#tennis ball strikes again

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake. 

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast. 

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst. 

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed. 

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground. 

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides. 

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside. 

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers. 

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day. 

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing. 

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill. 

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless. 

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising. 

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again. 

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere. 

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile. 

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties. 

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression. 

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer. 

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question. 

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals. 

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful. 

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved. 

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar. 

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly. 

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness. 

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh. 

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you. 

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head. 

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall. 

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed. 

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

 You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine. 

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach. 

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall. 

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast. 

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go. 

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face. 

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure. 

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic. 

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips. 

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs. 

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes. 

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you. 

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee. 

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you. 

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him. 

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess. 

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics. 

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure. 

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment. 

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely. 

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches. 

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything. 

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should. 

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements. 

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet. 

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up. 

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

 You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles. 

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care. 

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture. 

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void. 

So you dance. 

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

[steelycunt]

tennis looks so fucking boring im sorry. cannot get on board with a sports event where there is no telling if it will end in one hour or five. and not only is there no telling but its also the most boring game to watch ever. so like you can rest assured that what you will be watching is just a ball travelling back and forth across a net but what you dont know is whether it will finish in time for you to get home for dinner or maybe your mother's birthday which is two and half weeks away

#so fucking glad wimbledon is over it feels like it goes on for fucking forever and it is so dull. and im not even a sports hater i know #this is not a jock website but i was as the usamericans would say a jock in school...i loved PE so much i love sport tennis is fun to play #even though im awful at it. but WATCHING tennis. you would have to probably pay me real money to be honest #most sports are so boring to watch imo though apart from certain olympic events..golf. rugby. cricket (worst sport ever hate cricket so bad #like what do you mean a football game lasts NINETY MINUTES. thats a feature length film except the film is just people kicking #a ball and maybe sometimes it goes into a net. and sometimes? it lasts 120 minutes. like be so serious. sorry im a sports lover but im a #watching-sports hater its just who i am. anyway happy no more wimbledon day to all who celebrate (ME) #(ridi's) bigmouth strikes again

[bigboysfalldeep]

My first skin suit

For a while now, I've been visiting a local tennis court to watch handsome men run around in tight, short shorts, groaning with every swing, just to play ball.

Most of the people were pretty cute, but no one compared to Jake.

He would be there every Sunday and Wednesday to play against the same ol' guys, week after week. I figured they don't really know each other; they would never really talk, just chitchat during the match about the match.

Even though I never talked to him, I kind of knew he was an awful prick. Every game was the same. He would enter the court and play for a couple of minutes before discarding his pretty tight shirt to the side, exposing his well-formed physique. His shorts were barely able to contain his member, and it was visible most of the time.

This made him the center of attention every time—he was handsome, well-trained, and had a pretty smile. Jake was completely aware of this as well, and he made sure that not only every woman's but every man's eyes were on him only.

He wasn't a bad player either; his groans echoed across the field with every swing. He was quick on his feet and possessed talent and prowess as well.

I was so fucking envious, and it felt like he knew. At times, he would look at the crowd, flexing his abs, arms, and thighs for anyone to look at.

During my nightly web surfing, I stumbled across a, at first, weird-looking site. It was a doctor selling a special serum—an injection—to create special skin suits. The site promised a fast but high-quality result. Still, $1000 was a lot of money for me for something that might be just a scam.

But then I remembered all the times Jake was teasing his audience, showing off his pretty body, and that's when I made the decision to try it out.

What could possibly go wrong?

My package arrived two weeks later, and I was surprised at how good it looked. Also, there were multiple shots of the serum included with a personal note.

"Starterkit for your new collection."

I read the instructions, which told me there are three kinds of serums. The first one—the most important one—was to create the suit. The second one was to finish putting on the suit, and lastly, the third one was to get out of the suit.

This made me excited, and I wanted to try it.

The next Wednesday, I went to the tennis court again, and of course, Jake was already there—his beautiful chest exposed, of course.

With the serum inside my bag, I hid inside the bathroom—a tiny yet secluded kind of room with multiple stalls. I watched him use the bathroom so many times after two rounds of tennis. Like all of us, he was just a creature of habit.

Someone opened the door, and I peeked through the stall door. It was Jake who went straight to the urinal. He groaned as he pissed and kept running a hand across his sweaty chest—fuck, so hot.

He stretched his neck and walked over to the sink, looking at himself through the mirror—the opportunity to strike.

Jake wasn't able to see me; he was too busy admiring his own reflection. I caught him off guard, covered his mouth with my hand, pulled him back, and injected him right away.

He screamed into the palm of my hand and tried to fight me off, but the serum incapacitated him in mere seconds. Still, I pulled him back into my hiding place, locked the stall, sat down, and embraced him in a tight hug.

I never imagined holding a handsome man like Jake in my arms—fuck, I got hard right away. He kept breathing slowly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, while I tenderly stroked his cheek again and again. His skin was sweaty yet so soft, and his scent was so damn delicious.

As his breathing got lighter, I started to stroke his firm chest; his nipples and pecs were so hard, just like his abs. It was a sensational feeling. But somehow, I felt his body deflating slowly.

The serum was actually working.

I ran my hand down his chest again and again before my eyes fell on his huge junk hidden inside his shorts. I grabbed him firmly through the fabric of his shorts—so hard, so good. But at the same time, all of him flattened rapidly.

After a minute, his shorts slid down his thighs and dropped to the cold bathroom floor. All that was left of this handsome, thick bloke was a rubber-like, skin-tight suit.

The kit included a sharp knife, which I used to open up the new skin suit for the very first time. Slowly, I stripped and discarded my old clothes on the floor behind me; there was no use for them anyway.

Then, I grabbed him by his shoulders and held him in front of me, like a tailored suit just made for me.

My own member was tenting visibly; I still couldn't believe this actually worked.

Carefully, I stepped into his legs; my own were barely able to fill his thick thighs and calves. It was a weird yet amazing feeling. This suit smelled, looked, and felt like Jake, yet I was able to simply step inside it.

It felt like putting on my biker leather suit. I loved how tight he was and how his skin dragged over my own. Even though he was slightly ill-fitting. He was a little bigger and much bulkier than me, after all.

Even though my cock was nearly fully erect, it wasn't enough to fill this suit, and that made me chuckle—he was packing.

The next thing I did was put his upper body on, one arm at a time. I slipped inside him, barely reaching his finger tips, and my arms were way too thin to fill him.

Lastly, I put his face on like a mask before I pulled the second serum out of my bag.

"Here we go."

I injected myself and felt the effect right away: my whole body was shaking, my head was spinning, and my stomach was twisting and turning. However, it actually worked: my body enlarged itself to fill Jake completely.

My arms, thighs, and chest grew bigger with every deep breath I took. This made me stroke myself and my chest again and again; it just felt soooo good.

I let out an audible moan, and to my surprise, I heard Jake's deep, manly voice. Using his hands and his fingertips to touch my new skin felt amazing. My body was tingling, almost tickling my inner self, and this made me chuckle again, using Jake's beautiful voice.

Shivers ran down my entire back once my head was flooded with serotonin, making me feel so fucking good. A side effect of the serum was to make the subject feel no pain, just pleasure.

My new member grew so hard so quick, and I needed to hold back releasing myself just now. I started touching myself, one hand at my junk, the other following my new firm 'jawline. Feeling my stubbly moustache made things worse, however.

"Fuck." I groaned, steading myself against the door in front of me, as it took all my strength to not cum right there. "So good." Instinctively, however, I started to jerk off, starting off softly and slowly at first, but my hand basically moved on its own.

After mere seconds, after edging on for a while, I came the first time through my new skin suit, covering the door with my precious cream. The release felt so good, and for a while, I just enjoyed the moment.

Loving my new scent, I smelled my own pits deeply. Damn, this was so fucking good. At the same time, my dick was still pulsating. Just touching myself made me leak some more, as all of me was acting purely on instinct.

I grabbed myself, touched myself, moaned, and groaned until a noise from outside snapped me out of this state of pure blissful trance. I needed to hurry up a bit.

Then, I got dressed again, leaving my old clothes behind. I just put on his tight underwear, shorts, and shoes. They suited me so well.

I stepped outside the stall and caught a glimpse of my new face. Damn, I was beautiful.

"I can't believe it worked." I groaned deeply, touching myself, my chest, and my junk once again. I grabbed my bag and Jake's old stuff and licked my lips. With one last look in the mirror, I winked at myself and left the bathroom.

It was time to go home and explore my new acquisition.

