#DID HE EVEN HAVE A LINE IN THE FIRST PLACE???

[elaci]

Art brings Patrick along to celebrate your entry winning! He also shows off your side-project of collecting intimates, Patrick wants in.

cw; threesomesss! m-recieving oral, spitroasting, consensual voyeurism, more talk of tennis and a man who is not named mary...

Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | The Rule of Thirds masterlist | talk to me!

“You aren’t even playing tennis in it.”

Patrick Zweig, who really does hate formal attire, tilts his head at the print framed in front of him. The glass of sparkling in his hand doesn’t do much to unlock his creative interpretation. To him, it’s a photo of his best friend smiling like a dork with a racket in hand.

Art jabs him in the ribs. “It’s the afterglow,” he parrots, a weird knowing smile pulling at his lips. “You’re just jealous that I won.”

Patrick snorts and leans into Art. “You didn’t. She did.”

The two of them glance around the venue, a makeshift gallery to display the submissions for the face of sport competition . People crowd the place, pointing at prints and talking between themselves about angles and lighting and composition and everything under the sun that isn’t sport. All of the pictures are the same, though: a close up of a sports player as they train. Their face sweaty and angry as they hit a ball or cross a finish line or do a fucking pirouette. 

The boys step out of the way to let an older married couple in front of them look at the winning photo. The husband looks puzzled, glancing from the first-day-of-school-esque photo of Art to a photo of a swimmer diving into the water. 

“This is the winner?” the husband asks his wife. 

The wife, who is sneaking a few pictures on her phone, laughs and says, “Jeff, honey, you just don’t understand art.”

Patrick snorts at that and looks at his Art, one he also doesn’t fully understand. Art rolls his eyes and steps away, motioning for Patrick to follow. The two fall in step with each other, voices low as they walk through the gallery. 

“So,” Patrick dips his head down a little as he speaks, a dutiful whisper. “Are you two dating or what? Have you fucked her yet?”

Art stops abruptly, his shoes squeak against the linoleum flooring, karma for wearing sneakers to an event where champagne is served and people say things like ‘what a peculiar angle’. He looks at Patrick with something in his eyes, and the brunette has to take a moment to try and decode his best friend's silent story.

“Ohh,” he grins after a moment. “She fucked you.”

Art clicks his teeth, he wants to object but he ultimately can’t. “She takes photos.”

“What?”

“Polaroids.”

“Of you fucking?”

“Yes, Patrick, not so loud.”

Patrick’s grin is glued to his face. It’s less amused and moreso smug now, maybe a little excited. There's a moment shared between the two before Patrick chimes in again, a tinge of worry lacing his tone. "And you know she's not going to send them anywhere?"

Art shakes his head. "She lets me keep them."

"Holy shit," Patrick laughs, "I have to see these."

Art scoffs and pulls Patrick along. They continue walking through the exhibition halls, occasionally stopping to look at different prints on display but quickly growing bored of the monotony of each shot. Patrick starts to realise, after the sixth shot of a tennis player hitting a ball, that you were right in catching something different. The pair turn a corner and find themselves in a secluded hall of past entries that no one cares to gawk over a second time; Patrick takes his chance and grabs Art by the arm. 

"Come on," his voice is low, and he glances through the empty hallway to make sure he hadn't missed someone standing within earshot. “Let me see.”

There’s a pause, and then Art shakes his head. “No way, my eyes only.”

Patrick grins, “what’s so bad about them? She gets you to dress up in a maid's dress and serve her on your knees?”

Patrick entertains the thought for a moment, and then sees the danger in doing so and shakes his head. “I’m joking, Art. If you don’t want me to see, don’t show me.”

Another pause, Patrick knows Art like he knows himself, even more so maybe. Art wants to share, he wants to gloat about the endeavours he’s been having behind a closed door: he's a man for attention just like Patrick is, it’s what makes them such a good team, everyone’s eyes are always on them. They hold eye contact for what feels like a moment too long, and Art finally lets his lips flip into a grin.

“And how would Tashi feel about me showing you these?”

Patrick shrugs. “You know Tashi, she’s not the jealous type,” he puts on a high pitched voice, despite Tashi having the complete opposite, and points a finger in the air to quote her. “I dont care what you do or who you fuck, Patrick, as long as you play a good fucking game of tennis afterwards.”

Monogamy, not a given in the world of competition, unsurprisingly. Art stands still, hands by his side as he squints his eyes at Patrick. He’s always been able to call bullshit on him, and Art must trust his intuition on this one because he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He pulls two polaroids out of the back slot and pockets one of them, not comfortable with sharing such an intimate photo of yourself with express permission. The other one, the one you had taken your first time together, gets slipped into Patricks awaiting palm.

And he has no telling face as he looks at it, studies it. In the photo, Art Donaldson, his best friend since twelve, is laying on his back, expression lost in a mixture of bliss and overwhelming desire. Sweat sticks to his skin, sticks his hair to his forehead. His face is blushed red and his eyes are blown wide open, pupils expanded as if he were looking at God herself; perhaps he was. His mouth is parted lightly, lips glistening with what could be spit or... and Patrick is hard.

“Introduce me,” Patrick deadpans. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again. I’ll give you so much money. I’ll quit tennis.”

Art grins. “You are a fucking liar.”

“Yeah, one with taste and a semi.”

Art hits Patrick in the arm, but ultimately folds. “Fine, but only because she wants to meet you.”

“I could suck your dick right now.” Patrick takes another hit to the arm, this one harder than the last. He moves to rub the spot where pain still lingers, but stops in his movements when a thought crosses his mind. “So you’ve told her about me, huh?”

Art rolls his eyes and plucks the polaroid from Patricks hand. He looks at the picture for a moment.

“Oh he won't shut up about you," a voice sounds from behind the pair. Both boys jump at the sudden presence and spin to face you, smiling laudingly at the pair- a gold medal with a camera engraved into the front hangs from your neck. Your gaze flits between them, and Patrick is suddenly struck by all the times he’d seen you around before. Though he's not often on campus, only when his schedule opens and visits are worth making, he's turned his head as you've walked past before, he knows it.

Art clears his throat and turns to face you properly, placing the hand with the polaroid behind his back. "This is Patrick," he gestures at Patrick while maintaining eye contact with you. You nod, and then look towards the brunette. Your name falls on attentive ears, Patrick rolls it on his tongue for good measure and decides he likes the taste of it. He introduces himself in turn with an extended hand to shake and his signature smile.

"It's good to meet you," you hum as you shake his hand, though your head nods to Art's hidden hand. "I do autograph my originals, if you want."

Art's face falls slightly, caught in the act. Patrick smiles and nods, to which Art mutters an embarrassed apology. Your eyes soften, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in response. You hold your hand out, and Art sheepishly places the polaroid in your hand. You turn the polaroid around and examine it for a few moments before plucking a permanent marker from your pocket and writing something on the back of it. You waft it through the air a few times to allow for the ink to dry, and then grin at Art as you hand the polaroid instead to Patrick.

Patrick takes it with a dumbfounded half-smile, his eyes darting from you to Art and then back to you and down to the writing you've left behind--- THE ART OF MAKING LOVE, it reads, and Patrick snorts at the pun. Your smile widens slightly.

“Very nice.” Patrick comments softly, holding the polaroid between his fingertips and glancing down to it pointedly. 

"I know," you reply simply. "Thank you for coming, by the way, both of you. I would have skipped it myself if I didn't win."

Art chuckles. "It was our pleasure, this place is nice."

You laugh in response and Patrick thinks he's heard heaven's bells. "Some lady asked if I'd read the part about the entry having to be sports-related."

Patrick pushes in before Art can speak. "Ah, don't listen to them," he takes a step forward and glances down to the polaroid still between his fingers, you don’t know if he’s talking about the photo he’s holding, or the winning entry. "I think you really captured the... afterglow." 

If Art could roll his eyes completely into the back of his head he would, he can't hold his laughter in at Patricks attempt to sound like he knows the first thing about photography, and your laughter sings out too, picking up on the parroting of your own words to Art. The sound echoes across the empty hallway, bouncing off the walls and filling the space like music.

"Patrick doesn't know what he's talking about," Art runs a hand through his own hair, eyes settling on you in a dorky grin you've grown to adore. 

"I'm better in front of the camera than behind it," Patrick offers. 

Silence meets his words as you look between the boys, committing both of their features to memory. You imagine, only for a moment, getting them both in front of your lens. The imagined sight is enough to press an offer to your lips. Patrick and Art stand in silence, staring at you as you watch them.

"I already got my medal" you toy with the award around your neck. You tilt your head to the side, "wanna get out of here?"

"Yes," said in eager unison by the best friends, fire and ice.

You smirk, turn on your heels and lead the way down the hall. Patrick and Art fall in step behind you, Patrick still holding your polaroid between his fingers-- Art plucks it from him in a quick movement and pockets it. Patrick, in childish turn, shoves Art against the corridor wall. He hits a framed photo of an elderly woman with a feeding tube in her nose, titled 'the woes of age', and it crashes to the floor with a loud clatter. The frame's glass shatters across the floor, and you whip your head around to find Patrick and Art both staring wide-eyed back at you.

"What was that?" A voice from the main gallery calls out, thudding footsteps follow.

And you stifle a laugh, looking down at the broken frame of a probably now-dead elderly woman's portrait, then up to your two accomplices. Art and Patrick look between each other, a silent agreement between them. All of a sudden, they're sprinting past you, and both grabbing a hand of yours to pull you down the corridor.

Your shrieks of laughter fill the space between you. You run faster than you've ever ran before, your heart pounding in your chest and blood rushing through your veins; it's exhilarating, it's terrifying, you're alive. 

SIX YEARS LATER

A burly old man with tattoos from head to toe stands behind the counter at MARY'S PAWN SHOP— YOUR TRADE, YOUR TREASURES. Patrick Zweig walks in with two tennis bags slumped over his shoulders, looks at the balding man with ‘leisure’ tattooed under his eye and smiles, “I’ll take it you aren’t Mary.”

"No," says the man of few words.

Patrick raises his eyebrows and exhales, his social battery already malfunctioning. He walks to the counter and sets each tennis bag down atop it with a padded thud. "There's uh, there's rackets, wristbands, a pair of shoes- I think, a few balls. All in good condition, nothing cheap, nothing dirty..."

The man nods, still silent, and begins looking through the tennis bags. He pulls a racket out to check it for wear and tear, and then another, glossing his eyes over and finding no damage. He checks the shoes for dirt and scratches, the balls for wear, and once he's happy with the quality of the first bag's contents, he moves onto the second. He unzips the side pocket with a short tug to reveal something other than tennis equipment— a polaroid.

It only takes a glance at the photo from the stocky man before he's slamming it face down on the counter. "Fucking Christ, kid. Check your shit before you pawn it off."

Patrick looks puzzled, "what?" he slides the polaroid towards himself and flips it up to look at it— his lips twitch. "Oh." 

"Yeah 'oh'," the man scoffs in reply.

Patrick stares down at a photo he hasn't seen in years, and while red tinges his face as he stands in Mary's Pawn Shop, it's nothing compared to his flushed red look of desperation in the polaroid. There he sits, with Art Donaldson sitting behind him pressing wet kisses to his neck, hands splayed over Patrick’s bare chest. His legs are spread, the photo is taken from between them— at the bottom of the frame his cock sits rock hard and at rapt attention, your manicured fingers wrapped around his length: he can even see the glisten of precum beading at his tip.

"Jesus," Patrick exhales shakily, quickly pocketing the polaroid and only barely managing eye contact with the clerk. "That's, uh..."

"I don't care," he snaps a finger to the store's entrance. "Out."

"Wait," Patrick scrambles to show him that the rest of the bag is indeed only full of tennis gear. "Seriously, please, I need the money," his tone softens, but is still pleading. "Look, I'm a tennis player, Patrick Zweig, if you plaster my name on the sale I'm sure you'll get more sales. Can you just—"

"I just got a faceful of your cock, Patrick Zweig," the old man barks. "Get the fuck out."

Patrick lets out an exasperated sigh and zips up his tennis bags, slinging one strap across his shoulder and taking the other by the handle. He turns and walks gingerly out of the store, a 'please come again soon!' sign hangs awkwardly from the door he walks through, and rattles when he slams it shut behind him.

The trek to his car is an embarrassing one, the old tattooed man's eyes still burning into him as he unlocks the trunk and throws his tennis bags in. The moment he's situated in the driver's seat, he's turning out of the street and praying silently to god that he gets hit by lightning or something to that extent. He's been doing that a lot lately. 

Once he's reached his apartment, Patrick's mind is reeling, and every thought has to do with you. He leaves his stuff behind in the car, mind too occupied to care about bringing them in. 

His front door creaks when he pushes it open and slams it shut behind him, he's walking straight to his laptop, which sits at the counter because he hasn't had the time nor funds to buy a table, and opens up the screen. Your name is tapped into the search browser in seconds, his index finger clicks the enter button and Patrick Zweig holds his breath as the search results load. There's a funny feeling in his chest, a deep sense of anticipation that makes him feel almost giddy.

The page loads a display of your photography but no display of you. Patrick scrolls further down, scanning through articles about your photographs and a few links to reviews of your work.  Nothing. His fingertips drum against the keyboard as he tries another search— your personal website. 

There you are. A photo of you behind a camera headlines the page, and below are examples of your work. They're mostly photos of people, some of them are tame and shot against the sun in fields canvased with colour, others are sultry black-and-white boudoir style photos, though each subject has the same look on their face that you've been chasing since the day he met you. Patrick takes the polaroid from his pocket and sits it against the screen, as if on display with the rest of your shots, and  he can't help but smile. It's very you.

BOOK A SHOOT! — GET IN CONTACT is written in bold towards the bottom of the page next to an email and a phone number. 

Patrick Zweig knows he isn't the best person to grace this earth. He knows he has a habit of placing himself in the arms of people that would be better off without bearing his weight. He knows his voice can be a jarring one— so he skips past your number and starts typing an email instead. Because he’s trying to be thoughtful, you can delete an email, but also because he’s a few minutes away from stroking his cock to that polaroid of yours until his wrist hurts and he’s cumming dry and you’d certainly hear the building desperation in his voice.

Your email goes in first, and then a subject line— he flips the polaroid over and smiles at the smudged writing on the back, and then gets to typing:

‘Zweig, your plus one.’

SIX YEARS EARLIER

“So what am I here?” Patrick takes a drag of his cigarette, leans back against the tree he sits under and blows his smoke into the air. “A third wheel?”

You laugh, so does Art, who is sitting across from him on the grass, beside you with an arm around your shoulder. He has a cigarette in hand that he offers you every now and then, but you’re busy feeding new instant film into your polaroid. Though your head is down as you work, you reply with a sweetness to your tone nonetheless.

“No,” you laugh. “More like a plus one.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows and looks from you to Art, something in his eyes that only his best friend could read. Art shrugs, a playful smile pulling at his lips as he mouths 'told you.' Before Patrick can ask what exactly what you mean by that, he sees you lift the polaroid in front of your face and snap a picture, the flash sending Patricks eyes wide in the otherwise dim night.  When you lower the camera from your nose he finds you grinning at him like you've just won the lottery, and he laughs low in his throat.

The polaroid prints from the camera, and you waft it in the air a little to let it develop before looking down at it. "You looked good," you hum, and give Patrick the opportunity to lean forward and take a look for himself. He does so immediately, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward and angles his head. He sees himself, cigarette in hand and smoke blowing softly from his lips as he sits.

He takes another toke of his cigarette and then taps it out into the ashtray beside him. He nods at you, catches your gaze, "do you play tennis?"

You laugh, a genuine laugh that rings in Patricks ears. Art laughs too, and nudges you with his arm. "She's a natural."

Patrick can tell Art is lying, because he can always tell. A grin pulls at his lips as you shake your head and cover your face with your hands for dramatic effect and dissolve into your laughter once more. Art nudges you again, and you push his arm away gently, but there's no malice in your movements, "I'm about half as useful with a racket as I would be if I was blind. I'll leave the big leagues to you two... you're playing professionally right?"

Patrick nods, and spends a fair few minutes going into depth about the world of pro tennis. You listen tentatively, nodding along to his words and asking questions when you aren't sure of something. Art chimes in too, at some point, and the conversation shifts from pro tennis to all types of stories from the boys' years of playing together.  It all feels so familiar, and yet so foreign. Patrick can't remember the last time he's talked about tennis with someone that isn't aching to get pointers from him, or lecture him on how to improve. You just listen, and you throw in your own stories of childhood sports leagues and extracurriculars here and there, and Patricks not quite sure how but by the time the conversation wraps up, the three of you are sitting an awful lot closer than you were when you'd first found the secluded spot on campus.

