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jamminvroomvroom · 2 months

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4k celebration

i want to see feral lando. dom lando. choking and degrading and rough lando. maybe a bad race, maybe flirting with another driver. weeknd vibes lando. rough rough rough lando.

heat.

ln x fem!reader - 4k celebration

in which lando fucks you until the sun comes up :)

i am. feral. there are no words to describe how unhinged i am over this, this is super self indulgent and i cannot thank you enough anon hehe - lemme know what y’all think ily! <3

songs to set the mood: earned it by the weeknd, novacane by frank ocean, heaven angel by the driver era

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp with a bit of plot, choking, crying, swearing, overstimulation, neck? riding? (hehe), degradation, a slap or two, soft dom!lando, also not so soft dom!lando (he switches up a bit), just feral unhinged vibes

2k words

foreglow:

the glow of light appearing in the sky preceding sunrise

the sunrise casts a tangerine foreglow over your bodies, the bed, everything the light can touch.

lando’s slumped against the headboard and you’re sprawled over his lap, legs hooked over his, with his hand working between your thighs.

it’s been hours. he’s had you spread out for him, countless positions and locations utilised. you were paying for your behaviour over the race weekend, but really, it was all his fault.

he’d been too cocky, looked too good, the australian air getting to his head. you’d been glowering at him since you’d arrived in the land down under, watching in erotically charged horror as he paraded around looking, to put it simply, slutty. tight shorts, arms out, neck on display for all to see. his fucking neck. god, it looked so thick, flexing every time he turned to smirk at you. the heat rendered you delirious, and so did he.

and you couldn’t even think about that fucking daddy bracelet he’d been sporting.

you decided you needed payback, in the form of some carefully constructed, harmless flirting with everyone from the mechanics to the guys on the pit wall old enough to be your father. but lo and behold, it worked, and that’s how you found yourself in this position.

the position in question?

being fucked every which way lando deemed fit until the sun came up.

“you learnt your lesson yet, baby?” lando grunts into your ear, pinching your clit between his fingers.

your thighs are soaked, shaking uncontrollably, and your head has lulled back against his shoulder. you’re breathing heavily, your back flush against his front and he’s restless. you’ve lost count of the number of orgasms you’ve been pushed to.

“lan.” you breathe, eyes fixated on the bracelet adorning his wrist. the kitschy trinket sends liquid fire down your spine and you spasm as he continues to swirl his calloused thumb over your clit.

“that’s not an answer.” he tuts, slipping his fingers through your slit until he’s circling your weeping entrance. you’re coated with slick, some of it his from where he’d fucked you up against the wall a good few hours ago. “have you,” he kisses your shoulder, trailing his fingers that were digging into your hip up your belly. “learnt your lesson?” his teeth sink into your flesh at the same time he pinches your nipple.

you gasp out a cry of his name, slurring incomprehensibly, “yes, yes, ‘m sorry, i’m so sorry.” you sob. his chest rumbles cruelly with laughter and you’re hurtling towards another release, the overstimulation making it easy for him to get you off.

“that’s all you needed to say, honey.” lando coos condescendingly.

as if he’s rewarding you for owning up, two of his fingers sink into your entrance, sliding deep. the sound of your wetness sends your eyes rolling back as he scissors his digits in and out of you, speeding them up into a delicious grind. you’re a mess in seconds, slumped into him as close as can be. kisses over your neck soothe you and you feel the wet rush of your release approaching quicker than you can comprehend it. you gush all over his fingers, dripping down his wrist, coating that annoying fucking bracelet.

“there you go, baby. so good for me.” he whispers, slowing his thrusts. “can you turn over for me? want you to look at me.”

you pant as you wriggle around in his arms until you’re straddling his lap. you can feel yourself dripping on him, his thick length sliding between your folds. the exhaustion renders you languid, ready to let him do just about whatever he wants to you next.

lando cups your breast, stroking gently over your nipple while he runs his tongue all over his long fingers. he loves to make you watch, torturing you until you’re needy for another release.

“you think you can do a few more for me?” lando smirks, bringing the fingers that he’d just licked clean to your other breast, fiddling with your other nipple. he has you rolling your hips against him, inadvertently chasing another high already. he loves it, revels in how he can reduce you to this, so desperate that you’re grinding down on his cock, a wet mess in his lap, all for him.

“yeah, lan.” you nod profusely, your tired eyes locked with his. the early morning sun hits them enticingly, making them sparkle green in the warm light. he looks disgustingly gorgeous like this, soft and yours, resting against the headboard, curls spilling over his forehead and into his eyes. if you didn’t know that he was mulling over a million twisted ideas in his brain that involved resorting you to tears of pleasure, you’d think he looked adorable.

“good.” he grins. “not even nearly done with you.” he looks evil; your thighs clench around his hips.

without moving you off of his lap, he uses his strength to slide down the bed until he lays flat. he beckons you to crawl up his body, and you find the strength to wriggle over him, thighs resting on either side of his neck when he stops you.

“you gonna slide your pretty little cunt over my neck?” lando asks, wrapping his huge hands around your thighs. you gulp, staring down at him dumbfounded. “don’t look at me like i’m crazy, baby. you think i don’t see you staring at it with that special little look in your eyes?” he teases. “get to fucking work, i’m not gonna ask again.”

hesitantly, you lower yourself against his his skin, flaming red with embarrassment and lust. you can’t lie and pretend that you aren’t utterly enticed by this, that you aren’t leaking down your thighs at the prospect of sliding your pussy along his tanned, flexed flesh. the adventurousness of the escapade makes your legs tremble, nerves eating you alive, but it’s all worth it when you feel that first glide.

you curse out, loud and breathy, the new sensation creating lewd sounds between you. he’s obsessed, staring up at you in mischievous awe as you rock your hips backwards and forwards. you tangle one hand in his hair, tugging hard in sheer desperation, while the other hand balances you against the headboard so you don’t crush him. he guides your hips like he wants to die like this, suffocated by you and everything you have to offer him.

“oh my fucking god.” you choke out a moan, jaw hanging agape as you continue to slide against him. every time you move forwards, you feel the delectable prickle of his trimmed facial hair scratching against your inner thighs and your eyes squeeze shut each time, pure pleasure bubbling in the pit of your belly.

“you have no idea how fucking good you look.” lando rasps, digging his fingertips into the meat of your thighs. you’re so tense, teetering on the very edge. the strength he possesses, his composure while you’re sitting on his fucking neck makes you throb.

you gaze down at him, feral, and it does something to him, because he’s yanking you up onto his parted lips, burying his face as far as it will go. you yelp, collapsing into the headboard as he holds you down on his tongue, lapping up your mess.

“can taste us.” he mumbles into the flesh of your cunt, barely audible, but you hear it and it makes you shiver. you black out as your orgasm hits, your ears ringing as bliss courses through your limp body like a delicious electric shock. your nerves are shot when he rolls you onto your back.

“fucking heaven.” lando groans, crawling over you as he licks his lips.

he’s invigorated by the taste of you, how spent you are, and how it’s all his fault. you can’t string a sentence together, but you’re grabbing at his toned body like you’re begging silently for more, anything. he needs to drive into you, fill up up, make you remember that your little games will always lead back to this, the reminder that you’re his.

“you sensitive, honey?” he growls, hand sliding between your legs while his necklace rests in the valley between your breasts. you whimper at the sensation, overloaded, nodding. you both know you need more; he needs more. “tough.”

lando practically folds you in half when he fucks into you, giving you no solace in adjusting to him. he ruts into you hard, fast, unrelenting as he sinks deeper and deeper with every thrust.

“you’re gonna behave from now on. you don’t need to make me jealous for me to fuck you.” he grunts. his slaps your hip, the harsh snap leaving a sting that has you convulsing. “this is what you deserve isn’t it? whoring yourself out because you were a wet mess for me all weekend.”

you whine his name, sobs wracking your body. he feels utterly divine hammering into you like life itself depends on it. you’ve lost track of where he stops and you begin, stars behind your eyes that turn into butterflies festering in your belly. you’re so full, flushed beneath him, gushing every time he opens his dirty fucking mouth.

“crying for me, love?” he mocks, lowering himself to get even closer to you, his tongue finding your tears tracks and licking the salty residue away until you’re shuddering.

“please, lando, please, told you i’m sorry.” you plead, begging for something undisclosed, but it’s okay, because he knows exactly what to do with you.

“be fucking quiet.” lando coos once more, sickeningly unsympathetic.

but you can’t help it, whimpering out his name, begging for some form of relief, or mercy, or for him to just fuck you impossibly harder. how can you be quiet when he’s tearing you so perfectly apart?

lando doesn’t like being disobeyed, so when you continue to sob, loud and lewdly, his hand finds it’s way to the base of your throat. your jaw goes slack, wheezing at the intense rush you get when he squeezes slowly, and you can’t help but let go.

“fucking- lando!” you writhe.

“i know, baby, i know.” he shushes you, hooking your leg even higher so that he can bury himself as deep as possible.

you spasm hard, impossibly tight around him and he stutters, collapsing you both hard into the mattress. you hold him so, so tight as he cums, shooting into you. you can feel him leaking out of you already, white hot, and laying there in a heap of sweat and adoration. he breathes a laugh, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“are you okay, honey?” he whispers, kissing your collarbone.