#male body swap #male body suit #male meat suit #male skin suit #male body switch #male tf #identity theft #male shapeshift #male transformation

[shotmrmiller]

TONI OMG WAIT

Imagine reader and cbf!simon used to playfight a lot as kids, so when they meet again when simon is literally thrice his body mass and reader asks if they can playfight again, simon gets super worried and outright refuses. I mean, he isn't the scrawny, noodle-armed boy anymore, what if he folds you in half? (👁👄👁)

- Biscuits 🌺

am i crazy or is there a scene in jason v freddy where he folds this one guy thats laying on a mattress in half.

id let him do that to me.

i can tell you, from personal experience, that if you try to play fight someone that beefy, your arms are folding into your body with the quickness.

-

you used to bump shoulders with simon as a kid. not anymore. you just ricochet off of him like a tennis ball off a wall.

simon was very unsure but you goaded him like you used to back then.

"c'mon, simmy, you scared? afraid i'll break you?"

it works. good to see nothing's changed.

simon gets into a sparring stance and as soon as you give the signal, strikes. he's stupid fast and light on his feet. simon's almost triple your size yet fluid in his movements. in the blink of an eye, you find yourself sprawled on your back, pinned down by a heavy leg on your body, and both of your hands in his one large, bear-like hand.

you're floored. (literally) and then you look up at him. his eyes are glazed over. his countenance is empty, devoid of emotion.

this isn't simon anymore. this is whoever he becomes once he puts on that skull mask of his.

you feel a mix of fear and excitement— he's monstrous.

you'd like to admire him longer, but his knee is starting to painfully dig into your hips.

"simon, not calling you uh, big or whatever, but you're fucking heavy." his face flushes with colour as he seems to snap back to reality, and you groan in relief when he releases you.

god what the hell did they feed him in the military? you felt like you were being crushed with just his leg.

he's scooping you up in his arms, mumbling apologies into your hair when you ask him if that's how he fights the 'bad guys' because he's fucking terrifying.

simon breathes out a chuckle, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders melt away at your light-hearted question.

"I'm serious, Simon! I'd flatline at the sight of you in the dark!"

#cbf!simon

[sapphos-ode]

Blue is the Ocean’s Gaze

Larissa Weems

I’m sleep deprived, it’s almsot 2am and I just wrote this in one sitting so I’m sorry if it makes no sense.(1.2k)

~

Summer’s grip of the land was slowly fading, becoming less of a hold and more of a withering grasp — her fingers barely holding back the clouds of autumn, her breath struggling to keep the umber from colouring the leaves. As weak as summer was becoming, today still procured a blue sky, and a shining sun that took the edge off of the encroaching chill of Autumn as it slowly awakened.

The crests and peaks of the waves caught the light, sparkling and twinkling as if the stars of the night had fallen into its depths. The ocean seemed to breathe in languid movements, at leisure, unrushed without a worry in the world.

A gentle breeze sailed inland and caressed the world, carrying a salty air. A few children splash around at the shore, infinite grains of sand clinging to their legs. The water will wash them away only for more to stick. You watch them laugh, from afar, where you sit on a grass embankment. The noise does not reach you and they’re all but small figures in your vision. But their happiness is unmistakable.

A blur of black and white tears along the beach. It skids to a halt, legs going in all directions as it ensures a battered tennis ball in its mouth. The dog’s tail is flying awry as it trots back to its owner, head held high, the ball like a hunting trophy.

You smile to yourself as you make a few choice brushstrokes on your canvas, once happy with the blur of a dog you dot a tiny little bit of fluorescent yellow just before it. You lean back and squint your eyes, letting out a satisfied hum before working in more details.

For the life of you, you can’t paint the sea. Whenever you look at it, it seems dull. Despite the way it dances with the light, despite the deep rich cobalt hues in it. Your eyes seem to fail you. So you focus on other parts of the land before you. Leaving the ocean nonexistent.

You feel a pair of eyes on you, out of sheer curiosity you peek over your shoulder and catch the eye of an older woman sitting on a bench not too far away from you. She’s quick to avert her gaze, suddenly finding the grass very interesting as she twiddles her thumbs. You take the opportunity to study her. She’s dressed immaculately, a gorgeous cream dress that stops just before her knees, and matching heels. Platinum blonde hair has been styled into an intricate updo, locks of hair curling into an elaborate picture of swirls. You note she seems to favour pale colours, but the striking red of her lipstick creates a delicious contrast and you can’t help but be drawn to her lips.

The woman chances a glance up, hoping you’ve gone back to your canvas so she can continue observing you. Her eyes blow wide as she meets yours again. Her cheeks take on a puce tone at being caught staring. How unbecoming of her.

You smile and give her a little wave, which she reciprocates. What you do next takes her by surprise, a simple gesture of your head to beckon her closed. She obliged, standing slowly. Gods she’s tall is all you can think.

As she nears you move your painting supplies off of the second stool you had laid them on. Storing them on a small platform nailed to the easel — they teeter a little but you know they’ll stay.

“Join me?” You offer.

“Sorry,” the woman takes the seat, “I didn’t mean to be rude,”

“No need to apologise…” you hum, prolonging the last syllable.

“Larissa!” She clears her throats, “Larissa Weems,”

Her accent is soothing.

“Larissa,” you say her name slowly, it’s a beautiful one. Fitting for her. You offer your own name in return and shake the hand she holds out.

“Do you paint as well?” You ask as you pick up your paintbrush and continue where you left off.

“No, art has never been something I’m good at, but I love watching others paint,” she tilts her head as she watches your hand, “I don’t often get to see that though, which is why you caught me staring,”

You look at her for a second. Up close you can see her eyes and they are truly captivating.

“You have a front row seat now,” you give her a smirk before returning to your canvas.

“That I do,” she muses, “do you do a lot of plein air painting?”

“Not much, but it’s refreshing when I do,” you keep your focus on your work, “the world changes and it forces me to convey the movement and feel of the land instead of making a picture of it,” you lean back again and study your work.

“Is there a technique to not- ” she stops, eyes furrowed as she tries to find the right way to phrase her question, “I’m curious why you’ve not painted the sea. It’s such a large part of the landscape,”

You smile as you gaze into her eyes, “it’s been giving me trouble so I decided to leave it for now, the ocean is lost to me,”

“Oh, I- that makes sense, I’ve given students the same advice for exams,” she nods to herself, “it’s best to skip a question and revisit it at the end if you’re struggling with it,”

“My teachers gave me the same advice,” you chuckle, “So, if you do not paint, what do you do in your spare time?”

The blonde takes a pause to think, what did she do?

“Free time has been scarce as of late,” she grumbles, “but I love a good book, and poetry,”

“And watching strangers from afar?” You watch her form your peripheral. With a raised brow and a lopsided smile.

She blushes and looks to the side with a sheepish expression. “I do apologise- ”

“I’m only joking, your company is welcome, Larissa,” you place a hand on her knee and give it one reassuring squeeze before it returns back to your lap. “What do you read?”

~

Hours go by, or is it minutes? And nothing but conversation passes by between you and Larissa. The sun is inching closer to the horizon and the children from earlier are long gone. Dog walkers are scarce and the sand remains still as the ocean creeps in.

You’ve long stopped painting, deciding to count the waves. It pleases you that every seventh wave is the largest before you start from one again. Just as you have abandoned your canvas so too has Larissa, in favour of observing you.

A cold wind rushes past you and you shiver, “I believe we should get heading. It’s only going to get chillier,”

“Yes, I suppose we must…” Larissa sighs, finding she does not want to part from you so soon. Her eyes glance to your work and she smiles, “I see you managed to do the ocean,”

You gaze into Larissa’s eyes, fascinated by the way her eyes are soft like the sky on a summer’s day, how they seem as tumultuous as the ocean during a storm. The crystalline hues of cerulean and azure beg for you to paint them.

Larissa feels her face heat up from the way you look at her. Her eyes flit down to your lips as she swallows, then back to your eyes, “You found the ocean then,”

You give your painting a cursory glance before returning your gaze back to her eyes.

“I found the ocean,”

~

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

[boringbxtch]

Bo Sinclair | Useful enough

[Afab!reader smut][reader described as having hair long enough to grab hold of] [fem reader for 1 scene but it’s clearly marked purple and skip able ] as always please let me know of any mistakes 🥰

Horribly rough draft that will be edited tomorrow morning.

Warning: semi non-con, pain, degrading, throat fucking, rimming/ass eating(m receiving, face sitting/riding (readers getting sat on), spitting, name calling, begging, light humiliation, hair pulling

To be fair to you, you didn’t really get much of a choice. Sound asleep none the wiser as to what lurked in the dark or more so should I say who.

Sudden sharp pain shooting through your scalp tore you out of your peaceful slumber, right as a hand clamped down over your mouth. The shout you were about to let out cut off before the oxygen was fully inhaled. “Careful darlin you don’t want to wake anyone now do you? What do you expect when you leave yourself like that?”

You didn’t see the big deal, sometimes due to immense clammy heat you preferred to sleep naked but apparently to Bo that’s an invitation. Rolling your eyes you felt the burn down your spine from the bed spread soon finding yourself manoeuvred to the edge of the bed with your head hanging slightly over the edge.

