and start stroking firmly, pressing them against your stomach, his balls resting on your lap. Whatever he was going to say turns into a soft gasp. Like a human, he seems to be more sensitive toward the tip, so you focus your attention there. Though you can’t see it, you can feel a sticky, mucousy fluid coating the heads of his cocks, spreading down his shaft by the movement of your hands.

“Ah…you… you’re certainly eager to please, aren’t you?” he praises, one hand cupping your cheek.

“You have no idea.” Taking a deep breath, you plunge your head into the water, shutting your eyes tight, and take one of his cocks into your mouth. His pre-cum is thicker and saltier than a human’s, but otherwise doesn’t have a strong taste. You stuff as much of the head of him that will fit and suck. His groan cuts through the water, cocks twitching in your hands.

As a non devil-fruit user, you’ve gotten plenty of swimming practice rescuing the other members of the crew, so you can hold your breath for some time. You easily spend a while sucking him off, stroking the opposite cock in the meantime, and when you finally surface to take a breath, you switch to the other.

Jinbe pants and groans above you, fingers digging into the pool’s rocky edge, doing everything he can to resist thrusting up into your mouth. Even for him, it proves to be a challenge; you feel his hips shift forward as he squirms just a little. The filthy act already has your cock engorged, but knowing you’re putting cracks in his iron willpower just riles you up worse. To have someone as powerful as Jinbe writhing beneath you is a thrill like nothing else.

You surface, gasping, just a bit light-headed from holding your breath repeatedly for so long. Without hesitating, you start to mount him, but Jinbe stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Hold on,” he says. “Is it safe?”

“I don’t have those parts anymore,” you say. Jinbe looks down at your stomach, and the lack of scarring there. “Law removed those for me the last time he sailed with us from Zou,” you explain. “I told him I’d owe him a favor if he would do it for me. Afterward, he told me I didn’t owe him anything as long as I didn’t tell anyone he did it for free.”

“A soft side, hm?” Jinbe chuckles. “Rare for a warlord.”

“I could say the same about you.” You move over his lower cock, lining him up while he holds your hips steady. “For all your strength, Jinbe, you’d never hurt me. Even if I wanted you to.”

Jinbe pauses for a moment, then leans in close. “Don’t misunderstand, Y/n. I’m still a Fish-man,” there’s a low, gravel to his voice now, “I still have my urges. Now,” he starts pulling you down onto his cock, and you gasp as the broad head spreads you open wide, “Shark fish-men don’t bite our romantic partners by nature. Our teeth are too sharp. However…” He doesn’t slow down or give you time to pause, and your fingers dig into his stomach at how easy it is for him to manipulate your body, how his cock spears in deep and bottoms out only halfway down, how his thickness forces your walls wide. “Stuffing you full–” Jinbe presses your back against the pool wall, ”–taking you for myself–” he starts to thrust up into you, “filling you up–” he growls by your ear as you whimper, “all are things I crave doing to you.”

“Jinbe!” you cry, trying to brace yourself against the rocky wall. It’s smooth enough to not cut, but you think he might bruise you if he gets too excited. But he’s currently fucking you so good that you don’t have it in you to care, especially not when his upper cock rubs against your own with every thrust.

“That’s it, my boy, just take it,” he purrs, “you wanna know what it’s like to fuck a Fish-man, I’ll show you.”

There’s so much pre-cum he slides in and out of you with only a slight resistance, and it sticks to your sensitive skin, something you realize must be an adaptation for sex underwater. The upper cock is painting it along your stomach as he fucks you. Your eyes roll back at the dual onslaught.

“Gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Already?” he teases, “I don’t know if to be flattered, or scold you for your endurance.”

“But it feels–ha–so fucking good,” you moan. “Can’t–help it!”

“Cute.” Jinbe chuckles. “Then go ahead–let go for me.”

A few more thrusts, and you’re forced over the peak, your eyes shutting tight as orgasm overwhelms you.

“Ahh–mmf!” Your cry is cut off as Jinbe’s hands wrap around your mouth. He holds you there for a second as you ride it out, shushing you.

“Someone’s coming,” he hisses, pulling you away from the pool’s edge and rapidly swimming backwards. He takes you around the other side of the cluster of boulders in the middle of the springs, hiding behind them. You go still, listening; a moment later the sound of voices reaches your ears–Franky and Usopp.