“just peachy. a bit knackered.” you giggle, tangling your fingers into his damp curls.

“so, you liked the bracelet then?” he teases, nose bumping against your cheek as he raises his wrist to your eye line.

“i think it needs a clean.” you wrinkle your nose, thinking about what the beads had been exposed to over the last few hours.

“let’s shower, hm? then we can watch the sunrise.” lando suggests, sitting you up slowly.

“you’re gonna need to carry me.” your legs are still quivering.

“anything for you.” he says, hand over his heart.

45 minutes later, the sun is sitting pretty, high in the sky.

7:26am, the clock reads. the melbourne skyline glimmers hot with the rise of a new day.

you’re snuggled into his side, wet hair cooling the heat of damp skin. your eyes flutter, barely fighting the urgent need to sleep.

“you have no idea how much i love you.” lando caresses your stringy locks, pushing the hair from your eyes.

your bare bodies mould together, basking in the orange of the dawn.

“love you.” you mutter, brushing your lips against his chest in an open mouthed kiss. “promise i’ll start behaving.” you snicker.

“but baby, you know i love it when you’re bad.”

“okay, i’ll remember that… daddy.” you retort, a teasing lilt to your tone.

he ignores the way his blood rushes south, too conscious of your exhausted body - and his own - to climb on top of you and fuck you until the sun sets once more.

“get some sleep.” he whispers through gritted teeth.

you sink into sleep while he watches over you. the view from the hotel room is gorgeous, breathtaking, but why would he give it even a millisecond of his attention when he has you?

head? empty.

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helenanell · 14 days

Text

A Breath of Life || Challengers

Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.)

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to.

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep.

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it.

Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered.

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real.

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water.

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone.

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again.

And your prayer was answered.

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life:

“So, when can I play you again?”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world.

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you.

Tashi had breathed life into you.

Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear.

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought.

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin.

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in.

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands.

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile.

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

“Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music.

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm.

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over.

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach.

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form.

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her.

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you.

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk.

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.”

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you.

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display.

Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear.

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear.

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass.

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you.

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile.

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is.

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria.

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face.

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

“You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table.

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.”

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?”

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently.

“Do you love her, Art?”

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.”

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her.

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.”

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

“I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you.

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth.

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi.

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.”

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek.

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.”

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!”

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?”

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him.

But you don’t move.

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together.

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin.

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you.

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back.

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious.

Why won’t he follow you?

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art.

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong.

You walk through the stands until you come across Art.

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised.

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares.

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.”

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone.

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him.

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly.

Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away.

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence.

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain.

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!”

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away.

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you.

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for.

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka.

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.”

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury.

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling.

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs.

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head.

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over.

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet.

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door.

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs.

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top.

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication.

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs.

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most.

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to.

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to. You want him.

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure.

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you.

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him.

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names.

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around.

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him.

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert.

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol.

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes.

“Do that again.”

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side.

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back.

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips.

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next.

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art.

Art.

Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him.

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you.

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move.

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck.

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force.

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real.

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive.

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room.

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t.

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away.

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world.

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered.

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life.

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him.

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come.

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old.

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered.

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art.

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either.

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you.

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you.

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room.

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him.

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him.

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch.

You get down off the barstool.

As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down.

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak.

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them.

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture.

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?”

“I don’t know Art, can you?”

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him.

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be.

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do.

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.”

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?”

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds.

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him.

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him.

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly.

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.”

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.”

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him.

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question.

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?”

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship.

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses.

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer.

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you.

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you.

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head.

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck.

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean.

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined.

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most.

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

“Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head.

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to.

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly.

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.”

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.”

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you.

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up.

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin.

“Lay back.” He instructs gently.

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre.

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations.

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets.

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.”

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait.

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head.

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs.

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.”

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you.

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks.

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever.

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity.

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs.

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck.

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping.

“Is this alright?”

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch.

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision.

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick.

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.”

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts.

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi.

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world.

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip.

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum.

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead.

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place.

Someone was knocking on your door.

And then you hear her voice.

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

“Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you.

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door.

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things.

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

“You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously.

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade.

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again.

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too.

Only time would tell.

#challengers movie #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #mike faist #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #tashi x reader #zendaya #josh o'connor

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kagakuoniryu · 3 months

Text

Alastor x reader I've written randomly to vent about a shitty situation I'm currently living

Summary : a new guest you knew from your past life arrive at the hotel, she was that one person who bullied you throigh high school, but she mooks too angelic to be guilty

Code : E/n (ennemy/name)

Tags : fem reader, etablished relationship, angst for the most part, there will maybe be a part 2, mentions of bullying, reader is TRAUMATIZED, english is not my first language, may have some inaccuracy about the show since I'm just projecting, and of course probably ooc characters

It wasn't a bad day, at least not in a place like hell, it was even quite nice, charlie was babbling about a new team bonding activity as usual, and it was nice being with your friends, until around 2 pm...when a new guest arrived...

Oh you remembered her...from high school, so pretty, so popular, she was you best friends ! You should have been overjoyed to see her down here !

Well...not exactly, because she wasn't your best friend anymore, you hardly bear to be in the same room as her, of anger, from your history and how your friendship ended...but also of fear and dread...

You were both teens back then, you and eager to have many friends ! You had your own group of friends, and she was a separate individual, spending her time with her boyfriend often, that's okay by you, you were happy for her, and when that boy left her you welcomed her with open arms ! You became best friend soon, even inseparable ! You heard her badmouth you to your friend group from time to time, but she told you it was okay, it was "to know who was fake" then, one by one, your friends ghosted you, but you had her, she was there at least, making new friends, each time you introduced her they left soon enough, you thought that maybe you were the problem and stopped trying, your best friend was there after all

Until a boy came along, love at first sight for you, he had everything ! He had so much...your best friend wanted him too...and with that, she had him, when you called her out she called you an homewrecker and a toxic friend getting in the way of her relationship, that ended badly and an argument followed, while you stayed on the down low, she texted your few friends left, and any new friends you managed to make telling them how awful you were, so you ended up closing your media althogether, moving away, and never hearing about her ever again

And there she was, she didn't really looked different from her time on her, a round face and blond hair, she didn't looked like she fitted in hell, but you you were different, your body jointed like a doll, mocking your life as the puppet of those who wanted to play you, but if not your appearance, your personnality changed, you were more confident, your boyfriend was a powerful overlord too ! No, not boyfriend, he proposed a month ago after all, he was your fiancee now, and you had friends, through thick and thin, you knew they wouldn't buy into her lie at least !

Having an hard time to breath you sucked it up, maybe she wouldn't recognize you ?

Wrong

How wrong

"Hello ! Welcome to the hazbin hotel ! Guys this is our new guest !" Charlie started with her usually cheerfulness

"Hi everyone ! My name is E/n, I barely arrived in hell ! And I figured that if I could, I would want to be redeemed ! After all everyone deserves second chances !" The girl said back

Her voice hasn't changed, neither her tone, that fake nice tone you used to hear every day, here, one again in flesh and blood, not through a phone, not through class, but..here...

Breathing harder than ever, you only went back to reality when husk called out to you

"Hey ? You seem weird, like you've seen some ghost ?" His tone nonchalant as always showed half concerns, but for him, it was a lot

"A glass, of whiskey, or vodka, whatever you got, strongest you got please"

"Wowowo...alright, that's not your type to drink, what's up...?"

"I-I...I know this girl...she...listens, I can't be in her presence sober, I knew her from where I was alive...we had...some bad conflict...she did some awful things to me, and I got bad issues after that...I said some mean things to her too, we were kids, but since then I'm scared I'll lose all my friends again !"

Husk just nodded at my whispered rant, trying to calm myself, I didn't even insisted on a glass and went straight to my own room since alastor and I didn't shared one yet, not before marriage he said

Later that day, angel vaggie and charlie passed by my room, concerned by my absence, I told them everything, how I ended up abandonning the notion of making friends when I was alive, the calls, the insults, they looked at me with compassion, charlie said she believes that she could have changed, and even if I doubted it, I wanted to believes it

Alastor arrived to spend some quality time with me, dancing on old jazz music far from my time, reading a book, basking in silence with each others

After a while, I thought I could talk about E/n with him, he was my fiancee after all ?

"Al ?" I started, unsure

"Yes my dear ?"

"You know about that new guest at the hotel ?"

"Ah yes, what a cultivated lady, quite entertaining, she was really into songs from the 1980s not my style at all, we had a long discussion about music genres, she's actually quite against modern technology and that picture show"

"Oh...so...you like her company ?"

"She is not insufferable if that's your question"

Finally you decided against your first idea, perhaps she had changed in the end ? Perhaps a new friendship was possible ? With healthy fondation, you could get your bestfriend back !

Wrong again

You revealed her the next day who you were, well, used to be, what linked the two of you back in the living realms, for others, nothing changed, but for you it was subtle, for exemple she never interrupted anyone, but when it came to you each time your mouth opened she would cut you out

She was such a charmer too, a quality you envied her, her audience was captivated, and soon even alastor was her aquaintance, he presented her rosie of course ! Just like he did for charlie !