This part you knew all to well, like a routine at this point. Opening your mouth slightly to tease but you soon find the painful grip on your jaw an incentive to open up wider. “That’s a good little bitch”.

Any reply you could have made was quickly cut short with the entire length of his cock filling your mouth and reaching your throat. The gag entirely involuntary, cruel laughter heard from above and a hand wrapped around your throat pressing down on the rapidly moving bulge fucking in and out of your quickly rawing throat.

Your neck practically screaming in protest when it was bent even further when Bo stopped gripping your jaw to lean himself forward now being able to properly fuck your face, his hairy balls slapping against your nose every thrust. The grunts of exertion meeting your ears.

Wet sounds fill the air from the over production of saliva spilling out of the sides of your mouth and down your face landing unfortunately right in your eyes. The abuse of your face, mouth and throat continued with a sense of renewed vigour for what felt like hours but was realistically only 5 minutes.

Finally being allowed to take giant gulps of oxygen into your lungs and wipe the saliva from your eye, the grip on your hair this time was expected. Looking up at the upside down face of Bo grinning right as his dick comes into sight again, with your mouth catching his tip to begin sucking again. “Fucking dirty whore, just can’t help yourself” the tip of his dick was removed from your mouth and forcefully replaced with balls, his hairy sweaty balls right in your mouth. “Clean them,bitch. I’ve been outside all day sweating my balls off least you could do is use that fucking tongue of yours to clean em off”. It wasn’t the greatest feeling, honestly like a salty tennis ball in the mouth but still you dutifully sucked each ball individually into your mouth, running your tongue over the loose skin there gathering the salty residue coating them. “Thats right, you love sucking my balls don’t you?”

The crushing weight of all of Bo was increasingly making it difficult to not panic and fight for air, all you got was a resounding *smack* and the bright red and print emblazoned across your outer thigh “You’ll breathe when I tell you that you can darlin’, when I think you deserve it”

[Panting and gasping for air, but entirely too turned on he brings your legs to either side of him exposing your pussy to the elements

Jerking up at the shocking pain he laughs while bringing his hand down again and striking you directly on the clit ]

Pulling out of your mouth entirely he turns to straddle your throat tightly gripping your hair keeping you in place

“Be of use for once and stick your fucking tongue out” sliding forward you feel his dick and balls rested against your forehead. That wasn’t your main focus though

“That’s right you nasty little fucker, lick my asshole” cruel laughter caught your ears before you could fully reach the flexing pink pucker.

“No y’know what kiss it. Gotta treat me real good to be worth getting anything from me bitch” even with the pressure on your scalp you leaned forward and placed your lips against his pucker lightly applying pressure before retreating while continuing to kiss, you wanted more though even knowing it was a massive risk. Your tongue darted out from your lips and lapped across the hole dipping in slightly.

Slap. He stood up and slapped you again. “That’s not what I fucking told you to do, dumb whore can’t even follow simple instructions” saliva drips down onto your eyelid after rolling down Bo’s shaft that’s resting on your face

“Beg for it bitch”

Pleads and whines falling from your mouth to feel the full weight of him back on your face. Watching his face twist in cruel satisfaction before he states “Yeah that’s right I give you exactly what you want, your dirty little whore mouth was made to clean my ass” the all encompassing scent that is Bo’s ass is spread back on your face ready to be worshipped and you were all to prepared to be good. Tongue coming out into a point to flick at the rim and push its way inside. The crushing weight of Bo bearing down gives you little option now, tongue flat lapping greedily at the hairy ass crack as though it’s the best dessert to be devoured.

Blinding light hits your face unexpectedly from a camera Bo produced from god know where, focused entirely on your saliva and pre cum soaked wrecked face with your tongue out nestled between his ass cheeks with his dick and balls resting humiliating across your face dripping on your head. “Gotta keep some of the good memories for material darlin, speaking of…keep going, getting closer” his hand makes its way around his shaft and focusing on stroking the underside vein quickly. Quiet moans that will never be acknowledged fall from his mouth right as he lifts himself up to find his release all over your face.

#house of wax #house of wax imagine #house of wax x reader #slasher imagine #slasher x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair imagine #bo sinclair smut #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax smut #slasher imagines #slasher smut

[yumeka-sxf]

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 15

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

----------

The Campbelldon tennis tournament is the first time we see Twilight spend a considerable amount of time with someone with whom he doesn't have to act as Loid Forger…and the contrast is striking. There's no denying that he and Nightfall are exceptional at their work and make a great spy team. But, as I previously discussed, that doesn't mean she'd also be a good wife and mother.

While the tactics that the duo use to overcome their opponents are entertaining, I always found the tennis scenes a bit on the boring side, and I realized it's because Twilight and Nightfall have no chemistry beyond working well together as spies. Because Nightfall doesn't want to see anything in Twilight beyond a hardened spy – in fact, she resents the emotions he's developed rather than try to understand them – she doesn't bring out anything new or "real" in him during their interactions. Rather than want to know all of him, she idolizes the spy side of him and refuses to accept his "realer" side…which is very hypocritical of her considering the fact that she's developed intense feelings for him…feelings that, according to her, a spy has no business having. She accepts her own feelings of love for him, in fact, those feelings are what drives most of what she thinks and does, yet the fact that he's showing feelings for others (besides her) bothers her.

On the other hand, while Twilight does show that he cares for Nightfall as her mentor, for example, when he saves her from the rubber bullet and tells her not to push herself too hard after seeing the bruises on her hand, there's no indication that he has any "inappropriate" feelings for her (if Nightfall can tell when his real emotions for his family are seeping through, I'm sure she'd be the first to notice if he had similar feelings for her and would react accordingly).

But the kinds of "inappropriate" feelings she's accusing him of having for his family are, ironically, the kinds of feelings she wants him to have for her alone. As I mentioned before, Nightfall and Franky are both pots calling the kettle named Twilight, black.

Meanwhile, Yor is still convinced that Fiona is a threat to her marriage. Even though Loid had given no indication that Fiona means anything to him besides being a coworker, Yor's insecurities make the threat very real in her mind. She shudders at the thought of going back to her old life where Yuri was always worried about her (once again, thinking of someone else's peace of mind before her own). She has so much anxiety about the situation that she even starts to slightly regress to her old habit of considering assassination to solve her problem: she fiercely squeezes a tennis ball in her hand while thinking that she'll do "whatever" it takes to ensure that her fear doesn't become real…but she quickly stops before she can go further with that idea.

At the end of the tennis tournament, we see another example of Twilight being a thoughtful guy behind his stoic demeanor by giving a pep talk to the defeated Campbelldon kids. Giving them words of encouragement did nothing for his mission, but he chose to take the time to do it anyway because, as I've pointed out many times before, he always tries to consider people's feelings as long as it doesn't conflict too heavily with his work.

When Nightfall inexplicably challenges Yor to a tennis match, Yor's fear about Loid seeing Fiona as a better wife than her, pushes her to accept. As is typical of Twilight, he notices that Yor is uncomfortable about it and tells her she doesn't have to accept, but she insists. He also tells Nightfall to back down (because he knows she's no match for Yor's crazy strength) but Nightfall insists as well.

Twilight is intelligent and sharp about almost everything, but having lived most of his adult life only pretending to have relationships, signs of true romantic love are things he doesn't have a clue about. Hence, he has no idea what's really driving the two women to have this spontaneous tennis match (only Anya knows that!)

When Yor does indeed crush Nightfall, in typical motherly Yor fashion, the first thing she does is ask Fiona if she's okay. Then, when Fiona hastily drives off in tears, she wonders if she did something to upset her (as usual, she thinks she's to blame when someone around her becomes distressed).

While Twilight does slowly start to pick up on the fact that Yor could have the wrong idea about his relationship with Fiona, he quickly tosses that thought aside because their marriage is fake, and Yor knows it.

Even though she won the tennis match, that's still not enough to ease Yor's anxiety about Fiona's relationship with Loid. In an uncharacteristically forward way, she gets right in his face and exclaims "I beat her!" and, when all he can offer is a weak "congratulations," she shouts it again, even closer to his face than before. Twilight is obviously confused about why she's acting like this, so he doesn't know what else to say at the moment other than confirm her statement with enough enthusiasm that will hopefully satisfy her.

But him parroting what she just said did not provide the reassuring words Yor needed to hear. Since Yor doesn't understand her own feelings, and Twilight has trouble understanding hers and Anya's feelings, especially if they involve him, nobody except the audience realizes how much of a threat Fiona is to Yor's newfound security in the Forger family. With Yor not realizing her own feelings enough to ask Loid the questions that would put her mind at ease, she continues to be depressed about the situation even on the following day.