"How long are you visiting for?" You tilt your head as you look at Patrick- your legs are draped over Art's lap, though you have a hand on his knee.

"A few more days," Patrick nods, looking from you to Art who has a sly grin plastered on his face, "what?"

Art shrugs nonchalantly, leaning slightly forward as he rubs a hand over your legs. “Patrick is staying in my dorm,” he looks to you, something knowing in his eyes. “I forgot to tell him I wouldn’t be there tonight.”

Patrick looks between you and Art. 

“Oh but your doors locked,” you sound genuinely concerned as you turn to Patrick and ask, “do you have a spare key?”

Arts door isn’t locked— he always forgets to lock it. Even at boarding school Patrick would chide his inability to remember to lock their room up when they left, they’d always fall victim to someone coming in to steal a racket or swap out their pillows for the less comfortable ones that would circulate the dorm. 

“I don’t have a spare key,” Patrick lets your hand crawl a little further over his thigh. A glance to Art offers him an equally hungry look, a heat, a taste for more than that night in the hotel with…

Should he tell you about Tashi? He knows she’s unbothered by his endeavours as long as his performance doesn’t slip for it, but some draw a line at sharing. He looks between you and Art, takes in the burning from the both of you and almost laughs, something tells him sharing isn't off the cards for you.

“You said earlier that you’re better in front of the camera than behind it,” your voice is soft, sultry, it sends a twang of something needy through Patricks spine. “You wanna take some pictures, Zweig?” 

It’s all a rush, from his acceptance to the trip to your dorm room, a haze of hushed laughter and lingering touches he can’t tell who from. He wants to put on a face for you, woo you like he does every other girl he’s slept with. But with Art it’s easy, they're best friends… soulmates. They’ve kissed before, they've seen the most intimate parts of each other— in a way, Art's presence settles his nerves with you. 

The second your dorm room door clicks shut, Art’s lips are against Patrick's and he’s guiding him to the edge of your bed in a mess of sloppy implacable kisses, his slender hands run through Patrick's curls, tug at the base of his scalp in a newfound dominance Patrick was unsure Art had in him. This is the second time they've made out, if you don't count the time when they were thirteen and practised on each other for their first girlfriends… which neither of them will admit ever happened.

The back of Patrick's legs hit the edge of your bed and at the same time, Art's tongue slips dutifully into his mouth and slides over the expanse of his teeth. He tastes like cigarettes and chapstick, which Patrick assumes is yours because it tastes like cherries and everything else narcotic, in this sense he kisses you also. There's a heat licking at the pit of his stomach and it spreads like wildfire through his chest and down his arms. Tugging at the hem of Arts shirt, he gets his point across and is able to lift it and run his fingertips over his abdomen as Art removes it completely. Patrick follows suit shortly after, grabbing his own shirt by the collar and lifting it over his head: it's tossed to the side despite its price. His jeans soon follow.

For a moment, it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Art's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Patrick takes Art's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Art's throat.

They part, and are given only half a moment to mourn the loss of each other's touch before their kiss-swollen lips upturn into grins, and a gentle laughter is shared between them. Art's smile is wide, and he turns his head from Patrick to you, sitting at your desk writing on the back of the polaroid you had taken outside.

"Busy over there?" Art teases, smiling as you turn to look at them.

"Just letting you have your moment," you hum complaisantly, then lift your camera up to take a quick photo of the pair, hot and flushed and still panting slightly, "just let me know when you two feel like being productive with yourselves…"

Your tone trails off, and then you're standing quickly, grabbing your camera as you saunter over to the boys, who part from each other to glue their eyes onto you. You survey the scene, their tousled hair and matching vibrant pink cheeks. Patrick’s boxers are a light blue, Art’s are black, and you like the contrast of colour but decide they should exit the scene completely. 

You run a nail down Art’s chest, watching as his shoulders roll back as you flick over one of his nipples and continue down to the waistband of his boxers. You pull the elastic towards you, and then let it snap back against his skin. He hisses at the contact, plasters a dramatic frown across his lips as you smile in turn and nod to the bed, though not before tugging down at his boxers just enough to expose the trail of light brown hair leading to his hardened cock— a suggestion if nothing else: take them off. 

Art obliges, sparing only a glance to Patrick before tugging his boxers down and kicking them to the side. You steal a good look at his cock, licking your lips at the sight of his growing hard-on. He catches your gaze and gives you a sly smile before climbing onto your bed and sitting back. 

You’re quick to guide Patrick into position as well, taking him by the wrist and giving him a pointed look when he uses his free hand to caress the curve of your ass. He’s a lot more assertive than Art, lets his hands roam when Arts would stay clasped behind his back. You like it, you like the contrast, and you like the thought of having Art take control of his ministries for once. 

You pull Patrick to stand in front of where Art sits and then, with a cheeky lopsided smile, you push him backwards and watch as he falls to sit just in front of where Art is settled. You take a step back and watch as Art moves forward, hand on Patrick’s shoulder, and sets his gaze on you. 

“Direct away,” he rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder, and the pair watch as you ready your camera. 

“You’re good like this, actually,” you hum, looking between the boys. Rather than snap a photo, though, you reach back out and lift Patrick’s chin up to offer him your gaze. Your fingers trace the expanse of his jaw, up to his cheek before returning to his cocky smile. You slip two fingers into his mouth, his lips closing around them without guidance nor hesitation. His tongue lays flat against your digits as he sucks, hollowing out his cheeks, eyes boring into yours. 

When you pull your fingers from his mouth his arrogant smile returns ten-fold. You’re pressing your lips against his in only a second, rolling your tongue into his mouth in an attempt to shut him up despite not a word falling from his lips. He brings a hand up to cup the side of your face, an attempt at dominance despite quite literally being the one stretching his back to keep his lips against yours.

His hand travels to the nape of your neck, tugging you forward until you practically fall into him, your legs giving way as you drop to your knees against the cold hardwood floors. You find purchase by splaying your fingers over his thick thighs, his lips still locked with yours in a frenzy of tongues and teeth and shared oxygen. It's an unspoken battle for the upper hand, something you never had to wager with Art, who's happy to melt under your touch until the sun rises. You take your turn by slipping one hand past the waistband of his baby blue boxers and palming his rock hard erection; a harsh intake of breath from Patrick allows you to pull your lips from his and gaze up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster.

"Can I suck your dick now or are you going to keep me waiting? I'm kinda starving."

A breathless chuckle escapes your lips as Patrick stares at you with heated eyes and opens his mouth to reply but no sound comes out. The words die on the tip of his tongue and he closes it quickly before swallowing audibly and looking between you and Art, who has pulled himself up just enough to get a look at you from over his best friends shoulder. When Patrick's eyes lock onto yours again, his grin widens even further and he leans back against Art's chest, looking down at you through lidded eyes and nodding eagerly. 

You waste no time on lingering touches and feather-light strokes. Your free hand is tugging Patrick's boxers down, with his help as he lifts his hips to allow you to do so, and with your other one you're squeezing his shaft, moving your hand up and down in deliberate strokes that send his mind into overdrive. Once he's biting his own lip, you wrap your around his glistening tip and swirl your tongue around the head of his cock before sucking him deeply into your mouth. 

A gasp from Patrick, quickly muffled by the turn of his head and Art stretching his neck to meet his best friend in a ravenous kiss. You flatten your tongue against Patrick's length, take a moment to hum contently and listen to his hitching breath at the vibrations you offer him, and then start bobbing your head rhythmically. You cup his balls with one hand, offer him gentle squeezes in tandem with the movement of your tongue, and rub grounding circles into his thigh with your other hand. Your cheeks hollowed out, you suck Patrick Zweig's pulsing cock until he deems himself desperate enough to start bucking his hips upward into your mouth. You know he'd hold your head in place and throat-fuck you until you'd lose your voice if he had you alone, but Art's doing well in distracting him with his tongue, his lips and his hands. 

It's when Patrick breaks the kiss to look down at you, eyes glossed with a yearning lust, that you know he's close. Breathing laboured, fingers digging into the edge of your mattress, hips snapping upwards for any chance at fucking deeper into your throat. His desperation only doubles when Art starts nibbling at his ear, then kissing down the stretch of his neck, hands feeling up his chest.

You know he’s close, walking on the fence of a ruined orgasm and a zenith climax that would taste better than it feels, though you place your hunger aside to do what you do best— take the shot. You pull your lips from Patrick’s cock with a pop, and replace your mouth with your right hand, wrapping your fingers around his length and stroking him just enough to keep him on that edge. 

You reach over his trembling thighs, grab your camera and line up the shot. Art’s mess of blonde hair is a contrast to Patrick’s darkened look as he works bruises into his neck, fingers splayed over his chest. Patricks face, the look of looming bliss melted over his features, and the tension in his corded muscles as he opens his mouth to beg for sweet release. You make sure his pulsing cock is in frame, too, held in reverence by your own hand. The flash momentarily brightens the room, illuminates the scene at hand but only for a second before the Polaroid prints your photo and you pluck it with the hand that had held Patrick's cock on the edge of orgasm.

He whines as you smile up at him, nearly moving to stroke himself to completion but stopping in favour of starting an argument.

"What the fuck?" He has to swallow twice to keep his drool from spilling out of his mouth. "That's unfair, fucking-"

You press a kiss to Patrick's knee and then stand, stepping back once and placing your finger against your lips in a gesture of silence.

He watches, his brows furrowed as you turn on your heel and wander back to your desk. You don't bother to look over your shoulder as you pick up a permanent marker and start writing on the back of your developing Polaroid. 

'ZWEIG, OUR PLUS O—'

A pair of arms around your torso pull you backwards, and you smudge the last few letters with your thumb as the man behind you pulls it from your grasp and smacks it face-down against your desk. You can feel his erection pressing against your clothed ass, his sweaty chest against your back and his hot breath against your ear as he speaks, low and sinful.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Patrick Zweig bites. "But I don't get off on being used like a toy. I'm not Art."

You turn your head in the direction of his voice, let his breath fan your cheek; you smell cigarettes and remnants of Art's chewing gum. "I know you're not," you coo, pressing your ass back against his painfully hard length. "Art made me cum twice before I ever got on my knees for him. You're selfish."

"Damn right I am," Patrick breathes, tightening his grip around your torso and near-dragging you back to the bed. "Always have been, too."

You're walked to the bed where Art waits, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you get manhandled into position. He'd offer you a hand, a way out, if you weren't smiling so wide, giggling beneath your breath as Patrick pushes between your shoulder blades and bends you over the edge of your own mattress. You catch yourself with your hands on Art's knees, face dangerously close to his now rock-hard cock as Patrick uses both hands to pull your bottoms and panties off in one go.  His eyes linger on your exposed cunt as he slips two fingers through your folds, grinning- "fucking soaked, huh?"

"Fuck yes," you breathe. You think he's going to stretch you out on his fingers and you're about to object, tell him you don't need it, when you hear a condom packaging rip open and the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. You can only gasp in response.

"Tell me yes, say you want it," Patrick breathes.

"Fuck me, Zweig."

You make eye contact with Art as Patrick slowly presses into you, using your own wetness as lube. Art watches you with sinful eyes, something deep inside of him like watching you fall apart under his best friend's touch, but you refuse to reduce him to a cuck. You let Art lift your chin just enough to press a tender kiss against your lips as Patrick starts to thrust into you, slowly increasing his pace as he feels you adjust more and more to his size. You love the taste of Art's kisses, the gentle way his lips take yours, but you're hungry for more of him, so you pull away and try not to focus on those sad eyes of his.

As Patrick snaps his hips into yours and bottoms out inside of you, you lean down and take Art as deep into your mouth as you can manage. As soon as Art finds your rhythm, his eyes flutter closed and a sigh leaves his lips. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, and he holds you there, rocking his hips into your mouth as Patrick tries to match his rhythm. You move in tandem with the ministrations of your boys, with each thrust of Patrick's hips, you're choking further on Art's cock. And with each snap of Art's hips, you're pushed backwards onto Patrick's length, and each time he manages to fill you just that little bit deeper. 

"That's it," Patrick's voice is breathy. "Good fucking girl, taking us so well, like you were fucking made for it, huh?"

With each movement, every moan from either boys' lips, you're pushed closer towards the edge of a new level of pleasure, and you can feel warmth beginning to gather in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers dig into the sheets, holding onto them tight and keeping you anchored as you push against Patrick's cock harder, faster... fucking yourself on him in the spirit of competition. You're full to the brim, lips wrapped around Art's cock as you work him close to the edge, eyes looking up at him through your lashes to find a face so fucking pretty you forget to even think of taking a picture. Not that you could even if you wanted to, with his cock embedded in your throat and your arms the only things keeping you up.

The pressure in your stomach, the searing stretch of Patrick's cock makes you wonder if you're a masochist at heart, because you never want that dull pain to end. His moans fall from his lips and permeate the air, a symphony of wants and needs, and you think you could get lost in it forever.

"Oh Jesus Christ," Patrick groans, voice cracking as he nears climax. Art's hips start to shake, his thrust into your mouth becoming erratic and harsh and so much better than it should be when you can feel sweat dripping into your hairline, the sting of  tears forming in your eyes as Patrick pounds into you. It takes everything in you not to come undone as his hips jerk forward. It feels too good, too good to last, and you're seconds away when you feel Patrick fucking Zweig reach an arm around your waist to rub fast circles against your clit, less selfish than he proclaims to be.

The three of you cum in perfect unison, your bodies wracked with tremors of a shared climax unlike any you've had before. Patrick presses as deep into you as he can, near-kissing your cervix in instinctual desperation to fill you up despite his condom. Art shoots right into your mouth, pulling back a little so his load lands on your tongue as well, offering you a taste of his lust, one you take happily. Though you're unable to keep it all in your mouth as he pulls out and allows you space to take a breath as you come down from your high. His seed glistens on your lips as Patrick pulls out of you and lets you turn onto your back and lay on your bed, panting heavily as the haze of ecstasy starts to fade. 

Art soon joins you, laying down beside you in a dizzy haze of exertion. When you turn your head to look at him, he's already smiling at you, and reaches a hand out to swipe his thumb against your lips, gathering his own cum and pushing it back into your mouth. You bite his thumb with a playful grin and Art laughs in response, the moment between you sweet until the flash of your own instant camera dazes the both of you into silence.

You sit up on your elbows, looking towards Patrick Zweig, who stands with your camera in one hand and a freshly developed photo in the other. He flicks it a few times, unaware of how to speed up the development process, then looks at it as if he's analysing each aspect of his shot. After another beat, he turns the print around to let the both of you see, and grins proudly at his work. The photo is a sweet one, your teeth bared around Art's thumb, the calm after such a storm of pleasure.

"Turns out, I'm great at both sides of this thing," Patrick holds your camera up in show and smiles cheekily, to which you roll your eyes. Though you can't help the laughter that rumbles from your lungs when Patrick flops down onto the mattress, making both you and Art move over to make room for him. Art follows suit, laughter spilling from his throat in harmony, and it spreads quickly to Patrick.

Once the air is silent, Art turns his head to greet the both of you. With a smile, something simple falls from his lips— "dinner?"

You hum in response, nodding your head as your mouth starts to water, though Patrick clears his throat. "Yeah," he sits upright and looks between you before grabbing at one of your thighs and pulling you closer to him, his head dips to the juncture of your neck and shoulder and he speaks simply against your skin. "I'm not done with either of you yet."

taglist;

@lotties-ashwagandha @daughterhouse @kiiwizz @doll-0f-flesh @jackierose902109 @lonnie2390147 @hedonisticwomen @ysuftmikey @viena-vie @whitewashedghanianlol @kolsmikaelson @nikirikii @dumbass-sappho-stan @seriousaliysa @majathepapaya @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lovezclub @s-u-t @sceletaflores @24kmar - cont. in comments!

#art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #challengers 2024 #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers smut #art donaldson #art x reader #art smut #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x art donaldson #art x patrick

[mrsfancyferrari]

Just One Kiss

Summary: You & Charles are just best friends but when he wins in his home for the first time, things might change

Song: Reflections - The Neighbourhood

Author’s note: Congratulations to Charles Leclerc for winning in his first home Monaco Grand Prix! This is my first F1 story and I recently started following F1 so please give constructive criticism.