And just like he did for you...

Rosie found her delightful, and from your tea parties at 3 with her and alastor, became 4, adding E/n

A comment about your appearance back in high school, an embarassing moment you had, a silly crush, every single detail of your life was used to mock you, even your crush on a video game character

Soon you always found excuses to avoid going to the tea party, and spend most of our time outside of the hotel, feeling akward in her presence

You tried talking about it to charlie or maybe vaggie, to no avail, they said how nice E/n was and how much progress she was making, if they weren't saying you sounded silly thinking that in these 3 weeks she took your place, you still felt like it...

And it all confirmed when, after a whole day of searching for everyone, they finally came back to the hotel from shopping...without you

"Finally you're here toots ! We tried searching for ya before going but you weren't anywhere !" Angel started, holding many bags in each arms

"What do you mean ? I was in my room all day ?"

"Wait you weren't out ? E/n told us she saw you leave ?"

"Oh I'm sorry my eyes deceived me...next time I'll still check your room !" As everyone looked sorry I couldn't help but see it, even for a second...

She smirked...

Of course she did, she never changed

This started becoming common occurence, either the others left you behind, or you could leave the entire day without them noticing, and at some point, angel, husk and sir pentious started to distance themselves from you

"Hey angel, hum...you wanna hang out...? Go to a club, or drink with husk, just spend some time betweens pal ?"

"Sorry sweet cheeks, but we're partying with E/n tonight and...she doesn't feel comfortable around you..."

"Wha ? Angel what are you talking about ?"

"She told us about it, about the two of you, hos jealous and manipulative you were, you even tried to make her dump her boyfriend, that wasn't cool of you, I don't want to take side on this, but if I hang out with one of you, I'd rather not force her to be with the other for both your sanities"

"Oh...ok"

That's all you could have mustered, because what was there to muster, you were in hell, all the proof you used to have were on your previous phone in the living realm, but even if angel and the other favored her, mayne your fiancee could understand your side ?

Gently you knocked on alastor's hotel room as he called you to come in, he was currently eating his dinner, a...fresh venison...but you shook your head lightly, taking a sit across the table

"Al, can I vent to you for a bit...?"

"What is it my dear ? But please, spare me your story with E/n, as much as I love a good gossip, the young lady did you a favor by never taking vengance in the living realm, I wouldn't want the two of you to get in troubles once again"

"Al, please it's serious, she's telling lies about le ! And you believes her ? I'm your fiancee ! She's in hell as well !"

"And so are you, and so am I, I am not interested in knowing the why who is were, but I admit your little querrel is...quite entertaining !"

"So your fiancee see her ex bully...and all you think about is entertainment ?"

"Well, ma chère (my dear) as far as we are all concerned, without proof, both of you could be the liar, it's about, who's able to convince the public, just like on a stage"

Alastor's half sadistic smile didn't amused you, you just sighed, getting up, wamking slowly toward the exit of his room, if even your own fiancee, the man you loved refused to believes you, who would ?

You couldn't see alastor's curious expression as you left, he just wanted to prolounge the fun and not outright gives you the solution, but seeing you give up almost made him that for once he screwed up badly

#writing #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #angst #alastor angst #x reader #x reader angst #hazbin hotel x reader

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hystixia · 9 months

Text

A TEST OF FAITH.

SUMMARY 、YOU’RE THE PRIEST’S DAUGHTER, SWEET AND INNOCENT AND FREE FROM SIN. UNTIL JEFFREY WALKED IN AND TURNED YOUR WORLD UPSIDE DOWN.

FEATURING 、JEFF MASON X F!READER

WARNINGS 、FINGERING (M -> F), PUBLIC FINGERING, BLASPHEMY, RELIGION KINK, CORRUPTION KINK

NOTES 、i gotta thank my lovely mutual @hysterotic for helping me flesh out ideas for this one. love you babe also depending on how well this does. i’ll do part 2 LMFAO

The air is tense on the ride to church. The sun casts the world in a warm glow as it slowly rises beyond the horizon and you keep your eyes fixated on the blur of trees passing by as your father drives and taps his finger impatiently on the steering wheel.

You sigh softly and look into the rear view mirror at his reflection. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” You ask gently and you hear your father sigh almost tiredly.

“Nothing, sweetheart it’s just…” He contemplates it for a moment before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I don’t want you feeling burdened in any way this morning.” It’s Sunday, of course he didn’t want you feeling anything but the spirit of the Heavenly Father washing over you.

You hum rather defeatedly, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and staring out the window once more. “Mkay..” You mumble out, saddened your father didn’t feel like he could share whatever wad weighing hard on him but maybe the Lord could help ease the heavy feeling he has today. You close your eyes and say a small prayer just as you feel the familiar turn onto the gravely trail that leads up to the church you’ve spent your entire life going to.

The pearly white chapel comes into view and your eyes gravitate to the sight, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you see other members pulling up around the same time as you and your father and mother. You sit up straight as your father parks the car and tugs the keys out, fixing your sundress as you wait patiently for your father to exit first before following soon after.

The familiar faces by the church, idly chatting all turn and smile at the sight of you. The older women compliment you, saying you look like an angel as always in those pretty sundresses you always wore.

You’d giggle bashfully in response to their compliments, cheeks warm to the touch as you thank them and compliment them back before the sound of a loud rumble echoes out and you turn to look over your shoulder at the road as a noisy motorcycle pulls into the spot beside your parents’ car. You squint your eyes due to the harsh brightness of the morning sun peeking through the distant trees and into your field of vision as you try to get a good look at the individual. It’s hard to see much until the person gets off the bike shortly after and starts coming toward you.

“For christ— Ahem, you took your sweet time getting here didn’t you, son?” A loud voice from behind you speaks up. You notice the way your father seems to hold a cold stare you’ve almost never seen on his face before as he watches the guy approaching you chuckle, a deep rumbly sound that has you surprised to hear such a deep voice.

“Took the scenic route.” He says with a grin in his voice and as the bright leaks of sunlight hide behind his tall frame, you finally get a good look at his face. And boy did you feel your heartbeat quicken.

His eyes look down into yours and you instantly tear your stare away and focus on the ground beneath you. Grass has never looked so greener before until now.

Your father reluctantly shakes hands with the guy whose appearance is not very fitting, nor would you consider it appropriate for church service. The black ripped jeans with a chain dangling on them, dirtied combat boots, a learner jacket on and somewhat hiding the black band tee he wore underneath. It had a print of a music band you’ve never heard of and it left you feeling curious. You’ve never heard such music before. Anything remotely inappropriate or dark and taboo wasn’t allowed in your parents’ house.

You feel like you’ve stared for too long and look over to your mother for guidance and she gives you a knowing look before subtly glancing at the church doors. You excuse yourself but shortly after, everyone else is coming into the quiet place and the sounds of footsteps and quiet chatter echo throughout the building. You take a seat on the long bench you’ve always sat at while your mother sits on the other side of the church at a different place. You see the man that had talked rather loudly behind you earlier come in along with who you presume is his wife and a rather young looking teenage boy, but where was the motorcycle guy that he had called ‘son’?

“Hey,” Your eyes widen at the sound of a low and deep voice in your ear and you whip your head around to look to your side where you see the aforementioned motorcycle guy. His black hair frames around his face and he smirks at you. “Did I scare ya?”

You blink a few times before shaking your head, mumbling a soft ‘no’ in response to which he chuckles at before letting his arm rest on the back of the bench, nudging your shoulders ever so slightly but you try to ignore it. Your father however is practically staring daggers into the boy when nobody’s eyes are on him before he stands up and prepares to start the day’s service.

You try to scoot away from the strange guy, keeping your eyes on those that sing and you can feel his eyes on and it makes goosebumps rise along your arms.

Suddenly you’re asked to sing and you feel your heart drop to the floorboards. You’ve never felt so nervous in all your life, it was something you were always asked to do by other members of the church so why did it feel so scary to do all of a sudden? Was it because of the mysterious boy beside you? Who knows. You swallow thickly, standing up with a tremble in your legs and hands so you grip onto the bench in front of you. You clear your throat quietly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats so wildly and so hard it makes your throat want to close up on you. You manage to start singing a hymn, one that everyone seemed to love hearing you sing the most and as you let your eyes flutter closed you relax your nerves and let the words flow through you and out into the world.

It’s only a few short minutes and then you’re politely sitting down but as you do so you feel something against the side of your thigh and see his own pressed snug against yours. Did he move closer or did you accidentally sit too close? You apologize in a whisper, trying to move away but he shakes his head at you with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Nah, I don’t mind, angel.” He says back, a whisper in a low voice only you could hear and it makes your heart flutter with an unfamiliar feeling as you force your attention back to those around you as people begin to testify.

You’re so focused on them all, nodding and feeling the spirit seep into your being that you don’t notice the unfamiliar touch against your dress as something slides up your thigh. It makes you tense up for a second when you realize and you glance at the guy who’s seemingly leaning a little too close for comfort but it would appear to others that he’s just trying to see the individuals that stand up and testify better.

“Don’t let temptation distract you from the words of God, doll.” He whispers with a grin on his face, eyes flicking down to your doe eyes that tear themselves away from his face and over to the other people.

