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musingsofheaven · 21 hours ago

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⠀⠀⠀ ─── ⠀꒰ㅤㅤׂㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤ Exclusive Selection No. 001

SOMETHING BORROWED P2

　SUMMARY. 🪷 ָ࣪ ۰ Art swore he’d never share. But it’s hard not to when the person you’ve always done everything with is the same one avoiding you for three days straight. He should hate Patrick. He should hate you. Right…? So why the hell does it end with you blindfolded, tied up, and trapped between them?

　PAIRS. ꒱ ⤼ patrick zweig x afab!reader x art donaldson ༯

　RATED ⒙⁺ ♥︎ ݁𓂃 11.8k words. 𓍼 ⪩ mature themes. ⧘ cheating ˓ infidelity. ⧘ threesome ꒰ m .ᐟ m .ᐟ f ꒱. ⧘ kissing ꒰ f .ᐟ m, m .ᐟ m, three way ꒱. ⧘ unprotected p in v. ⧘ internal ejaculation. ⧘ cum play. ⧘ oral sex ꒰ f .ᐟ receiving, m .ᐟ receiving ꒱. ⧘ face fucking. ⧘ deepthroat. ⧘ gagging. ⧘ spit play. ⧘ handjobs. ⧘ breast ˓ nipple play. ⧘ clit stimulation. ⧘ thigh riding ⧘ marking ˓ biting. ⧘ rough sex. ⧘ spit roast. ⧘ sensory deprivation. ꒰ blindfold ꒱ ⧘ bondage ꒰ zip ties ꒱. ⧘ dubcon. ⧘ degradation ˓ praise kink. ⧘ humiliation. ⧘ internalized homophobia undertones. ⧘ physical aggression. ⧘ dacryphilia. ⧘ overstimulation. ⧘ read ˓ consume responsibly. ꪆৎ

　NOTE. 𓍢ִ໋ ִֶָ ִֶָ part two is finally here and back by popular demand (literally my inbox wouldn’t shut up about part two 😭). art is lil’ meanie here, yep. and… artrick kissing?? yeah.

Three days pass and Patrick has not slept in their dorm once. He drags his bag into another teammate’s room and acts like it is nothing, but it is not nothing. Art notices immediately that the bed across from him is untouched, the sheets still neat and no damp towel thrown on the floor or cereal bowls left at the desk. The silence is heavy. At first, Art lets it go. He tells himself Patrick is just being Patrick. Avoiding him and doing whatever the fuck he wants. Yet one night turns into two days, then three. It’s bothering Art even though he doesn’t want to admit it. Practice feels different without Patrick crashing onto the bed after, no loudmouth filling the room, and no one is annoying him while he’s studying at his desk. They still see each other on court, of course, but Patrick leaves as soon as it is done. No staying at the lockers, no lazy throws of a towel to his face, and no “good shit” after a point. Just avoiding him like he’s guilty. But he knows better. Patrick is messing with him.

Art notices the way his eyes skip away too fast, the way he refuses to meet him at the water fountain, and the way he doesn’t even bother sitting with him at team meals. Everyone else laughs about it, saying Patrick must have found some girl to hole up with, but Art knows better. He knows Patrick. He knows avoidance when he sees it. By the third night, Art is done. He’s tired of walking into an empty room. Tired of pretending he does not see Patrick turning his back. Tired of whatever bullshit is happening between the three of you. He already planned that he will talk to him after the practice and he did. Art stayed in the showers longer than he usually does. The locker room’s already cleared out when he steps out. It’s just damp tile and the steam clinging to the air. Patrick is standing in front of his locker with a lower wrapped around his waist as his head is bent over while he checks the clothes he can wear.

Art does not speak right away. He just watches him and he can see the water dripping on Patrick’s body and catching the light as it slides toward the waistband of the towel. His shoulder flexes when he pulls a shirt from the bag inside his locker. The room’s quiet in that way that makes every little sound too loud. Finally, Art steps closer before speaking and his voice is calm but tight. “You really think I don’t notice? Three days, Patrick. Three fucking days you can’t even walk back into our room.” Patrick lifts his head slowly. His eyes cut to him and his mouth twitched into that half-smile he always hides behind. “Yeah. Well… Maybe I like the company better where I am.” He purposely said before shrugging and pulling the shirt over his head. Art’s jaw ticked when he heard that like it’s the stupidest thing he heard today. He leans against the lockers before crossing his arms. “You think hiding out is going to work? You think if you act like a coward, I’m just going to forget?”

Patrick drops the towel casually. Not caring if Art is in front of him while he’s naked from the waist down. Doesn’t care if his dick swings heavy as he pulls on clean briefs. He doesn’t even flinch. “Coward? That’s cute coming from you. You’ve been pretending since the party. Acting like you don’t know shit.” He drags the fabric up his thighs slowly and smirks as he adjusts himself inside. “Which one of us is the coward, huh?” Art’s eyes narrow as the heat builds in his chest. He moves closer until he’s a breath away. “Don’t fucking play with me. You really think I didn’t hear you? You really think I didn’t know who it was?” His voice gets deeper. “You fucked my girlfriend, Pat.”

Patrick laughs under his breath and pulls his shorts up before snapping the waistband. “You’re saying it like it was only me.” He slams the locker shut and turns to meet Art’s stare that already sending knives in his direction. “But you heard her too. Didn’t you?” His words made Art’s fist roll into a ball and clench while he was trying his best not to go further than confronting Patrick. His body feels rigid though and every muscle is screaming to snap. Patrick smirks wider like he’s waiting for it. Like he wants the hit that he’s sure Art might do if he just presses the right button to trigger him. Art is already close enough that Patrick can smell the soap still clinging to his skin. His hair is damp, towel loose at his hips, and chest rising heavily as his fists flex at his sides. Patrick keeps his shoulders easy while his shorts hang low and his cock is still half pressed to the fabric because he never bothered putting more on. He tilts his head as his mouth twitches like this is a game.

Art’s voice cuts through. It’s slow and mean. “You think you’re clever. Walking around like I don’t know you’re a fucking parasite. You’ve been sucking off my game since we were kids, Pat. Can’t play clean without me. Can’t even breathe without you next to me. Now you need my girl too. Is there anything in your pathetic life that isn’t mine first?” Patrick drags his hand down his chest to adjust himself in his shorts. He’s slow enough to show he isn’t rattled. “She didn’t seem to mind it when she spread her legs. She liked that I wasn’t some boring little saint who fucks with the lights off.” He grins widely and proudly but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. “Guess she needed something real.”

Art’s body moves before his head can stop it. He shoves Patrick back hard against the lockers and the slam rings out in the whole room. His towel almost slips from his waist as his chest crushes Patrick’s bare skin. His face is close enough for them to almost kiss but his eyes are cold enough to slice. “Say that shit again,” he growls, voice rough in his throat. Patrick’s smirk falters for a second before it’s there again. “What, you want details? You want me to tell you how sweet her pussy tasted while you sat outside with your cock hard, and pretending not to stroke it?” His laugh is low and ugly, because he sees the way Art’s jaw locks even tighter. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Art’s hand slams into the metal beside Patrick’s head. His towel dips lower and edge brushing his thigh. He’s heavy underneath, and half-hard from frustration and something he doesn’t want to name. His voice is steady but there’s something behind it. “You make everything dirty. That’s all you know how to do. You drag people down and laugh about it after, like it makes you bigger. You’re not.” Patrick was caught off guard when Art shoved him but he remained looking at him with the same confidence he always wears like a protective barrier. He shifts his hips, letting his cock push against the thin towel at Art’s waist. “If I’m so low, why are you pressing me like this? You want me to say it out loud? That your cock’s brushing mine right now?”

Art shoves harder. Shoulder to shoulder. Eyes burning. “You think I’m turned on? No. I’m not. I am thinking how I can make your nose bleed without getting kicked out of the team,” His jaw flexes, and the words drag like gravel. “But you’d like that. You’d twist it into something. You always do when you want something” Patrick huffs a short laugh, though it’s tight around the edges. “Better that than hiding in the dark, right? You are pretending you’re clean while you’re just as fucked as me.” His eyes follow the towel as it slips lower on Art’s hips. “You’re hard. Don’t lie about it. Not to me.” Art’s fist curls tighter as if he’s ready to strike, but he freezes. His knuckles are trembling. For a long second it feels like he’ll let it fly, but he doesn’t.

He pushes Patrick again and now their chest are touching. His voice is low but enough to be heard since he said it in Patrick’s face. “You’re nothing. Remember that.” Patrick’s smirk flickers but he keeps it thin and shaky. “Nothing that made her scream louder than you ever did.” Art finally pulls back, shoulders rising and falling hard. His jaw is tight with his lips parted like he almost did something but stopped at the last second. The look in his eyes makes it clear enough that he wanted to punch Patrick or something worse than hitting his face. He didn’t do anything though. The idea just stayed in his head. His voice drops lower. It’s steady but with that crack of heat. “She wanted it too, you know. Don’t pretend it was just you forcing yourself. She fucking wanted it.” His hand drags down his face as he steps back a little. It's almost like he is disgusted at himself for even saying it. “Maybe she’d want it again. I’m not blind. I notice the way she looks.”

Patrick smirks as he leans against the lockers. His first chest was still damp from the shower, and his shorts hung low. He tilts his head and lets his gaze slide slowly over Art’s body. “You hear yourself? You’re standing here saying maybe I should fuck her again. You offering her to me, Art?” He laughs short but ugly when he sees the twitch in Art’s jaw. “Or you just want to watch this time?” Art’s breath comes heavy, and he drags his towel up his hip where it almost completely slip. His body is betraying him with the way he’s getting turned on by this and it’s pressing against the fabric while Patrick’s eyes flick down without shame. “I didn’t say that,” Art’s voice is rough when he muttered but the heat in his cheeks says something else. He spits the words out more like he’s trying to flip the situation.

“I’m saying I know her. I know what she wants. I know she’d spread for both of us if I told her to.” His hand slams against the locker beside Patrick’s head again with his chest pressing into him. “Don’t twist my words.” Patrick doesn’t flinch. Instead, he pushes his body away from the lockers so their bodies are closer than ever since Art shoved him. Neither of them didn’t even realized how their cocks brushed through the thin fabric and the damp towel. Or maybe they are not really just saying anything about it. His mouth twists into a grin. “I’m not twisting anything. You basically just offered her up like she’s a prize. And you know what? I’d take her again. I’d take her in front of you. You’d just stand there and let it happen.” He lowers his voice like his tone is mocking but it’s thick with heat. “Hell, maybe you’d finally stop pretending and join.” Art’s chest rises against his as he can feel every muscle tighten. His cock swells harder against the towel no matter how much he wants to deny it. His grip on Patrick’s shoulder is rough when he squeezes hard and enough to leave a bruise. “You should shut your mouth,” he snarls while his hand doesn’t pull away and presses more against his muscles. His knuckles brush Patrick’s damp collarbone and lingering too long.