Word count: 2.4k

Your best friend was racing across the last track, and you held your breath, anticipating the outcome. The crowd was on their feet, cheering and shouting as the finish line approached.

As he sprinted towards the end, you could see the determination behind his helmet, the sheer will to win. And then, in a burst of speed, he crossed the finish line, victorious.

The stadium erupted in applause, celebrating his incredible feat of athleticism and the months of hard work and training that had led to this moment.

His victory at the Monaco Grand Prix was not only a personal triumph but also a historical moment for his team. It marked his first win on this iconic track, solidifying his status as a rising star in the world of Formula 1 racing.

The streets of Monte Carlo were filled with joy and excitement as fans and fellow drivers alike celebrated his remarkable achievement.

As you joined in the jubilant celebration, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for your best friend. You had witnessed firsthand the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice he had poured into his career.

From early mornings at the gym to late nights studying data and analyzing race strategies, he had truly given his all.

And now, as you stood among the crowd, you knew that this victory was just the beginning of an extraordinary journey that would undoubtedly lead him to even greater heights in the world of Formula 1 racing.

As soon as he parked close enough, he jumped out of his racing car and ran over to his team with happiness. They embraced him with open arms, their faces beaming with pride and joy.

Together, they celebrated this monumental victory, knowing that it was the result of their collective effort and unwavering support. The atmosphere was electric, and the moment will forever be etched in their memories as a symbol of their shared triumph and unbreakable bond.

You squeezed through the crowd, determined to catch a glimpse of your best friend before he headed for the podium. Finally, you spotted him, his face still flushed with the adrenaline of the race.

You shouted his name, waving your arms to get his attention, and when he saw you, a wide smile spread across his face. He made his way towards you, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of pride and happiness for his incredible achievement.

As he ran over to you, a surge of joy and excitement overcame both of you. He engulfed you into a tight hug, lifting you up off the ground.

You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as the exhilaration of the moment washed over you. The crowd roared in applause, their cheers blending with the sound of your friend's racing heartbeat, creating a symphony of triumph and friendship that echoed through the streets of Monte Carlo.

Placing you back down, you both looked at each other in silence, something you two started doing recently. It was as if words were no longer necessary to understand each other's thoughts and feelings.

"You did it," You whispered, unable to control the tears gushing down your face.

Charles grinned, "Yeah, I did, with you by my side," he said, his voice filled with gratitude and emotion.

While you played with his hair on the back of his head, you smiled back at him.

As if something had possessed you, you quickly leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Charles' lips.

Both of you were shocked by your actions, your eyes widening in surprise as you pulled away from the unexpected kiss.

What have you done?

The atmosphere around you seemed to pause for a moment, as if time itself had frozen, before the crowd erupted into a mix of gasps and cheers, unable to believe what they had just witnessed.

Charles heard his manager call him, and as he quickly glanced back, his eyes met yours. He smiled, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in his expression, and said, "I'll talk to you when I come back, promise."

He left the embrace and followed his manager, disappearing into the crowd as he made his way towards the podium. As you stood there, still in shock from the unexpected kiss, you couldn't help but wonder how this moment would change everything between you and Charles.

The crowd continued to cheer, but in that fleeting moment, you both knew that something had shifted between you, and there was no going back. . . . .

You couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt as the laughter of Daniel echoed across the room as you explained your issue to him. It was clear that he found the situation amusing, and it made you question whether confiding in him was the right decision.

"Come on, don't be so hard on yourself," Daniel replied, his laughter subsiding.

"It's not every day that you accidentally kiss your best friend. But hey, maybe this could be the start of something amazing between you two."

You sighed, still unsure of how to navigate the complex emotions swirling within you. "I don't know, Daniel," you said softly. "I'm just worried that this kiss might ruin our friendship."

"Don't worry too much," Daniel reassured you. "Who knows, this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

"Exactly, maybe finally my favorite ship will get together," Oscar added, coming out of nowhere to join the conversation.

You lightly punched Oscar's arm for his comment, trying to hide your blush and dismiss his teasing. Deep down, though, you couldn't help but wonder if he was right, and if this unexpected kiss with Charles could truly lead to something more than just friendship.

"Just think about it, you two would look too cute together!" Oscar said while holding his arm in 'pain'.

"This is not what I meant when I asked for advice," you muttered, keeping an eye out of the Monegasque.

"Our advice is to ask him out, no ifs or buts," Daniel started.

"But," you interrupted, "what if he doesn't feel the same way? I don't want to risk losing our friendship."

Daniel sighed, understanding your hesitation. "I get it, but you'll never know unless you try. And if there's a 100 percent chance he says yes, then maybe it's worth taking the leap."

"But what if there's also a 100 percent chance he says no?" you countered, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

Daniel paused, considering your question. "Well," he finally said, "then at least you'll have closure and can move on without any regrets."

As the boys left you, you couldn't help but mull over their advice. The idea of asking Charles out was both exhilarating and terrifying, but deep down, you knew that regretting never taking a chance would be even worse.

It didn't take you long to find out that Charles, along with the rest of his team, were celebrating their victory by the dock.

His smile was enough to make you retreat. The warmth in his eyes and the genuine happiness he exuded made you momentarily remember about doubts of asking him out.

Maybe, just maybe, you were content with keeping things as they were for now, cherishing the friendship you had with Charles.

The party was a lively affair, with colorful decorations adorning the dock and laughter filling the air. Families, drivers, and workers mingled together, sharing stories and celebrating the team's victory.

The aroma of delicious food wafted through the crowd, enticing everyone to indulge in the festive feast. The atmosphere was filled with a sense of camaraderie and joy, as people danced to the upbeat music and raised their glasses in cheers.

It was a true celebration of hard work and success, and you couldn't help but feel grateful to be a part of such a vibrant and supportive community.

As you observed the lively celebration from the corner, you took a moment to gather your thoughts and plan what you would say to Charles when you finally had a chance to speak with him.

Having given up on love, you found yourself scrolling through the online world looking for signs that he might be interested in you and what to say when you want to confess your feelings.

Maybe instead of relying on online advice or searching for signs, it might be best to have an open and honest conversation with Charles.

Find a quiet moment during the celebration to approach him, express your feelings sincerely, and ask if he would be interested in exploring a romantic relationship. By directly communicating your emotions, you can avoid misunderstandings and have a clearer understanding of where you both stand-

As you were lost in your thoughts, suddenly your chin was raised up and your eyes were forced off your phone and look into the eyes of Charles. His gaze was intense, and you could see a hint of curiosity and intrigue.

He then leaned in closer as he tilted your head up, his lips brushing against yours for seconds, and you could taste the salty sea water from when he jumped into the docks.

You were taken aback by the unexpected kiss, the taste of salty sea water lingering on your lips.

"Hey, can we talk somewhere else in private?" Charles asked desperately.

"Ye- Yeah," you stuttered, having Charles lead you with his hand in yours out of the party. Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness as you followed him, wondering what he wanted to talk about in private.

As you stayed silent, your mind raced with possibilities of what Charles wanted to discuss in private. Was he going to reciprocate your feelings? Or was there something else entirely on his mind?

The anticipation and uncertainty only fueled your curiosity as you both entered the closest empty room.

Charles let go of your hand as soon as the room was secure, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. It was as if the connection you had just shared was abruptly severed, leaving you longing for his touch once more.

"Are you going to start or should I?" Charles asked as he leaned against a piece of furniture, his eyes never leave you.

The intense eye contact he made made you feel as though your legs were suddenly giving out.

"I don't know what you're talking about?" you muttered, avoiding his eyes at all costs.

"Well, I'm thinking about the kiss you gave me in front of national television," he stated. His voice was filled with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

The realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn't help but blush at the thought of the millions of people who saw that intimate moment between the two of you.

"And I can't stop wondering if it was just in the moment or if there's something more between us."

You shake your head vigorously, denying any deeper meaning behind the kiss. "It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean for it to be taken seriously."

There could never be anything between the two of you anyway. The public would never allow it. Just deny it.

"Mon chérie, are you sure? Because your expressions say otherwise," he teased as he started to walk over to you, his playful smile revealing that he saw through your denial.

The way he closed the distance between you made your heart race even faster, and you couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a possibility for something more between you and Charles after all.

Charles always loved to tease you in every way possible. Either it was placing your cup on the top shelf or holding your phone in the air, he was always determined to tease you these days.

But this was different.

"No, Charles, I'm certain. It was just a momentary lapse in judgment, nothing more," you insisted, desperately clinging to the denial. Deep down, you knew that pursuing anything with Charles would only lead to heartbreak and disappointment.

It was better to keep your feelings buried and maintain the illusion of friendship.

As Charles stood in front of you, barely any space between you two, his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made it hard to maintain your denial.

The air crackled with tension, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there could be something more between you and Charles.

"Want to try again to see if it was just a 'momentary lapse'?" he asked, raising your chin again. His words sent a shiver down your spine, tempting you to give in and explore the possibility of something more.

His lips were hovering over yours, teasing you with the possibility of what could be. The air between you was charged with anticipation, and it took every ounce of willpower to resist the temptation and maintain your denial.

"Just say it," He muttered, "Just say it and I'll do the rest."

But as you looked into his eyes, you couldn't deny the truth that they held. They were filled with a longing and desire that mirrored your own, and in that moment, you knew that your denial was futile.

"I want you," you finally whispered, surrendering to the undeniable connection between you and Charles.

Charles captured your lips with such hunger, his kiss filled with the years of unspoken longing and desire that had been building between you. In that moment, you both knew that there was no turning back, and that the possibility of something more had become an undeniable reality.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the intoxicating passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

In that moment, you both knew that you were no longer able to deny the magnetic pull between you, and that surrendering to this forbidden love was inevitable.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the midst of your passionate embrace.

Charles's eyes softened, filled with a mix of joy and relief, as he murmured, "I love you too," sealing your fate in a love that had been yearning to be acknowledged. . . .

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #scuderia ferrari #leclerc #carlos #cl16 #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #cl16 one shot #max verstappen #mv1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #monaco gp 2024 #f1 fic #oscar piastri #formula racing #carlos sainz #leclerc x reader #grand prix #ferrari

[b14augrana]

'Scrubber'

Your first time versing Lyon was the match of your dreams

Barça Femení x teen!reader

pt. 1 masterlist

Warnings: lots of happiness and not proofread as per usual … 😁

A/N: i forgot to mention that mapi's knee is 100% functioning and not crippled in this series!!!! i’ve decided to turn it into a series because i love our hay day obsessed reader so much.

also, reader takes alexia’s place in scoring a golazo because our wonderkid needs her time to shine and what better time to shine than in a uwcl final 🪄🪄 (peep my reference in the fic to the gif im so smart)

we need a nickname for little miss wonderkid so i dont constantly refer to her as reader so plz suggest some in my asks 🥹

You were way too nervous for the final to function. You regretted eating breakfast that morning because it felt like you were about to throw it all up.

Honestly, you were even nervous to look at the players. You stood timidly between Lucy and Irene in the line, secretly hoping you never had to leave the tunnel. You did not want the likes of Ada Hegerberg charging towards little 16-year-old you.

You glanced down at the ‘NV15’ written on your wrist in black. That forever-present question of 'What would Vidić do?' loomed in your mind.

He wouldn’t be worrying about anyone on the opposition. He’d just be worried about breaking the Brexit tackle world record and keeping everyone in white as far away from the goal as possible.

The officials at the end of the tunnel signalled to both teams, which meant it was time. As you emerged out of the tunnel, walking out to the sound of a stadium full of culers, you didn’t feel scared. The cheers from all around the stadium deafened you, but also made you feel an insane amount of pride.

As you stood beside your teammates, the Barcelona anthem blasted on the speakers and the crowd became a choir as they sung the anthem loud and proud. Your attention was in the stands, looking at all the people that had come to watch. You almost teared up when you spotted a little girl and her older brother wearing a jersey with your name on it. Your name. Just having a mascot blew you away, so seeing people you probably weren’t much older than, wearing jerseys with your name on the back, was a crazy concept.

It made you think about the future. It made you hope that one day, you’d grow up to be some little girl’s idol the way Vidić is yours.

“Get ready to shake hands, (Y/N),” Irene reminded you, noticing that you looked a bit spaced out. You brought yourself back to the present and nodded, sticking your hand out to shake the long line of Lyon hands.

When Alexia asked you to bend down and hold the match day pennant, it almost felt like blasphemy. Your mouth was slightly agape as she thrusted it into your hand. “But why me?”

“My knee is no good, it’s better if I stand,” she explained.

“But why m–”

“Just hold it, nena!” Alexia laughed, getting back in the line. You crouched down, holding the pennant in one hand and bracing the ground with the other as you smiled gingerly for the camera.

As soon as the photographer lowered his camera, you sprung to your feet and gave the pennant back to Alexia. “There you go, capi!” you said happily, motioning to Renard who was approaching with their own pennant to exchange. Alexia laughed and patted you on the back, mumbling a quick ‘gracías’ before turning away.

You walked over to the bench and shrugged your jacket off, folding it neatly for one of the team management to take to the locker room later on. With one last meaningful glance at your wrist, you ran onto the field to take your position. Irene was with you in the center and Lucy covered the right while Ona took care of the left. Jona had told you to be prepared for Mapi to come on, so you kept that in mind too.

As soon as the whistle was blown, you were relieved to see that Aitana, Mariona, Caro and Salma had already gotten things under control. That gave you time to scope out the Lyon front three and think about how to handle them.

You thought about what Lucy said. ‘Don’t get hurt trying to do extreme tackles.’

At the end of the day, it all came down to instinct. When Dumornay started running at you with the ball, her feet moving too quick for you to focus on, you knew what you were going to do next had to be purely instinctual. This wasn’t the match for calculated tackles.

It was a fearless tackle. It wasn’t even much of a tackle, actually; you had just gotten to the ground right in her path and made contact with the ball first before she even touched you. When she did touch you, the top of her boot got caught on your abdomen, knocking her over. It was the consequence of her own speed and momentum.

With the ball at your feet, you did what you always did best — kick it as hard as you could and hope it goes well. You must’ve hoped extremely hard or hoped to the right deity, because the ball landed right at Aitana’s feet. Not an inch in front.

With one touch, she had beaten her marker. When Aitana got the ball, it was almost always a goal, and this time was no different; before you could even register that your ball had been kept in play, let alone found a player of your own, it had beaten Endler’s desperate hands and hit the back of the net. The stadium has the loudest atmosphere you’ve ever experienced after Aitana’s goal.

She came running to you, her arms outstretched. You threw yourself into her, hugging her tightly. The rest of the team came shortly after, suffocating you two in a big team hug. You heard some muffled voices praising you and Aitana, but you were too stunned by how quickly it all happened to even register their words. There were many pats on your back and side hugs before the game reset and you were back to your centerback position, kissing the writing on your wrist.

“Aparejo increíble (Y/N), and the pass! Magnífico!” Irene said, pulling you close and ruffling your hair (to which you huffed and slicked it back down) before running back to her position.

You didn’t actually intend to make that pass, so was it that special? Aitana did score from it, but she just has magical feet.

The match had flown by, both teams only separated by one goal at the 90th minute. Lyon were desperate for a goal. Barcelona were desperate for another. Many changes had been made, including Mapi and Pina coming on.

You watched as Diani came down the left wing and somehow managed to beat Lucy and Mapi, which meant you were going to have to try tidy up at the back and not let Diani get to Cata, the last hope.

At first, you just jockeyed. You held her off and tried to delay her, which worked; her stepovers were useless and she couldn’t get past you by tapping and running… but then she did.

She took a touch just wide of you, giving herself heaps of space to dribble up to goal if she was quick enough to retrieve the ball. The big underlying issue was, your jockeying had led you two up to the box. You could either get a card and risk her scoring from a penalty or worse — not do anything and let her put it in. You would rather break your Hay Day login streak than let that happen.

As she lurched forwards to get another touch on the ball, it was like everything was in slow motion. Time slowed down as you extended your leg and thrusted your entire body forwards, cushioning your fall by sliding on your arm across the damp grass and towards the ball. You closed your eyes as she got closer to your face, hoping that if you didn’t see it happen, the collision wouldn’t hurt as much. If this tackle went wrong, it would be over for you, for Barça.

Diani’s opening had been a gift from God himself, so you prepared yourself to see her celebrating happily, the ball rolling into the net when you opened your eyes, but when you finally did open them, the ball wasn’t in the net. Diani wasn’t celebrating.