He was right. No matter what he was doing, whatever it might’ve been… It was just the devil trying to keep you in his hold. Yet it was so hard to focus when the pads of his fingers grazed over your panties making you shiver slightly.

You didn’t know what he was doing. You’ve never been touched anywhere by anyone before, especially down there, but it was a rather nice and foreign feeling that you found yourself wanting just a little more of. Unconsciously, your legs spread just enough to let his hand cup your clothed sex and he rubs his index and middle against your panties until he feels a damp patch that makes him bounce his knee to keep himself from dragging your foolishly innocent self out of the church and fucking you in the bathroom.

Your father mentions an individual’s name for them to lead into prayer and everyones, including your own, heads turn down and al eyes are closed as silence envelopes the church and the only voice heard is a wretched sinner crying out for the Heavenly Father as he gets on his knees and prays.

You’re focused on listening to his words, feeling the pain he’s burdened with carrying as your brows knit together and you listen thoughtfully. Then something cold and foreign pushed against your nether regions and your thighs twitch as your eyes open and you glance to the guy beside you. He grins sinisterly, like he was the devil incarnate and you shiver under his gaze.

“Listen to ‘im, angel. Hear the cries of a fellow sinner and pay attention.” He whispers with a sick chuckle as he pushes his digit into your warmth and nudges it against your gummy walls. It’s uncomfortable for a few seconds, a new and foreign feeling you’ve never felt before but you unknowingly clench around him as he begins to pump it at a rather quick pace that has pleasure tingling in your gut suddenly as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to block out whatever he was doing to you in attempts to distract you.

Was it wrong? Was this something bad that he was doing to you? You didn’t know and couldn’t find the right answer you tried to search for in your mind. Whatever it was, it had a great effect on you and when you opened your eyes and prayer ended, tears blurred your vision but not from the Holy Spirit overwhelming you, oh no, it was that guy’s hand that overwhelmed you.

A tight coil burns hot in your belly as your legs tremble and you force yourself to straighten up and stare onward as your father stood to his feet and started to preach. Your mind was clouded, hazy and lagged behind on the words and sounds that met your ears but the warm breath tickling the side of your neck kept you alert and on edge in more ways than one.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hear your father’s words as it touches the souls of many in the church. Your brows twitch, eyes gliding over the various people and a wave of feel-good tingles seeps into your being and your eyes flutter closed for a moment, a soft sigh leaving you glossy lips.

Your father’s preaching reaches its peak just as your thighs squeeze around the strange guy’s hand tightly, as if they never wanted him to leave and then euphoria washes over you. Like being hit by the Holy Spirit, your body tenses up and warmth floods your being as a sharp but quiet gasp leaves you and you curl in on yourself, hands gripping the cushion of the bench by your thighs. You heave quick breaths, heart racing in your chest as those digits curl into something incredibly sensitive inside of you before pulling away and you’re left feeling empty and exhausted.

You watch with half lidded eyes as he raises his hand up towards his face, it’s glistening with something slick on it and you wonder if it came from you. The thought embarrassed you to no end and when he popped the digits into his mouth, sucking the substance off them and then grinning at you as he shoved his hand into his pocket, it made you feel pulled towards him as if you couldn’t get enough despite knowing he was no good for you.

Your cheeks feel warm to the touch, cupping your hands against the hot flesh as you try to slow your breathing and shortly after, church has ended and people are socializing outside. You muster up the strength to stand on legs wobbly like a newborn fawn, hearing that boy chuckle at you as he gets up and walks away like nothing had happened. It saddens you a bit, you had felt some type of connection because of that strange interaction with him but you try to ignore it and move on just like he was so easily able to.

You manage to get out of the church, heading for the car earlier than your parents would’ve liked. You felt so lightheaded you just needed somewhere a little more private to cool off for some reason. You don’t get there in time before that boy is reaching you however.

“Aw, leavin’ already?” He’s teasing, he knows he’s the reason you feel so odd right now and the more you look at him the more you want to cling onto him. Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill your head, inappropriate and so lewd it makes you shiver with a mix of disgust and embarrassment directed toward yourself.

“I just need to cool off.. It’s warm out today.” You try to reason, voice a bit strained and shaky as you try to stand up straight but it’s obvious you’re a horny wreck in his eyes and he chuckles at you.

“S’that it? Just got too hot?” He takes a few steps towards you, an unreadable look in his eyes and you struggle to hold his gaze as you fumble over your words until he’s got you cornered with your back against the car. Those wide doe eyes, glassy with need, almost gets under his skin. He grins and it makes your stomach do flips when he looks at you that way. “Y’sure it’s not because I touched ya right here?” His hand forces its way between your trembling thighs and nudges against your nether regions making your breath hitch in your throat as you stare at him completely stunned.

Your hands grab at his wrist, shaky and weak as you attempt to pull him off but he only stops terrorizing your poor little innocent heart when he hears footsteps approaching.

He pulls away, straightening his posture while you push yourself off the car slowly as if you were in a daze at the moment.

“Is something wrong?” It’s your father, concern laced in his voice as he gives you a protective glance and moves towards you all while giving the boy an odd look.

The black haired guy scoffs with a smirk. “Nah, was j’st talkin’ to her is all.” He says it in a way that’s either condescending, sarcastic or as if he wasn’t saying the full truth. It’s hard for your brain to decipher properly anyways as your eyes bore into the grass beneath you, looking at anything but him.

“I’d much rather prefer if you didn’t speak to my daughter, Jeff Mason.” Your father says and it’s only now that you’ve learned the guy’s name. Your eyes flicker up to his face only to find him already looking back and shyness gets to you, making you tear your gaze from his.

There seems to be a tension between your father and Jeff, a staring contest ensues for a few moments that begin to feel like hours until that man you’d heard speaking before church comes up to the three of you.

He forces a smile and puts a hand on Jeff’s shoulder, squeezing a little too tight. “Jeffrey here will be sure to do that. Won’t you, son?” There’s an underlying authority to his voice as he looks at Jeff who glares back silently before shaking his hand off and walking towards his motorcycle with not a single word to follow.

The middle aged man chuckles awkwardly and tries to make small talk with your father but it doesn’t do much, if anything it would seem your father didn’t like either of them and that made you more curious than it should have.

You walk around the car to get into the car without disrupting their— very tense and awkward —conversation, trying to ignore Jeff who’s standing by his bike with his eyes glued onto you.

“Hey, Mary.” He calls out and you blink a few times before turning to look at him. He grins, “Yeah, you.”

“That’s.. That’s not my name, Jeff.” You didn’t even mean to say his name. It just spilled out by accident, he repeats the way you say it on loop in his head immediately.

“Sure it isn’t.” He grins with a teasing tone and crosses his arms as he looks you up and down slowly, undressing you with his eyes but you’re none the wiser. He finally looks at your face and smiles wickedly. “I’ll see ya around won’t I, angel?”

Your hold on the handle of the car door tightens a bit at the way he says it, heart fluttering in your chest and your knees weak. You feel a little bold, taking a deep breath as you hold his gaze. “Are you implying you’ll come to visit more often?” You meant the church, it’s obvious in the way you say it that you meant it in a church setting. But Jeff is far too sick and twisted to accept it as just that and that alone.

He chuckles at you, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. “Heh, y’gonna see me a lot more often than just here.”

#jeff mason x reader #jeff mason smut #creepypasta jtk #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x y/n #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x y/n #jeff the killer smut #jeff the killer #jtk x reader

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thefandomthings · 2 months

Note

Hello! I have a request for you prompt event! May I request OM!Simeon with the prompt 10.?

Thank you in advance!

❝𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲❞

Fluff Prompt #10: "You're really fucking cute when you are jealous."

Pairing: Simeon x Gn!reader

Warnings: Cursing, Fluff

Notes: I wasn't sure which #10 so I went with the fluff prompt #10! Second request of the prompt event, so happy that people are participating! Thank you for the request nony! I apologize if he is OOC I've been written for him before.

Prompt event

Simeon is a calm person, very simple and very old fashioned. He loves you with all of his heart; he will shamelessly admit he stays up thinking about you and how beautiful you are.

Even as an angle, he can't help but be a little jealous of those who have your full attention. Watching the way your kind eyes look at the person with such interest, making them feel wanted and heard.

He loves you for how attentive and caring you are, but it also doesn't sit right with how the person is looking at you; like you hung the stars. That's how he's supposed to look at you, but to him you hung the whole universe. The heavens don't come close to how bright you shimmer in the darkest of nights.

Simeon casually strolls over to the two of you, his gloved hand coming to rest on the small of your back, fingers gently pressing into your soft, clothed flesh. You gaze up at him so lovingly through you're pretty eyelashes, his heart squeezes with love and adoration.

The person you were talking to doesn't seem bothered by Simeon on the surface, but deep down your angelic boyfriends intuition senses his displeasure.

You notice the way his eyes are sharp and his jaw was slightly tense, his grip on you proprietorial, this was a new side of Simeon you've yet to see, and to be honest you found it quite attractive and cute.

Simeon gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead, his heterochromia eyes staring at your new 'friend' across the table.

"My apologies, but I'll have to take them from you." Simeon says as he gently leads you away from the table by your waist.

"You look ravishing, my love". He squeezes your waist lovingly. You giggle holding onto his hip, your fingers dancing across the bare skin that shows from his clothes.