His face is close, eyes locked, and lips parting like he wants to spit more curses, but something else holds back. Patrick grins wider, but this time it is hungry. “You feel it too, don’t you? All these years and you still can’t admit it. You get hard every time I push you.” His cock shifts under his shorts, fat and heavy as it brushes against Art’s hip. “Don’t lie to me. Not to me.” Art’s breathing is wrecked now. He shoves Patrick again but it is less forceful this time. It’s more of a grind where their hips meet, and the towel is almost slipping completely from his waist. His voice is broken around the edges. “You’re sick.” His hand is still at Patrick’s shoulder though before sliding down slowly until it almost grazes his chest. His eyes lock on Patrick’s mouth for a split second before he jerks his gaze away. “Don’t think you fucking know me.” Patrick licks his lower lip. His eyes are dark and his grin tight. “Yeah, I do. I know you better than anyone. I know you’re standing here hard as a rock because you can’t decide if you want to punch me, fuck me, or make me fuck her while you watch.” He leans closer and his lips almost brushing Art’s ear before he whispers something he knows will fuck with Art’s head. “Guess what. I’ll do all three if you let me.”

Art stares at him as his eyes darken and body still pressed close enough that their cocks brush through damp fabric. His jaw locks like he is swallowing down every answer that wants to come out. For a long second it looks like he might give in. Like he might actually do something but then he pulls back. The towel rides low on his hips as he steps away with his breath heavy. “Go back to the dorm,” he mutters with his low but steady voice. “Stop fucking hiding. You made your point.” He doesn’t wait for Patrick’s answer. He grabs his clothes from the bench and drags his boxers up over his body before he pulls his shirt and sweats on with rough movements. The towel drops to the floor and he doesn’t bother picking it up before walking out of the locker room.

Patrick stays leaning against the lockers while his cock is swollen under his shorts. The grin tugged at his lips even wider as his chest rose hard from the shove. He watches the door swing shut and mutters to himself, “Yeah, keep running.” He doesn’t go back to the dorm that night or the next. He makes sure Art feels the empty bed but it doesn’t really take long. Two days pass before he finally drags his bag back down the hall. He waits until late until he knows Art won’t expect him and until it will sting most. His hand pushes the door open and the sound hits first. There are soft gasps and wet kisses and clothes rustling against sheets. The sight freezes him in place.

You are straddling Art on his bed with your shirt bunched up at your ribs while your lips pressed to his. His hands are under your thighs while gripping tight as he pulls you closer. Both of you are fully clothed but the way you rock against him leaves nothing to the imagination. Your hips grind against the bulge in his sweats and his mouth opens under yours like he is starving. Art breaks the kiss when the door clicks shut behind Patrick. His chest rises hard under you, lips swollen, eyes snapping up. For a second his arms stay locked around your waist, as if he doesn’t care that Patrick is standing there. His voice comes rough and quiet. “You’re back.”

Patrick smirks from the doorway with his bag still slung over his shoulder, and eyes dragging over the scene slowly. “Yeah. Miss me?” He drops the bag to the floor and leans on the frame. His gaze focused on the way your hands grip Art’s shoulders, and how you freeze with your thighs still spread over him. His grin widens. “Shit. Perfect timing.” Art’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t push you off. His fingers flex against your waist, and his eyes lock on Patrick like he’s daring him to say more. “You don’t knock now?” Patrick laughs under his breath as he steps inside before kicking the bag toward his side of the room. “Didn’t know I had to knock on my own door.”

His gaze lingers on the damp line of spit on Art’s mouth and the way your chest heaves against him. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your little show.” Art’s voice cuts in, flat and tense. “It’s not a show.” He shifts his hips under you with his hard-on pressing up against the seam of your jeans, making you jolt. His hands don’t let you move away. “It’s my room. My girl.” Patrick let out a chuckle like it was the most ironic shit he had heard. He smirked like he was taunting Art before he tilted his head to the side to observe Art. “Your girl who didn’t look like she wanted to stop when I walked in.” His gaze drops to the tent in Art’s sweats, then slides back up with a smirk. “Guess I really did miss a lot.”

Art tightens his grip around your waist like he’s reminding Patrick of something. Also reminding you that he’s still your boyfriend. He speaks through clenched teeth. “Don’t push it.” Patrick steps closer, slow, testing how far he can go. “Not pushing. Just watching.” He laughs quietly before shaking his head. “Hell, maybe you’re the one who wants me to watch. You’re the one who said she’d spread for both of us, remember?” Your stomach drops when the words leave Patrick’s mouth. He repeats what Art said in that locker room, the same thing you didn’t even know he’d let slip. Heat flushes across your chest, not from arousal this time but from pure offense.

You try to pull off Art’s lap, pushing at his shoulder, but his grip on your waist holds you firm. His cock presses thick under you through the fabric of his sweats and you feel it twitch when you move, like he doesn’t even realize his body is betraying him. You glare first at Patrick, who is grinning at the foot of the bed like he knows every weak point in both of you, then you whip your head toward Art. “You fucking said that?” Your voice comes out harsher than you expect. You shove his arm when he doesn’t answer fast enough. “You told him I’d spread for both of you?”

Art sits up with you straddling him and his back pressing into the headboard. His jaw is clenched tight while he continues to hold you down. The hand on your waist feels so tight as if keeping you close will shut you up. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says but his voice cracks low and defensive. “He twisted it.” Patrick laughs, dropping his bag onto his chair before stepping closer. His arms fold across his chest, eyes flicking down at the way your thighs squeeze around Art’s hips even while you’re pissed. “Nah. He meant it. He said it. I just happen to agree.” He leans against the desk, cock pressing thick against his shorts, grin wide. “And by the way… You look like you’re already halfway there.”

Your head snaps back to him and the words rip out before you can stop them. “Fuck you.” He smirks wider, teeth showing, voice lazy. “You already did, remember?” Anger burns hot through your chest. You hit Art’s arm again, harder this time, not because you want to hurt him but because you want to shake him out of whatever hold Patrick has on him. “And you. Why the fuck would you even say that to him? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Art’s hand drags up your back, pulling you tighter against him. His cock pushes against you again, swollen under the fabric, and he bites out, “I was pissed. I didn’t mean for him to throw it in your face.”

His eyes cut to Patrick like he wants to rip his throat out. “You’re just using it to fuck with me.” Patrick tilts his head before shrugging like it’s nothing. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just saying what you’re too scared to admit out loud.” His gaze drags over your body again. Eyes lingering where your shirt is bunched at your ribs and bra straps sliding off your shoulders. “She’d look good on both of us. You know it.” You shake your head hard, but your hips are still locked over Art’s lap because he won’t let go. His eyes stay on Patrick. It’s full of frustration, maybe a little anger too. But his cock throbs under you all the same. His voice comes rough and it’s almost breaking. “Fuck off, Pat.”

Patrick just chuckles under his breath before he starts walking closer until his knees almost make contact with the bed. “What? You’re the one holding her down. If you really hated the thought, you’d let her go.” His eyes drop to where Art’s hands squeeze your waist, keeping you trapped. “But you’re not. You’re keeping her right there, on your cock, while I talk about it. Wonder why that is.” Art’s fingers dig into your waist when Patrick spits that out, like he’s trying to keep control of something that’s already slipping. His cock presses hot under you, proof he can’t, but his face twists with anger. You shove at his chest again, harder, and this time you manage to slide off his lap. His hands grab for you as if he doesn’t want to let go, but you wrench free and climb to your feet.

Heat burns across your cheeks as you stand in the middle of the room with your arms crossed tight over your chest. Patrick’s smirk grows the moment you leave Art’s lap. He’s acting like it satisfies him seeing both of you embarrassed. Like it’s a point he won in a game you don’t even know how to win. He leans against the desk with his arms folded and turned on. It’s evident how thick it looks thick against his shorts, and he doesn’t bother hiding it. Art swings his legs off the bed and stands too. His voice comes low and biting, each word steady but heavy with anger. “You’re so fucking smug about everything. Every look, every laugh, every word out of your mouth. You think this is all a fucking joke.” His eyes cut toward you and linger, pain sliding under the heat. “And you. You fucked him. You cheated on me. Don’t fucking look at me like you didn’t.”

It’s making your stomach tight into knots the moment you hear his words. You know you don’t have the right to be offended because what he said is true, you screw him over and worse it’s with his friend. You glare at both of them as your chest heaves because you don’t know who deserves your anger more. Your arms press tighter against your chest but it does nothing to cool the way your body still hums from being pressed against Art, or the way Patrick’s eyes drag over you like he owns the sight. Patrick pushes off the desk and steps closer, a smirk never faltering. “She did. And you liked knowing it. Don’t even try to deny it, Art. You sat outside that door and listened. You fucking heard her scream for me.” His hand adjusts itself slowly over his shorts, like he’s daring you both to notice. “And here you are, hard as a rock the second I walk in.”

Art’s jaw clenches but his body is betraying him again. He hates how the two of you have this effect on him. He shoves a hand through his hair before pacing a step like he needs to move or he’ll snap. His eyes lock on Patrick then cut back to you. He’s torn between anger and something else darker. “You think this is funny? You think dragging her into your sick shit makes you look big? All it does is prove you don’t have a life without me.” Patrick tilts his head, a grin curling, and he lets his gaze flick between the two of you slowly. “If I don’t have a life without you, then what the fuck are you without me? You’d be sitting here in this cold room with your cock in your hand, wishing you had the guts to ask her what she really wants.”

He takes another step closer, close enough that you can smell his soap mixed with sweat. “And look at her. Arms crossed like she’s pissed, but she hasn’t walked out. She’s standing right here, waiting.” You shake your head and mutter, “Fuck both of you.” Your voice breaks against the heat, but your legs don’t move. You can feel both of their eyes on you, heavy and pulling, and your chest pounds harder with every second that passes. “Stop fucking each other through me. If you want to fuck each other, then do it. Don’t drag me into your mess.”