She was lying on her chest, scrambling to get to her feet. The ball was out, discarded somewhere near the barriers as a ball boy passed a new one to Lucy to throw in. Cheers had rung through the stadium upon your last-ditch tackle, but you had been too distracted to pay attention to them. You had been too focused on trying to execute the perfect tackle that would either make or break the game.

The only thing you guys needed was another goal to really seal the deal. Lyon were getting dangerously close, you needed a goal.

When Lucy had played the ball in, you moved a bit further up the field, watching the play. You noticed Caro receiving the ball, and then you noticed the absence in the middle of the box. You scanned for Aitana or Pina or anybody, but they were all marked by figures like Renard and Carpenter or in other words, brick walls that were not letting them in any time soon.

It was all, pure, instinct. You ran– no, sprinted up the field, flailing your hands in the air. “Caro, Caro!” you screamed, motioning to the middle of the box, begging for a cross.

The cross she delivered from the right wing was set to land just in front of you. You couldn’t reach it for a volley and you sure as hell couldn’t bicycle kick it in. It was travelling fast and getting nearer by the second, but that was the advantage.

Without a second thought, you jumped up. Your body was basically horizontal in the air as you flew forwards, forehead connecting with the ball. It was a shame you couldn’t watch it shoot past Endler, burying itself right in the bottom left corner. You flew into the net as well, and the only way you realised you had scored was when you sat up and looked to your side to see the ball. That’s also the only way you realised you were in the goal.

You had never stood up faster or yelled louder. You zipped past Endler and ran down the field towards the nearest camera. Your first goal of your career couldn’t have been more perfect, so you needed a celebration to match.

Aitana appeared by your side, and as you two ran side-by-side, you pointed to the people in the stands. It was a simple but meaningful celebration; it was the same celebration Vidić had once done, and you remembered it vividly. In fact, it was one of your favourite moments.

You ran to the corner flag where the rest of your team were, and you all fell into another affectionate huddle. Lucy squeezed your side. “You’re in the wrong sport, I think you’d do well as a professional diver!” she jeered, having to yell her words over the noise. You grinned at her and hugged the woman tightly right before being instructed to reset.

The ball had barely started moving again before the referee blew the final whistle. Everyone from the sidelines jumped from their seats and ran onto the field, and the people on the field ram towards your goal. Cata booted the ball into the air and jumped on top of the big hug, and then Pina followed. There was singing and dancing and flags being thrown and tears and hugs for days.

It was happy moment upon happy moment for everyone as it all sunk in — you had finally, finally beat Olympique Lyonnais in a Champions League final for the first time in your history. You had helped beat Lyon and make history with this team, and you had won your first ever Champions League and quadruple, but you had to give credit where it was due.

You knew if you never had a role model like Nemanja Vidić, nothing would’ve happened the way it did for you against Lyon.

Being a 16-year-old girl with such a fiery passion to defend and hold it down at the back wasn’t easy. There wasn’t many defenders that played for the badge the way Vidić did. The reason you loved him so much was because he exerted such an immense sense of pride and dedication to his club, and that was the type of defender you wanted to be.

That was the type of defender you had been today.

You couldn’t believe Keira and Patri when they ran up to you saying that the officials wanted to see you so you could receive the Player of the Match award once again. Your jaw was dropped and you went red as they basically dragged you away from the locker rooms and towards the officials. Your cheeks were still red from embarrassment as you took the photo.

You learned that you couldn’t just slink away into the locker rooms after such a big match, so you spent a solid 10 minutes talking to fans all around the stadium. It was a bit awkward for you at first because most of them were either as old as Alexia or literally your age, but you figured you’d have to get used to it.

The best part about the whole day was, when you eventually got back to the locker room and picked your phone up, you had reached level 300 on Hay Day.

As if one major achievement wasn’t enough.

#fc barcelona #fc barcelona femeni #fcb femení #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso fanfics #barca x reader #futfem #football #nemanja vidić #manchester united #uwcl 23/24 #uwcl #uwcl final

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: older!reiner x reader

warnings: smut 18+, age gap (old enough to be readers dad)

Congratulations

Reiner didn't typically consider himself the most neighborly. Sure he'd wave when in passing, or occasionally comment on his neighbors’ yard, but that was it.

It wasn't like him to walk across his lawn to offer help or introduce himself.

That was until he saw you, pout resting on your pretty lips as you struggled to open your door with the large box in your hands.

Maybe it was that he hit multiple aces while golfing or maybe it was your ass peeking from your shorts. Whatever it was it prompted him to approach you, offering to help you inside.

Any other time you'd have declined, aware of the horror stories of seemingly kind men but something told you to trust him. Maybe it was the prominent muscles along his six foot frame, or that he was old enough to be your dad. Whatever it was you accepted.

He helped you bring all of your boxes and furniture in. Happily rearranging your room for the third time and even helping you fix the wobbly leg of your coffee table before wishing you a good night and returning to his house.

That night he jerked off to the memories of you bent over and the small sounds you made when lifting a heavy box.

You talked with him once after that. When you finally settled into the house that was too large for one girl, you went knocking on his door to bring him thank you brownies, praying he didn't notice your eyes lingering on the prominent v-line of his bare torso before you finally handed him the dish.

Of course, there were the occasional waves whenever you two happened to pass by each other but your schedules rarely mixed. That was until he decided to take a day off.

While in the middle of mowing his lawn, he saw you leave your house, gown in hand, and dripped in colorful cords and stoles, your decorated graduation cap sparkling in the sun as you rushed to your car.

He thought about you the entire time you were gone, busying himself with housework, and keeping a close ear by the door. When he caught the sound of your car pulling in your driveway he immediately jogged his way over to you, stopping in the same place he first introduced himself.

“Hi, I just wanted to come over and congratulate you. I saw you this morning but you seemed to be in a rush” He smirked, hazel eyes skimming your bare legs that appeared elongated in the heels you wore.

“Aww thank you, I was, but I'd have loved to talk to you anyway” A nervous giggle escaped you. Despite the low interaction, you couldn't help but grow a small crush on your older neighbor. The sight of him in his suit or tight golf shorts being the star in all of your late night fantasies.

“Would you like to come over to have dinner? Today, or sometime this week? I'm sure you have some plans later but if not, I'd love to have you over.” He rubbed his beard nervously as he awaited your reply.

You did. But you were convinced your friends and family would understand that you just had to take up the opportunity to get to know your hot neighbor.

At least that's what you told yourself when you accepted his invitation.

And let him teach you how to cook a steak.

And maybe when you allowed him to pull you down onto his lap as you watched the sunset.

And definitely when he carried you up his stairs before fucking you senseless.

You lost count of how many orgasms you've had. The moment he laid you on his bed, his lips were wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of you numerous times, and fingering your pink walls till tears stained your cheeks and you shook from overstimulation.

You thought you'd be safe once he bullied his fat cock into your aching walls. Surely a man of his age didn't have the best stamina, right? Wrong.

He quite literally laughed in your face at your disbelief when he fucked his first load back into your sopping pussy.

You'd never been so full, his tip ramming against your cervix whenever he fully pounded into you and the outline of his dick as he pressed down on your tummy having you drool.

“Rei, too much” You cried. Ass in the air and face buried into the mattress as he pounded into you from behind, hands tied back with your lacey panties. Whines barely audible over the slapping skin.

“Why are you complaining, bunny? Isn't this what you wanted? For daddy to ruin this pretty pussy” He whispered in your ear. The new angle reaching spots you never knew existed.

“Ouuu, yes, please, daddy” You whined, turning to give your signature pout. Oh, how you looked so pretty to him. Face stained with tears and your pouty, plumped, glossy lips looking so soft. He found it cute how you tried to convince him to let you cum.

“No” He pecked your lips before pulling out fully, only to ram his cock back in. A harsh slap landed on your ass cheek at the same time, red bruise forming on the brown skin from his previous spanks.

“Oh my gaaawd please, I can't hold it in anymore” You resisted against the restraints, desperate to slow his movements

“Yes, you can, princess.” He taunts, as he continued his relentless pounding.

You wanted to believe him. You really did as you tried to focus on anything other than the pleasure he was providing you. You tried and tried but nothing stopped the knot from snapping. A string of curses flowing from your pretty lips as your body found the strength to push out the clear stream of squirt, your walls clamping around his cock.

He hissed, unable to resist the pressure applied as his sticky cum decorated the insides of your walls, pounding into you before pulling out to watch it drip onto his sheets.

Confusion settled into your brain as he untied your hands and flipped you over, whispering praises into your ear as he blessed your skin with soft sweet kisses.

“Reiner, I'm sorry I really tried” You started

“I know, baby. I forgive you, it's okay. You did perfect” He engulfed you in a passionate kiss, tongues exploring the path down each others throats.

You were almost convinced he did, until he reached into his nightstand, pulling out a blindfold and a vibrator from the drawer.

“I thought you said you forgive me” Pout once again resting on your lips as he opened your legs, cool air stimulating your already throbbing clit

“I do. But even the prettiest of girls don't get out of punishment”

wheres my dilf neighbor??? also congratulations to anyone who graduated. nothing but love to my fellow class of 24 graduates. even if you didn't get to graduate or you're currently still in school I'm still proud of you nd wish you nothing but success in life. mwah <3

#aot x black reader #anime x black!reader #aot x reader #black reader #attack on titan #chubby reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader #aot reiner #reiner smut #reiner x black reader #reiner braun x black reader #aot smut #aot fic

[robintherobiner]

What would the Wayne Family and the Bat Family post tiktok

Bruce: videos of him buying new outfits with the material girl sound over it because, according to one post, 'his kids said it was funny and he liked seeing them smile'. on his official account though (the wayne enterprises one) his 'social media manager' posts clips from interviews and soundbites.

Batman: does not have a tiktok.

Dick: posts videos of him either doing gymnastics or of him hanging out with his siblings. Most of the time he is throwing up a peace sign and then Tim and Damian are wrestling in the background and he captions it something along the lines of 'brothers drawing blood in Blud!'

Nightwing: posts videos of short self defense tips/poses, regularly collabs with Red Hood. (not that Jason knows this, Dick just sets up a camera and then goes and bothers his brother until he tries to punch him so he can teach people to block)

Barbara: Posts videos talking about accessibility (both whats available and what should be put in place). if one of the wayne's annoy her, she also will post a compilation of them doing something silly like tripping over thin air or being caught using a hairbrush as a microphone)

Oracle: posts clips of people doing non violent crimes (faces blurred out ofc) with the caption "the eye in the sky sees you, dumbass." because why would you try ack a car on a street with three non-hidden cameras

Jason: doesn't post. anymore. does have an account from when he was a teenager where it's just him doing sped up acting videos to sounds. he has tried to log in to take it down but Bruce changed the password. Brucie regularly comments on different videos like "my baby was such a star... rip sweetie 🕊️🕊️🕊️" and its Jason lip-syncing to fucking Justin Bieber or something

Red Hood: posts videos shitting on Batman. the comments were full of people saying "daddy issues" or "i wanna be a dealer just so you can shoot me babygirl" so he turned them off. sometimes someone (tim) turns them back on and Jason gets bombarded with "BRO IS SERVING CUNT"

Cassandra: posts videos of her doing ballet, or of her showing off her strength. Not on purpose though, she thinks its fun to post videos of her teasing her brothers and the comments are like "WHY DID SHE JUST PICK UP DICK GRAYSON WITHOUT EVEN BREAKING A SWEAT WHAT"

Orphan: has a shared account with Batgirl, but she doesn't post on it, just sort of stands in the background as Steph makes funny videos.

Stephanie: enjoys posting videos pretending to be dating both Tim and Cass because she thinks its funny when the internet call her a gold digger and cheater. Bernard (after going public with Tim) occasionally fuels the fire by commenting "lmao get ur bag girl" under a video of her dragging Tim to a resturant

Batgirl: posts videos of her making fun of rogues, and on her shared account with Cass, just joins in on trends but obviously mixing it to fit her (aka: "when Batman lectures you for breaking a criminals leg but your literally just a teenage girl")

Timothy: like Bruce, he has two accounts. One is professional, with him promoting Wayne Enterprises products or whatever. Second one is full of him doing wild shit like skateboarding down the manor stairs or him trying to confuse Bruce with cringey slang. his most popular video though, is of him using the Nepo Baby sound by Fox SZN

Red Robin: posts slideshows of pictures of Gotham. All very aesthetic ones, of good architecture and people laughing together and shit. His bio is "showing you guy why I do what I do." His account is very artsy fartsy but he also was the first batfamily member to get verified

Duke: doesn't post, just likes videos.

Signal: posts videos of him trying to scare the other vigilantes, cuz, yknow, he can go invisible. tell me you wouldn't do that either if you could be invisible. exactly, you can't. He also makes videos about how hard it is to be a teen vigilante.

Damian: videos of his pets doing tricks. also regularly stitches Tim's videos and just deadass insults him. Tim always comments on his stitches with just a singular emoji because he found out it pisses Damian off more when he doesn't have a big reaction

Robin: posts about resources for gothamites. also has a shared account with Superboy (Jon) where they try and sneak up on both Superman and Batman. They have yet to succeed on either one.

#dc comics #dc universe #batman comics #batfamily #batfam #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #barbara gordon #oracle #cassandra cain #orphan #jason todd #red hood #stephanie brown #batgirl #tim drake #red robin #duke thomas #signal #damian wayne #robin #tiktok

[sodaabaa]

birthday 

anthony bridgerton x wife!reader wife!reader is excited to celebrate her husband’s first birthday since they got married only to wake up and find anthony missing. she takes a trip to mayfair to ask the bridgerton family where anthony has disappeared to.

tw: grief, mentions of a parent's death.

a/n: hi everyone, wanted to take a second to just thank you for all the support. i started writing these just for fun and decided on an impulse to start posting my writings, not expecting them to get past even 15 likes! i really enjoyed writing this oneshot and navigating anthony's feelings in this one. let me know if you'd like to see a part 2 within this story line or similar stories within the bridgerton universe!

The first rays of dawn broke through the curtains, pulling Y/N from her sleep. She reached to the side, feeling the bed for her husband to find only the absence of his warmth. She sat up, it was unusual for Anthony to be gone so early in the morning. The two of them had a habit of starting their mornings together before he went off to tend to business, the vacant spot on the bed puzzled her – today was Anthony’s thirtieth birthday, the first one they would spend married. She already had a plan for the day; dotingly wake him up with kisses in all the spots he loved, take their breakfast in bed (a special one at that – she requested the cooks to make his favorite marmalade with the first plums of the season), pack a basket with light sandwiches and his favorite wine to picnic by a nearby lake, and end the night with his most favorite activity. Y/N pouted, upset that her plans had been foiled by his absence. She pushed the duvet off and dressed herself, wondering what possibly could have been important enough for him to leave without telling her. 

“Amelia,” she called out to one of the maids. Amelia had been working at Aubrey Hall for years, she knew the ins and outs of this place like the back of her hand, maybe she’d seen Anthony this morning? 

“Yes, my lady?”

“Did you happen to see the viscount this morning?”

“No, my lady. My apologies,” she paused, “though – you may want to check with the dowager viscountess.”

She tilted her head in confusion, “Whatever for?” 

Amelia fiddled with the rag in her hands.

“Amelia, what is it?”

“Every year, on the viscount’s birthday he…disappears. He usually slips out before dawn when we’re all just getting started with the day. But we’ve never seen where he goes.” 

Y/N’s confusion only deepened. Amelia waited for Y/N to dismiss her – she did so, waving a hand and offering a gracious smile for the information she provided. Amelia exited with a curtsy, leaving Y/N with no choice but to pay the Bridgerton clan a visit. Perhaps they could give her some insight into her husband’s mysterious birthday habit.

She managed to reach Mayfair before the sun had peaked in the sky. The carriage approached Bridgerton House, Y/Npeered through to see if Anthony might be somewhere around. He was nowhere to be found, much to her dismay. She stood before the double doors of Bridgerton House, signaling to the footman to announce her arrival. In the blink of an eye, her favorite Bridgerton sibling came running to the door.

“Y/N! How lovely it is to see you!” Eloise exclaimed, pulling her in for a hug. She returned the hug, grateful for the way Eloise managed to instantly raise Y/N’s spirits. Violet followed Eloise, a knowing smile on her face. Y/N pulled away from Eloise’s tight embrace to greet Violet.

“Can’t seem to find Anthony, can you dearest?” Violet said when she pulled away from their hug.