"Simeon, my dear," You press multiple kisses to his cheek and jawline. "You are really fucking cute when you are jealous."

Simeon can't help the rosy tint appearing on his tan skin, his pupils dilating as you call him out. You can read him just as good as he can read you, god he loves you.

"My apologies, I can't help myself, you are just too perfect." He gives you an adorable smile then presses a kiss your lips.

#obey me #thefandomthings #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x reader #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #writing prompt #prompt event #obey me headcannons #obey me imagine #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me brothers #obey me belphie

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big-tiddy-bi · 2 years

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Big brain time

So the joker has died and been brought back to life, right. So, what if all people who have been brought back are technically subjects of the ghost king. So what I’m saying Ghost king Danny and a legion of the finest ghost knights appear in the sky over Gotham to bring joker in to the ghost zone to stand trial. Also I think ghost have like written rights and I think vengeance is one because they are ghost and I think it sounds cool.

____________________________________________

Gothem may not be the most normal city, but a giant swirling mass in the sky oozing toxic green liquid was a first for most of citizens, but the Jason knew it well, well at least he knew what the liquid was. The pit raged within him, violent and unyielding.

The droplets of Lazarus pooled on the ground and on top of buildings creating puddles of glowing water. Jason as fast as he could put on his armor and helmet. The communicator was screaming in his ear as he ran to the top of his building to get a better vantage point of what was going on.

As if the situation could not get any weirder people started to crawl out of the water. People might not have been a good way to describe these things, but who cares about semantics wham the apocalypse seems to be right around the corner.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing” dick asked over the coms, “because I think I just saw a centaur made out of a centipede and a Samurai come out of a Lazarus pool the came from the sky”

Replacement answered first “ I have three midevil skeleton knights and the headless horseman, so probably yeah”

“For the first time I how that scarecrow spiked the water” Steph responded “because I think I just saw the dog things from the first ghost busters and I didn’t think Damian needs another pet demon”

Before Jason could reply a blue woman covered in scales climes out of one of a pool close to him. When her snake like eyes met his he froze. Her voice was calm but she spoke with a Weight to it. “Put down your gun, young one and go inside, our king will be herein a moment”

For some reason he felt like he was included in the “our” . With all the courage he had gained from his years of training he asked “ what do you mean our king?”

As if on cue lightning started to clash as something giant started to descend from the sky, the center was vaguely human shaped and looked like it was made of ice in one arm a black sword, on the other a red ring that looked like it was imbedded into the icy flesh of the beings body strand of red trailing up its arm where the veins should be a cap rapped around its shoulders like someone cut it from the fabric of the universe. A crown floated above its head. It’s face look like someone scribbled it out in post prediction, Wings surrounded it, completing the biblical angel look.

“ My name is phantom” it began to speak “king of the infinite realms, defeater of pariah dark, protector of the living dead.” Phantoms voice was loud and forceful but it didn’t hurt Jason’s ears like it should, but his chest felt tight, not with fear but like someone grabbed his heart and was squeezing it. “My people have been tormented enough by your legal system’s incompetents.”

Phantom as the thing was called lifted up its sword to point in the Direction of arkham asylum, as Jason fell down to one knee, his body forcing him to bow his head to phantom. Neither Jason nor phantom controlled this movement, but the pit.

“ the dead are mine” phantom continued “your dead are mine, their anger and hate are mine. The children you let die are mine, and most importantly the minute the joker died he became mine”

Jason’s head snapped up, he hadn’t killed the joker, that bastard was alive in arkham, no one had killed the joker, Unless he was brought back, but no sane person would bring the joker back, unless, but Bruce wouldn’t.

“Batman you have stolen my subjects rights to justice and vengeance, you and the people of gothem have until sunrise to bring the joker to me or one of my men, if not we will take him by force. Do not disappoint me”

____________________________________________

Tell me if it sucks, also I can’t tell if this courts as a fanfic so…

#dp x dc #dc x dp #jason todd #danny fenton #Eldridge Danny phantom #ghost king danny #Eldridge ghost king #is this a fic?#did I write a fic?#sorry for spelling mistakes #danny phantom

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dee-morris · 2 months

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Finally We're Going to Talk About Crowley

I really do love them equally but you wouldn't know it from my posting history because I constantly feel the need to ride to Aziraphale's defense every other week.

Anyway we talk incessantly about Aziraphale's behavior in the last scenes of season two for obvious reasons, but I think Crowley also needs some deconstructing. His behavior is less shocking; he appears to be reacting to Aziraphale more than taking the reins of the narrative himself. But there are a few key moments I want to look at more closely.

The first thing I thought of was how nonchalant he appeared to be about his only friend going off to have a private conversation with a powerful angel who clearly loathes the sight of him. "Go ahead, the day can't get any weirder" YES IT CAN YES IT CAN but anyway, I was deeply mistaken.

The second they're out of sight he jumps to his feet and stares out the window after them, then he starts to pace around the bookshop. He stops dead when he sees Muriel and goes back to nonchalant mode. "They'll be back soon."

(In the tone, imo, of a parent waiting for their kid to come back from a date and it's past curfew and they're not answering their cell.)

And then--he immediately tries to get rid of Muriel. Who doesn't want to leave, bc "The Metatron might need me!" And you can see the "oh my sweet summer child" expression cross Crowley's face. He's still his usual casual demonic No Fucks Given self on the outside, but he doubles down on getting Muriel out of the shop.

I don't want to spit in anyone's crepes with this next bit, but I don't think the "us time" portion of this conversation was intended to be romantic. I hypothesize that Crowley had just about made up his mind to have an honest conversation with Aziraphale about his Fall and whatever tf he's got going on with the Metabitch. And the "extremely alcoholic breakfast" was what he needed to get through the conversation.

I'm wandering into the realm of speculation at this point, but I think my hypotheses are based on canon events. Crowley does not talk about his Fall with Aziraphale and discourages any mention of his angel identity. That could just be a trauma response, but you don't see the same reticence when it comes up in conversation with Beelz or Muriel or even Jim. I think he's been protecting Aziraphale from something all this time, maybe for his own safety or maybe because he doesn't want Azi to lose faith in heaven/God. The way he tries to send Muriel away makes me think it's a physical safety thing.

But then Metacunt shows up in the flesh and Crowley goes, Yeah it's time to have The Talk.

So then what changed?

This next extrapolation is a bit tenuous so feel free to disagree, but I don't think Crowley was as lost in the woods as he seemed to be. Crowley is impulsive and emotional, but he's not stupid. My friend leaves with the most dangerous angel I know and comes back acting weird. We are not getting that breakfast at the Ritz, are we?

I think the confession and the kiss were sincere, but I also think they had a purpose. I think he was trying to snap Aziraphale out of whatever was making him act like a marionette on crack. But, "It's too late. It's always too late."

#aziraphale #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens meta #crowley good omens #Crowley meta #the final fifteen #fuck the metatron #The kiss #It worked for sleeping beauty #You sit on a throne of lies Disney

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mister-a-z-fell · 7 months

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After some questions about my ‘true’ form and whether or not I have a thousand eyes and a veritable farmyard of creatures emerging from my collar, I have decided to show you this record of an encounter between myself and a certain writer at the latter end of the Elizabethan period. I remember the event slightly differently, but I suppose one has to make room for artistic licence.

I’m assured that if you click ‘keep reading’, the full transcript will appear.

To assist you, I’ve added a glossary at the end.

And no, Crowley, this still doesn’t count as having wheels.

“This is an true accounting of mine own eyes, set down by mine hand this tenth night of September, in the yeare of Our Lord sixteen hundred and one. They will say I am gone mad, for such visions belong to those who dwell in Beth’lem Monastery, but I swear on all that is precious to me, this se’nnight past I saw an Angel.

I was but newly set out from the towne, and some light yet remained to guide my path, when I looked to the east and saw of a sudden a second dawn. T’was no earthly fire; Aye, I warrant you, I am not bestraught! My father spoke, in Harry’s day, of the great conflagration of Edinburgh. He told me that Hell had claimed the sky, for all above was a fury dress’d in crimson and wretched with soot. But here was nothing of red.

I have seen it since in dreams and will, I ken enow, see it as I draw my final breath. Hasten the day.

It was akin to a man. I gleaned as much in those moments when I looked upon it, ere it saw me and my wits fled me. But also unlike a man, for where a man has but one pair of hands were there some severall, and where a man has flesh and bone was there flame. Such pale fire have I never seen but I should think it alchymy, and mine eyes were indeed ensorceled, for I saw colours without name, and things too marvellous and awful to relate. I will. I must. This labour’d span is raised to worthy work, knowing the glory that awaits. But oh, I am affraid. I pray my sins have not snatched the cup from my lips.

This fearful apparition stood upon the hill, and the white fire that was its crown was with the thin night clouds commingled. Its face — no. Of that no more, yet. I cannot. All about was compassed in armillary radiances which turned one within another, the forme entire and every hand with pearlie lustre enwheeled.

Below, the flames of Tuscalonian hue that formed a body for the Presence were so and so girded with armour: bright fragments, the whole twixt corslet and grand guard, matched with cushes; all of nacreous stuff and lapis-ensigil’d but for one place high ‘pon the rightmost thighpiece where the intricate device was marred and running gold in place of gore.