Art stiffens like you slapped him. His face hardens and his voice comes out rough. “Don’t twist it. That’s not what this is.” His hand runs down his face and you see his throat bob like he is choking back something he will not say. “I’m not like him.“ His eyes flick to Patrick for only a second before snapping back to you. Patrick smirks and takes the chance being laid in front of him. He moves toward you with a few strides like he has been waiting for the opening. He doesn’t even look at Art while he catches your arm. Hand guiding you back to the bed. The mattress dips as he pushes you down to sit and then sits beside you. His thigh pressed to yours and he’s so close.

“You heard her,” he says as he stretches an arm across the back of the bed while looking at Art with a grin. “She’s the one who told us to stop hiding it.” Art’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t back away. Instead, he comes closer and stands over both of you. His hands land heavy on your sides before holding tight like he’s scared Patrick might rip you away. “Don’t fucking touch her like that,” he mutters and his tone has more edge and you can feel how tense his grip on you is. Patrick leans in and his lips brush yours before you can speak. The kiss is hot and messy. It’s tasting like arrogance on his tongue. He presses harder and pulls back with a wet sound. His smirk widens because he knows Art is burning holes through both of you.

You don’t even think. You grab Patrick’s shirt to drag him in again, and kiss him back. You let your tongue tangle with his. The heat burns in your stomach as his mouth works against yours. It’s wet and biting while Art’s hands clutch your waist like he might crush you if he squeezes harder. When you break the kiss, you glance at Art. His eyes are wild and his lips parted. He looks desperate. You reach for him and kiss him too and he finally sits beside you but you continue swallowing the needy groan that slips into your mouth. His lips crash against yours harder than Patrick’s. Teeth knocking. It’s like he has to prove something. His cock presses into your hip through his sweats and he almost pushes you back onto the bed until you grab his chest and hold him in place.

His nostrils let out a hot breath but you feel it- the way he lets you control the kiss, the way his mouth moves like he’s starving, and the way he groans into you as if kissing you is the closest he will ever get to kissing Patrick. While you continue kissing Art, Patrick laughs slowly beside you. “Look at you, Art. You’re eating her like I just did. You like that, don’t you? Getting her after me.” He leans close before you feel his mouth brushing your cheek. He looks at Art after he pulls away from your cheek. “Indirectly kissing me through her mouth. That’s what you want?” Art tears his lips from yours and he’s panting hard. His eyes flash with something you can’t figure out. The way his cock twitches against you and gives him away. “Shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t move his hands from your waist.

He presses himself harder into your body and his face is only a few inches away. “You’re disgusting.” He said and words are harsh enough to shock you but you also notice how his body betrays him. Patrick only grins wider as his thigh presses into yours. He drags a hand down to your knee just to push it open. It’s enough that Art notices. “Yeah, well, you’re hard for it.” You stare at them both with your chest rising fast, and before either of them can spit out more. Body leaning in and you grab them by the jaw. Their mouths are right there. Hot breaths mix between the three of you and it makes your skin crawl with something. You kiss them at the same time. It’s messy and wet. Tongues working with each other. Lips are pressing too hard because none of you cares about being soft. Art groans into your mouth while Patrick exhales. Both of them pull at you and bite at your lips as you take them together.

Your hands drop to their thighs, nails digging through the fabric, and you rub their cocks slow at first then harder when you feel both of them swelling under your palms. The heat that rolls off their bodies makes your head spin. Art’s breath breaks against your lips when your hand strokes the thick line of his cock through his sweats and Patrick pushes up into your palm with a grunt with his cock heavy and twitching under his shorts. They don’t even notice when you pull your mouth back. Their eyes are closed, and their lips still pressed together because they kept kissing once you left. The sight punches straight into your chest. They are kissing, open-mouthed and wet, tongues sliding like they forgot you were even there.

“Holy fuck…” You whisper while you rub them harder as you watch. Your hand works Art’s cock slowly and firmly feeling the thick outline straining against the fabric, then you switch and squeeze Patrick through his shorts until he lets out a rough noise into Art’s mouth. Neither of them breaks the kiss. They just keep going. Getting lost in it, while your hands pump them both through the fabric. Patrick nips Art’s lip and mutters against his mouth, “Knew you’d taste good.” His hips push up against your palm. It’s needy and cock leaking against the fabric. Art growls back with a voice low but broken, “Stop talking.“ But he drags Patrick closer by the back of his neck and kisses him harder.

Your cunt throbs watching them. The heat is soaking through your jeans, and you stroke them both rougher. You can feel the damp spreading under your palms as precum seeps through the fabric. Their mouths are locked, teeth clashing, tongues sliding, and you swear they forget you exist except for the way your hands keep working their cocks. “Don’t stop,” Art pants into Patrick’s mouth with his forehead pressed to his as your fist grinds up the length of him through his sweats. His voice cracks when you give him a hard stroke. “Fuck- feels so good.” Patrick laughs breathless, lips wet, and eyes still half closed as he kisses him again.

“You’re so fucking easy,” he mutters before biting his lip between kisses, but his voice hitches when you squeeze the thick head of his cock through the fabric and rub the precum into the damp patch. “Yeah, just like that.” The bed dips as you lean back, watching them devour each other while your hands keep pumping. Their cocks swell thicker under your palms as their bodies press together with you between them. The sound of their mouths is obscene. You can taste them still on your lips, but now you get to watch what happens when they don’t need you to connect them.

The sight makes your pussy clench hard. Already wet and soaking your panties. Your thighs squeeze together as you rub them faster. Working your hands on the tips through the fabric until they both grind into your hands. They continue kissing like they will never pull apart. But as expected, Art pulls away first. His lips are wet and red. His chest was rising hard. Eyes dart quickly to Patrick before snapping back to you like he wants to erase what just happened. “That didn’t mean anything,” he defensively said. His voice is rough, and his hand rakes down his face like he can scrub it off. “He pushed it. You saw that.”

You laugh under your breath and grab the hem of his shirt to yank it over his head before he can make more excuses. His chest is flushed, skin hot, and cock still stiff under his sweats. “Whatever you say, Art. You kissed him back.” The words land hard with your hands helping him to pull down his sweats with his underwear in one go. Your hand spreads across his stomach after he gets completely naked. You’re feeling the twitch in his muscles as you push him down onto the bed beside you but he quickly sits up again. Art wants to take off your jeans while you work with your shirt. Patrick grins widely as he pulls his own shirt over his head. He kicks his shorts and briefs down in one move. His cock springs free, fat and wet at the tip, and he strokes it lazily while watching help you toss your clothes away.

Both of them are naked now with their cocks heavy and hard while you sit there in just your bra and panties. The thin fabric clings damp to your cunt and bra doing nothing to cover the way your nipples are poking through the lace. “Fuck, look at her,” Patrick says, hand still working his cock as he eyes you up and down. “All dressed up and left behind.” His grin turns meaner when he leaves the bed and turns towards his bag to dig something and pulls out a strip of cloth. “Got an idea.” You frown when he comes closer and loops the fabric over your eyes and tying it tight at the back of your head. Darkness covers everything. “Patrick, the fuck are you doing?” you snap as you move it away from your face. Trying to tug at the knot, but his hands are faster.

“Relax,” he says and his voice is laced with amusement. “Trust me. You’ll like it.” You hear the rasp of plastic and then feel your wrists pulled behind you. Cold zip ties lock around them and dig into your skin. Your body jerks in anger. “Are you fucking serious? Take this off.” Art hesitates. It’s obvious with his voice. “Pat, what the fuck? You can’t just-” Patrick cuts him off and his tone is calm but sure. “Come on, Art. You get it. Don’t act like you don’t.” There is a beat of silence, and then Patrick chuckles when Art doesn’t move away. “Yeah. You see it too.”

The mattress dips on both sides and you gasp when rough fingers tug the straps of your bra down. Another set of hands presses against your tits. Squeeze the flesh while your thumbs brush over your nipples until they tighten hard. The blindfold makes everything hotter. Every touch makes your body twitch, and your back arches as both of them play with you at the same time. Patrick pinches one nipple and rolls it between his fingers and making you hiss, while Art palms the other just to rub it slowly until your chest heaves. Their breath mixes close to your face. Both of them are leaning in. Both of them watching you squirm even if you can’t see them.

“Fuck, she’s sensitive,” Art mutters, voice tight like he is forcing the words out. His thumb flicks your nipple again and your hips buck against nothing. Patrick smirks beside your ear, his hand squeezing your tit roughly. “Sensitive, yeah. And wet as hell, I bet.” His cock brushes your thigh, hot and slick at the tip, and he groans low. “Shit. We’re just getting started.” Their fingers keep teasing your nipples, rough pinches mixed with slow rubs that make your chest lift into their hands even when you try to fight it. Art lowers his head before you feel his lips brushing your shoulder while he squeezes your tit in his palm.

The hotness of his mouth drags across your skin as he presses small kisses along your collarbone. It’s like he is trying to make up for everything with touches about something you don’t even know. Patrick spreads your thighs wider and slips his hand down between them. He’s pressing hard against your pussy through the soaked fabric. His middle finger rubs up and down your slit before pushing the thin cotton tight against your folds so he can feel how wet you already are. “Fuck, she’s dripping,” he mutters, laughing under his breath as his thumb circles your clit through the lace. “Mad as hell, but her pussy’s saying something else.”

“Both of you are pathetic,” you snap, heat crawling across your chest as your body jerks against the ties. “Getting off on tying me up like some fucking toy. You’re disgusting.” Art growls low against your skin before he lifts his head to catch your mouth with his. His kiss is messy and demanding. He’s swallowing your insults before you can spit them out. He bites your bottom lip and forces his tongue between your teeth until you moan into him. His hand tugs at your bra just to pull one cup down to show your tit. Cold air hits your nipple before his warm palm covers it again. He’s squeezing it while he kisses you harder.

Patrick watches while his eyes are dark with hunger as his fingers keep sliding over your slit. “Keep talking shit,” he says, smirking when your hips buck against his hand. He presses the heel of his palm harder into your clit, dragging circles until your thighs tremble. “Your mouth doesn’t match your pussy at all.” Art pulls from the kiss just enough to breathe against your lips, voice rough. “She’s hot like this.” His thumb flicks your nipple again before tugging it until you gasp. His face is flushed. His hair is sticking to his forehead. His cock is pressed against your thigh and already leaking against your skin. “So fucking hot.”

Patrick’s laugh cuts through. “Yeah, she’s hot as fuck, but you’re harder than me right now. You’ve been waiting on this as much as I have.” He hooks a finger under the soaked fabric of your panties and rubs right against your clit, slow and firm. Your body jolts and a broken sound escapes your throat even as you shake your head. “Mmnnngh- stop- fuck-” Your words stumble as Art swallows them with another kiss, groaning into your mouth while Patrick works your pussy rougher. The blindfold makes every touch impossible to ignore and every kiss feels heavier. The heat from both of their bodies surrounds you as they play like they’ve stopped pretending.