“I see this is a regular occurrence then?” She replied, feeling left out – why had no one bothered to inform her of this habit of his? She would have saved herself from the disappointment of foiled plans. 

“Come in, you’ll catch a chill if you stand at the door any longer,” Violet ushered them upstairs. 

“Y/N!” Hyacinth and Gregory were the next to greet her as she walked into the drawing room.

She gave the two little Bridgertons a hug, commenting on how tall Gregory had gotten and the length of Hyacinth’s curly hair. The pair immediately began updating her on all the things they’d gotten up to while Y/N was gone – though they didn’t get far.

“Hyacinth, Gregory – please give Y/N a moment to rest from her trip. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about your mischief later,” Violet said. The inseparable duo pouted for a moment before taking a seat in their usual spot. Y/N herself took a between Violet and Eloise, turning to ask her more about her husband's whereabouts.

“Do you know where he goes off to? Surely his mother might know.” 

“I’m afraid I do not. I do, however, know the reason he disappears,” Violet looked over at her youngest children, ensuring they were engrossed in whatever they were doing before continuing. 

“Since Edmund died, there has not been a birthday where he does not run off like this. It started when he turned ten and nine. I know it has something to do with his father, I am certain, but I cannot figure out where he goes. The first year, I checked Edmund’s grave to no avail. I’ve searched and searched my mind for places that held significance to Edmund, to Anthony,” she explained, throwing her hands up with a defeated sigh.

Y/N took a moment to process Violet’s revelation, guilt slowly eating her up. She had been so involved with her ownplans for Anthony’s birthday and then felt so disappointed but all this time, he was taking time to grieve. Her heart shattered for her husband – her valiant, loving, sweetheart of a husband. 

“If I may,” Eloise cut in with the raise of a finger, “perhaps he simply despises the concept of birthdays and wishes to avoid all the commotion by hiding out in some pub somewhere?”

“Eloise!” Violet exclaimed.

“My, my, what do we have here? Viscountess Bridgerton has come to visit us!” Benedict interrupted the three women on the sofa, shooting a warm smile towards Y/N.

“Benedict, it’s lovely to see you,” she replied. She rose from her seat, giving Benedict a quick embrace before he took his seat across from them.

“Allow me to guess – Anthony’s disappeared?”

Y/N nodded, “I don’t suppose you happen to know where?”

Benedict clicked his tongue, “I’m afraid not.” 

She sighed, “Well, when does he usually return then?”

“The next day. And to make matters worse, he acts as if it were totally normal, avoiding all questions about his whereabouts until you simply surrender trying to figure it out,” Benedict said.

That night, Y/N retired to their bedroom though she had no intentions of sleep – how could she manage to when her husband was off God knows where, in what condition. It kept her up with worry, so she decided she’d stay up and wait for his return. Staring at the walls had become tortuous as the hours droned by, she wrapped herself in a robe and made her way toward Anthony’s study. Perhaps she could find something here to clue her into her husband's habit. She poured herself a glass of Anthony’s whiskey, choking down the bitter liquid, and sat back on his chair with a sigh.

She looked around the dimly lit room, a portrait of Anthony’s father hung up to the left of the desk. She wondered what he was like, Anthony rarely ever spoke of him. Her heart ached at the thought of her husband at eighteen, witnessing what he’d witnessed and resuming to take on the mantle that’d belonged to his father in the midst of such trauma. Her eyes scanned the painting – catching on a pocket watch in her late father-in-law’s hand. She stood, leaning in to get a closer look at the watch. Realization dawned on her. This was Anthony’s pocket watch – well, it had been his father’s but this was the same watch he carried with him everywhere. She had noticed early on his habit of checking the time almost obsessively. She always wondered why he had such a fascination with time. 

I could never surpass my father. He was a greater man than I. Anthony’s words echoed in her mind.

It all fell into place – clicking like a lock in her mind.

She ran back upstairs, rushing to wear something more appropriate. She quietly ran back downstairs, grabbing her cloak on the way out. The September days were cool and refreshing but the nights were cooler, which Y/N usually savored but the cold air only increased her adrenaline tonight, causing a chill to run down her spine.

She summoned a carriage, willing it to come faster as it approached her. 

“To the chapel, please.”

As the carriage moved closer to the chapel, she could make out the vague silhouette of a man sitting on a park bench facing the clock in the center. The moonlight illuminated the small square, the scene before her looked to be straight out of a painting. She stepped out of the carriage, rushing towards the silhouette.

She stood behind him for a moment, afraid to disrupt him – afraid of what his reaction might be. She knew her husband preferred to grieve alone but this was beyond grief; Anthony feared his birthdays, feared the clock running out of time. 

“Anthony?” 

The man in front of her startled, inhaling as he turned around. She sighed in relief.

“How did you find me here?” He said, motioning for her to sit with him.

She walked around the bench, placing a kiss on her husband’s forehead as she sat beside him.

“Your pocket watch.” 

He let out a breathy laugh, a humorless action. He held the watch, thumb circling its frame.

“You are not bound to time, Anthony,” she said gently.

He looked up at her, eyes red from the long day he must have had.

“Are we all not bound to time? Some simply have less.”

“You cannot know that for certain, dearest.”

“I know I am less of a man than my father was yet he merely had eight and thirty years,” his voice was hoarse.

“You are just as much of a man as he was. You’ve fought so hard for this family, do not belittle your efforts,” she took his face in her hands.

She wished she could show him how much of a man he truly was. He'd raised his siblings and taken on the burden of being a viscount to allow for his brothers to pursue their dreams. He ensured his sisters were well provided for and he dealt with his mother's grief for years -- all without complaint. Because of this, it was a privilege to call Anthony her husband, if only he could see himself how she saw him.

“You are not leaving me behind in a mere eight years, Anthony Bridgerton. I will fight death himself if that is to be the case.”

He chuckled, a hint of real joy behind his eyes as he did.

“I have no doubt you would give it a valiant effort, my love.” 

He leaned forward, placing a kiss on her lips.

“It’s late and cold, shall we head back to the house?” 

She nodded, grateful to return her husband to where he belonged – at her side, with his family surrounding them.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton family

[justlemmeadoreyou]

I'd love some period fluff if you're taking requests 💘 maybe reader staying round H's pretty early in their relationship and she starts in the night or something and is obviously super embarrassed but he's just very gentle and calm and trying to make it all ok for her ☹️

sure, pookie <3 here it is! hope you like it ❤️

***

You woke up in the middle of the night feeling a dull, cramping pain in your lower belly. As you became more awake, you realized with dread that your period had started unexpectedly while staying over at Harry's place. 

You felt mortified when you reached down and discovered you had bled through your sleep shorts and onto Harry's nice sheets. Panic rose inside you, your face flushing hot with embarrassment in the dark room.  

Thank goodness Harry was still sound asleep beside you, snoring lightly. If he woke up to this messy situation, you thought you might actually die from humiliation. 

As carefully and quietly as possible, you slid out of his warm embrace, trying not to make any sudden movements that could wake him. The cramps made it hard to move silently, but you didn't want to disturb his peaceful sleep.

Finally free from the bed, you wondered what to do next. You desperately needed some feminine supplies, but were too embarrassed to go searching through Harry's things without permission. But what other choice did you have?

Taking a deep breath, you tiptoed into his private bathroom, praying you could find what you needed. The fancy bathroom gleamed even in the low light, with its sleek fixtures and plush towels. But you had no idea where to look first.

"Looking for something, love?" Harry's deep, sleep-roughened voice startled you from the doorway.

You let out a muffled shriek, whirling to find him standing there in all his shirtless glory, looking concerned. Your face burned hotter as you struggled for an excuse for rifling through his bathroom uninvited.

"I...uhh...s-sorry, I'll just go back to bed-"  

But before you could make your escape, Harry stepped closer, worry etched across his handsome features as he noticed your hunched posture and the arm pressed to your abdomen.

"Wait, love, what's wrong? Are you alright?" His brow furrowed as you shook your head miserably, trying not to cry from the mortification.  

"Hey, it's okay," Harry murmured soothingly, reaching to pull you into a gentle hug. You tensed at first, but then melted against his warm, bare chest as he started rubbing soothing circles across your back.

"Whatever it is, we'll get through it together, alright? No need to be embarrassed with me."

You sucked in a shaky breath, leaning back just enough to meet his caring gaze in the dimness. "I...I got my period," you stammered, feeling heat flood your face again. "A-and I wasn't prepared and..." 

You trailed off, grimacing as you glanced down at the stained sheets peeking through the bathroom door. But instead of the disgust you expected, Harry's expression was nothing but compassionate.

"Aw, baby, I'm so sorry," he murmured, cradling the back of your head and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "That's no fun at all, is it?"

Sniffling, you shook your head again, fresh tears pricking your eyes at his sweet understanding. Most guys would be completely revolted. But not Harry, of course. Your wonderful, loving Harry.

"Come here, let's get you sorted out," he soothed, keeping an arm wrapped around you as he guided you further into the bathroom. With his free hand, he started rummaging through the sleek vanity, pulling out various supplies.

"Harry!" you gasped, watching with wide eyes. "I didn't think you...I mean, do you actually keep...?"

He shot you a cheeky wink over one broad shoulder as he lined up pads, tampons, pain medication, and even a fresh pair of cotton sleep shorts. "A guy's gotta be prepared for any situation, love. Never know when my best girl might need me."

Your chest flooded with a rush of affection and appreciation. How was this amazing, considerate man actually yours? You stepped into his arms again, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you, Harry. I'm so lucky to have you."

"No, I'm the lucky one," he corrected, scratching lightly at your scalp in the way he knew you loved. He pulled back to drink in your features, emerald eyes shining with pure adoration.

"Feeling any better now, darling? Need a warm bath or heating pad?"

You shook your head, squeezing his waist. "No, I'm okay for now. Making me feel completely loved and cared for is the best medicine." 

Harry beamed down at you, crinkling those adorable dimples. "Well in that case, I've got an unlimited supply."

He dipped his head to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss, one hand cupping your jaw tenderly as the other traced soothing patterns along your lower back. You sighed against his mouth, relaxing into his strong, steadying embrace.

When you finally parted, his forehead resting against yours, you took a deep, calming breath. "I love you so much, Harry."

"I love you too, period and all," he quipped, making you snort-laugh even as happy tears blurred your vision. "Now let's get you cleaned up and back to bed, alright?"

You nodded wordlessly, watching through an adoring gaze as he set about quickly changing the sheets with fresh ones from his linen closet. Within minutes, the bed looked fresh and inviting once more.

Harry ushered you in first, plopping down on the mattress beside you and instantly gathering you against his chest. You nestled into his warm, comforting embrace, trailing your fingertips idly across the silken smooth skin stretched over his toned biceps.

"Thank you, Har," you murmured drowsily, feeling your eyelids already growing heavy again as the stress from earlier fully dissolved.

You heard the rumbling vibration of his low chuckle against your cheek. "Anything for you, darling girl. Always."

Pressing a soft kiss to your temple, Harry stroking your hair soothingly. You were just drifting off into peaceful slumber, cocooned in his arms, when his voice rumbled once more.

"Though if you do happen to wake up with any particular cravings, I'll need some advance warning before raiding the shops for the entire stock of ice cream and chocolate..."

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

requests are open! | masterlist |

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry edward styles #harry fic #harry angst #harry fluff #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles concept #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles masterlist #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry x reader

[risuola]

ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1695

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home.  If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then n, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him at this very moment, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland@ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

#𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲 ♡ #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru x y/n #gojo arranged marriage #jjk arranged marriage #gojo fluff #gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru fluff #satoru fluff #jjk fluff

[vastderp]

I Had A Baby Brother

My brother was found dead last tuesday in his apartment.

He died anywhere from Sunday to Monday, and his landlord got worried and checked up on him and found him on the floor with one hand over his face. There was an open jug of methanol nearby. My sister thinks he drank it, I pray he didn't. It was an ugly, fucked up death.

He was in declining health this past decade because he was a paraplegic and uncontrolled diabetic. There are systems in place to help with low income people in his condition, but they were barred from him as he was a convicted felon.

He went from learning to walk again in the physical therapy pool to drinking a gallon of vodka per day, growing more hostile and bitter as the pain got worse, until his body just gave out. He drove away his friends, he drove away his family, and then he hit the floor and never got up.

I was meant to view the body with my sister and her grown kids, but the funeral home couldn't tell us where his body had been sent, and stopped answering the phone on friday before memorial day weekend, and then we had to wait for someone to follow up on my sister's dozens of phone messages, which they finally did, to try and make their little profit.

My sister, who has been handling all of this along with my niece, selected a different funeral home for the cremation because the first one was disgraceful with my mother's death in 2007, and they're disgraceful all over again with my brother's now.

At one point today they finally established contact, and asked how my sister wanted to handle the arrangements for her "father". O how casual the not giving a fuck goes! Dude pressed to make a sale even after she told him how unhappy we were with their work.

All this to say that I have a car full of inherited possessions, unused medical gear, and the shitty fucked up remnants of my brother's shrine to Mom.

Good old Mom may have died almost 20 years ago, but her gentle, loving mission to smother her only son to death (and probably into eternity) is finally successful. Of all of us, I've often wondered who got it worst: The golden child, the scapegoat, or the parentalized invisible middle kid. Now that one of us has effectively committed suicide, I guess it's for the scapegoat and me to hash out who gets second place. My mother crippled him long before his car accident, in one long and winding but uninterrupted line of consequences from his birth to death. I consider it a murder-suicide. Which was which? They were both the killer, and both the victim. Enmeshment is a motherfucker.

I'm super bitter, really fucking sad, and incredibly proud of what's left of my family for how they're coming together now. (Except my dad, who is in another state, petting his dogs, because I don't think he can really deal with this shit).

So what's left? To go put some cologne on his corpse when they finally let us go view what's left of him. He always liked to smell nice and he probably doesn't right now.

They'll cremate him, and give us a ridiculously heavy cardboard box of ashes that we'll have to carry out, knowing it's all that's left of a lifetime of struggling and pain. Probably we're gonna mix his ashes with Mom's, and make that lifetime of enmeshment official.

I hope if they go to the same afterlife, he kicks her in the cooter. I hope she kicks him back. I hope they can see each other with eyes unclouded by trauma, and forgive each other for the choices they both made. I hope they forgive me for still being mad at them both for not being stronger. I hope I will forgive myself for a lifetime of resentment and blame. I sure got enough time for that.

Jason was funny, weird, secretly really smart but never made a point of it. He was stylish. He was a broken man who could have made better choices and didn't, who was happily fed poison until he couldn't live without it, who was basically his own whole ass Pink Floyd song. His violence sent me running into a better life. His death sent me trudging back into a damaged family with gaping holes like torn out teeth, into the arms of my sister, and we reconciled. There's just us two left now, and it's our job to make something beautiful come out of this jerry springer childhood we shared. We're doing our best.

Dozens of catheters still in the package. Leakproof bed padding in a plaid pattern. Gallons of creams, antacids, fiber supplements by the jar, pressure sore ointments, fungus treatment creams, lidocaine pads, antibiotics, antipsychotics, a hash pipe or two.

An entire apartment hoarded with moist towelettes, pressure garments, and cleaning supplies. An entire life choked with mental damages and crying relatives. I put on CeeLoo Green's "Robin Williams" and sobbed until my face felt burned. It helped.

All the usable/safe to give away medical equipment is being distributed to the other impoverished disabled people in his apartment complex, who will hopefully put it to good use. I got his old manual wheelchair because sometimes I can't walk. I'm terrified of becoming more like him, so back to phsycial therapy I go.

The rest?

The memories, the pity, the jug of methanol that I pray he never actually drank, the stain he left on his floor after a lifetime of compulsive tidiness, the shrine to the woman he killed who also killed him? All these things I will keep with me forever. I will honor him. He could have been so much more, for so much longer. He had a whole story I'll never know. He contained incredible kindness and generosity, and also a rage so deep it was fatal. He was only 41.

If you can spare a couple bucks for the gofundme my niece set up, it'd really help make the financial side of this horseshit a little more bearable while we do all the shit that comes with a death. Thank you for taking the time to read this post, for your sympathies, and for reading my fucked up family trauma dump. Rest assured there will be more.

Dear god, will there ever be more.

Send help. Send pizza. Send sad hip hop. Hail Atlantis. Hail Jai.

#death #gofundme #donate if you can #i had a baby brother

[xspeter]

part of the ‘dancing with our hands tied’ collection

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇... You discover Luke does remember that night.

note: kind of a short one, sorry guys !!