What can wound an Angel? I think on this and tremble as the very earth trembled where it stood, ague-shooke by a low’ring thunder.

I have held golden angels in my palm and have seen them in holy glass and in base iron gaulle, with doves’ wings upon their shoulders. Foh, we are God’s own fools. Its wings were the clouds pierced by stormlight, dark upon light upon dark, and where they moved was printed a world beyond my understanding, witnest through a furnace shimmer.

I saw a flock of stars draw close around it, and it seemed to dote upon them and cosset them as a hunter with his favourite hounds, and I would there have fainted all away an if I had not been fixed in terror. For they were not specks and embers laid distant upon the sky, a sailor’s comfort and guide, but each and each an inferno pluck’d from Heaven; baleful sentinels from which no secret could be hidden. Such fell lights would render trivial the earthly fires of Nebuchadnezzar.

Words are meat and drink to me, yet do I tell this so poorly I should be ‘shamed and nevermore lift a goose-pen. Still, ‘tis no matter for who shall read it? When all is said, I’ll put these lines away and think on them no more. In telling will I win myself a little peace.

Wheretofore had I been silent, so now instantly did I weep, and laugh, and cry out for God’s mercy, and it looked upon me. Od's-me, it turned its Phoebean eyes on me and I saw its face. Above the gleaming corselet had that most blessed igenieur placed a maske of fine, unblemish’d parchment, in th’ likeness of a gentle visage, before the sainted flame. Troth, a kindely lanthorne of such boundlesse compassion that I fell upon my knees and made to crawl into the fire, sooner to know its forgiuenesse. Then did it smile, as no painted visor could, and all my knotted thoughts were ravel’d out and I was at once a babe, a foole, unfolded and sanctuarized. Under this soft and clement regard I swounded, onely to wake in my lodgings, ‘tired, but not tyred, my travells lost beyond recover.”

Glossary:

Beth’lem Monastery — Bishopgate hospital that would later become the notorious ‘Bedlam’.

se’nnight — seven nights — a week

warrant — assure/promise

bestraught — mad

Harry — another name for Henry — in this case Henry VIII

ere — until

ensorceled — enchanted

commingled — mixed with

compassed — surrounded by

armillary — resembling concentric rings set at angles

pearlie lustre — a pearl-like glow

enwheeled — encircled (shush, Crowley)

Tuscalonian — pale straw-yellow

girded — armoured

twixt — between

corslet — armour covering the upper body

grand guard — armour protecting the heart and left shoulder

cushes — armour for the thighs

nacreous stuff — resembling mother-of-pearl

lapis-ensigil’d — decorated in blue

intricate device — complicated symbol

ague-shooke — shivering, as with a sickness

low’ring — threatening/ominous

golden angels — gold coins stamped with the likeness of Michael defeating Lucifer

holy glass — church windows

iron gaulle — ink

Foh — an exclamation of disgust

cosset — fuss over

an if — if

goose-pen — a quill

Wheretofore — while until now

instantly — at the same time

Od's-me — an exclamation: ‘God save me’

Phoebean — relating to Phoebus/the sun

blessed igenieur — The creator

visage — face

Troth — an exclamation: ‘indeed’

lanthorne — lantern

painted visor — an immobile mask

ravel’d out — unwound

unfolded — exposed

sanctuarized — protected/sheltered

clement — forgiving

swounded — fainted

‘tired, but not tyred — a pun: ‘tired (attired) meaning dressed, tyred meaning weary

recover — remember

Addendum:

I’ve been asked to provide a translation for the Latin community. My grasp of Elizabethan Spanish would, I fear, let me down, so this is couched in modern terms…

Este es un relato verdadero de lo que vi, escrito por mi mano esta décima noche de septiembre, en el año de Nuestro Señor mil seiscientos uno. Dirán que me he vuelto loco, pues tales visiones pertenecen a los que viven en el Monasterio de Beth'lem, pero juro por todo lo que me es precioso, que la semana pasada vi a un Ángel.

Hacía poco que había salido de la ciudad, y aún quedaba algo de luz para guiar mi camino, cuando miré hacia el este y de repente vi un segundo amanecer. No era fuego terrestre; ¡te juro que no estoy loco! Mi padre hablaba, en tiempos de Harry, del gran incendio de Edimburgo. Me dijo que el infierno había reclamado el cielo, pues todo lo alto era una furia vestida de carmesí y desdichada por el hollín. Pero aquí no había rojo.

Desde entonces lo he visto en sueños y estoy seguro de que lo veré cuando exhale mi último aliento. Ojalá sea pronto.

Era como un hombre. Me di cuenta de ello en el breve momento en que lo miré, hasta que me vio y perdí la razón. Pero también era distinto de un hombre, porque donde un hombre tiene un solo par de manos había varias, y donde un hombre tiene carne y hueso había llamas. Nunca he visto fuego pálido como éste, a menos que fuera hecho por alquimia, y mis ojos estaban realmente encantados, porque vi colores sin nombre, y cosas demasiado maravillosas y horribles para relatarlas. Lo haré. Debo hacerlo. Esta vida dura merece la pena, sabiendo la gloria que aguarda después de la muerte. Pero tengo miedo. Rezo para que mis pecados no me hayan arrebatado la copa de los labios.

Esta temible aparición se alzaba sobre la colina, y el fuego blanco que la coronaba se enredaba con las delgadas nubes nocturnas. Su rostro... no. Aún no puedo hablar de ello. Todo estaba rodeado de ruedas de luz que giraban unas dentro de otras, y toda su forma y cada una de sus manos estaban rodeadas de un resplandor nacarado.

Debajo, las llamas de color amarillo pálido que formaban el cuerpo de la Presencia estaban cubiertas por piezas de armadura: fragmentos brillantes que, todos juntos, formaban una coraza, y una armadura para las piernas; parecían de nácar cubiertas de símbolos azules brillantes, excepto en un lugar en lo alto del muslo derecho, donde los adornos estaban dañados y sangraban oro.

¿Qué puede herir a un ángel? Pienso en esto y tiemblo como tiembla la tierra donde estaba, sacudida por truenos ominosos.

He tenido ángeles de oro (monedas) en la palma de mi mano y los he visto en vidrio sagrado y en tinta simple, con alas de paloma sobre sus hombros. Buaj, somos los propios tontos de Dios. Sus alas eran las nubes atravesadas por la luz de la tormenta, oscuridad sobre luz sobre oscuridad, y donde se movían vi un mundo más allá de mi entendimiento, presenciado a través de un resplandor como de horno.

Vi una bandada de estrellas acercarse a su alrededor, y parecía adorarlas y mimarlas como un cazador a sus sabuesos favoritos, y me habría desmayado si no me hubiera quedado helado de terror. Porque no eran motas y ascuas lejanas en el cielo, consuelo y guía de un marinero, sino cada una un infierno arrancado del Cielo; torvos centinelas a los que no se podía ocultar ningún secreto. Luces tan terribles harían que los fuegos terrenales de Nabucodonosor parecieran triviales.

Las palabras son carne y bebida para mí, pero estoy contando esto tan mal que debería avergonzarme y no volver a levantar una pluma. Aun así, no importa porque ¿quién lo leerá? Cuando termine, guardaré este escrito y no pensaré en él. Contando esto me ganaré un poco de paz.

Había estado en silencio, pero ahora lloré, y reí, y supliqué la misericordia de Dios, y el ángel me miró. mSobre la coraza reluciente El Creador había colocado una máscara de pergamino fino y sin mancha que parecía un rostro amable, frente al fuego sagrado. De hecho, era una linterna bondadosa de una compasión tan ilimitada que caí de rodillas e intenté arrastrarme hasta el fuego, para poder sentir su perdón. Entonces sonrió (como nunca podría hacerlo una máscara), y todos mis confusos pensamientos se desenredaron y me sentí simultáneamente un bebé, un tonto, expuesto y protegido. Bajo esta atención suave e indulgente me desmayé, sólo para despertar en mi alojamiento, vestido, pero no cansado, incapaz de recordar cómo había llegado hasta allí.

#hashytag good omens #they aren’t wheels they’re parhelia #unofficial Appear Unto #Now with added Spanish

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alicerosejensen · 8 months

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Where It All Began

Warning: a little angst, fear for the loss of a partner, caring, open final, fem/reader.

Synopsis: He will always be afraid of losing you and will not forgive himself if something happens to you.

A/N: I don't know what it is. It's just necessary to throw out these emotions somewhere. I like to write such lyrics to sad melodies that make me long for someone who's gone… (I am the queen of drama)

Leon never wanted to let anyone get too close to him. Long-term scars respond with pain and fear that at any moment a zombie will appear behind his back, clutching his shoulder with its jaws, tearing off the flesh, so he was always calmer alone. Perhaps of course not always, before Raccoon City he was less traumatized, even loved the girl with whom he naively thought to spend his life until she left him before leaving, but now Leon thinks that it was for the best. That rookie cop has been gone for a long time. He remained buried under the ashes of the destroyed city.

In his eyes there remains a lost light and not dead nobility. The desire to save every innocent life that is being taken away by corrupt corporations. There are few like Leon, but… he never fully appreciated his life. It wasn't even modesty, he just considers himself an instrument of the government. An ordinary pawn and never denies it.