Patrick pulls away from your side and goes to the headboard. He sits back against it with his legs wide open, cock heavy against his stomach, and he gives Art this grin like he is daring him. “Put her here,” he says, tapping the space between his thighs. “Ass up.” His voice is calm but full of challenge, and Art’s jaw ticks as he drags you by the waist. The blindfold leaves you lost, breath catching when your knees hit the mattress and your chest presses down near Patrick’s lap. You can feel the mattress dip behind you when Art moves closer, and his hand yanks your panties aside before his spit lands warm over your slit. The sound of him spreading it makes your cunt clench, and then his mouth is there, tongue dragging rough against your pussy while his eyes lift to watch your lips part over Patrick’s cock.

Patrick strokes the side of your head, guiding your mouth to him. “Open up, sweetheart,” he murmurs as his cockhead brushes your lips. You part them, and he pushes in slowly until the thick weight fills your mouth. The taste of salt spreads across your tongue, and Patrick exhales, head tipping back against the headboard. His hand stays firm at the back of your head while you suck, and his eyes slide down to where Art’s mouth is buried between your thighs. “Hell, look at you down there,” he says with a low laugh. “You ever think about being on this end, Art? You want to blow me too?” Art grunts into your pussy, his tongue pressing harder against your clit as if answering without words. His eyes lift and lock on Patrick, and he raises his middle finger with one hand while the other spreads your lips wider.

Instead of saying anything, he sucks your clit rougher, dragging a muffled moan out of you that vibrates around Patrick’s cock. Patrick smirks, fingers tightening in your hair as he pulls you deeper onto his cock. “That's a no or a maybe?” he taunts, and he laughs when Art only growls against your cunt, sending more shocks through your body. The mattress shakes as Art’s shoulders tense, his jaw working harder between your folds, and Patrick’s smirk widens when he feels your throat flex around him. Your body trembles, caught between the drag of Patrick’s cock against your tongue and the wet pull of Art’s mouth at your pussy. Every time Patrick rocks his hips, you gag a little and his cockhead hits the back of your throat, and each time Art’s tongue circles your clit, your thighs jerk against his shoulders.

The sounds mix together, wet slurps and low curses, while Patrick keeps talking like he has all the control. “Good girl,” he says, stroking your cheek as his cock slides in and out of your mouth. “Taking me so well while he eats you out. Bet you’re dripping all over his face.” Art pulls back just long enough to spit again on your cunt before burying his mouth right back in. His eyes are wild as he watches the stretch of your lips around Patrick’s cock, and his teeth scrape gently against your clit like he is punishing both of you for it. “She’s soaked,” he mutters against you, voice muffled but rough, then he groans into your folds when Patrick pushes you deeper and you gag around his cock.

Patrick tilts his head, eyes meeting Art’s across your body. “Keep going,” he says with a grin, guiding your head up and down. “Make her moan on me.” Art doesn’t even answer this time. His lips lock around your clit, sucking until your hips buck against his face, and your moans vibrate straight into Patrick’s cock. Patrick’s jaw drops open with a grunt as he holds you there, cock swelling against your tongue, and Art’s eyes narrow as if daring him to say more while he keeps you pinned open with his mouth. Patrick tightens his grip in your hair and starts moving his hips.

His cock pushes deeper into your throat each time. It feels heavy and wet inside your mouth. The sound of you gagging makes him groan as he holds you down. His chest rises hard and his eyes half-lidded while he watches with a grin when you choke around him. “Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, voice rough as his thighs tense. “Take it all.” Behind you, Art pulls his mouth from your pussy with spit clinging to your folds. He drags your panties further to the side and spits again before sliding the thick head of his cock against your slit. His hand steadies at your waist as he pushes inside, and his jaw locks when your walls squeeze him in. “Fuck,” he groans low, watching the stretch as he sinks deeper. His eyes lift while his hips start moving, and he stares straight at Patrick with his cock still filling your mouth.

The bed creaks with the force of it, Patrick fucking your throat while Art thrusts into your cunt from behind. Both of them grunt above you, and your body trembles as you try to hold yourself up blindfolded. Patrick strokes your cheek with his thumb, pushing hair from your face so he can see your lips stretched wide around his cock. His other hand slips down your chest, tugging the other cup of your bra aside until both of your tits spill out. He squeezes them roughly, rolling your nipples between his fingers while groaning. “Look at her… fuck, she’s perfect like this,” he says with a laugh, rubbing your tits as his cock hits the back of your throat.

Art keeps his hands tight at your hips while he drives into you. His eyes flick between the way your mouth is stuffed on Patrick’s cock and the way your tits bounce under his hands. His teeth grit when he sees your spit dripping down Patrick’s shaft, and he slams his hips harder against your ass, groaning through clenched teeth. Patrick leans back against the headboard and pulls on your hair to keep you steady while he fucks your mouth. “She’s choking on me while you’re buried in her,” he says with a grin, eyes locked on Art. “Bet you like watching that. Bet you wonder what my cock feels like.”

Art’s jaw ticks, his hips snapping into you rougher while his nails dig into your waist. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, his gaze stays hard on Patrick’s face and his mouth curves into a scowl. He grunts, sucking on his teeth before spitting out, “Fuck off,” and slams into you again until your moan shakes around Patrick’s cock. Patrick smirks wider, dragging his thumb down to wetly press against your nipple while you squirm. “Don’t get so mad,” he taunts, groaning when your throat tightens on him. “I’m just saying… I’d suck your cock if you let me.” His voice drips with challenge, and his eyes flash dark as he grips your tit tighter.

Art’s head tips forward, sweat sliding down his temple as he fucks you harder. His cock grinds deep inside, balls slapping against you while his eyes burn into Patrick’s. He doesn’t answer the words, but the way his jaw locks and his breathing breaks heavy over you says enough. His grip tightens on your waist as if holding himself together. “Thought so,” Patrick mutters with a grin, groaning when you gag again around his cock. “Maybe you’ll say yes next time.” His fingers twist your nipple, and his head tips back against the wall, mouth falling open while he fucks up into your throat.

Art pulls out slowly, cock wet and swollen, and his chest heaves when he looks down at you. His voice comes low and strained as he steadies his hands at your waist. “Switch?” he mutters, and Patrick’s grin spreads wide before he pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop. Your spit clings to his shaft as he strokes it once and nods. “Fuck yeah.” The two of them move you fast. Flipping you onto your back like you weigh nothing. The blindfold stays tight and the zip ties bite into your wrists. It feels uncomfortable and pleasing how your arms are behind you, but at least your throat is free now.

Air rushes in heavy, and the first thing you do is curse them both. “Fuck you. Both of you. Untie me right now.” Your voice is raw, spit thick at the corner of your mouth. Patrick just laughs, climbing between your legs and dragging them up onto his shoulders. His cockhead slides through your folds, spreading your slick before he pushes in with one hard stroke. Your back arches when he bottoms out, and he groans deep in his chest as his hands grip the backs of your thighs. “Goddamn. Always so tight. Like your pussy knows it’s me.”

The mattress dips again when Art climbs onto the bed, standing tall with his cock heavy in his fist. His eyes stay locked on Patrick for a long moment, and then he jerks his chin. “You really want my cock in your mouth?” His tone is biting, but his hand strokes himself slowly as if daring Patrick. Patrick doesn’t hesitate. His grin flashes even while he starts thrusting into you, and he nods quickly. “Yeah. Give it to me.” His voice stutters when his hips slam against you, but his mouth is already open. “Fuck… yeah… let me taste you.” Art smirks, bringing his cock to Patrick’s lips. “Eager,” he mutters, pushing the thick head past his mouth.

His fingers thread through Patrick’s damp hair, holding him steady as he starts thrusting shallow into his mouth. Patrick’s groan vibrates down his shaft, and Art hisses, “That’s it. Take it.” Your body jerks under them as your cunt clenches around Patrick’s cock while he works on Art. The blindfold overwhelms your body while every thrust Patrick gives you makes your head spin.“You’re both fucking pathetic,” you spit out, gasping when Patrick drives harder into you. “Using me like some toy while you suck each other off. You’re disgusting.” Art looks down at you with his jaw clenched tight.

His hand stays tangled in Patrick’s hair while his cock pushes between his lips, but his voice softens when he answers you. “No, you’re beautiful. Look at you, taking us both like this. You’re perfect.” His eyes drag down your body, tits bare, wrists bound, and pussy stuffed full of Patrick’s cock, and he groans low at the sight. Patrick can’t get words out, not with Art’s cock filling his throat. His hands clamp tighter on your legs as he pounds into you harder, muffled grunts spilling around Art’s shaft. Drool slides from the corner of his mouth down his chin, dripping onto your stomach as his hips snap. Art groans above him and thrusts deeper into his mouth, making him gag, but Patrick just grips your thighs harder and fucks your cunt rougher, like he needs both cocks at once.

Your chest heaves, tits bouncing as Patrick drives into you, and you grit your teeth. “I hate both of you,” you choke out, head thrashing against the pillow. “Tying me up like this. Fucking me like this. You’re sick.” Art strokes Patrick’s hair roughly and pulls his head further down his cock, his lips curling as he looks at you. “Mhm. But you’re dripping all over him,” he says, voice heavy with heat. “So don’t lie.” Patrick moans around Art’s cock as the spit and precum mix at the corners of his mouth while he keeps slamming into you. His eyes squeeze shut while his throat continues working around Art’s. The wet sounds from the three of you fill the room. Your pussy tightens harder with every thrust, and your curses melt into broken moans as they use you between them.

Your body jerks when it hits, pussy clenching so tight on Patrick’s cock that a loud cry breaks from your mouth. It rolls through you hard, thighs trembling around his shoulders while your chest lifts off the bed. The blindfold makes it worse because there is no control, only heat crashing through while your wrists yank uselessly against the zip ties. “Ahhnn- oh god- fuck-!” The words tumble out, messy and broken, as your body shakes under him. Patrick just grins against your thigh and doesn’t let up. His grip on your legs stays brutal, fingers digging into the backs as he pounds deeper into your cunt.

Each thrust makes your tits bounce, nipples wet from his spit, and he groans while his mouth works around Art’s cock above him. His throat stretches to take more and saliva spilling down his chin as he moans around it. Every sound he made sent electricity through Art’s body. Patrick keeps fucking you through your orgasm and dragging your body into overstimulation until tears slip hot from the corners of your eyes. Art watches everything with his jaw tight. His cock slides in and out of Patrick’s mouth, hand buried in his hair, but his eyes drift down to you. Your chest heaves, lips swollen and wet, and the blindfold hides your eyes. He knows you hate it, knows you like locking eyes when it gets this heavy.