W.C: 1.2k

You wanted to enjoy the party. Really, you did, but you were completely and utterly exhausted.

How could you not be? There’d been an accident in the strawberry fields that you still didn’t quite understand how it even occurred in the first place, so you’d been on your feet from sunrise to sunset taking care of everyone involved.

The only thing you wanted to do as soon as everything was said and done was go to your cabin and sleep, but you’d promised your older sister you’d be here. Apparently, she needed “emotional support” to talk to her crush, but from where you stand now you can see they look perfectly comfortable.

You sigh, taking another sip of your beer. You’d barely touched it, and some stupid part of you thought maybe it’d help you wake up. But, you were pretty sure it was doing just the opposite.

“You look happy.” Someone says in front of you, and you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“Ecstatic.”

Luke huffs out a laugh, right hand in his shorts pocket as he brings the other up to his mouth and sips on his beer. “I heard about what happened with the Demeter kids. Are they alright?”

You just shrug, back hunched over as you slump into yourself. “They’ll be fine. Just… I don’t understand how the Stymphalian Birds even got through the border.”

Luke takes a seat next to you on the log, knees cracking as he does. “Someone probably summoned them as a stupid prank. I wouldn’t think too much into it.”

You just sigh, turning your head so you’re facing him. “I know that. It’s just…” You trail off, unable to put your thoughts into words. It was just too much of a coincidence. The lighting bolt being stolen, a war potentially breaking out between the Gods, and now this?

Luke doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he just places his hand on your knee comfortingly, thumb beginning to rub random shapes into your skin. You relish in the feeling, his calloused hands are rough but oh so warm.

“Why don’t we go back to your cabin and get your mind off things?” Luke murmurs in your ear, but you grunt in protest. “Can’t,” You sigh, “I promised Alice I’d be her emotional support.”

Luke looks up, brown eyes searching for your sister. When he finds her, he can’t help but snort. He points to her, guiding your line of sight. “I think Alice is okay.”

And. Well. Yes. She looked like she was perfectly fine, laughing it up with the boy she liked. But you didn’t want to just leave without telling her.

You voiced that to Luke, who nodded and then got up without another word. You watched as he interrupted whatever conversation Alice was having and pointed to you. The three of them turned back and you attempted a wave, which Alice sheepishly returned.

You aren’t sure exactly what Luke said to her, but by the time he returns to you he grabs your hand and hauls you to your feet. You're so tired you feel as if you can barely stand, and you rely heavily on Luke to lead you back to your cabin.

It’s nearly empty when you reach it, save a few younger kids who are already passed out. You practically death drop onto your bed, legs hanging off of it and arms strewn above your head.

Luke chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he kneels in front of you and begins untying the laces of your converse, pulling them off your socked feet and laying them gently next to your bed.

You barely even register it, eyes closed and breathing shallow. If Luke didn’t know any better, he’d think you were already asleep. But the slight smile on your face tells him you’re not.

But, he’d let you pretend.

He removes your makeup for you, gently rubbing at your face. You sigh happily as he does, and it’d be a lie if he said the sound doesn’t make his heart melt.

But, it was normal to feel that way about your best friend.

By the time he’s finished he kisses the top of your head and turns to leave, but you whine. “Luke,” You murmur, voice raspy. “Stay with me tonight? Please?”

Luke had never stayed the night in your cabin before this. You’d stayed the night in his a handful of times, but that was it. This felt like uncharted territory. Still, despite the slight tremble in his voice, he says, “‘Course, Sweetheart. Anything you want.”

You grin, scooting over and making room for him. He slips off his shoes, setting them besides yours in an act that feels entirely domestic.

He lays into the unfamiliarity of your bed. Your bed that smells of lemons and vanilla, just like you. That is still warm with your body heat. Your bed that is yours.

You let out a sigh of content, laying your head on his chest like you always do. Only this time, Luke only slightly wishes you weren’t, all too aware of the rapid beating of his own heart.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” You ask, gnawing on your bottom lip. You fully expect Luke to recall the first day you’d gone and changed his bandages, but he doesn’t.

“When you sang to me?”

You nearly shoot up at that, eyes wide. “You- You remember that?”

Luke laughs nervously, eyebrows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I? You saved my life.”

While that’s true, you’d completely suspected Luke would be in too much pain to even remember that. His mind would’ve blocked out the trauma. “I thought…”

Luke grins, “What? That I’d blocked it out?” That was exactly what you thought, yes.

“Well, I mean, yeah.”

Luke shakes his head, playing with your fingers that are spread out on his belly. “At first, I wished I had. I mean, who likes to remember themselves screaming bloody murder in front of their friends?” He attempts to joke, but you shoot him a warning look.

He takes the hint and averts his gaze from yours. He swallows, “But, uh, then I remember you singing and I thank The Gods for letting me remember.”

That statement makes you flush. He thanks The Gods for letting him remember what you're sure has to be one of the worst days of his life– because of you? Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you allow Luke to intertwine your fingers together and rest them against his stomach.

For some reason, you feel almost guilty. Guilty that Luke would thank such divine beings for you. “There are better things to thank The Gods for.” You murmur.

Luke's expression almost darkens, but he never tears his gaze from yours. “No,” He mutters, bringing your intertwined hands up to his lips, “There aren’t.”

You aren’t sure how to take that statement, but Luke doesn’t give you any time to process anyway. Slowly, his grin returns to his face, and he whispers, “Let's go to bed, yeah?”

You swallow, nodding hesitantly and allowing him to lead your head to his chest. But, even as his fingers run through your hair and slowly lull you to sleep, you can’t get his words out of your head.

taglist: @apolloscastellan @ddarling-ddearest-ddead @sflame15-blog @cherr-y-eji @wen-oo

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x yn #kats works #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #fanfiction #fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians fanfic

[chvoswxtch]

Macchiato from Frank Castle with a vulnerable Reader (recently escaped abusive relationship or is hiding from such an ex / targeted by the Villain of the Week after being in the wrong place at the wrong time). I'll leave it up to the barista whether or not to put it over ice.

Thanks again, for letting me submit some requests.

you're so very welcome! thanks for stopping by the cafe! 🖤

headcannon below the cut

frank castle makes sure you feel safe

frank could tell that you had a troubled past when he met you. he could see it, & sometimes he could feel it. he didn't pry, figuring you would open up when you were ready, just like he did when he revealed his own traumatic history

when you finally told him about the abusive relationship you escaped with your ex, a lot of things finally clicked. the things he'd noticed & picked up on suddenly made sense. the way you physically tensed whenever there was a loud noise, how you apologized profusely for the most trivial things, your overly cautious nature & hesitancy when it came to intimacy

it broke his heart knowing what you had been through, but more than anything it pissed him off that some asshole had been the one to do it. frank was furious when you told him, a look of pure rage in his eyes & his jaw set in a harsh line. the anger was practically rolling off him in waves & he was insistent on you giving him a name

but the second he saw a flash of fear in your eyes at his reaction, he quickly recomposed himself. he never wanted to scare you. he didn't want to be just another angry man in your house. even though you knew exactly who he was & what he'd done, you felt safe with frank, & he never wanted to ruin that

you were insistent about leaving it alone, not wanting to spend another moment in the past. you just wanted to move forward. frank respected that. but he also tracked that motherfucker down & sent him on a 3 month long vacation to the icu, not that you needed to know that

while frank did everything he could to make sure you felt comfortable, he knew there were certain things he'd have to be patient with you about. you were still healing from a lot of trauma, but he was determined to help you in any way that he could

at least once a month for the first four months of your relationship, frank reminded you that you were safe. sometimes you'd wake up in the middle of the night sobbing from a horrible nightmare, your dreams transporting you back to that dark place, & frank would hold you for as long as you needed, gently rocking you back & forth while stroking your hair, whispering softly in your ear

"shh shh shh, s'alright, baby. you're safe, yeah? I got you. you're alright. deep breaths, baby. no one's ever gonna hurt you again, I promise. you're safe with me, sweetheart."

as hard as frank tries to be mindful, he's human. he has his own trauma that he's still working through. while your issues manifest with fear, his manifest with anger. the first time he loses his temper & raises his voice, the look on your face physically pains him like a knife to the heart

he sees the way your eyes go wide, how you start to slightly tremble, notices that your breathing is more shallow & harsh. the way your eyes become glossy nearly brings him to his knees, & he quickly lifts his hands in a show of peace & takes a step back

"hey...hey, i'm sorry. i'm sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn'ta raised my voice like that. I didn't mean to. i'm not mad at you, alright? you didn't do nothin' wrong. I just...got frustrated. i'm sorry, baby. what...what do ya need? need me to leave? I can step out if you need a minute. just...tell me what you need."

frank doesn't mind that you're hesitant when it comes to intimacy. he lets you take things as slow as you want. he doesn't push you, doesn't try to guilt trip you, just lets you control the pace & follows your lead. whenever you try to apologize about it, he quickly cuts you off with reassurance

"hey, you don't owe me nothin'. i'm just happy to be here, yeah? I got you here with me, that's all I need. don't worry 'bout me, sweetheart. i'm not goin' anywhere."

frank goes to extra lengths to make sure you have peace of mind. he installs a full security system at your place complete with cameras. he makes sure you have pepper spray & a taser with you at all times. he's taken you to the shooting range a few times just to show you how to shoot just in case you ever have to. he's taught you a few self defense moves that you can protect yourself with. he doesn't just want you to feel safe, he wants you to feel strong

frank makes sure you understand that anyone that ever tried to get to you would have to go through him. whenever you're out in public, he's got his arm around you, or he's holding your hand. he's got his eye on you at all times. if he even thinks you look uncomfortable for any reason, he's at your side in a flash

frank is a fierce protector, & there's no one he protects more relentlessly than the people he loves & cares about. he'd wage war on anyone without a second thought just to keep you safe

#court's 4k followers celebration #court's 4k friends celebration #court's cafe #frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle headcannon #frank castle request #the punisher #the punisher headcannon #the punisher request

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 6

First Previously AU Summary

“‘Even’ nothing. Now we are going to drop this, summon the new King, beg them for forgiveness and for them to deal with Trigon, and fix those disastrous laws!” Constantine declared while pulling out a book with a strange aura out of his coat pocket.

Red Robin internally sighed in relief. They were finally getting somewhere. He had been worried that they would be stuck getting integrated until Trigon was right on top of them. Not that it would stop them from getting questioned after the whole fiasco was over, but, small mercies.

From the way Batman was glaring at Supernova and Red Robin it was even more obvious that the Bat wouldn’t let it go. The only thing stopping him being the pressing matter with Trigon and the occult magician being very willing to yell at him if he kept poking. Though it did make Red Robin wonder how he planned to do so, it wasn’t like he lived at the manor anymore. No one but Alfred noticed that the only time they saw him was at the cave, and even that was rare. Really makes one question about the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ title that Batman held. Danny certainly doesn’t think so with all his nicknames for him, and after the last few years he was inclined to agree. You really shouldn’t meet your heroes.

The Laughing Magician worked and while watching him make the summoning circle Red Robin and Supernova were suddenly glad that neither offered to make it. If they did they might have never stopped getting questioned. Even Constantine would have probably joined them with how differently their summoning circle would be. While the con man made an intricate circle with the title of Ghost King being the main factor, with candles placed at significant points and fancy offerings, the two boyfriends had a much simpler approach. The biggest differences being name and title. They call Danny by name, which makes it significantly easier than a broad title to summon him. Add on to the fact that most of the titles that Constantine are using are only Danny’s by default the ease in summons is a lot easier. Though them being his boyfriends and offering snacks plays a big factor in it too.

The occult magician then began to chant in Esperanto. Candles began to flicker, changing to Relam’s green. The room’s temperature began to drop, frost creeping across the floor and walls. Wind that shouldn’t be possible in a space station whipped around, flipping Batman and Superman’s capes over their heads. A neon green crack appeared in the air above the summoning circle. Claws clutching the tear in reality before ripping it further.

Out from the tear in reality stepped out an ethereal being. White hair that moved like it was underwater. Lavender skin with freckles spaced out like constellations. Bright green lighting birch scars crawling over their body, cutting all the up to their brow. Eyes glowing the same erie color with the one the scar cut through being that singular color, sclera and all. A crown seemingly made of aurora lights and ice, radiating power. A fur lined coat seemingly made from space only added to the otherworldliness, A ring shaped like a skull, signaling the being as one of death. Armor with small dents here and there showing that it isn’t just for decoration. That this being that they summoned was a fighter, a King forged in battle.

 Everyone but Red Robin and Supernova froze. They thought that they were prepared. They knew that they would be powerful, enough that they could rule over beings like Trigon. But no words could have prepared them for the aura bearing down on them. All their bravo was drained out of the minute they were subjected to the King’s presence. Aquaman was especially shaken. He was a King as well but he felt like nothing compared to the one in front of him. Like a big fish in a small pond thrust to face the ruler of the ocean.

“Were you the ones that summoned me, freeing from the bane that is paperwork?” the being asked.

To be continued . . .

#danny phantom #dcu #dcxdp #dp + dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #superboy #conner kent #ghost king danny #time zone au #justice leauge dark #justice league #john constantine #red robin #conner kent x tim drake #tim drake #danny fenton x tim drake x conner kent #super dead tired #kon el superboy #danny fenton x conner kent #tim drake x danny fenton

[serpentandlily]

Lost in a Labyrinth Part III Teaser

Lost in a Labyrinth Part III Teaser

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine.

A/n: guys I thought I’d have a lot more time to write today and I, unfortunately, don’t :(( but here’s another lil sneak peek at what’s to come in the Labyrinth Series!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part III Teaser

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

…and when he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The First Attempt

Poison was the easiest and cleanest way to kill somebody. It involved very little effort on your part, just a slip of the hand to pour the poison into their drink when they weren't looking. It usually didn't involve blood or puke unless you got one of the nastier poisons, which you never did anyways. Some of the girls were more sadistic though and well, you couldn't blame them for it.

But while it was the simplest method of killing someone, it was probably one of the harder ones to pull off. First, faeries had very good senses, especially when it came to smell. One sniff of their drink could expose the poison in it, unless you were able to get your hands on one of the odorless ones. Those were more expensive though and Lydia and Keir certainly weren't willing to fund you guys besides your nightly rate from your clients.

However, when you had made a trip to the apothecary in the underbelly of Hewn City, you had begrudgingly forked over the money for one of those clear, odorless poisons. There was no way anything else would get past Azriel and his shadows.

Your heart ached in your chest as you stared at the decanter of whiskey sitting on the bar cart in your pleasure room. Azriel had been kind to you. He had offered you some mercy by buying out your nights and not returning until that fateful meeting at the party. And while he clearly liked being more dominant while bedding you, his touch had been gentle, soft. No one had ever shown you such care and here you were, plotting out his murder.

But you simply had to do this. Freedom was only one dead body away for you. One more hit and you could finally wash your hands of this place, disappear to another court—perhaps one that would allow you to bathe in the sunlight for the rest of your days, something the citizens of Hewn City had never really experienced.

Kill Azriel.

Kill the shadowsinger and you'll be free to go.

Those had been Keir's exact words.

You had killed before. There was a time when your finger was covered in black lines, a new one added every time you didn't have enough money to pay the house fee or enough for food and had to borrow from Lydia. One every time you failed to perform for a client, no matter what they asked of you. But now you were down to one last mark.

One for the Shadowsinger.

One for Azriel.

You let out a sigh, sitting down at your vanity to brush your hair. Azriel was due to show up any moment now. Ever since that night at the party, he had been coming by at this time every single night. He would buy out all the nights Lydia would allow him to before showing up.

He never even made it seem like he expected sex on any given night. Sometimes the two of you would just cuddle in bed, whispering stories to each other about your lives. Sometimes he would come all tense and frustrated with whatever the High Lord had demanded of him. On those nights you would offer to give him a massage and listen to him complain about how much he hated his work. It seemed like the two of you had that in common, at the very least.

You hadn't made any attempts yet. You told yourself it was because you were planning out the best way to kill Azriel. Poison, knives, strangling. There were a multitude of ways to do it. But you knew deep down what the true reason was. You had grown fond of the Shadowsinger. You didn't want to kill him.

But your wants and needs had never really ever agreed with each other your whole life.

So here you were. Waiting for Azriel to come so you could poison him and be done with this Gods awful place. You wanted out of the labyrinth and unfortunately, this was the only way.