Continue to Part 16 ->

<- Return to Part 14

#spy x family #spy family #spyxfamily #sxf #twiyor #loid forger #yor forger #loidyor #loid x yor #sxf analysis #sxf meta

[whoschr]

HURT — a heeseung smau

002 || tennis ball + written 0.4k

⭐️🫧 in which losing a bet pushes you to the door of consequences with the school’s playboy, LEE HEESEUNG. “Ask him out to one of the biggest events at school.” Sadies. Does everything just stop here though, or does it all become tied with luv?

mlist ⇔ next ⇔ previous

The sun shines brightly on the tennis court, almost blinding you, but the black visor on your head helps to block out the glare.

"Wow, you're so good, Yn."

"I am on the varsity tennis team, Dani."

As you played with Danielle, your love for the sport became more evident with each racket swing. However, your grip was so tight that the ball accelerated too quickly, prompting Danielle to ask you to take it easy on her.

The game was all well until Danielle hit the ball hard in an attempt to score her first points, causing it to fly over the fence surrounding the tennis court.

Just as you were about to leave to obtain the ball, a group of guys walked by the tennis courts.

"Be careful!" You shouted a warning as the boy who had taken a few steps ahead of the others was slowly approaching the area where the ball was about to land.

As you slowly opened the gate to the tennis court, the boy made eye contact with you.

As you approached him, you did nothing but notice his striking facial features. He stood tall and had the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen on a guy. His eyes were large and doe-like as if they could contain the entire universe if they were able to.

At first, you struggled to recognize him, but something about his appearance felt familiar. After taking a moment to think, his name finally came to you: Lee Heeseung.

After grabbing the tennis ball, you suddenly stepped back a few paces upon realizing the truth. He was known as the playboy at school, and anyone associated with him did not have a good reputation.

"I am sorry about that. My friend got a bit too competitive during our tennis game."

"No worries, Yn."

As you hurriedly scurried back to the tennis courts, you did nothing but notice that he was still looking at you. Once you reached Danielle, you stood facing her, trying to conceal your face.

“Has the guy outside the gate left?" you demanded.

"Who, him?" Dani retorted.

"No, he's still there. What's the issue?"

"I've seen LEE HEESEUNG staring at me for the last minute. It's unsettling me."

— HEESEUNG’s POV —

"Hey Heeseung, we should leave now or we might arrive late," said jay.

"I'm all set, let's go," replied Heeseung.

"Woah, she's so.."

Suddenly, Jay interrupted abruptly by tugging at Heeseung's arm, causing him to stop speaking halfway.

— YOUR POV —

"Has he left, Dani?"

"Yes, he left."

—CHAE NOTE. its been a while ! ive been spending my last weeks of holiday with my fam before school starts :// hopefully i won’t take long to update again

C PTLIST. @yenqa @zaannnaaaa @kpopstanmeg @flwoie @vivkiz-deactivated20230721 @redm4ri @teddywonss @felixinameadowandthesuniswarm @y4wnjunz

🎀!? smau tlist. @imhuh @rikisly @nxtsnw @ghostiiess @latriii @flwrshee @staryyeon @kjrcrz @heart4hees @ashy1um @deobitifull @yeomha @luvistqrzzz @nomniki @aernx @tzyuki @kissezfornamjoon @heeswif3y @jiaant11 @yunjinluv7 @ckline35 @felixinameadowandthesuniswarm @lalalalawon @enhastolemyheart @solstramaii @rodygr @hyuckscore @aylin-hijabi @loveliii @jyndre

#kflixnet #k labels #enhanet #hyfenet #en web #hurt?! ⨳ #enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fake texts #enhypen smau #enha x reader #enhypen socmed au #enha fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen social media au #enha smau #enha crack #enha angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen social au #enhypen heeseung #enha heeseung #enha fanfic #heeseung smau #heeseung fic #heeseung scenarios

[lulublack90]

Prompt 11 - Football

@jegulus-microfic April 11, Word count 684

High school had always been hard for Regulus. He’d followed his brother up through school. He was always Sirius’s brother. He was just as intelligent as Sirius. He liked to think he was smarter, but he lacked Sirius’s easiness and charisma. He was quiet, kept to himself, and just wasn’t very good with people. 

It had been in his yearly report for the last few years, and finally, his parents had snapped. He was to try out for a sport, any sport, and he was to attempt civility because if it came back again that he had failed at socialising, there would be consequences. 

Every sport was full. The chess team had plenty of places, but his parents refused to accept that as a valid option. 

They reminded him that his brother was not only on the Rugby team but also on the tennis team, swim team, hockey team and, for some unknown reason, the baking team. Though Regulus would admit, Sirius’s Victoria sponge was delightful. 

The only team with any spaces was the football team. So he went along to the next practice. 

He’d forgotten that James Potter was on the team. The broad, golden-skinned, dark-haired bimbo lumbered over to him. 

“Hey, Reggie,” He grinned at Regulus’s snarling face. “You trying out, are you?” He asked as he ruffled Regulus’s hair with his oversized hand. Regulus had to clamp his jaws shut as he was sorely tempted to bite James’s hand for daring to touch him, but his parents would definitely be angered by that, so he ground his teeth. 

“Right, newbies over here. Potter in goal. Whoever gets the ball past Potter is on the team. If more than one of you does, which I highly doubt, there will be a sudden death round where you will score goals until one of you misses and so on and so forth until there is only one left.” The spiky-haired P.E. teacher barked at them with her authoritative voice. 

Regulus lined up behind the other hopefuls and waited his turn. He was nervous. If he buggered this up, Potter was bound to tell his brother. 

He watched as player after player ran towards James, dribbling the ball and kicking it straight into his waiting hands. 

Finally, it was Regulus’s turn. He felt sweaty already, and he hadn’t even moved. “On my whistle, Black,” Madam Hooch ordered. She blew the whistle, and he was off. 

Regulus was quick. He’d always been quick. He zipped across the pitch, the ball tapping off the inside of his boot, keeping just ahead of him. James was waiting for him in goal, bouncing gently as he tried to anticipate where Regulus was going to shoot. 

Regulus was within striking distance now. He lined himself up and booted the ball with all his might. The world slowed down. The ball flew through the air in slow motion. He chewed his bottom lip as the ball headed towards the goal. He held his breath as Potters's hands outstretched, and the ball soared past them and hit the back of the net.

James spun his head to look at the ball in disbelief. “Well done, Mr Black, you’re on the team.” Madam Hooch congratulated him. “Potter, get him up to speed. Right, everyone else dismissed.” She blew her whistle again and herded the unlucky candidates back to the changing rooms. 

James jogged over to him with the football in his gloved hands. He grabbed Regulus up in his arms and spun him around before depositing him to where he’d been stood. 

“That was amazing, Reggie. I had no chance at catching that.” Regulus felt his cheeks reddening, and it wasn’t from his exertions. 

James yanked the velcro of his gloves open with his teeth and threw his gloves onto the ground. “Come on, then.” He grinned, tossing the football to the ground and chasing after it. “Let’s have a bit of fun.” And Regulus, try as he might, couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face as he raced after James and immediately stole the ball from the laughing goalie. 

#April 11 #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus au #regulus black #james potter #regulus arcturus black #james fleamont potter #sirius black #madam hooch #james x regulus #regulus x james #regulus and james #james potter x regulus black #james and regulus #football

[onboardsorasora]

Not sure if I like it, but this not about me😅 so here we are Tennis AU;

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

Part 4!

Daniel collapsed onto his back, star fishing on the court in the shade. His white shorts rode up to show off his pulsing sweaty thighs. His leg hairs were pressed down and slick. His tattoos glistened.

He'd been running drills for too long, if you asked Micheal (don't), he'd say it wasn't long enough. They'd been at it all day, running through their program steadily.

His phone went off in his duffle.

"Is that the power rangers theme?" Micheal paused and raised a brow.

"Kim Possible actually, rude." Daniel pointed his racquet limply in Michael's general direction.

"They're the same tone." Blake called out, chin tucked to his chest, typing away on his phone in the shade. "Doesn't explain why you've gone back to it though."

"It's Max's tone." Daniel was grinning, all teeth. "When my phone's like off silent anyway."

"We allow you on one extracurricular and you come back with a boyfriend." Michael teased throwing a tennis ball at him.

"hey!" Daniel cried out and shifted his hips, turning onto his side to avoid it. Micheal threw another and Daniel lifted the racquet to lob it away with a cheer.

The phone went off again and Daniel scrambled up to get it but was blocked by a new barrage from Michael. He ran off laughingly in the opposite direction to 'safety'.

"Nope." Micheal popped the p with his lips, a cheeky grin present. "We're not done yet, you can check your sexts after."

Daniel whined, pouting his lips and batting his eyes at his trainer.

"Save the pretty eyes for Max, now on mark let's go asshole."

"you can send him a pic of your legs after." Blake looked up quickly with a smirk before going back to his phone.