His hand leaves Patrick’s head for a moment to stroke your leg that rests over Patrick’s shoulder. His thumb caresses your skin, a soft drag that contrasts with the way Patrick is pounding you. “You’re okay,” he mutters under his breath, voice low but steady as his cock pushes back into Patrick’s throat. “You’re doing so good for us.” Patrick groans around Art’s cock, sucking harder as if he wants the praise for himself. His hips slam into you faster, balls smacking your ass as he loses himself in both holes at once. His hands tighten on your thighs, keeping them locked against his chest, and his muffled noises buzz against Art’s cock.

Your head thrashes against the pillow, tears wetting the blindfold while your cunt squeezes helplessly around Patrick. “Stop- nghh- too much- I can’t- I can’t-!” Your voice cracks between moans and sobs, but he doesn’t let up. Instead, Art leans down, still holding Patrick’s head, and brushes his lips close to your knee. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe. You’re perfect like this.” Patrick’s eyes squeeze shut as Art thrusts deeper into his throat. Spit and precum run down his chin, dripping onto your stomach as he fucks you harder. His cock grinds deep inside, pushing past your oversensitive walls, and the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you crying louder.

Art’s hand slides back into his hair, gripping tight while he controls the pace in his mouth, and he groans above him. “Look at you, Pat. Can’t stop sucking my cock even while you’re buried in her.” Patrick moans again, muffled and needy, and his thrusts into you only get rougher. Your cunt grips him like it’s trying to push him out, but he slams deeper, chasing his high while his throat works around Art’s cock. Tears streak down your cheeks as you cry out, body jerking, and Art’s hand never leaves your leg while he watches both of you lose it on top of you.

Art’s grip tightens in Patrick’s hair and his cock twitches as his hips shove forward. A hot flood spills down Patrick’s throat, and the sound that rips from his chest is raw and heavy. “Fuck- take it,” he groans, holding him down until his cock empties. When he finally pulls out, cum smears across Patrick’s lips and chin. Art strokes his own cock once more, then drags his thumb over Patrick’s mouth, wiping the mess across it before pushing the finger in. Patrick’s lips close around it instantly, sucking with a wet noise, and Art smirks as he watches him swallow. Patrick lowers your legs from his shoulders but doesn’t let go of them.

His cock is still deep inside you. It’s twitching hard and his body folds forward until his chest presses against your tits. His face nuzzles into your neck while his hot breath spills over your skin, and his groan is muffled there. He sounds close. Too close, but his thrusts never stop. “Shit… can’t stop fucking you,” he mutters against your throat, his voice jagged. Art drops down beside you, sweat slick on his skin. His hand finds your arm, lips pressing soft kisses along it before he leans close and captures your mouth. The kiss is slow, almost careful, even while Patrick is pounding into you.

He swallows the broken sounds leaving your throat, and his other hand strokes your leg that Patrick is still gripping tight. “You’re okay,” he whispers against your lips, dragging his mouth down to kiss your jaw. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.” Tears wet the edges of your blindfold as your body shakes again. Your cunt spasms around Patrick’s cock, overstimulation leaving you trembling. He groans louder when he feels it, his thrusts sloppy but relentless. “Fuck- she’s squeezing me so hard,” he gasps, licking over the sweat on your neck. His hands hold your legs wide while his hips hammer into you, but his eyes flick up to Art like he is daring him to watch.

Art’s focus stays on you at that moment, kissing the corner of your mouth while his hand strokes your thigh. “You’re so good. Taking all of it. My girl,” he says, voice low but steady. “You’re doing good.” He brushes his lips against your temple as your chest heaves, and the praise mixes with the brutal slap of Patrick’s thrusts until your body bucks helplessly against both of them. Patrick groans louder into your neck, voice wrecked. “Gonna cum if you keep milking me like that,” he mutters, his teeth grazing your skin as his hips rut deeper. His hands squeeze your legs harder, pinning you open for him, and your body shudders again, caught between Art’s soft kisses and Patrick’s cock dragging rough inside you.

Patrick groans against your neck when his body jerks and the hot spill floods deep inside you. His thrusts drag messily and slowly as he empties himself. He stayed for at least two or three minutes inside of you before he finally pulled out. His cock slides smoothly from your cunt and there are a few drops of cum when he pulls out. Patrick drops heavily on the mattress beside you as his chest heaves and skin shines with sweat. His hand finds its way to his thigh to catch his breath. He does not say anything but his free hand only presses a lazy palm to your stomach. His hand smears the cum that drips out like it’s some reminder to you that it’s there. Art stays close. He leans over your tied arms and his fingers start working quickly on the plastic until the pressure snaps. The zip ties fall away and so does the blindfold.

The light stings at first but then his face comes clear, jaw tight, and eyes locked on you like nothing else in the room matters. He rubs the red marks on your wrists with his thumb before he looks down at your bare chest. The bra hangs low, straps sliding, the cups useless now. He pushes it down the rest of the way, lips brushing your shoulder as he mutters, “There. No more.” Your arms fall heavy, sore from being bound, but the first thing he asks is soft. “What do you want?” His hand stays steady on your side, his voice low but waiting.

The words leave you before you think them through. “Sit beside each other,” your voice cracks but you keep talking anyway. You don’t really care even though your body is shaking. “Both of you. I’ll… sit myself on you.” Art blinks at you, searching your face like he is making sure he heard right. Patrick is still half-sprawled on the bed before huffing like he doesn’t want to do it, but he pushes himself up. Neither of them argues. They shift side by side against the headboard, legs spread, cocks heavy and wet between their thighs. Art holds your waist and Patrick’s hand brushes your arm as they guide you into the space between. You climb clumsily, body weak, and settle across them so that each of your knees fits between their legs.

It feels strange and messy, sweat sticking, cum slipping down your thigh, but both of them are warm and solid under you. Your chest presses forward, bare and flushed, as you slump into their shoulders. The movement is small at first. Your hips roll against the muscle of their thighs, nothing rough, just the press of your cunt against them. Your body is drained yet it keeps moving. Just slowly and unevenly. Searching for something to hold onto while you let your head rest on Art’s collarbone. His hand strokes your back, calm and steady. He kisses your temple before whispering, “Okay. Just like that.” Patrick does not laugh or tease this time. His hand just slides up your chest and his thumb circles your nipple until it hardens again.

His breath is still rough from before but he only says, “She’s sore,” like he is speaking more to Art than to you. His other hand cups your hip, keeping you balanced while you grind small and messy against them. The heat builds low but it is different now. It is not about fighting or taunting or breaking. It is about the soft drag of your skin against theirs, the way both of them let you use their bodies for whatever scraps of comfort you are clawing at. Your breaths stumble when your pussy presses harder against Art’s thigh, and you mutter a broken, “Nnh- feels good,” into his neck. His chest rumbles with a low sound, not a laugh, more like he is steadying himself, and he presses his palm flat between your shoulder blades as he answers, “Then keep going.”

Patrick leans in closer and his lips brush your ear as his fingers roll your nipple again. “Don’t rush,” he says with his voice quieter than before. For once there is no smugness in his voice. The only thing you can feel from him is the heaviness of his hand on your breast. Movements are slow and it feels warm. He watches you drag yourself against them while your cheek stays pressed against Art’s shoulder while your hips grind down slowly. Each drag of your cunt against their thighs makes your breath catch, not because you are chasing anything hard but because it keeps you grounded after everything. The weight of them under you is steady, and for once neither of them pushes.

Patrick’s eyes are heavy as he watches you. His palm slides lazily over your chest and settles on your tit, thumb brushing your nipple until it pebbles again. He does not grin this time. He just rubs slow circles while his other arm rests along the back of the bed. His voice comes low, almost flat with exhaustion, when he asks, “She always likes this after?” Art tilts his head down, lips brushing your temple as he answers. “Yeah. It happens sometimes. She feels too much, and this… helps her come back down.” His hand strokes up and down your spine, patient, and he kisses the side of your head like he has done it a hundred times. “It’s normal.”

Patrick hums low in his chest but he does not push further. His thumb rolls your nipple again, gently, and you feel the heat of his eyes on you while you rock against both of them. Your body sags heavily into them. Sweat sticks your skin to theirs, your tits press forward with each slow grind, and the mess between your legs smears wet along their thighs. When your hips push a little harder, Art lets out a tight breath and murmurs, “Easy. Just take your time.” His hand squeezes your waist as if to hold you steady. Your head tilts up to see them both. Art looks down at you with his jaw set but his eyes soft. Patrick’s chest rises and falls steadily as he leans back. He’s still palming your tit while he watches your cunt rub across his leg.

The sight of them together like that makes your pulse rush and warm in your stomach. The words tumble out before you can stop them, “Both of you feel good.” Art’s mouth curves just slightly, not a smirk but the ghost of a smile. “Yeah?” He says before kissing your forehead again, and his fingers trace low along your waist until they press against the dip of your hip. Patrick breathes heavier when your nipple hardens under his thumb. He rolls it slow and mutters, “She’s sensitive as fuck right now,” more to himself than to you. Then his hand slips lower to rest over your stomach, holding you there while you keep humping their thighs. The wet drag of your cunt against Art’s muscle makes your voice crack. “Nngh- oh god- yeah…”

Your arms wrap around both of them as you rut small and messy, cunt lips spreading slick across their skin. Your tits bounce each time you push forward, one in Patrick’s hand and the other pressed against Art’s chest. Neither of them tells you to hurry or teases you about it. Patrick keeps stroking your nipple, steady and slow. Art keeps kissing your temple and whispering, “Good girl, that’s it.” The room stays heavy with the sound of your uneven breaths and the soft drag of your pussy against their thighs as they let you use them however you need. Art strokes your spine with his palm, steady and calm. His voice is low when he speaks to Patrick. “Kiss her. Or at least touch her head. She likes it when it’s gentle after.” His lips brush your temple as he says it, as if to prove his point.

Patrick does not argue. He leans in and presses his mouth to your hair, then lets his lips stay on the side of your head. His hand leaves your tit only long enough to brush through your hair. It slides back down where it was earlier just to roll your nipple again. The slow pinch makes your breath break, and his voice follows softly against your skin. “Yeah, I got her.” Your cunt drags across Art’s thigh harder now, messy and wet, each push making your belly tighten more. Art kisses the side of your face and whispers, “That’s it. Just keep going.” His hand stays spread across your back, rubbing low at the dip of your waist.