No matter how much you liked Azriel, he was the one standing in the way of your freedom.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar

[annwrites]

my lil' cherry pie

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: honestly, it's just a whole lotta fuckin' in this one

— tags: billy being extremely happy. billy having an idea involving the hood of his car. you & billy getting frisky in the shower.

— tw: sex, exhibitionism, bj, f receiving oral

— word count: 5,509

— a/n: i wish loverboy's lovin' every minute of it had come out a year earlier, bc billy would've 100% been blaring that in the camaro, too, after spending all morning in bed with reader lol.

i am also AWARE that bon jovi's slippery when wet didn't come out until '86, but i wanted to use that line in the shower scene, so it is what it is.

i'm not writing billy as some perfect casanova in the bedroom. i'm aware that's the fantasy with him, but he's still an eighteen-year-old boy. and i think it's actually sweet that he has a harder time lasting with reader in certain situations, bc he's just that turned on bc it's with her—his dream girl.

find my other posts concerning billy here

Billy grinds his hips down against your ass, unable to sink any deeper inside your soaking heat. “That feel good, honey?”

You whimper in response, nearly drooling on the pillow beneath you, which your cheek rests upon, your head turned toward the curtained window.  “Y-yes,” you say quietly, clenching around him.

“Mm, I bet.” He drawls out.

He slowly eases out and then back into you, and your eyes roll back at the feeling, slowly closing. You grip the sheets under you.

He removes one hand from gripping the mattress and instead grips your hip instead, circling his own. “You like that, sweetheart?”

You nod, burying your face in the pillow as he flexes his shoulder blades, gripping you harder.

“I can tell. God, you’re fucking soaked. I can hear just how wet you are.”

He wasn’t wrong. After last night—you not orgasming from penetration alone during your first time—he’d awoken shortly before dawn on a mission.

He’d woken you with hot kisses along your bare breasts, down your stomach, then back up to your lips. You’d been half-asleep when he’d eased inside of you, causing you to gasp in surprise.

You’d orgasmed the second time the two of you had sex the night before, but that’d only been due to him rubbing feverishly at your clit until you did so.

You think that maybe his manhood feels a bit threatened by it. So, he’d spent hours this morning inside of you, using everything he had, everything he knew, to make you cum from his cock alone.

While you enjoyed yourself, he treated it more like some training exercise. Learning the ins and out of your body. What made you tremble and shake with pleasure and what didn’t.

Your first ‘session’ had to be cut short because he’d gotten a cramp it was taking so long for you to reach a climax—you hadn’t even been close when he’d stopped.

You’d tried explaining to him that it was okay—you saw nothing wrong with only being able to come from clitoral stimulation alone, but he’d said that wasn’t good enough.

So, a few minutes later, he’d sat you in his lap, your back pressed to his chest and his cock between your legs once more. Halfway through, you’d reached down to begin playing with yourself, until he’d grabbed your hand, lightly smacking it. “Aa, none of that,” he’d chastised you.

That position had reached some new place inside of you, but still not quite right. So he’d laid down, gripping your hips, telling you to do whatever felt good. You’d bounced on his cock and it’d only taken him watching you do as much for a few minutes before he’d came himself. And loudly.

He’d needed to take another break after that.

The third time, he’d had the both of you lay down on your sides, him once again pressed up behind you, your left leg thrown over his hip as he gripped yours, fucking you fervently. He had pounded away inside of you, both of his hands eventually moving higher, grabbing your tits, squeezing, toying with your nipples, even sticking his fingers in your mouth, but you still didn’t cum.

And right now was his fourth attempt. You were so wet now that it was all over your thighs. His as well. You could hear it every time he eased his cock in and out—squelching. It made your face heat in embarrassment, even if he’d stressed how hot he found it to be. Teasing you about it earlier had not helped, however. Like when he had told you 'It's like a fuckin' slip and slide down here. At least I don't have to worry about pickin' up lube once we hit the road again.'.

He reaches down, spreading your left leg, until your knee is bent and he slips slowly out, then back in.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, his cock twitching inside of you.

You lay your cheek back against the pillow, panting lightly at just how relaxed you feel.

He runs his palm down your spine and your body trembles, you clenching around him again. You want so badly to reach between your legs. You’d been desperate to come hours ago, but unless it was from his cock and only that, he wouldn’t allow it.

He lowers himself closer to you. “C’mon, baby, I know you like this. Tell me what you need.”

Honestly, it all felt pretty good. Okay, really good. But no matter what he did, there just didn’t seem to be some magical spot inside of you that would bring you over the edge.

“I…dunno. Mm. Feels good, though.”

His brow twitches, back starting to hurt. “Believe me, I can tell just how good you feel. Just,” he grunts. “Tell me how to get you to cum all over my cock, doll.”

You snuggle the pillow under you, pushing your hips back against him. “My clit.”

He groans. “Anything else.”

You shrug slightly, now drooling. “Ah, Billy…”

He slips out of you and you pout quietly, until he flips you onto your back.

When you look up at him, the curls at his hairline are now damp and sticking to his forehead, a few drops of sweat beading there. He really was working hard at this.

“Alright, time to try something else,” he says lowly.

You spread your legs wide for him, gripping your breasts, tugging against your nipples and he takes himself in-hand, easing into you.

You sigh in satisfaction.

He then presses his right hand down on your lower stomach, applying pressure there.

He reaches up with his other hand, sticking two fingers in your mouth and you drool all over them, sucking, licking, nearly gagging yourself on them you’re so into it.

He turns his hips just the least bit to the left and you gasp, pulling his fingers out. “Ah, there.”

He looks up at you, stilling for only a moment, eyes wide—excited. “Yeah?”

You nod, shoving his fingers back in your mouth.

He keeps his body just like that—his cock positioned in that exact spot, and he begins to pound away inside of you.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You push his fingers back out, gripping his hand in both of yours—and hard—holding on for dear life as his tip continually teases and hits that most perfect part of you inside.

At first, it almost feels like your bladder is about to let loose, but God it feels so good. You thought everything else he’d done to you for the last few hours had been pleasurable? Wrong. This was pleasure.

You reach back, your palm planted flat against the headboard, your back arching, hips grinding down against his own, head thrown back. “Oh God, don’t stop. Please. Oh, Billy. Mm, yes, right there!”

He fucks you harder. “Oh, I’m not fucking stopping.”

He was worn out and his calf was cramping something fucking awful, his lower back needing a break, but this was what he’d spent all morning working toward. He couldn’t give in now.

“C’mon, darlin’, c’mon. Come on my cock, baby. That’s it. You’re so fucking close, I know it.”

You begin to clench rapidly around him and your eyes go wide as you take in shallow gasps of breath in anticipation as the feeling builds and builds and then…you scream. So hard you nearly choke yourself on calling out his name in ecstasy. “Billy! Yes! Oh God, yes! Ah!”

He begins to laugh, skin slapping against yours, groaning as he fills yet another condom to the brim, coming fucking hard. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he says as he finishes.

Finally, he collapses on top of you, the both of you heaving for breath, drenched in sweat, the sheets beneath you an utter mess. The room…smells of the both of you, to put it kindly. Sweat and cum and heat and something primitive. Sex. This was the smell of sex. Purely unadulterated.

He’s so weak, he can barely lift his head. So, he instead lies there, crushing you with his body weight, but having him covering you feels…nice. Secure. Safe, even.

You wrap one arm around his broad shoulders, your other hand smoothing back sweat-slick curls as you kiss the side of his head. A pulse still going strong between your legs.

He mutters into the mattress, his tone that of exhaustion. “So, you finally came that time?”

You giggle lightly. “Yes, I definitely did.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can take anymore. You’re fuckin’ insatiable. And I thought my sex-drive was bad.”

You burst out laughing. “Me? You’re the one who wouldn’t let it go.”

He buries his face in your shoulder. “Just like a woman to let a man do all the work without a word of thanks in return.”

You roll your eyes, then kiss the top of his head of messy hair. “Thank you, Billy.”

“You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Currently, you and Billy are sitting in traffic at a red light while he blares the song Cherry Pie—so loudly it makes your eardrums hurt.

He gets especially into the lyrics when he bangs the palm of his hand against the wheel, his wide smile growing even larger, to the line ‘swingin’ to the bass in the back of my car!’.

A smile crawls onto your own face—he’d been like this all morning since you’d gotten out of bed—which you’re unsuccessful in hiding from him.

He gives you a toothy grin, sliding his hand up your thigh to the edge of your skirt, then under it, blowing you a kiss, even winking, and then you glance to the girls in the yellow convertible next to you, who seem to be admiring his ride. Him as well, clearly.

And you decide now is the moment to put everything that’s developed between the two of you to the test. You nod toward their car. “I think you have a couple of admirers!” You shout over the music.

He shrugs. “Do I?” He asks, shifting, turning back to the windshield, accelerating as he drives past them, never once looking in their direction.

When Billy stops for gas, he leaves you to fill the car while he goes inside to ‘get a pack of smokes’, but actually purchases another box of condoms, having used up all the rest of his—minus one—that morning.

When he returns to you, you’re just putting the nozzle back, and he comes up from behind you, squeezing you.

When you turn around, smiling warmly, he picks you up, spinning you around. You laugh, your hands holding onto his shoulders, looking down at his happy, smiling face. He finally lowers you back onto the ground, wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing your backside up against the pump as he kisses you long and deep.

When he pulls back, you grip the collar of his button-up shirt. “Someone’s in a good mood today.”

He nuzzles his nose against your neck and you giggle at the ticklish gesture. “I’m in a great fucking mood, baby.”

He walks around, opening your door for you and your heart melts. Had you finally, after all the fighting and running and pushing back against each other, reached a mutually happy place with one another?

You lower yourself inside and he leans down, kissing you again.

“Mhm,” he hums in approval, closing the door.

Once you reach Flagstaff, Billy has calmed. Minimally. He still occasionally blared his music—particularly when AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long came on—and a selection of other music. He also had put his hands on you every chance he got—you were sure you had every line and callus memorized by now. And he’d told you a couple times how lucky he was. That he loved you.

He stressed how happy you made him.

You’d cried tears of joy at it all, in disbelief that he was finally treating you the way you’d always dreamed of being treated by another. You had truly thought just a couple days ago that you would never find love. Now? The love of your life sat right next to you.

Once the sky grew dark, Billy had pulled off into an empty lot, turning to you, head leaned back, hand once again slipping between your thighs. “Once the engine cools off a bit, I want to try something.”

You raised a brow, your hand sliding up his strong, tanned arm. “Oh?”

He’d nodded, leaning in toward you, slipping his hand into your panties, fingers playing with your clit.

He spent the next few minutes teasing you and toying with that sensitive bundle until you were soaking.

He pulls away. “So, not that I need to ask,” he says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “But it’s safe to assume that you still want to see the West with me?”

You smile, nodding, looking at him adoringly.

He smirks. “I told you I always get what I want.”

You glance down to his hand, rolling your eyes.

And then he cups your cheek. “I meant you, baby. It was always you.”

Your brows furrow, eyes stinging, and then you kiss him again.

“Billy, if someone sees us doing this we could be arrested for…public indecency, or-”

He sighs. “Live a little, will you? C’mon, I’ve been dreaming about doing this since I had you in the driver’s seat. Alright, way before that. Like the first fuckin' day I put eyes on you.”

You look around the empty lot and jolt from nerves when you hear someone laying on their car horn off in the distance.

He reaches down to the hem of your dress with a raised brow, his own shirt already unbuttoned.

You sigh. “So help me, Billy Hargrove, if we both end up in jail-”

“Y’know what, putting you in cuffs at some point seems like a good idea, too, now that you mention it.”

You groan as he takes the rest of your clothes off.

Currently, you’re completely naked, laid back on the hood of Billy’s Camaro, your legs spread open, him standing between them. You watch as he unbuckles his belt, tossing it inside the car, and he then unbuttons and unzips his jeans, easing them, along with his briefs, down to his ankles, taking himself in his hand.

And then you sit up suddenly, hanging your head between your knees, groaning in irritation.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t want to now. I've had enough of you given' me blue balls for the last week.”

You look up at him. He’d already gotten the two of you a room for the night at a local motel—recently opened, so for once you were to be staying in a nice place—so all your things were there. Including condoms. The only reason the two of you had gone back out was to get a bite to eat for dinner.

“We don’t have any protection.”

He swears, yanking his pants back up. “Fuck!”

He looks back to you, considering. “What if I use the pull-out method instead?”

You shift atop the hood. “Is that…does it always work? I mean, what is it, exactly?”

“I come anywhere but inside of you.”

“Have you done it before like that?” You ask, doubtful.

In truth, no, he hadn’t. He’d always used condoms. Always.

“First time for everything,” he says, looking at you from under his lashes, forehead creased, hands on his hips.

After a moment, you lay back down. “Okay.”

He positions himself between your legs again, dropping his pants. He leans over you, palm pressed against the hood of the car, his other hand guiding himself into you.

He grips both of your hips, gently fucking you, your feet planted on either side of the hood.

His eyes trail along your bare body and he grows impossibly harder. “God, you look so fucking hot right now. You’re perfect, honey.”

You scoot closer to him, trying to wrap your legs around his waist, so he grips you by your thighs, pounding away inside of you, skin slapping against skin, his breathing ragged as he watches your breasts bounce with each pump of him, your fingers clawing against the hood.

He angles his hips, trying to reach that spot inside of you that you both enjoy, and knows he’s found it when your eyes roll back, body slightly arching off the car.

He smirks, running his hands up your thighs, then back down, squeezing them. “Maybe I should see what my shifter looks like inside of you next.”

You clench around him, then look up at him with curious eyes.

He shrugs. “After you polish my knob first, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, whimpering. “You need help. Who even comes up with something like that?”

“Oh, you’re definitely helping me, sweetheart,” he says, thrusting into you again and again. “And you’d be surprised.”

You then wonder what it would be like: having him in your mouth. You’d not done that yet. Maybe an idea for when you get back to the room.

Your imagination toying with the thought gets cut short by a sudden boom of thunder overhead, lightning flashing not far from the two of you…and then it begins to downpour.

You try to shield your eyes from the sudden onslaught of rain, Billy essentially paying it no mind as he continues to work his body with yours in tandem.

You gasp and his head jerks up, smirking, thinking it’s from him, but it’s the cool droplets pelting against your hot skin, quickly cooling you.

“Now you’re really wet,” he calls over the sound of rain pounding against the car, laughing.

You begin to shiver. “A-are you almost done yet?”

He raises a brow. “Me? What about you?” He angles his hips yet again and you curse, saying his name.

“We’re not leaving until we’ve both come, sweetheart, so we might be here for awhile!” He moves his hand to your clit, his thumb beginning to rub fast circles.

You wrap your arms around yourself, the only part of you that now feels warm being that which is between your legs.

“Can’t we just go back and I try what you said instead?”

“What’s that?”

“You in my mouth?”

He stares at you for just a moment, then quickly pulls out, moaning as he finishes all over your stomach at the thought, the rain washing it off of you.

“So…how do we uh…”

He lifts your chin with his finger, putting your eyes on his instead of on his erection.

“Well, you’ll be on your knees either way,” he says quietly. “But I don’t know which would be easier for you: me sitting or standing.”

“Which would you prefer?” You ask nervously.

He’d just fucked you on the hood of his car right out in the open in the middle of a thunderstorm and now you were nervous?

He decides sitting would be the better option. You’d not done this before and if it took you awhile—which it likely would—he didn’t want to interrupt things because his legs were tired.

He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping in the middle from his weight, and you settle onto your knees in front of him, taking him in your hand.

He knows just from the sight of you like this alone, he won’t last long.

He’d thought before that he had pretty good stamina when it came to sex. But with you… Jesus, had it shortened.

You look at him with wide eyes, stroking like you’d done the other night. “Does that feel good?”

He quickly nods, throwing his head back, closing his eyes. “Yeah, honey, that feels good.”

You study it for a moment, then decide to just go for it. You lower your mouth onto his length and his eyes shoot open, hips bucking, causing you to gag as he hits the back of your throat.

You pull back, licking your lips. “Did I do something wrong?”

He runs one of his hands through his hair, worrying about coming all over you already. “No, just…try again. It was good, sweetheart.”

You lower your mouth onto him again and he curls his toes, fisting the comforter underneath him, holding on with everything he has, trying not to…not to…

You begin to bob your head, gently sucking, swirling your tongue around him, not really sure what you’re doing, but giving it your best shot either way. You rest your palms atop his thighs, then pull back, him slipping out of your mouth and you stroke him again as you take a breath, then swallow the length of him again.