Love is disgusting and causes pain when the object of your adoration is not around. Leon ignored that dull ache in his chest just like he ignored his feelings for you. He couldn't even figure out exactly when it started with him, you were one of those he saved and who didn't haunt him in nightmares, but you appeared in others and brought fleeting comfort, making him want to feel warmth and affection, You made him be so needy, but when he flirted with you, you only responded to a minor flirtation with your friendship.

Perfect love comes softly

Do you know all these poets beautifully praising a deep light feeling that also becomes a sweet poison that drives you crazy? Beautiful words will come to mind, the heart will want to do things for the sake of a loved one and Leon really wants to hold you in his hands and his heart. At the same time, he is afraid of being tied down, but this feeling grows in him like a branching tree that he gently cherishes looking at you, helping to do some little things.

No matter how much his soul broke into pieces after all the encounters with bioweapons, it was you who arranged it to blossom with renewed vigor with your beautiful inner light.

It was as if your hand was always outstretched for you to take him home, and he could heal all wounds and dispel longing by pressing his head against your rhythmically beating heart.

But Leon is not going to say "I love you." He is so afraid of these words, as if after their utterance there will be another outbreak that will take the lives of thousands of innocent people. He doesn't want to bring you to tears, he doesn't want you to worry about him, and he knows that he has nothing to offer you, so why then does this feeling that you evoke in him so much choke him, causing tears in his eyes when he sees that someone else showing romantic interest in you?

To his angel, who each time leads him out of the darkness to the warm light. For which he is still fighting.

Actually, this guy is cute, he doesn't hurt you, but Leon can't be happy. Only time after time he asks himself why, out of many saved, it is you, an ordinary civilian, who arouse such a feeling in him?

The storm clouds melt with you when you walk with him along the snowy sidewalks with a cup of hot coffee in your hands, discussing some everyday things, and Leon again catches every word, suppressing the desire to take his beloved by the hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. He looks into those lovely tired eyes that shine for him like a monument to the hope of something else worth fighting for. Then these tales of eternal pure love no longer seem so cloying and fictional.

And if something happens to you again, God forbid, he is ready to dig one grave for two.

Some new kind of love and Leon doesn't care at all that your boyfriend looks so enviously at how you dance with him, laughing joyfully, hugging him as a friend. Let someone dare to touch you - he can be rude not only to the bastards of the zombie creator.

Once you told him that despite the monsters living in the world, this world is not bad at all.

"Only you will never be mine in this world,"

Leon did not say it out loud, but clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze. From this thought, the world really became more and more terrible.

You were his angel even though he has big problems with religion.

Paradise could be found in your arms. You were more reliable than any honest words when you stroked his back hugging him in a difficult hour while he was not ashamed of his helplessness squeezed you in his vice. You've never manipulated him. They broke him, beat him, and you healed him. It was possible to be silent with you without feeling awkward. It is when Leon finally breaks down that he finally comes to you because his love poisons him. It hurts even when it becomes difficult for you to breathe and your lungs can't inhale enough oxygen because of this steel grip.

"I've lost so many people, but I can't lose you…" his head was buried in your neck and you could feel warm lips on your skin.

He could have hidden you from everyone, but he didn't let his selfishness get the better of his mind. That's why Leon doesn't want to leave, grabbing your face, staring intently into your eyes, leaning against your forehead. He wants to make tender love to you, forcing you to grab his shoulders, shouting a long "Leon" so that the sheets crumple to hell and your cheeks turn red from the heat while he takes possession of you. he wants more than anything to cover every inch of your body with kisses, grab your hands, interlacing your fingers and tell the stupid guy to get off you.

Leon loves to kiss this nose, although he does it for the first time being afraid of what is happening in it. The world will stop being so disgusting again because there is a house in which there is love….

And yet Leon is afraid. He allows himself an acceptable amount of destroying the fragile edge of friendship by laying you under him, whispering various pleasant epithets promising how you will feel good with him but then… You know yourself that this person is afraid of attachment and in the morning your heart will break into a million pieces when he leaves. Therefore, with tears on your cheeks, your palms are on his chest when you push him away from you, looking away.

"I'm sorry," Leon whispers, holding his hands on your waist when he realizes that this is the end.

You didn't accept his love and it's his fault that salty tears flow down your sweet cheeks that he loved so much. His wounded heart begins to bleed and if you understood this, you would never turn away from him. It wasn't worth destroying this fragile friendship because now that he realized that you don't have feelings for him, everything collapsed like a house of cards. Despite the fact that his soul screams from injustice, Leon does not dare to accuse you, so he calmly lets go of his love, knowing that he will look for a ghostly trace in the beloved place where you most often met.

Every day.

His beautiful love that still burns in his chest. He wanted so much to know the desired happiness with you, but you can't force someone to love, so he leaves, closing the door behind him and not understanding the reason for your tears, because you, just like him, were afraid that your heart would break…

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #reader #leon resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon s kennedy x you #leon x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader

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captain-mj · 8 months

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The Cure

Did this to break my writer's block. It semi worked? 09 SoapGhost with some possessive Soap and self destructive Ghost

Lot of implications to bad things in here, but nothing is really explicit.

Soap knew a few things about himself. He was territorial. Not possessive. There was a difference. Things were his. Sometimes that included people.

Like Ghost. It wasn’t that he was Ghost’s Captain and therefore Ghost was his Lieutenant, though that didn’t help. People were welcome to get near Ghost. Maybe try to catch his attention. But the moment their grubby hands would get close. Reach to grab Ghost and take him away, Soap bared fangs.

It helped that Ghost himself was not one to let others have him. Ghost was not terrible. Sometimes he would take his mask off or allow people the honor of his company. People were never allowed to ask though. Allen had been stupid enough to ask for Ghost to remove his mask and Ghost still refused to take off his mask around him.

Soap got to ask though.

Soap got to ask for Ghost to strip in front of him. To bare himself and let Soap’s greedy, dirty hands grope him. As far as Soap knew, he was also the only one allowed to fuck him. And Ghost was such a good boy. Always willing to take whatever in bed. Soap got to do whatever he wanted to him.

Tied him up, praised him, degraded him, so far his record was getting three orgasms out of Ghost, a slightly low number but it had been a manner of not having anymore time rather than Ghost telling him to stop. He was an angel that Soap loved to ruined. Seeing those giant brown eyes staring at him. They always had a vaguely blank look in them until Soap got him close, then it was hazy. Something so deep right there but unreachable. Soap wanted to. He wanted to find out what made Ghost tick. Rip him to shreds and find out what his insides taste like.

Make the jokes about him being a middle child or that he joined the military too early. Maybe it did fuck up something in his brain, constantly having to share. Never able to call his things his.

So yes, he fucked Ghost like he’d never get to again and left so many marks on him under all those clothes that every time Simon moved one of them reminded him that he belonged to Johnny.

And that was his mistake. Clearly. He got so caught up in possessing Ghost, he forgot that at his core, Simon, was… fractured. There were deep cracks, not just in his skin and flesh, but also in his psyche. There were deep rooted issues that had to be touched Lovingly. Soap had to have a gentle hand at times. To trace the cracks and tell Simon it was okay until it really was.

“Go ahead and punish me.” Ghost begged, holding him tight. His throat is bared and he’s unmasked. Stripped down.

Soap frowned. This is one of those times. He messed up. “Why would I punish you, Simon?”

“The mission failed.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve to be punished.”

Ghost hit him. Not hard. Just a faint thumping against his chest. “I do. I do. You’re always rough when missions go wrong. Just punish me already.”

Soap winced. “No. No, mi chuisle. It’s not punishment.”

Ghost leaned into him and buried his face in his neck. He tried to press himself into him. To shrink as much as he could. “Please. I need to turn it off. I need everything to turn off.” He started to scratch at Soap’s clothing, desperate and wanting.

Soap hesitated but gave in when Ghost looked up at him like that. “Alright. How about we take it slow, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

Ghost nodded. “Alright. Please. I’ll be good. I want you. I want you so bad.” He mouthed at Soap’s throat until Soap backed him against his desk.

“Always are. Always perfect.”

“No, I’m not. Awful. Terrible.”

“You’re a gorgeous man, Simon. I tell you every chance I get.”

Ghost shook his head. “Not talking about my appearance, though that’s rather retched too. I meant my personality. Don’t know how you can stand me. Plus I’m a fucking baby during sex. Can’t fucki-”

Soap learned early on that Ghost could not be reassured like this. Only distracted until he was in a better mindset. Then Soap would tell him how much he liked him. For now, he sank his teeth into his shoulder, feeling him groan and arch into him. Ghost was already undressed, so it was easy to start to touch him. He had him on his desk with his legs around him in moment.

Soap let his gear stay on because he liked how it made Ghost seem a little smaller. He still had that inch of height, but no longer looked as bulky. His gloves came off though, relishing the feeling of Ghost’s bare skin.

“Do you want to try to make me finish four times tonight? I won’t tell you no. Or you can slap me. I know you li-”

Soap cut him off again. He kissed him to shut him up. No. Ghost deserved special treatment tonight. Gentle hands. Loving touch.

Soap used more lube than usual to open him up. He started talking him through it. Telling him before he pushed in any further and making him swear it didn’t hurt at all, rewarding him with another when he was honest for him. “Good boy. Such a good boy.”