Daniel grumbled but prepared himself for work anyway. The quicker he got through this, the quicker he could see what Max sent him.

They'd been texting since the night of the beach party. They had spent the rest of the afternoon together, chatting away at a table mostly in their own world.

Max had introduced him to a few people on his team and a couple other drivers who had passed through. It was a great time getting to know Max the man outside of the paddock and around people he felt comfortable with. He was very funny, he made Daniel laugh breathlessly the whole afternoon. They bantered relentlessly, creating and extending jokes about everything.

That was two days ago, Max had escorted him back to the flat he and his team were renting and they exchanged numbers. Daniel kissed him at the door and ducked into the apartment quickly to hide his blush. Not the suavest move, but Max made his brain stop working.

Since then, they've been texting when Daniel wasn't getting his ass kicked by his best friend slash trainer. Max appreciated his training camp and he tried to avoid texting during the day knowing Daniel was busy and needed to focus.

They had dinner plans tonight, so realistically the texts could have been confirming their date or rain checking.

That thought stopped him suddenly and he missed an easy volley.

"Focus DR!" Micheal called, calmly sending over another ball. Daniel shook his head physically to dislodge the thought. He'd think of it all after.

They went on until he was gasping for breath, only stopping after Daniel declared a strike, demanded a union and then plopped himself bodily beside Blake who grimaced. He barely dodged the impending wet hug.

Daniel grasped for his phone, swiping away all the calendar notifications and social media messages to find the one he wanted. He was single minded, completely ignoring the freeze pop electrolyte drink that Michael chucked at him. It bounced off of his sweaty face.

He opened the text thread from Max;

Max V 🥵

Are we still on for 8?

Oops, sorry. Tell Michael not to be mean.

"Max says not to be mean to me Mikey, he's a world champ, you should listen to him." Daniel called out, grinning in delight. Micheal snorted a laugh. Daniel texted back

8 is still good for me. Mike's being evil as always. I swear he gets off on suffering😢

Daniel tore open the freeze pop with his teeth and sucked greedily at the cold drink. His phone went off again in his hands.

Max V 🥵

Poor thing. I'll have to take care of you then, I'll pick you up at 7:30.

Daniel tried to ignore the flutter in his chest at the thought of Max taking care of him.

Gonna show me a good time? 👀

Max V 🥵

Do you want to sleep over?

Daniel barely managed to keep from choking, the empty freeze pop plastic feel out of his mouth. He looked around swiftly and shifted in his seat, suddenly full of energy. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest now, a thrumming in his veins that wasn't there before.

He tilted his phone away from Blake's potential gaze, completely regretting sitting so close now. He bit his lip, unable to pinch his grin.

I'd love to.

#tennis!dan #maxiel #danny ric #dr3 #max/daniel #tennis player!dan #drabble practice #au drabble #drabble #procrastination drabble

[s1ater]

accomplice.

pairings. jason todd x fem!reader

about. in which a day at the country club proves to be more exciting than jason originally thought

warnings. swearing, catcalling/harassment

ricky rocks. 😎

“nice shirt.”

jason slapped down his newspaper on the table before bruce, his eyes scoping out the country club around them. it made him shake his head at the ridiculousness of the privilege just seeping out from the sand traps. jason had never seen anything like it aside from bruce’s charity balls, but then, people were actually throwing their money around for a good cause, not just for the benefit of themselves. 

“good to see you made it,” bruce put his own newspaper down, looking up at jason through his dark sunglasses, slightly surprised. it was always a guessing game with jason, a game bruce always seemed to win, but not this time. bruce knew country clubs weren’t really jason’s thing, causing him to doubt the appearance of the boy until there he was, in all his moody glory. 

“yeah, yeah,” jason waved him off, still looking around and out past the balcony that they were seated on. golfers and tennis players filled the green around them, slagging around with their noses held high, “where's the rest of them?”

“well, tim and dick should be teeing off right about now with the company of alfred. as for your lovely sister, she should be around here somewhere,” bruce craned his neck, looking around despite actually not looking around. 

“finally done with her violence strike?”

“ended about a five hours ago after i offered her the keys to the old cadillac in the garage.” 

“thought you were giving that to dick,” jason pulled out the chair across from bruce, finally content with his analyzation. 

“i’ll buy him a keychain.” 

jason nodded, taking a drink of one of the full glasses of water laying out on the table. sometimes bruce was tolerable enough for jason to enjoy, despite him not wanting to admit it, they were similar in a few variety of ways. 

a relationship wasn't exactly something jason loathed for with bruce. maybe towards the beginning of it all but that had slowly all melted away as time continued on and he begun to take the matters of gotham in his own hands. he didn't... hate bruce as much as he thought he did, in fact he found him a bit more enjoyable after he adopted you, softer, and more... understanding. 

“hey, daddy,” you had pressed your lips against bruce’s cheek, welcoming him with more affection than bruce had probably received from all his other kids combined. it made jason look away and back at the course, shifting uncomfortably.

you were probably one of the brattiest girls jason had ever saw. you put up the front that you were innocent and simply didn’t know any better about half the shit you did. jason could see right through you and always wondered if bruce could. sure, the man was the king of seeing through psychological manipulation, but he had to of been the most whipped jason had ever seen him. buying you clothes that you didn't need, driving you to school himself, spoiling you unconditionally, and even giving you a car that wasn't yours.

bruce truly loved being a father to a girl who didn’t want anything to do with the vigilante life, that way he could worry less about you and make sure to make more time with you doing things that had nothing to do with batman or robin.  

“hey, jason,” you smirked at him, strutting to sit next to him. 

he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pressed his lips into a thin line, eyeing you skeptically like he always did. he was sure you knew he could see right through your facade by the way you teased him every time you saw him, poking at him, smiling at him with that stupid smile that said you knew everything, but you didn’t care. 

jason gulped down his water. 

“how was the green?” “hot,” you mumbled, pinching the front of your thin white blouse before waving it up and down as if allowing more air to touch your chest, “but i think i’ll head out again.”

“you should take jason with you.”

you smirked suddenly, your head gliding to face the side of jason face where he slightly froze, looking to bruce, “that’s a great idea.”

jason shook his head despite the pointed look bruce was giving him. fucking A.

you suddenly stood, grinning widely, “i think we should go now before it gets too crowded,” you looked down to jason who was avoiding your eyes, his jaw clenching at the fact he couldn't get out of this one. 

you begun to walk away after giving bruce’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, then making sure to sway your hips a bit more, knowing just where jason’s eyes were, watching you. yes, you were bratty. you wore those stupid short and tight golf skirts specifically because of the fact it made your ass pop more than in a usual pair of shorts or skirt. 

and the blouse, the thin material also being slightly translucent, highly sporting your black bralette. it was the first thing jason saw and he wished it wasn't. he wished he could have taken it as an innocent move made by you, but he knew that was false by knowing exactly who you were. 

“go, join her.” 

“i’m not here to babysit, bruce.”

“jason,” bruce gave him a pointed look even though he knew fairly well that he couldn’t make jason do anything he didn’t want to do. “spend some time with your sister.”

“oh for fucks sake,” jason pinched the bridge of his nose before shoving himself up and out of the lounge chair, pointing at the older man. “you owe me a car for this one.”

**

“you ever feel bad?”

“bad for what?”

jason had his arms crossed while watching you practice your swings within the tee box. he watched you carefully while finding this interaction completely useless in the fact that he had no purpose of being there right then.

“for sucking bruce dry of his money.”

you rolled your eyes to yourself, “funny, you act like you never took advantage of the rich kid opportunities.”

“that’s because i didn’t.”

“i don’t believe you,” you swung your club, sending the ball far out in the air.

“it’s the truth.”

you let out a sigh as you walked back to where jason stood, switching out your clubs, “you’re telling me you never had a moment where you thought ‘i deserve this’ and just accepted an expensive item?”

jason frowned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “i mean yes, but those moments didn’t turn into shopping sprees.”

“you’re just mad he actually makes time for me,” your club once again smacked against the clean white ball, producing an impressive shot that even jason admired.

“maybe i am-“

“nice shot, sweetheart.”

jason’s voice was overlapped with the sound of an older man who was two boxes over, smiling strangely. you ignored him just as jason did after staring at him for a moment before walking back to your golf bag in search of a tee.

“hey, i said nice shot.”

“i heard you,” but you didn’t look at him.

jason stared down to you, watching you struggle to find a tee as you aggressively dug through one of the side pockets before finally finding one and pulling it out with a sharp jerk, “happen a lot?”

“almost every time,” you mumbled with an irritated tone. “they usually leave me alone when dick’s with me—i think they think he’s my boyfriend and prefer not to get socked in the face.”

“not tim?”

“you think they’re scared of tim?”

“fair enough,” jason shrugged.