Patrick’s thumb flicks your nipple until it hardens under his touch, and his eyes stay locked on your face while your mouth falls open. He mutters, “She’s close,” with a small shake of his head, like he almost cannot believe you still have it in you after everything. Heat spreads through your body while their hands keep you in place. Your hips grind harder and pussy lips slide slick across their skin. A broken sound escapes your throat. “Nnnghh- oh god- ahh-!” Your legs tremble where they straddle their thighs, but you keep pushing, desperate for the edge.

Art’s mouth presses to your cheek as he keeps stroking your back. “Come for us. It’s okay, baby.” His words are steady and sure, and the heat of his breath spills across your skin. Patrick leans in closer, his lips brushing your temple while his fingers tug your nipple rougher. “Come on, pretty. You’re there.” His voice cracks lowly and affectionately. His hand never left you. It looks like he’s just holding it to make you steady but it’s not just that. He feels comfortable holding you and feeling your warm body against his palm. Just the weight of his hand on you and the steady way he holds your body in place. Your second orgasm hits fast. Your hips jerk hard against them, cunt grinding rough across both of their thighs as your body snaps tight.

The cry that rips from your chest is raw. “Ahhhhnnn- fffuck-!” Your tits bounce against their chests while your whole body shakes, wet spreading hotter between your legs until it drips down the inside of your thighs. Art’s arm locks around your waist to keep you steady, kissing your head as your cunt pulses against them. Patrick strokes your hair back from your damp forehead and keeps rolling your nipple through it, muttering quiet curses against your skin. Both of them hold you there, pressed to their chests, while the aftershocks drag through your body.

Your head tips back to look at them again, face hot, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. Both of them are still looking down at you. Neither of them teases. Neither of them laughs. They just keep touching you softly while your body shakes itself out on top of them. Your body melts against both of them, spent and warm, slick drying on your thighs. Your cheek sticks to Art’s shoulder, lips brushing his skin whenever you mumble. The words slip out lazy, too slow to stop. “I think… I need two boyfriends. Like. Two. But they also… kiss each other sometimes… yeah… like that.”

Patrick snorts, shaking his head as he kisses the crown of your head. “She’s really gone,” he mutters, but his smile is wide. His thumb strokes along your nipple again before resting his palm flat on your chest. “Two boyfriends? Works for me.” You tip your head back weakly, eyes heavy, looking up at both of them. “Don’t… don’t make me pick. I’ll cry. I swear I’ll cry so bad.” Your lips twitch into a small, loopy smile that makes Patrick huff under his breath. Art’s chest rises under your cheek, a low groan slipping out as his hand rubs steadily down your spine.

His jaw tightens, and for a second he stays quiet like he might push it away. But he finally lets out, “We’ll… figure it out.” His lips press to your lips and stay there longer than they should, a kiss that betrays how much he wants to say more. Your mouth curves lazily against his skin, still slurred from the way your body feels. “Good… cause I can’t… can’t do one boyfriend. Too hard. Need both. Mmm. And I’ll sit in the middle. Perfect. Easy.” A lazy laugh bubbles out of you, thin and broken. “Yeah… perfect.” You blink up at them with glassy eyes, lips pulling into a half smile. “Plus… you kissed each other already. So… you’re basically married.”

Patrick lets out an actual laugh this time, his shoulders shaking while his hand cups your tit and gives it a lazy squeeze. “She’s got a point. Paperwork’s basically signed.” Art groans but it is soft, not angry. His lips press to your hairline while he mutters, “You’re ridiculous,” Art mutters before he pinches your cheek affectionately. “Mmhm. Ridiculous with two boyfriends,” you mumble back, your grin wide enough to make your cheeks hurt. “Mmmh… boyfriend sandwich. You guys are the bread. I’m the meat.” Your hips twitch weakly against their thighs, nothing more than a little grind, before you slump flat again. “Lucky me.” Patrick strokes your hair back, brushing damp strands off your forehead.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, voice low and steady now. His hand squeezes yours again, keeping you tethered while your eyes flutter closed. Art does not add to it, but he does not pull away either. His arm stays locked around you, his thumb rubbing small circles over your hip. You feel his lips press down once more to your temple, warm and quiet, while Patrick keeps playing with your hair. Your last thought before sleep drags you under is stupid and simple, the kind of thing you would only ever say like this, floating and wrecked. “Three-way boyfriend sandwich…” You mumble, and Patrick bursts out laughing again while Art shakes his head and kisses you harder to shut you up.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

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ninus9607 · 3 days ago

Text

𝟣𝟤. 𝒜𝒾𝓇𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉

Pairing(s): Civil War Wanda Maximoff x Female vampire! reader (OC)

Words: 5.2k

tags: l content/warnings: wanda maximoff x oc, resident evil x marvel, sapphic blood, fanfic, 18+, Violence, re8crossover, mention of death, mutal pinning, hurt/comfort, fluff, little angst, arguing, Weapons/Gun Violence

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

𝑴𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔, 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆!!!! 𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒏, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌. 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒎! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒊𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒏' 𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆, 𝒌𝒖𝒅𝒐𝒔 , 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 ♥

The night was awful. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard her voice.

I couldn't bear the silence of my own room. It crushed down, crushing me, so I surrendered to the darkness. The city was noisy. I moved through it like a shadow. Men who thought they were untouchable. I killed them quickly. Their blood was hot, bitter, and meaningless. No matter how many lives I took, I couldn't stop her scream in my head.

Her voice remains. Wanda. Always Wanda.

When dawn arrived, I was still awake. As I sat at my desk, gripping a pencil between my fingers. I should've slept. Instead, I drew her face multiple times. Disappointed, her lips parted. Her eyes were wide with emotion. I ripped the page to fragments, just to start over like a woman possessed. The bits scattered across the floor like ash.

I knew what I needed to do. An apology spoken would never be enough.

So I did something I hadn't done in decades. I stepped into a florist's shop. Despite the fact that my thoughts were in confusion, I moved with purpose. I had made a decision. Roses.

As I passed, the city streets hummed, with people's talk mixing into a meaningless murmur. But then I stopped. A small newspaper stand stood at the corner, and I noticed the headline.

"Captain America and Winter Soldier Wanted After Vienna Bombing."

Steve.

The photo taken was blurry yet distinct. Rogers is in handcuffs. Alongside him is Bucky Barnes.

I purchased the newspaper with a few bills. I took off my coat, and the seller was hardly looking at me. As I went, I opened it and read swiftly.

Held in Bucharest. A bombing is suspected in Vienna. Dozens have died, including Wakanda's King T'Chaka.

I paused on the sidewalk, the sound of cars swirling around me. My lips squeezed together in a narrow line.

I folded the paper under my arm, finally pushed myself on, until I entered the flower shop.

The smell was overwhelmingly fresh and overly sweet. I almost disliked it. Then I saw them. Roses as deep as blood. I bought them without hesitation, barely hearing the shopkeeper's pleasant conversation.

Avengers Tower

"FRIDAY," I said, looking at the empty space. "Where are Wanda and Vis?"

The AI's tone was oddly calm. "Miss Maximoff and Vision are currently in the kitchen."

The roses felt heavier with each floor the elevator rose. I'd turned them over in my fingers so many times that the silk ribbon began to tear.

I pushed open the kitchen door and froze.

Vision hung still in the middle of the room, his body hard and blazing, wrapped in strands of blue energy that sparked and snapped against him. His face twisted from the tension.

"Vision - " I let out the roses slipping out of my grasp. They fell silently on the kitchen unit.

I stepped forward. "Wanda. What is happening here?"

I didn't know this man. Standing beside her, his bow hanging carelessly at his side, his hand brushing against her shoulder as if calming her.

The sound of Vision groaning from the strain. I got closer, my voice sharper now. "Let him go."

The man eventually turned to face me, his tone infuriatingly casual. "We don't have time for this."

The man kept an intense stare at me. "I'm Clint," he said clearly. "I'm here because Wanda needs to come with me. Captain needs us."

Before I could respond, Vision broke out.

The bonds around him exploded once, twice - before breaking with a crack that shook the floor.

Red light burst, striking into Vision's chest. His flight stopped then buckled, and in an instant, she tossed him down.. The entire floor collapsed beneath him, and Vision vanished into the level below with the sound of a bomb detonating.

Dirt lingered in the air. For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then I did.

I was across the room before Clint could notch his arrow. My boot shattered into his bow, causing it to clang against the counter. He quickly recovered, grabbing another arrow from his quiver and spinning it up.

The arrow hissed past me, brushing my sleeve before lodging in the wall with a flash. I stopped it with my hand, staring at it before returning my gaze to him.

My lips curved into a strong grin. "Are you fucking Legolas or something?"

I smashed my heel into his chest. He staggered backward, crashing into his fridge and gasping for air. I followed, fangs bared, one hand already lifted to deliver a punch that would have left him broken on the ground.

And then

"Stop!"

Wanda's voice cut into me like a dagger. Her power erupted between us, forming a shimmering shield that melted on my skin. Her eyes were fixed on me now, begging, angry, and desperate.

I froze, my palm still in the air, Clint breathing just behind her power shield.

"Anastasia, that's enough," she said quietly, her hands trembling with power. "Let him go. I am leaving."

Her words cut like knives. I slowly turned to face her, my eyes narrowing.

"You know I can't let you."

Her jaw tightened, but her eyes urged me to understand.

"You don't understand," she stated softly. "I can't stay here, caged up like a prisoner. Steve needs me."

I took a step toward her, ignoring Clint as he groaned and tried to get up. "Then don't make me your jailer," I shouted. "Stay because you decide to. You know it's the best option."

Wanda's lips parted, as if the weight of the words had broken her will. She took another step, so close that I could feel the pulse of her chaotic magic caressing my skin and hear her heartbeat grow.

Behind me, Clint moved, grabbing for another arrow. My hand pulled out, sending a hard punch that sent him falling again. His bow clattered uselessly on the ground.

But I hardly saw him anymore.

Wanda stood in front of me, her power waning and her hands quivering as they lifted and held my face. Her palms were warm, and her fingers felt light against my jaw. The anger in my chest flickered and faded under that single touch.

"Wanda..."

Her eyes sparkled, caught between pain and desire. "I'm sorry."

And then she brushed her lips against mine.

The world paused for a heartbeat. The kiss was not gentle; it was chaotic and passionate. My hands trembled halfway to her waist.

But then, fire poured through me. A weird, drowsy feeling entered my veins, thick and attractive. My limbs weakened as I tried to cling to her and keep her there.