“Fuck,” he curses, reaching up, gripping your hair, making a ponytail with both of his hands, holding it out of the way as he watches you.

“Oh God,” he mutters and before you can ask what’s wrong, you feel him shooting into the back of your throat.

You gag at the unusual feeling, pulling away, cum dribbling off of your chin.

You look up to him, silent for a moment, then, “That…was…” Fast? You don’t think you should say that, however.

He stares down at you, mortified. “What?” He asks, tone unreadable.

You need to give him a reassuring answer. You smile softly. “Different. I liked it. Did…did you? I mean, did I do okay?”

He could nearly cry from relief. You had no idea that he’d prematurely… He couldn’t even think of it.

He lays back on the bed, reaching toward the nightstand, pulling a number of tissues out of the box which sits on it and his hips jerk when he feels you suddenly take him in your hand again.

He sits up, wiping your face. “You were incredible, doll.”

You smile.

And he’d been worried that you would take too long, not that he wouldn’t able to last.

He lays back again, shaking his head.

Billy had excused himself to the bathroom for a moment afterward and you'd sat quietly on the bed, patiently waiting for him. He may've been your first in everything—minus kissing; you'd done that with a boy you couldn't remember the name of now, when you were seven on the playground—but you knew finishing that quickly wasn't...the norm. Not for him, at least.

If anything, though, it made you feel flattered. He'd enjoyed the sight of you like that in front of him—the feel of himself in your mouth—so much that he hadn't been able to hold back, or exercise practically any kind of self-control to last even a moment longer.

When he emerges, you speak. "Do you want to take a shower together?"

He smirks, mood lightening, embarrassment waning. "You don't have to ask me twice, darlin'."

"It's in my eyes!" You holler, wiping suds away from your face, the chemical taste also getting in your mouth.

Billy curses, grabbing your shoulders, holding you directly under the shower head, erection pressed firmly into the small of your back.

You'd been busy trying to wash your hair when you'd felt his hand slipping between your legs, fingers easing inside of you and next thing you knew, you were being blinded by a bit of Finesse.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut as his fingers work diligently against your scalp, getting all the soap out.

He then turns you around to face him. "Alright, open."

You slowly blink up at him, then scowl. "Don't ever do that again."

He shrugs, shampooing his own hair then. "Just thought your bush needed a little extra attention with the shampoo, too."

You glance down, crossing your arms, looking back up to him. "You're one to talk."

He smirks. "Never said I didn't like it."

You cock your head to the side, then smile up at him.

He raises a brow in interest.

And then you pinch one of his nipples.

He reaches up, pressing his palm overtop of it. "Ow! The fuck did you do that for?"

You smirk. "Just a bit of payback for all the times you yanked on my hair in class."

He leans down toward you then, causing your back to bump against the shower wall. He slips one hand down your waist, grabbing one of your asscheeks. "Now there's an idea. You want me to pull your hair, honey? I always wondered what it'd feel like wrapped around my fist."

You nearly make a joke, asking just how long he'd last that time, but don't want to hurt him.

He presses a kiss to your neck, then whispers, "Maybe I'll let you yank on mine, too, next time I have my head between your legs."

You take him in your hand, then, and he sucks in a sharp breath, watching as you get on your knees.

You look up at him. "Why don't we just start now?"

You swallow the length of him and he slaps one of his hands against the wet shower wall, cursing.

He reaches down, winding your long hair around one of his fists, vowing to last longer this time. He gently pushes further into your mouth, pulling against your hair, biting his lip.

You stare up, drooling all over him just a bit, then suck, pulling your mouth away with a 'pop', stroking him.

He closes his eyes, brows furrowed, using every ounce of strength he has in him not to come all over your face right now.

You ease back down onto him again, cupping the bottom of his shaft with your tongue and you gag when his hips jerk, sending him deeper. You pull back for a moment, taking a breath, then going back in.

Billy stares up at the ceiling, fist iron-tight around your hair. Looking at you is not a good idea at the moment. But the fucking sounds you're making aren't helping in the least, either. Gagging and sucking and—fuck—you keep doing this thing with your tongue that no girl has ever done before. How the hell are you so good at this?

You're not afraid to get messy, that much is clear. Then again, being already in the shower will make clean-up that much easier.

He prays to God the hot water doesn't run out anytime soon.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder then and he groans, saying your name, cock twitching in the back of your throat.

You wonder if you're doing alright, if he likes it—you still having not much of an idea of what to do—but from the way his entire body is tensed up, you take it as a sign that you're onto something.

You swirl your tongue around the tip of him, the taste somewhat salty, then swallow, head continuing to bob along his length.

Billy looks down finally, seeing that your eyes are closed, like you're enjoying yourself just as much as he is. "Fuck, angel. I don't know how much longer I can-"

You pull back, looking up at him, batting your lashes, stroking him in your hand. "Hm?"

He twitches in your grip, knowing he's getting closer.

After a moment of silence, you shrug, easing your mouth onto him once more.

You reach up, gently cupping his testicles and his eyes go wide when you gently tug against them. "Holy fuck-"

You hollow your cheeks.

"Jesus fuckin'-"

You swirl your tongue, taking him as deep as you can manage without gagging, moving your neck at a rapid pace.

And then he suddenly pulls your head closer to him, fist still in your hair, and he begins to buck his hips, cock slamming against the back of your throat, until he finally throws his head back, groaning, spilling down your throat as he finishes.

Once you've cleaned him with your tongue, he reaches down, gently pulling your hand away from his softening member.

You stand then.

"Did...did you swallow again?" He asks.

Wait. Were you not supposed to do that? Was...was that bad? You'd done it earlier, too, and he hadn't said anything... So you'd just gone with it, assuming that it was a normal thing to do.

"Yes, why? Am I not supposed to do-"

He smirks, shaking his head. "No, it's not that, sweetheart. Just...most girls spit."

"Oh." Your brows furrow. Sounds like a waste to you. "Well, I don't mind swallowing."

His smile grows wider. And then he leans down, muttering 'my lil' cherry pie', before kissing you passionately.

He then pulls back, lips still touching against your own. "Time to repay the favor."

He kneels on one knee, other leg bent, foot still flat on the tiled shower floor.

You lean back against the corner of the shower and he lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder and begins to lick, easing two fingers inside of you, curling them, massaging, sucking against your clit.

"Oh God, Billy..." You grip his shoulder, until he grabs your hand, settling it on the top of his head.

He glances up to you with a wicked smirk. "Fair's fair, sugar."

He goes back to teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue and your fingers clench tightly around his wet curls, pulling his face in closer to your core.

He chuckles against you, muttering into your mound, "needy little thing" before kissing you there and spearing his tongue inside of you.

You nearly slam your head back against the wall as he begins tracing his name on your clit, intent on finishing this time.

He grabs your thigh tightly, feeling you growing closer, and he begins to go faster. On the 'o' in his last name, you begin to clench more rapidly around him.

Not fucking yet, he thinks, making a swift 'v'.

You gasp, fingers pulling so tightly against his strands that he's sure you're about to rip a few out. He hopes you fucking do.

Just as he completes the last 'e', do you shatter, crying out, legs shaking, body trembling, his fingers working rapidly inside of your tight hot walls that're squeezing against his digits.

He slips them out of you then, gripping your right hip as he smiles up at you. "You know, that is one of my favorite albums," he says standing, smirking down at you as he cups both of your cheeks in his palms. "Slippery When Wet."

He crushes his lips against yours.

When the two of you laid down for the night, Billy was naked, as per usual, and you had decided to try it out as well, knowing he'd get a kick out of it, if nothing else. Besides, if your feet got cold, you could always just stick them on his back.

He turns onto his side as you slip under the covers, sliding his hand along your bare hip. He hums in interest. "Look who decided she doesn't like sleeping with clothes on anymore either."

You reply nonchalantly. "I can always put them back on."

He wraps a leg around one of yours, pulling you to him. "You won't hear me complaining. Besides, makes for easier access this way."

You sigh. "Go to sleep, Billy." You fight against a smirk he can't see anyway, as the room is pitch black.

"That's my name, please wear it out." A beat of silence, then, "Besides, how the hell am I supposed to sleep with you pressed up against me like this all night?"

"Who pressed up against who when they got into bed?"

"Oh, you were practically asking for it." He snuggles his face against your neck.

"How?"

"By looking like that."

You suddenly regret this decision. He was never going to shut up now. "You can't see anything. Now will you please-"

"Oh, I can see it right now. All I have to do is close my eyes, doll."

"Billy-" You jerk when you feel his erection poking you in the side.

"Woops, seems someone else is up now, too. Maybe he just needs a kiss goodnight."

"You're getting on my nerves."

"Mm, which ones," he asks, hand settling between your legs.

You sigh loudly in irritation.

You can practically hear the smirk on his face when he says, "That good, huh? And I've barely even touched you yet."

You flip around so you're on your side, facing him. You clamp your hand over his mouth. "Shh, go to sleep."

He licks your hand and you pull away. "Oh, Billy, that's so gross." You say, wiping your palm against his chest.

"My face has been between your legs, making a meal out of the place you piss from, and that's what turns you off?"

You groan, pressing your forehead against his pectoral.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "Alright, I'll lay off."

You cuddle closer.

"But I can't make any promises for him," he says, pushing his hips closer to you, erection poking against your stomach.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not bothering with replying.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader) #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n

[onmyyan]

👋 You mentioned that Marcos killed the earliest out of his brothers and is the best at it, and even that he's gotten paid for it before. If you're still taking requests I'd love to see Marcos in a "falling for the mark" situation where someone hires him to "handle" the reader but during the research process he falls in love with her (or he can fall in love at first sight or even after their first conversation, whatever works best) and ends up killing the person who hired him instead

Loooove your OCs, especially the Delmonts! Super excited for whatever you drop next!

Marcos felt his fingers twitching in his coat pocket as he entered the building, making a b-line for the mahogany bar full of patrons he couldn't help but grin to himself, this was his favorite part after all.

Sure he was good at the killing bit and sure he was talented at it, man oh man did his skills shine when it came to the parts before that, the stalking, the studying, he relishes the feeling of getting to know his target, and today that target was you, a pretty little bartender who'd been unfortunate enough to serve Marcos client, Tito, see Tito liked to get hammered and run his mouth, turns out he said some things to you, his bartender, that really shouldn't have left his mouth and now to cover his own ass, he'd hired Marcos.

You were a classic case in his eyes, in the wrong place at the wrong time, overhearing something you shouldn't have, put you in the line of sight of a bad man like Marcos.

He came on a particularly busy day intentionally, wanting to see you in your natural state amid the chaos of rush hour, and he noticed a few things immediately, you were very attentive to your patrons, probably how you ended up in this mess he thought to himself, it showed a level of care not many people had in their jobs, the second thing he noticed was your laugh, it carried over the music and the chatter and the yells from customers, and he felt a twinge of guilt, the idea of never hearing that laugh again, of depriving the world from it, didn't sit well with him.

He shifts in his seat uncomfortable, lost in his subconscious he doesn't realize he'd walked up to the bar, sneakily taking his place amongst the crowd, he let his eyes drift to you from your Doc Martin's to the old jeans you had on, then up past your wonderfully sculpted ass, and finally settling on your face, this is when he knew he was really fucked.

You filled glass after glass never stopping, your motion fluid and smooth, he could watch you work forever, and he did. So long in fact the bar had closed, "you know I've never had someone take this long to decide what to drink." You joke making your way towards him, most of the lingering patrons were slowly, drunkenly, heading for the door, leaving Marcos and you alone. In theory this was the perfect time, he could finish the job and pour himself a drink before anyone noticed your body.

But he didn't.

Instead he smiled, his ringed fingers knocking into the wood of the bar, "Maybe I'm shy."

"A pretty boy like you? No way." Your response was quick, like your mind, your warm (e/c) eyes held him there where he sat, unable to lift a finger to do his job. "You probably say that to all your customers, but I know I'm the prettiest." He leaned into his chair, red eyes never leaving your gaze, "Well no matter how true that is, it's closing time gorgeous, order something now or hit the bricks." You leaned on your hand , nails drumming along to the music playing from the speakers above you.

"what takes the longest to make?"

"are you trying to screw with me?"

"No! I just don't know how else to stall long enough to get your number." He folds his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands, the pose makes you laugh, you shake your head ripping a piece of napkin, you jot down a number and slide it to him with two pretty fingers. "Here, now get out."

And he did, with a grin so wide it showed off all his teeth, he couldn't recall the last time someone had lit a fire under him the way you did, the piece of napkin seemed to burn a hole in his pocket, all he wanted to do was call you and really lay on the charm he knew he had, but first, he had a visit to make to his friend Tito. He whistles the song that was playing as he left the bar and thumbs the knife in his pocket, someone would be dying tonight, but it wasn't you.

#yananswers #anon submission #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #delmont brothers #yandere oc x reader #marcos delmont #marcos delmont x reader #yandere oc marcos #marcos x reader

[hell-drabbles]

Leviathan and Ra-on 2

Summary: You’ve never been more glad to have your guest bedroom be reinforced to stand even the most intense of devil king tantrums. Ra-on needs rest after too much intense fucking and Leviathan is being a demanding bastard.

(Being stuffed full to the point of inflated swelling cannot feel good on Ra-on’s inexperienced guts.)

“Mm,” Ra-on, on the floor and in a plush pillow fort you built just to have a nice little nook to read and relax in, gingerly shifted his bruised and sore self around, “Even… breathing hurts. Ow.”

Of course his everything would hurt. After wading through a disgustingly thick river of cum that almost leaked into your bedroom–thank fuck for weather strips–and stumbling into your bed with a stomach fit for rupturing from an hours long fucking session, the fact he’s lucid at all the next day was a miracle.

What is it with devils, with Leviathan pushing Ra-on way past his limit? He’s not rubber, not one of Ra-on’s many pocket sleeves but they treat him like that anyway!

Bastards. All of them.

“At least that’s all the pain you have. If you had ruptured intestines or a prolapse, you’d be screwed.” You have little clue how to go about fixing those and you wouldn’t trust any hospital in Hell with Ra-on. Knowing how devils worked, they’d fix him right back up and then fuck him as ‘payment for their work.’ And then Ra-on would be right back where you both started, with swelled up guts and internal injuries.

Fuck this place. Fuck Hell.

“Oh. Oh!” At first, Ra-on was absent-minded, then clarity cleared his voice, “That can happen?”

You blinked, “Yes. Especially since I know you don’t own any inflation toys. Or do prep-work.”

He flushed and his face pinched up horribly. Really, like his toy collection was a secret to you. Who does he think cleans up Minhyeok’s closet? Of course you would know what he has.

“…right…” And Ra-on sank back into the pile, practically disappearing. Probably wanted to vanish actually. “I think… I’ll sleep again.” Guess that line of conversation’s done. That’s fine, you wanted to get back to reading.

“You do that. I’ll just be reading, ‘kay?”

There was only a mumble. You gave a hum back.

You can only hope that, by the time you finish this chapter or when Ra-on wakes up, the hallways will be clean and the smell will finally fade. You’d use an air freshener but you’d end up suffocating yourself with the combined smell, so all you can do is turn on the air conditioner and hope the circulation would get rid of it.

You think only an hour passed before there was a knock on your door. A knock. On your layers thick, reinforced door. The sound traveled through the very framework of this bedroom. Luckily, Ra-on was so deep asleep that the most he did was shift.

You walked to the door and turn on the intercom. You’re not surprised at the sight of Leviathan on the screen, head held at that irritating angle as though no one deserved to be at eye level with him.

The sea of cum was still flowing from the hallway behind him and the devil responsible was naked right before the camera’s sight. Ugh. You know exactly what he’s here for.

“You,” Leviathan seethed, like addressing you alone was enough to disgust him, “You have Solomon’s Son with you–”

You turned off the intercom and pressed another button. There was light clinking, the turning of gears and well built mechanisms, then it all stopped.

The only sound that remained was a very, very light clinking. Nice to know that that devil wasn’t joking about his skills and the quality of his materials. ‘Not even a devil king would be able to tear through this!’

You should take him out for drinks at some point.

“Hmm?” Ra-on raised his sleepy head up, eyes not even open, “Someone knockin’?”

“Nope,” you kicked back in your chair, “Just another one of those gross Hell mosquitoes.”

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad #hell-drabbles #hell-drabbles exclusive #hades #leviathan #ra-on #reader insert #embittered companion au