Jinbe pulls out of you, only to turn you around, facing you away from him and lining up his upper cock with your center. You look over your shoulder at him in shock. “Jinbe?” you whisper harshly.

“Just be quiet,” he whispers back. “No one will hear with our bodies underwater, so long as you don’t make a sound.”

“But–!” you bite your lip as he starts to penetrate you, his lower cock now positioned to glide over your own.

“Shh.”

The water in the center of the pool is too deep for you to reach the bottom; all you can do is brace your hands against the boulder and take what Jinbe gives you. Every thrust pushes your body up a little, but as you remain submerged up to your shoulders, there's no sound. However, the pleasure proves to be too much of a challenge as you stifle back a whimper.

“Mind your noises, boy,” Jinbe whispers. “You don't want them to hear, do you?”

You're caught off guard by this boldness coming from him–you'd never have thought he was the type. It seemed you had a lot to learn still about your new crewmate.

Franky and Usopp's voices get a little louder as Jinbe presses kisses to your shoulder. You bite your lip in pleasure and nervousness, now able to hear their conversation. The sound of splashing water reaches you both, and upon realizing the other men have entered the hot springs, you tighten up despite yourself.

Jinbe grins against your back, licking up the back of your neck to the shell of your ear. He doesn't need to say it out loud; you already know he's delighted to find out you like the risk. Unable to speak, you're entirely at his mercy in the water, helpless to the pleasure he commands all through your body.

Jinbe shifts, and you feel the head of his second cock nudging up at your entrance next to the first. You give him a shocked look over your shoulder, he tilts his head and raises a brow in question. You can practically hear him ask: Do you want it, boy? Can you take me?

The other men’s conversation grows louder, something about collaborating on a project. They have to be less than 30 feet away now.

You make your decision on a whim, nodding your consent, and Jinbe grins.

The push of his second cockhead is an immediate, challenging stretch, your insides gradually pushed apart to accommodate him. He doesn't stop until he physically can't fit another inch, stretching you taught around him. Like this, there's a constant, firm pressure against your g-spot no matter how he moves, something that makes your legs go weak. You're only held up in the water now by his cocks stuck inside you.

There's no way Jinbe can thrust like this–you're too full. Instead he rolls his hips against yours, humping into you so that his cocks grind up inside you. Your eyes roll back at how good it feels, his hushed panting warm against the back of your neck. One of his hands reaches around to cover your mouth, the other goes between your legs to jerk off your cock, instantly making you twitch and squirm. You keen into his hand, prompting him to squeeze tighter.

Jinbe leans in to growl lowly into your ear. “I was wrong about your endurance. Look how well you're doing…want me to fill you up, right here?” You nod fervently. “That's a good boy…”

He pins you to the boulder, rubbing faster circles on your cock, grinding himself so hard into you there's a slight, sweet ache. It lasts for another secret, filthy minute, until suddenly Jinbe's pace stutters and he breathes out harshly as he hits his peak. Both his cocks spurt into you at intervals, hot stickiness filling you and forcing your walls to swell even further. The sensation pushes you over the edge, your moan muffled into his hand. The orgasm rocks through you, walls spasming around him as you ejaculate into the water.

He holds you there for a minute while you both silently ride out your highs, catching your breath. Then he gently pulls out one cock at a time, only uncovering your mouth afterward. Jinbe presses your legs closed as he whispers into your ear.

“Better not let any spill out, my boy. You'll contaminate the spring even more.”

“Who's fault would that really be?” you mutter.

He chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Come on. You'd better get back to the showers. Want help?”

“I'll be okay,” you smile wryly. “The real challenge is to climb out of the spring without spreading my legs.”

“I can take care of that.” He hooks an arm around your middle and swims you to the far edge of the pool, where he lifts you up easily and places you out on land.

You have to shuffle awkwardly to keep everything in as you walk around the perimeter toward the showers. Your towel was on the shore by Franky and Usopp, but they've seen you naked before during group baths, so that's not an issue. They call out to you as you come into view, mentioning their surprise that you were there at all.

“Yeah, Jinbe and I were soaking around the corner,” you say, keeping your face as straight as possible.

“Oh, he's here too? I didn't hear you guys.”

“We weren't talking.”

As you waddle off toward the showers, deftly avoiding eye contact, you figure you're technically telling the truth.

#jinbe x reader #jimbei x reader #x reader #trans male reader #one piece imagines #reader insert #zen writes

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