“you’re awfully rude.”

jason could see you visibly tense just as you were about to line yourself up. he glanced to the man who seemed to have drawn nearer, making it easier for jason to guess that the man had to of been around bruce’s age, maybe older.

“maybe accept the compliment.”

“maybe just lay off her, buddy.”

he scoffed, “who are you, her boyfriend?”

jason felt slightly offended that there wasn’t an instant strike of fear like there apparently was for dick in this man. this caused jason to straighten his posture better to bring light to how big he was.

“and what if i was?”

the man doesn’t say anything more, but rather turns away back to his own business.

“you don’t have to do that, they usually tend to bore themselves after you ignore them for awhile.”

jason quirked a brow, “it shouldn’t be a problem in the first place.”

“well that just means you’re not club material, jason todd.”

smack, another incredible shot.

“you ever think about playing in tournaments?”

“i’d say another great shot, but you’d probably insult me again, wouldn’t you?”

“hey, buddy, piss the fuck off,” jason twists from his stance that was relaxed, now practically barricading your body from sight the man had on you. “get a fucking life or prey on some other underage girl.”

the man scoffs, “yeah okay man, i was just offering the girl a compliment, but it seems neither of you can take it.”

the man unnerved jason as he stared at him like he was some idiot. it took everything in him not to sock the man in the face, but jason kept it cool and didn’t let his feelings effect any nerve in his body.

he stood there until the man finally left before shifting away from your body, “you ever tell bruce about these guys?”

“eh,” you shrugged, once again adjusting your posture, “what’s bruce going to do, stare ‘em off like you and dick?”

“no, he’d probably get the guy kicked from the club.”

“he doesn’t care that much.”

jason rolls his eyes, hard, “that’s the most bullshit sentence i’ve ever heard. you’re bruce’s fucking angel.”

“doesn’t mean anything,” jason could hear a level of uncomfortableness itch through your throat as you tried your best to act inattentive.

it made him sigh before walking over to your golf bag and hauling it over his shoulder, “let’s go for a walk, i can feel that guys eyes drilling holes through your ass.”

you sighed reluctantly before shoving your driver into your bag, joining jason’s side, “it’s not that big of a deal.”

“yeah, okay,” he rolled his eyes, obviously taking zero consideration into your words. gotham was full of freaks who loved women half their age, it had to be a high percentage of people jason beat up. “tell that to the thousands of girls who get sexually assaulted each year.”

“i’m not getting sexually assault, jason.”

“yeah, but you’re being harassed by a man double your age.”

“lay off,” you rolled your eyes, “if you want to be helpful, help me put my clubs back in bruce’s car.”

“you need to take initiative at least once.”

“shut up.”

the first time you had ever met jason, you had felt a strange draw to him. he was full of anger, but kept it buried down into his soul. there were times he could barely control it, but you still felt a tie. seeing him made you feel anxious but glad until an unknown repulsion stemmed from him, and you couldn’t help feeling the same over time.

but today, today was strange. this new side of sympathy coming from him threw you off and you didn’t know how to feel.

“that’s his car,” you stopped suddenly, causing jason to almost run into you.

“how do you know it’s his car?”

“because he tried to pick me up like a hooker once,” jason’s brows narrowed by the way you said it so nonchalantly with a blank stare to the nice blue beamer—douche bag car.

“what’re you doing?”

“taking initiative,” he glanced at you as you pulled out one of your clubs from the bag he still held.

“what’re you doing?” he repeated but knew exactly what you were doing as you marched to the front of the nice car before drawing back and slamming the driver onto the hood creating a clear and ugly dent.

he should have stopped you. he knew it. but there was just some satisfaction watching you repeatedly slamming the club into the car over and over till it didn’t even look remotely distinguishable. he smiled.

“this will be quite the dent in bruce’s bank account.”

“what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” you mumbled, shoving the club back into your bag, “and no one will ever know if we don’t get caught.”

“we?”

“that’s right,” you now walked on, not looking back to see if he was moving with you, “you’re an accomplice now, todd.”

“of course i am,” he shook his head, but couldn’t help but smirk as he now found you a little bit more standable than before.

navigation.

#jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd #batfam #batman #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #bruce wayne

[jamiesfootball]

🌹🌹

Thanks love!

A bit more from the tiktok recipe / jamie's career retrospective fic-

From a professional standpoint, Roy's first year as coach is fine.

The hold their own in the Champion's League, but they don't make it out of the group stage. They play strong through the Premier League, but they finish fourth place in the rankings. The general consensus of the useless fucking pundits is that Coach Kent spent too many matches fiddling with the roster, experimenting with how best to combine the first and second team players for different matches. Comparisons are made to Lasso's easy, compliant strategies, with fans debating whether or not Richmond is the kind of team that should bother focusing on the clever plays.

From a personal standpoint, Roy's first year as coach is like relearning how to breathe. Slowly, the energy of Ted gets replaced with something sharper, keener. Total Football remains, but the pace speeds up. He can feel it during training in the way the players respond to his feedback -- channeling his shouting with a frenzied, childlike giddiness -- that the team is becoming something new. The same, but on a different scale. It's incredible to witness, and watching it grow before his eyes sharpens his awareness of the the team as a whole. His intuition towards his players grows.

And yeah, he dicks around with the line-ups a little too much.

Sue him for not wanting any of his players to burn out again.

(There is something satisfying to messing with the line-ups; he can't explain it, but it's a bit like finding a puzzle only to discover that puzzle has several correct ways it can be put together. He's not a strategy guy by any means, but there's something compelling about watching the team, his team, transform itself to suit whichever players are on the grass.)

During the winter transfer window, he loses three players. In their place, he gains three hungry ones. He dicks around with the line-ups again. Strikes gold. Sends the lads into the back half of the season like wolves howling madly after tennis balls.

Between balancing the admin and the planning and the training between nonstop match schedules, he's more tired than he's ever been.

It's fucking fun.

#coach kent my beloved #fic: you're gonna go far kid #rose for a snippet #wippets #writing snippets #roy kent

[foggyxrayspecs]

mini prompt uhhh tiny bit of soft yelena with sick cub ?? please 🙏

HOW TO PILL YOUR PET

Thank you for the prompt, anon! Here's a little some of that soft badass.

Warnings: dark-ish, sub-themes of human trafficking, heavy pet play

Word Count: ~1300

A/N: In Widow AU, @scarlettwlw mentioned that Nat had taken some of the super soldier serum. I'm going to slide that over to Y here, so she can get snuggly with cub without fear of coming down with the crud.

Excerpt: “AH-AH-CHOO!” You look down and frown at the sentry hog-tied on the floor. You are covering the rear-left entrance as the widows make their play deeper into the warehouse. This guy didn't stand a chance against the three-person strike team and a guardhund. 

"Sorry. I couldn't cover my nose because… well, you know," the felled sentry nods behind him to his tied hands. You grunt, unimpressed, and reposition yourself outside his line of fire. 

#####

"AH-AHH–!" You inhale sharply and open your mouth when Yelena raises the covers quickly to catch your sneeze with the blanket. "–CHOO!" You sniff and shake your head back and forth to clear the sternutation. Yelena drops the blanket shield and eyes you, assessing.  You… you don’t feel so good.

HOW TO PILL YOUR PET

-------------------------------------- “AH-AH-CHOO!” 

You look down and frown at the sentry hog-tied on the floor. You are covering the rear-left entrance as the widows make their play deeper into the warehouse. This guy didn't stand a chance against the three-person strike team and a guardhund. 

"Sorry. I couldn't cover my nose because… well, you know," the felled sentry nods behind him to his tied hands. You grunt, unimpressed, and reposition yourself outside his line of fire. 

#####

YELENA'S APARTMENT

"AH-AHH–!" You inhale sharply and open your mouth when Yelena raises the covers quickly to catch your sneeze with the blanket. "–CHOO!" You sniff and shake your head back and forth to clear the sternutation. Yelena drops the blanket shield and eyes you, assessing.  

You blink and pause to take stock of your condition. Your cheeks feel hot, like burning. Your joints feel achy, and you want to stay in bed all day with your owner. You… you don’t feel so good. You move forward to put your head on her chest, careful not to lean your full weight on her. She lifts the back of her hand to press against your cheeks and forehead. You lean into the relief of her cool hand.

Yelena clicks her tongue and leans in to kiss you gently, her lips replacing where her hand just left your skin. "Is my little cub not feeling well?"

Blessedly, she stays in bed for a few minutes, slowly stroking the side of your face. When she begins to shift out from under you, you instantly tighten your arms around her and whine softly. She pauses, "I'll be right back." You begin to follow, not wanting to be without her, when she drops a hand on your shoulder and presses you back to the mattress.

You grunt and begrudgingly let her go. Yelena hums, walks to the bathroom, and opens the medicine cabinet door. She returns to the bedroom with a few small bottles, a canister, and a large box of Kleenex, stacking them on her nightstand.  