My last conscious thought was the taste of her kiss, the whisper of her breath against mine, before her power rushed through me like a lullaby, drawing me down into sleep.

The last thing I saw was her face above me, her eyes filled with sadness.

"I'm sorry, ljubav," she muttered again, just as the darkness overtook me...

The world showed up in shards of sound and light.

At first, I thought I had been buried alive again. Then a voice. Calm and irritatingly patient.

"Anastasia, wake up."

My eyelids drew open, and Vision's face showed up above me like a metal-carved holy saint.

"Oh, wonderful," I said, my throat dry as ash. "I died, and the afterlife looks like a toaster."

He blinked and tilted his head. "I will choose to ignore that."

I moaned and sat up slowly. Wanda's power was still clinging to my skin like frost. I remember her hands on my face, her lips on mine, and then nothing but darkness.

"Hours," Vision murmured, as if reading my mind. "You have been unconscious for about four hours. I feared you had suffered - "

" - a bruised ego?" I interrupted, rubbing my temples. "Actually, yes."

He did not grin, but his eyes softened, which was the closest he got. "I saw what happened after I dug myself back here; they probably stole the Quinjett, too."

"Fuck." I snarled, bitterness seeping through before I could control it.- "She kissed me, Vision. And then she wiped me out as if I were just a candle."

Silence. He did not respond since there was nothing to say

Vision straightened "Mr. Stark needs us in Berlin. Immediately. There have been changes."

"Berlin?" My voice was gravelly. "And how, exactly, do you advise we get to Berlin when our Quinjet has apparently vanished into thin air?"

"There is a second Quinjet in another compound. We can get there quickly if we fly."

I froze. "We?"

"Yes. I can carry you. Safely."

The hush lasted long enough that I considered murder. Finally, I got to my feet and stared him down. "Absolutely not."

His head tilted. "Why not?"

"Because," I muttered, "there is no universe in which I allow you to hold me in the sky. I will drive."

"But that's a slower option," he inquired bluntly.

"Yes!"

"Flying is easier."

"Still preferable."

He sighed, the closest he'd ever come to annoyance. "You are being irrational."

"And you," I shot back, tapping his chestplate with my finger, "are not throwing me around the clouds like luggage."

Ten minutes later, I was clinging to him like luggage.

The air blasted against my face, chilly enough to pinch. And my nails dug into the plating on his shoulder.

I murmured, "I hate you," into the wind.

"I am aware," he responded calmly.

By the time Vision lowered me to the earth, my legs were like water. I staggered as soon as my feet touched the asphalt, cursing beneath my breath.

"Never again," I murmured, staring up at him. "You ever try to carry me like that again, vis, and I'll rip your wires out and wear them as a necklace."

"Noted," he murmured calmly, though I think his mouth twitched.

The Quinjet appeared in the dark compound, Stark's failsafes activating as Vision's palm went over the scanner. The engines hummed to life, producing a low growl in the silence. I followed him up the ramp, throwing myself onto a seat as if it had personally offended me.

The anger in me was hotter than the jet's core. Wanda's emerald eyes and warm palms across my cheeks stuck with me. And then the cold betrayal of magic searing through me as she whispered I'm sorry.

I dug my nails into my palms and felt the skin split. It was easier than facing the truth: she had used me. A distraction. Dumb vampire who was too caught up in her emotions to understand what was about to happen. Or maybe what if she feels the same?

"Stop glaring at the floor," Vision murmured gently from the pilot's seat. "You'll burn a hole through it."

"Don't," I mumbled. My voice came out harsh.

"You are not angry at me."

"Bloody observant, aren't you?"

The jet's faint hum was the only sound that broke the silence. My chest ached. My mind whispered. She kissed you. Then leave you. And yet, you'd forgive her in a heartbeat.

I despised myself for it.

Vision adjusted the buttons, and his voice was calm and even. "You should know what happened when you were... unconscious. Captain Rogers decided to act on his own. He believed Barnes was innocent, but instead of trusting the process, he escaped with him."

I snapped my head up.

"They are now wanted. Mr. Stark has been directed to step in before the incident goes further."

"And us?" I asked.

Vision's gaze shifted back to me. "We plan to meet in Berlin. Stark believes they will pass through the airport. Our role is control."

Control.

I slumped back in my seat and pressed my fists to my eyes. My chest ached, stinging and hollow. Our Steve - was ripping the family apart with his bare hands.

"This is a nightmare," I mumbled.

Vision eventually turned in his seat and studied me with strange peace.

"You know she didn't mean to hurt you."

I laughed without humor. "Is that what you got from watching from the ground? Because, from where I was standing, it seemed pretty damn intended."

"She needed to leave. You were how do they call it? - an obstacle."

I glared at him. "Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

He leaned forward, folding his hands neatly as if we were having afternoon tea rather than heading toward a battle.

"Anastasia, I know Wanda. She had felt uncomfortable since Lagos. She worries about herself and what others think of her. And now the world is blaming her."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

"But she does not fear you."

I had to look away, blinking quickly before something dumb like tears exposed me. "You don't know that," I mumbled.

"Yes," he simply said, as if it were written in the sky. "I do."

I swallowed hard and gripped the edge of my seat till my knuckles turned white. I wanted to dispute and tear the argument apart, but all I could say was:

"Then why does it feel like she ripped my heart out? She could have just stayed with us, and we wouldn't need to fight right now."

"You're way too wise for a guy who doesn't even eat."

" Perhaps," Vision said. "But someone must remind you that you are not as alone as you believe."

Berlin

The airfield stretched before us.. I followed close behind Vision. Steve entered first, shield strapped to his arm and jaw set like stone.

I flinched at the sound, my gaze leaping skyward just as Iron Man and War Machine dropped with jets buzzing. Typical Stark entrance.

"Wow," Tony murmured via the mask, his tone arrogant. "It's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?"

Rhodey's voice followed. "Definitely weird."

Steve paused, "Hear me out, Tony. That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this."

Before Tony could respond, a figure jumped gracefully over a nearby truck—T'Challa.

"Captain."

Steve gave a courteous nod. "Your highness."

Tony sighed. "Anyway, Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

"You're after the wrong guy."

Tony's mask angled towards him. "Your judgment is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday."

"There are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't."

"Steve..." I spoke. He tilted his head slightly toward me but did not give me a complete glance. "You keep talking about what you cannot let happen. But what about what has already happened? People have died. People keep dying. And every time we try to clean things up, you're three steps ahead, saying no because you know better."

Tony looked at me sideways, almost astonished, as if he hadn't expected me to back him up like this.

Steven's jaw stiffened. "It's not that simple, Anastasia."

Natasha's voice sliced through the tension, "Steve... you know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?"

But Tony's sigh indicated otherwise. He raised his hand, impatience flowing from him. "All right, I've run out of patience. Underoos!"

I blinked in confusion until a red blur flashed before my eyes. Webs tightened around Steve's shield, wrenching it from his hold before his wrists were tied in a tangle of silk.

My lips separated. "What in the - "

Then I saw him. A kid. He stood there in a goofy red-and-blue suit as if it were Comic-Con rather than a fight.

Tony smiled smugly. "Nice job, kid."

"Thanks," the boy said, his voice slightly muffled by his mask. "Well, I could have landed a little better. It's just a new suit. Well, Mr. Stark, it is nothing. It's perfect. Thank you."

I stared at him. "Are you out of your mind, Tony? How the fuck old is this kid?"

The boy froze, staring at me like a deer in headlights. "Uh - I'm... old enough?"

Tony threw me a stern, warning look. Do not destroy this for me.

"Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation," Tony swiftly said.

"Okay." The child nodded, eager as a puppy. "Cap-Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man."

Oh, God. He also had a name. "Yeah, we'll talk about it later," Tony mumbled. "Just..." He waved him off. "Good job."

"Hey, everyone," Spider-Kid laughed and gave the most awful little wave I had ever seen. I squeezed the bridge of my nose. A literal child.

Steve scowled at Tony, his hands still tangled in the webbing. "You've been busy."

Tony replied sharply. "And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep... I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."

Steve's answer hit like a hammer: "You did that when you signed."

"All right, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us - or a squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction about being impolite. Come on."

Steve's jaw set, but his eyes flickered to the side

And then - his earpiece crackled. Sam's voice... "We found it. Their Quinjets's in hangar five, north runway."

"They're running," I muttered, low enough for only Vision to hear. My lips curled back slightly over my teeth, old instincts flaring.

He didn't respond. Of course, he did not. Instead, he raised his shackled hands. "All right, Lang."

Something stirred behind us. An odd, hesitant voice says, "Hey, guys, something - " Rhodes let out a startled curse. "Whoa. What the hell was that?"

And then, of all things, a man the size of an ant—and then not suddenly growing - tumbled forward, clutching Steve's shield.

He held it out with a silly little grin. "I believe this is yours, Captain America."

I looked at the sight with surprise.

"Unbelievable," I mumbled. "You guys are acting like idiots in a schoolyard brawl."

The field exploded into chaos. Voices jumbled in my ears, orders clashing as metal slammed against stone.

Tony's voice cut through the comms, "Oh, great. All right, there are two on the parking deck. One of them's Maximoff, I'm gonna grab her. Rhodey, you want to take Cap?"

Rhodey's response was all soldier: "Got two in the terminal, Wilson and Barnes."

"Barnes is mine!" T'Challa's growl rang through the air as he lunged like a shadow.

Meanwhile, alongside me, the Spider-Child spoke up: "Hey, Mr. Stark, what should I do?"

Tony did not even hesitate. "What we discussed. Keep your distance. Web them up."

My gaze swept across the battlefield: Steve bracing for T'Challa's wrath, Rhodey diving down with his weapon ready, and Clint fumbling with his ludicrous bow as if this were a medieval joust.

"Idiots," I mumbled as my jaw tightened. "All of them."

I looked at Peter, who was already bounding toward the terminal. "Kid," I yelled, my fangs nearly falling through from frustration. "We are on Barnes. You either keep up or stay down."

He nodded hesitantly, his webs breaking as he moved forward.

Inside the terminal, glass broke as Peter swung, connecting with Sam mid-flight.

Bucky whirled and raised his metal fist back.

Peter caught it in the middle of the swing, his eyes wild behind his mask. "Do you have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude!"

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost ached. "Focus, Spider!"

Sam struck again, Peter dodged, and the three of them fell into a tangle of fists, wings, and webs. I dashed in, my hand reaching out to push Bucky hard against the wall.

"Stay down, soldier," I shouted, "You're not running from this."

He snarled back, attempting to wriggle free, but Peter's web grabbed his arm again, jerking him backward.