When she leaves the room again, you crane your neck to watch her. You dial up your auditory enhancements and count her steps, marking the transitions of her footfalls over the rugs, wood floors, and, finally, the kitchen. You listen to her open the fridge; then you can't help but climb out of bed and follow her when you smell hamburger warming up in the microwave. 

Once your knuckles hit the cool flooring of the kitchen, you want to sink and press all of your exposed skin to its surface. You can't help it; you give way to the temptation and slide down bonelessly. Oh, squeaky tennis balls, you feel like you've slipped into heaven. 

Yelena turns and looks down. "Cub." You look up at her sheepishly, then pull yourself to kneel in front of her. "Good. No choking." She leans down and hands you a piece of hamburger. You stretch up to take the deliciousness in your mouth. You chew thoughtfully. The meat doesn't have the spicy flavor it typically holds; it's dull and tastes a tiny bit… acrid? You stop, realizing there's a small pill Trojan-Horsed in the middle of the hamburger.

Mlem. You let the pill drop from your mouth, hearing it hit the floor and skitter under the oven.

"What, you think you are a god from space? You don't need Ibuprofen?" Yelena smiles. She wipes her hand in a napkin and then threads her fingers into your hair, tugging the strands back and tilting your head to capture your eyes. "It will bring your fever down, little cub."

You swallow nervously. Pills have always meant that something was going to happen to you. You implicitly trust Yelena, but…Your thoughts cut off when she bends down to kiss your nose, then releases you as she walks to the cupboard and pulls out the peanut butter jar. 

You automatically lick your lower lip. Yelena turns away, grabbing one of the wooden spoons in the utensil holder. She turns back with an almost obscene amount of peanut butter piled high and holds it out to you. At first, you are hesitant, but then you sniff the peanut butter, look up at her, and begin to lick eagerly. Yelena slowly rotates the spoon. You see her eyes drop to your tongue and hold her breath. You work your tongue over the treat thoroughly,

You back off once you lick over another pill and grunt. You look down and back at her with a huff. She frowns, concern written across her brow, "Cub. Take it. You'll feel better."

You lean back and look at the pill, worried. You can't seem to comply with her wishes, even though you want to do everything she orders. 

After a few deep breaths, you sign for help and take a pill. Yelena holds the medicine out. You sniff it, then back off. You sign again, help me take the pill? She nods slowly, understanding your request. 

Before you can shift backward, Yelena grabs you by the chin and squeezes the sides of your jaw, taking the pill and placing it in the back of your throat. Then she closes your mouth, hugs you to her side, and rubs your throat under your jaw. The pill is too far back to move out with your tongue. You whimper and look up. You watch Yelena looking down at you with deep concentration, her long hair framing her face, still tousled from sleep, and the cutest double-chin… you salivate a little, even in the position, especially in this position, and have to swallow. 

She keeps rubbing your throat, then opens your mouth and looks, ducking her head. She moves your tongue with her thumb and asks, "All gone?" You pull back, take a moment to explore, and then you nod, a bit surprised. She smiles wide and cups the side of your face for a small kiss on your forehead.

When she stands to put away the food and toss the spoon in the sink, you paw over to her and lean your heated cheek on her leg, nuzzling in gratitude. 

#####

When she leads you back into the bedroom, she first stacks all the pillows by the headboard on her side nearest the door. You look on, curious through your tired eyes. Wondering

If she is making a fort. Blanket forts always had miraculous healing powers.

She climbs up and lays back on the pillows, propping herself up. She pats her chest above her black sports bra. 

"Up, little cub."

You make your way up and to her, somewhat shaky. You are careful not to fall into her when you climb between her legs. "Your back to my front," she says, and you feel her hands guiding you down. She pulls the blanket over you both and folders it low so it lays across your hips. 

Yelena plucks the small canister she retrieved from the bathroom earlier and unscrews the top. The scent of eucalyptus fills your senses, instantly seeming to cool down the room. You lean up to look at it, and she pulls you down to rest your back on her chest. She squeezes your shoulder in shorthand to stay put.

After dipping her fingers in, she smears a small amount on your chest, then gently massages it into your skin. The menthol and eucalyptus immediately begin their soothing effects, helping to relieve congestion from the cold. She expertly rubbed her fingers over your collarbones and down your sternum, so much so that you offer quiet rumbles of approval and relaxation. Your eyes were getting so heavy that you had to close them, but you fight to stay aware of every moment. "You will stay here for a while, my cub, so we make sure you don't get the mixture in your little puppy eyes."

You sigh and lean against your owner, trusting she can take your full weight or knowing she will reposition you if needed. Being sick wasn't so bad — when you were in her care.

-------------------------------------------- Giving folks a heads-up on the next one-shot! (Add a comment if you would like me to add your @ to future blurbsss.) Love y'all! - Specs

@wandamaximoff-simp @hellhoundskiss @greyisbetterthangray @aoskaksks @friedblazebeliever @dumb-fvck104 @yelenatism @call-signtracer @marvelwomenarehot0

#security measure blurbs #security measures #dark!yelena belova x reader #dark!yelena belova #dark!yelena #soft!dark!yelena belova #scarlettwlw #widow au #asks open #asks #tells

[afreakingdork]

Miss dork.

- when I first started messaging you I was always scared that I’d read into things too much and it’d be embarrassing if I was wrong-

Now I know you like “share with the class” and you set me straight if I’m wrong so-

Omg. Prodigal don flipping coin again. Strikes again! Also, Don breaking down? I was MOVED I know I predicted he’d vaporize Leo into itty bitty turtle pieces but I hope you know I’m never disappointed I just like guessing- but back on track Don breaking down- rabbit brain raccoon brain - his little check over of reader? I was calm and oh so in control until he started Checking Reader’s Feet and aaaaaaaaaa all I could think about is how a form of interrogation torture is to strike the bottom of someone’s foot (listen Bones the tv show was surprisingly educational) and I had an out loud scream over the thought of Donnie checking Reader for TORTURE- and then I had to pretend I hit MY foot on the coffee table to avoid explaining what I was wailing over-

Oh and almost forgot Leo going “they’ve got bruised knees” like. Hello. I don’t know where Don’s mind went but I know where mine did and it was a fucking nose dive if there was a moment for Leo to get vaporized it would be. Right. Then. (I told you I wouldn’t survive) Like Eugh boi to coin his phrase whole foot in mouth and chewing 😂

I did have a question because I know you visualize where everyone is in a scene-

Where was Raph in relation to Donnie during the trade off scene? Above him, behind? Was Donnie aware he was there?

And oh I love Splinter/Donnie interaction because it’s like a tennis ball court because it really highlights that reader only has bits and pieces to go off of and everyone’s reactions to each other is so interesting! I loved the diner scene!

🦝,

Yes! Yes!!! No fear!!! I'm not scary!!! (This last one isn't to you, but in general! I don't mean to be scary! I've been told the way i speak can be curt, but I really don't mean it like that. I just try to make things concise and clear) I love hearing others thoughts!!!

Saying 'share with the class' is such a great way to put it 😂

HOLY MOLY

I cannot believe we both learned that from Bones!!! You freaking nailed it, 100%!!! Truly an amazing catch, I hadn't even added that to my behind the scenes! Also,

✨Phalanges✨

YUUUUPPPPPP, the bruised knees was absolutely a double entendre. Don went there FOR SURE and that's why reader stepped in like they said they would to Raph! Leo couldn't help but still provoke Donnie in spite of himself. He can't help but be a little bit of a shithead 😂

Oh good question and another of those I had worked out, but no necessity to write. So as you now from the last chapter, 39, Raph asks “Which entrance?” after he finds that Mikey didn't come back with Leo. Leo then says “Grand.” Leo clipped. “Stand by at Black Cat and I’ll signal if it goes south.” Since we know the turts are occupying the subway, those are code names for stations. Grand is the only obvious one as Grand Central Station, a good hub for a fly guy to get a vantage point of the city. Black Cat isn't a for real reference, but instead to a comic shop so I picture this as the station the turts would go up to get their comics (I feel like Leo still reads).

tldr; the other turts were waiting at other subway stations~

Yay!! I'm so glad you liked it! I'm really enjoying playing with perception through unreliable narrator reader. Slowly, but surely they are learning more and more. I wanted it to really feel like you were in a relationship with someone. Peeling back those layers and getting closer 💞

#ask

[atlas-likes-writing]

Tick Tock

Character(s): Jason Todd. Joker, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Summary: After Jason came back from the dead, life continued on as normal. Or did it?

Words count: 1152 words

Tags: Angst, blood (from broken glass), self-harm (sorta), PTSD involving torture and death, graphic depictions of violence, Joker being a prick, "prick" is the polite term, wholesome Bruce and Alfred, derealisation sorta??, hyperventilation.

Authors Notes: I feel like I rushed the ending? What do you guys think of it?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Jason drums his fingers on the wood of his desk as he stares at the wall to the side of him. His head lies uncomfortably on his elbow and his hair falls not-so-glamorously over his face.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He bounces a tennis ball on his desk. It ricochets off the window in front of him and back into his hands. He repeats the process mindlessly. Over and over. It makes his mind dull.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

His knee uncontrollably bounces up and down where he sits on the side of his bed. He stares into nothing. His skin is pasty and his eyes act as sunken mirrors of what could have been. What could have been before it happened. It's a one-way mirror.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Jason paces around his room. To the desk. To the bed. To the wardrobe. To the window. To the door. Back to the desk again. This act is repeated until the soft grey light filtering in through the blinds turns into a miserable black.

Tick. Tick. Ti-

A knife is thrown at the ticking clock and it is smashed to bits. The glass protecting the mechanical insides of the machine scatters across the room around the man. Jason swears to himself before kneeling down to pick up the pieces. He shows no sign of pain when shards of glass protrude into his knees and blood starts to ooze through his combat trousers and onto the hardwood floor.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock keeps ticking. Why does the clock keep ticking? Jason looks from where he kneels and he's no longer in Wayne Manor. He's in a dingy warehouse. He's not wearing his black combat trousers anymore - it has been replaced by his old Robin costume. That ancient relic that still lies in the batcave to this day.

The tick tick tick isn't a clock anymore.

It's the timer for a bomb.

Jason screams. Or, at least, he tries to. His mouth is gagged and his arms and legs are tied behind his back in such a way that makes sleeping on the streets of Gotham feel like sleeping in a five star hotel.

"Now, what did we say about manners? You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full, Batboy. It's bad etiquette."

Jason's eyes widen and he begins to shake. He looks up at the source of the raspy voice and finds Joker - the Clown Prince of Crime himself. He towers over Jason and wields a crowbar that is already dripping with his blood.

"What's the matter, kid? Cat got your tongue? Here, let me help you." The monster above Jason leans down and pulls down the gag with grotesque fingers. "Y'know, I've been trying to work on my tennis serves. What do you think? Here's the forward swing--."

The crowbar strikes against Jason's face. The stinging pain left behind makes tears stream down Jason's face and a choked cry fall from his lips. It takes mere seconds for the wound to turn a disgusting shade of purple.

"--And here's the backhand!"

A second strike. This time on the centre of his back. An audible crack is heard as two of the boys' vertebrae shatter. It's a miracle Jason isn't paralysed. His scream echoes around the warehouse as the pain in his back makes the boy spasm in his bindings. The scream is almost drowned out by the maniacal laughter of Jason's captor.

"C'mon, boy wonder. Stop being such a wimp! Your last moments should be spent in a blaze of glory!" the madman exclaims, dropping the crowbar with a loud clatter. "Not to worry, though. I made sure that you receive that decency. Even my little playthings deserve the honour of going out in style!"

The slam of a steel door meets Jason's ears, followed by a quieter click of a lock that failed to do the same. The boy is frozen in fear.

Come on, Jason. Think! What would Batman do?

Batman would escape.

Painstakingly slow, Jason warps his body around the restraints, wincing and crying out whenever a broken bone is nudged or a battered bruise brushes against the concrete floor below him. His hands are free. He crawls towards the door as his vision twists before him. It might be his imagination, but the sound of a motorbike seems to be getting closer and closer.

He reaches the metal rectangle in front of him and tries the handle.

It doesn't budge. Of course it doesn't budge.

Jason almost rips the handle off in his haste to get it open.

It still doesn't open.

His body turns to face away from the door and he sags, his back sliding down the door. The miniscule bits of fight he had in him finally running out of juice. His hearing goes fuzzy, the tick tick tick of the bomb numbing his brain.

He hears a voice.

"Jason!"

It's Bruce. He's sprinting to the warehouse in full Batman uniform. Jason already knows he's too late. The timer on the bomb reads five seconds remaining. Then four seconds. Then three. Then two. Then one.

"JASON!"

The bomb doesn't go off. Instead, Jason surges into a sitting position from where he was lying in his room, the floor still covered in shards of glass. In the back of his mind, he feels pinpricks of glass that stab into his body. It's a muffled feeling.

Jason begins to hyperventilate.

"Jason. It's me, Bruce. You're at the Manor. You're safe."

His chest begins to tighten.

"I need you to calm down, okay? Let's get you off the floor." Bruce holds Jason's hands in his own and squeezes them tightly. Jason squeezes back. Bruce guides Jason onto his bed where they sit next to each other for a while.

After about twenty minutes of squeezing fingers and breathing exercises, Jason calms down. His breathing returns to normal and his chest is no longer tight. However, he still has bits of glass sticking out of his legs and side of his torso.

"Alfred?" Bruce calls.

"I'm here, Master Bruce." the old butler replies, entering through the open door of his room holding medical supplies.

"Alfred is going to fix you up, okay? Is that alright?" Jason nods. "Alright. Follow Alfred."

Jason shakily stands up from the bed, pushing away Bruce's assisting hand.

"I'm know how to walk, Bruce," he jokes, but his voice is strained, "you don't need to coddle me." Bruce backs away, his hands lifted next to his head in surrender.

"I know, I know."

Jason follows Alfred to the landing outside his room. To his luck, none of his siblings were prowling around.

Luck? Or did Bruce care enough to tell them to stay in their rooms for half an hour?

Either way, Jason is safe. He is in Wayne Manor and he is safe. Nothing else matters to him at the moment.

Masterlist

#tw self harm #tw torture #tw death #dc heroes #red hood #jason todd #robin jason todd #bruce wayne #batman #alfred pennyworth

[isobelleposts]

Taylor Jenkins Reid is Back: The Satisfying End of Carrie Soto’s Career

by Isobelle Cruz [December 13, 2022]

Cover of Taylor Jenkins Reid's "Carrie Soto is Back"

Yet again, Taylor Jenkins Reid has published another book, now revolving around the fictional tennis legend, Carrie Soto, who has been introduced as an antagonist in the author’s last novel titled Malibu Rising. In this publication, we get to explore the perspective of Carrie Soto and follow her through her childhood and later anticipate the success in retrieving her broken record taken by a player named Nicki Chan.

Even as someone that has a passion for the sport, I could not say that this was anywhere near being one of Reid’s most striking stories. It started off slow despite the first page landing directly on the catalyst, followed by the dull narration of Soto’s backstory, though which, by the end, I recognized were all necessary for a build-up.

Nicki Chan [Source: @tjenkinsreid on Instragram]

Firstly mentioned as the mistress of Nina Riva’s husband in Malibu Rising, I got the impression that she was a psychotic bitch just as newscasters and headlines referred to her in this latest book. It was expected that Carrie Soto would be seen in a much better light in this novel, portrayed as misunderstood and humane, but never did I expect when checking out this purchase that my heart would be gripped so tightly at Soto’s growth.

I wait for the skies to open up and shame to rain down on me. I wait for my belly to split in half. For the grief to overtake me. But…it doesn’t come.

Page 362 of Carrie Soto is Back

The story, though had a few ups and downs, felt overall flat to me but not in so much of a bad way. The progress of Soto’s career didn’t feel as dramatic as previous TJR characters’ stardoms were and instead focuses on the gradual growth of her gameplay.

“I want your form to be like breathing. Right now, hijita, you are still doing it with your mind,” he told me. “We will not stop until you have done it so many times, your body does it without thinking. Because then, you’ll be free to think of anything else.”

Page 256 of Carrie Soto is Back

Taylor Jenkins Reid shared through her Instagram story the books she had used as a reference in writing this novel. And with just that, she had managed to write lines that would make my heart thump from excitement or wince at the gruesome injuries mentioned, as though my own feet were already on the court.

There was a chill in imagining the feeling of playing as great as Soto’s games were described that left me willing to learn more and take risks to harness my skills; to hear that clear thump of a ball, explore different courts, predict the ball landing, and put intention into my serves.

And now here we are—coach and player—at the 1996 US Open, me sitting here in the stands, helpless to do anything but hope she can harness all the new skills we’ve worked on.

Page 364 of Carrie Soto is Back

Despite the not-so-memorable impression the story had left, of all the Taylor Jenkins Reid novels I’ve encountered so far, this left me most satisfied and not wanting more or feeling that it wasn’t enough.

A pressured athlete and her journey to accepting flaws and defeat. A daughter falling under the demands of her father’s dreams. A lonely woman learning how to love and be loved. I’ve learned a lot of lessons from this book, but the most important one I’ve received is … Carrie Soto is a bitch, in the greatest way possible.

#taylor jenkins reid #tjr #carrie soto is back #carrie soto #tennis #historical fiction #book review #tjr review #carrie soto review #carrie soto is back review #nick chan #nina riva #malibu rising #wimbledon