Bucky strained against the webs, Sam pinned beside him, both looking amused and annoyed. Peter hopped on his toes, babbling quickly.

"...and by the way, that metal arm is the coolest thing I've ever seen. Is it like vibranium, titanium, or-?"

"Kid," I snapped, tugging his shoulder, "look at them, not their toys."

But Peter was not listening. He was still speaking. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Usually, there isn't this much commentary in a fight," Sam muttered, tugging on the webbing.

"I'm just excited," Peter said. "First big mission, gotta impress Mr. Stark, and..."

He didn't notice Bucky's knife flash until it had already cut cleanly through the webs.

Sam snapped his wings open, knocking Peter sprawling on his back. Bucky shoved off the fence and began pulling free. Both of them rushed through the smashed glass wall and disappeared into the chaos below.

Peter grumbled and lifted himself off the floor. "Oh, come on!"

"You had one job," I screamed, staring down at him.

"I-I almost had them!" he mumbled.

"You talked them free! Are you trying for the worst Avenger alive?" My voice was louder than I meant to be, but adrenaline was rushing through my veins.

Peter winced and rubbed the back of his head. "Mr. Stark is gonna kill me..."

"Forget Stark -" I growled and cut him off.

My gaze went toward the airfield.

The Quinjet.

Steve's team had broken through the line, rushing for escape. Wanda was beside them, her hands glowing scarlet as she protected Clint. The sight of her hit me harder than a punch. High neckline, corset hugging her figure, power sparking like a storm all around her. She's so beautiful.

"Come on!" Steve barked and waved them forward.

Steve's team came to an end and stopped. Vision loomed over the wreckage.

"Captain Rogers," he said calmly but clearly, "I know you believe what you're doing is correct. But for the collective good, you must surrender now."

Team regrouped and spread out. Rhodey, Natasha, Peter - I'm still standing on this side of the line. Wanda came across it.

I caught her gaze for the briefest of moments, my chest wrenching. She looked away first. Sam murmured, "What do we do, Cap?"

Steve's response was quick. "We fight."

I swore under my breath. Of course. "This will end well," Natasha muttered, brushing her hair.

The world dissolved into noise, with metal clashing, flames erupting, and the thunder of boots, fists, and power slamming. The barrier faded quickly, and teammates became enemies rather than friends.

Natasha was by my side. Clint rushed at us, arrows drawn, attempting to cover Steve's flank.

"I'll take Legolas," I mumbled as I sprinted.

Nat smirked. "Don't get cocky."

Clint fired three arrows in a heartbeat. I dodged left, felt one graze my arm, and closed the gap. My boot caught his bow mid-draw and snapped the string. He cursed and aimed a taser arrow at my chest, but Nat was there to deactivate it before it lit up.

"Two versus one? Kinda unfair," Clint grumbled.

"Yeah," I grinned, catching it mid-swing and yanking it from his grasp, "for you."

Nat's knife landed on his ribs, and I shoved him hard enough that he stumbled back, his breath knocked out. We got him

But then the red light burned the corner of my eyes. My stomach fell even before the power surged through me.

Wanda's energy burst through the air, ripping me and Natasha away from Clint and hurling us backward like rag dolls. I hit the ground hard, shaking every bone in my body.

I should have gotten back on my feet and attacked her, but I didn't. My body screamed to move, but all I could do was stare, frozen in the pull she had on me. Anger crawled up my throat, bitter and burning, yet it was something I couldn't push down. Something made my chest hurt more than the fall ever could.

I dragged myself away from the road, rage pouring through my bones.

Steve was hurrying across the runway, shield up and body inclined, in a pose that shouted, "Don't try me."

So, of course, I went right for him.

"Steve!" I yelled, my voice ragged. "Enough running."

He turned, blue eyes narrowing, and for a brief moment, I thought he might stop. Then he charged.

The impact was bone-cracking. His shield crashed against my forearm, sending vibrations through my bones. I kicked him low, knocking him down, and then delivered a punch that could have broken stone. He hardly blocked.

The crack of the gun echoed throughout the airport. I looked down at my side, expecting flames and pain. However, the bullet went into me shallowly, hardly cutting into me. My lips curved back into a sneer. "Really? Is that your move?"

Bucky squinted his eyes and tightened his grip on the rifle, ready to fire again. Before he could blink, I was on him. My palm gripped the gun's barrel, crushing metal like paper, and with a jerk, I ripped it from him and tossed it halfway down the runway. "You think that can stop me?"

I pushed my fist into his chest and tossed him. His body collided with the side of a carrier truck, causing the metal to crack.

He jumped up, the metal arm flashing. He swung quickly and brutally, but I caught his wrist midair. The ground broke beneath our feet as I spun, forcing him to his knees.

"You're nothing." I spat, pushing him back. "And I've killed worse."

Bucky lunged again. I did not hesitate. With a shout, I grabbed him around the waist and tossed him across the ground. He landed and tumbled, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

Adrenaline was like fire in my veins. But then...

I was thrown off my feet, the world spinning as Wanda's magic wrapped around my body, flinging me backward. I tried to stop myself, but the power was too strong. I smacked into the ground hard.

The skyscraper above me creaked. Vision's blast had already sliced through some of the building. Wanda's push sent me straight onto the fault line. Metal exploded, walls bent, and everything collapsed.

No sound. No pain. No light. Only cold quiet pressed down on me, like the grave I'd been pushed into more times than I remember.

And then, like a match struck in the dark, my body finally woke up again.

As I clawed upward, stone and steel cracked beneath my fists, allowing air to return to my lungs. Dust stung my throat, blood flowed down my lip, but my vision and senses were sharper. My heart raced with frustration.

Above me, the world was in chaos.

"Where is she?!"

"Over here - I saw her falling this way!" Rhodey yelled back, pieces shifting as his armored gloves ripped through the ruins.

"Anastasia!" Vision's voice sounds frightened. I could hear him scanning and phasing through the walls. Even Peter's little voice crackled with anxiety.

And beneath it all, footsteps pound away. Fast and steady. Steve. Bucky. Running. Taking advantage of the confusion to go closer to the Quinjet. Of course.

My lip twisted as I moved free from the ruin. I listened through the ringing in my ears and the aching of bones still trying to heal. Her heartbeat. I needed her to stop fighting, because we couldn't stop them.

I went silently, saw her behind the corner of a collapsed wall, her back turned, her head whipping as she searched the wreckage she had buried me under. She did not see me.

My hand reached out, fingers tightening around her throat, not crushing but strong. She gasped, eyes wide, red crackling reflexively in her fingers.

"Stop," I hissed, my voice low. My fangs ached at the corners of my lips, and my eyes remained red from the near-death haze. I drew her closer, my lips nearly touching her ear. "No more fight. You're done."

Her lips parted, shock transformed into fear, and then something else. Guilt. Her hands tremble, and the red light flickers as she stares at me, unsure whether she should fight or fall into me.

"I-I didn't mean-" Wanda's voice broke. Her eyes were wet, "I didn't want to hurt you. I swear, Ana..."

Her knees buckled before she had finished. The red color drained from her palms like dying flames. She stumbled, her weight folding beneath her, and I had to catch her before she collapsed on the ground.

"Damn it, Wanda..." I mumbled as I slowly lowered her onto the damaged cement. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from tiredness, her eyes lowered but yet looking for mine.

Her fingers brushed lightly across my wrist, not pushing me away but clinging on. "I'm sorry," she said again, but this time softly, as if admitting a sin. "I never wanted to..." Her lashes fluttered shut, and her head rested lightly against my arm.

For a minute, all I could do was stare at her. My anger split and weakened by the curve of her mouth and the thrill of her breath.

"Wanda..."

"Anastasia!"

Vision's voice broke through the fog, relief filling his face as he dropped through the mess. His eyes widened as he saw me clutching Wanda, alive but barely conscious. "You're all right."

I met his stare, "She'll live. Just...probably her powers exhausted her."

He crouched, worry etched over his flawless face. But then his head leaned slightly, almost guilty. "Captain and Bucky have made it to the Quinjet. If we move right now, maybe we can - "

"I'll go," I interrupted, carefully putting Wanda into his arms. I wiped a stray strand of hair from her cheek before letting her go, pushing myself to control my voice. "Take care of her. Don't let her leave."

Vision nodded and held her as if she were glass. His lips curved into a small smile. My gaze darted down the landing strip, toward the Quinjet engines that were already firing up.

As I reached the end of the runway, the rumble of engines vanished into the sky. My chest still heaved from the sprint. The Quinjet was already a tiny object taken up by clouds. Gone.

I stopped and looked at the boots dragging on the burnt pavement, and the first thing I noticed was T'Challa. The panther is on one knee. His muscles trembled furiously, betraying him, and his black suit flashed with blue sparks. He gasped and dug his claws into the floor in order to stay upright.

Natasha stood beside him. My anger was seething and crackling in my chest as I looked at Natasha. She stood with her chin up, her gaze steady despite the shame.

With a raspy voice, I yelled, "You don't get to just - just say sorry and walk away." Are you even aware of your actions? You gave him everything. You gave them everything."

She made a small line with her lips. "I know."

I let out a sharp sigh and dragged a hand down my face. "You piss me off," I whispered.

She tilted her head, almost surprised. "You think I don't piss myself off?"

I briefly laughed bitterly and sighed. Then, with T'Challa still on his knees and his body shaking from the Widow's Bite, I turned to face him. Even through the fog of suffering, his eyes were fixed on mine. He would remember this. He would remember everything. Natasha would be damned by that.

I knelt down in front of him and said, "Sleep, and forget me. Forget I was here."

The fighting left him as if someone had plucked the threads from his body, and his eyes closed. The King of Wakanda fell to the ground a moment later, unconscious but still alive.

As if to relieve myself of its burden, I stood up and wiped my palms against my thighs. Natasha was staring at me.

I said, "You don't have to run. I can also make them forget. Stark. Rhodey. Each and every one. Nobody will be aware of what you did."

She shook her head after that. "For that, it's too late. They will be aware. They may not do so now, but they will." After pausing, she moved closer while speaking in a quiet, determined voice. "And when the time comes, I'll handle it."

But I understood. I got it, damn it. Despite her many qualities, Natasha Romanoff was not a coward.

I grabbed her wrist, tight but not unkind. "Then go. Now. Before they realize."

She simply stared at me for a moment. She then gave me the tiniest nod. When I released her hand, she turned and vanished before the smoke cleared, vanishing into the darkness at the runway's edge....

#fanfic #marvel #wlw #fluff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff #marvel preferences #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader

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