Ghost started to flutter his eyelashes. His eyes looked wet, but Soap knew from experience that it was impossible to get tears “I promise I want to be.”

“You already are. So sweet, just for me. So tough for everyone else, but you can be nice and soft right here and now.” Soap crooked his fingers, carefully pleasuring Ghost. With all this talk of punishment, he didn’t want to overstimulate him and reinforce any terrible ideas. Especially when Ghost was pressing back and trying so hard to get more.

Soap carefully pulled his fingers out and moved Ghost so his ankles were on his shoulders. He took a moment to just… admire his cock on Ghost’s body. His skin was fairly tan and it was very noticeable against Ghost’s paler skin. His hands were the same way, a stark contrast to his lover’s coloring. He started to kiss along that Glasgow Smile as he pushed into Ghost, feeling his legs tremble.

Ghost groaned and shifted his hips, trying to let Soap get in deeper. So eager to please. To have Soap reach in his brain and remove all of his thoughts. Rolling his hips seemed effective enough. He hit Ghost’s prostate over and over again. Pleasuring him as much as he thought Ghost could stand.

“Feel good?”

Ghost nodded, eyes unfocusing. “So good. Please, sir. Don’t stop.”

Soap nodded. He imagined the conversations they’d have later. He’d have to pick Ghost’s brain and try to figure out how to take better care of him before he fell apart. But Ghost’s tight body was getting to be a bit distracting. Eventually, he could only focus on the push and pull of their bodies. Trying to wring ever bit of pleasure he could out of it for Ghost. He wanted Simon pampered. Sometimes, he thought of just keeping him in bed and not letting him out for a while. Simon would let him.

But would he enjoy it?

Soap groaned and bit Ghost’s hard, feeling him cum all over himself moments later. He shook and clenched and twisted around Soap until he was following him.

They sat there. Sticky and hot.

“Don’t you want to keep going?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I can handle it.”

Soap lifted up. “Not what I asked. Let me get you cleaned up and then you can lay in my bed and relax. Think you need it.”

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #ghoap

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gh0st-author · 3 months

Text

mastermind.

Pairing: William James Moriarty x Reader

Summary: What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Tags: fluff, a little bit suggestive but nothing much, Liam is a softie

A/N: so i was listening to mastermind by taylor swift and i just realized how much it fits liam, so this brainrot you see here was born. also this is set in america somewhere in those 2.5 years after the billy incident but before they return to london. my thought process was that liam and sherlock were doing some undercover work at this ball. additionally i decided to have Liam keep his eye here man's been through enough...

The moment was like something straight out of a fairy tale. An instant that you can't quite place; a dream that would unravel and slip from your grasp and glide through your fingers if you only tried to look too close at it. Gentle candlelight tracing abstract patterns over the entire hall, making the entire scene seem magical. Delicate music from numerous hidden instruments filling the air with yearning, so beautiful it could make your heart ache. The muffled sounds of secret whispers and the rustling of numerous exotic fabrics joining the cacophony of sounds, not to overpower but to add to the overall mystique and intricacy of the night. And him. Him— this radiant and golden being, akin to an angel, luring you in, stealing your coherence.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he'd entered the room, followed by another dark-haired man who you couldn't make yourself glance at for the life of you. Because doing that would mean taking your eyes off him. Elegant frame gliding through the mass of people, pale golden strands swaying with the movement, awakening an urge in you to trace your hands through them, to find out if they were as soft as they looked.

This feeling washing over you, filling your every cell, clouding your mind more than the glass of expensive wine in your hand, was new. Completely and irrevocably unfamiliar. And that terrified you tremendously. How could one person have such an effect on you, before you'd even exchanged so much as courteous greeting?

He must've felt your attention on him— how could he not when you were burning holes in the back of his head— and his head turned towards your hiding place, the little nook you slotted yourself in as to avoid unnecessary prattle of the ladies around you.

Oh...

You felt as if all of the air had been leached out of the room in that one moment, then instantaneously rushed back in leaving you light-headed. Bewitching. That was the only word adequate enough to describe his face, his eyes. His features were timeless, elegant, touched by the innocence of youth but also impossibly wise at the same time. And when his sharp scarlet gaze connected with your own, what little thoughts you had— however trifle they might've been— evaporated into mist and smoke. Those were eyes that never missed anything, that appeared to gaze directly through your flesh and blood and straight into your soul, seeing every detail, every dirty little secret. Yes, this man was absolutely breathtaking; utterly captivating.

You averted your gaze, feeling exposed and not wanting to stare too hard. This night had just become infinitely more interesting to you. But, despite all of the stars aligning and conspiring to place you in the same room with such a magnetic and compelling presence, you had no conceivable way of conversing with him. In truth, you were only here in the first place because of your cousin, and this ball was nothing more than just a chore to you who was supposed to be her chaperone. You had no connections and no reason to seek him out, no matter how much your heart yearned for it. Even now, you could see his outline floating in the corner of your vision, surrounded by numerous important individuals.

You sighed, and deciding against hiding for now, you smoothed out your gown and abandoned your little nook. It was due time to try to mingle with the dense crowd.

Like his shadow, a phantom, you traced his steps around the room, trying to find an opportune moment to etch just a little bit closer. Wherever you went you glimpsed him from the corner of your eye, always near, but always just out of reach. As soon as one group had finished with him, he was already onto the next. He was everywhere— anywhere you looked— making your desperation rise. It was a known fact that our psyche worked in contradictory ways; the more one tried not to gaze at something or think of something, the more the mind made them a prisoner of exactly those thoughts. The echo of his silhouette followed you around, always just a tad bit too far away.

Positively exhausted by the constant ongoing battle between your mind and your heart, you retracted back to the faraway corner of the room, choosing instead to behold the art and numerous artifacts nestled there. What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Deep in thought, one painting caught your attention. It was a magnificent piece, truly, but you were not able to decipher what exactly about it ensnared you so. It appeared no more extravagant than any other painting in the room, yet you couldn't look away from it. It felt as if it was pulling you in, calling to you.

"Captivating work, is it not?"

The sudden voice to your right made you startle, and you were forcefully ripped away from your mussings. You almost didn’t need to look to know who the person who'd just spoken was. After all, your body was tingling in his mere presence, every cell coming alive simultaneously, vibrating with hope now that he was the one who sought you out first. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, you pivoted to regard the stranger. "I'm sorry?"

"That painting." He flashed you a gentle smile, his unusual-colored eyes regarding you with interest as he approached to stand beside you. "It's a true masterpiece. The artist uses patterns and geometry to create a most aesthetically pleasing piece, painting illusions to trick the viewer into thinking they can actually step into a two-dimensional space. It's rather extraordinary."

His voice was soft and melodic, slightly amused. Your eyes caught at the slight upturning of the corners of his lips as he spoke, unable to look away. It was either that or get lost in his knowing gaze. "Are you an artist?"

"A mathematician, more accurately." You heard a wistful note in his voice. "I used to teach at a university in England, but sadly, I don't anymore." He gave you another smile, this one a little dimmer than his last one. "Some circumstances got in the way. But that is neither here nor there. I take it you are someone's chaperone tonight. If I had to guess, the young lady's over there."

You followed his gaze and saw your cousin a little further away, engaged in a conversation with some friends. How did he know that? "I am. Thank you for your insightful deduction Mr.–"

"Liam. Call me Liam."

"Liam..." You whispered his name like a prayer on your lips, tasting how it felt on your tongue. "No title? Is it short for something?"

"No... just Liam. Classes and titles mean nothing to me." You couldn't quite read the emotion in his voice as he said that, layers of something more— perhaps dejection— intertwined beneath a calm reply. "And what shall I call you, Miss–"

"Y/N" You held out your hand to him, and Liam, never breaking his eye contact with you, raised it gently to his lips, leaving just a breath of a kiss there.

"Y/N..." He too sounded like he was sounding out your name, familiarising himself with it as if he planned to continue saying it many times more. "The pleasure is mine."

That one touch, that one kiss against your gloved hand, was enough to light a fuse within you. You felt flushed all over, both too hot and wrecked with chills at the same time. You needed to know more about this man. He was like a Venus fly trap, a mystery you wanted to solve, an equation you wanted to assess. "Did you come here alone tonight?"

"I am accompanying my good friend on some business tonight. He is the black-haired individual currently giving us the burning stare." And sure enough, when you followed his gaze, you spied the gentleman in question, the one who followed Liam when he first entered the room, giving you both suspicious glances. Looking at him now, no longer blinded by the brilliance of the mysterious mathematician, he was a handsome individual, tall and all angular features, but that was overshadowed by the arrogant eyebrow he raised at you as if contemplating to terminate your further involvement with his friend.

"Have I done something to upset him?" You haven't even met him, yet he seemed to not be pleased with you.

"No, he's just paranoid. Unnecessarily." Liam narrowed his gaze at him, and they appeared to be exchanging a wordless string of arguments between them, after which the man shrugged his shoulders and flashed you both a sheepish smile, putting his hands in his pockets and turning away to talk to some other nearby attendant. Liam's attention was back on you now. "Excuse his behaviour, he has a lot on his mind tonight."

You, too, had a lot on your mind tonight— mainly, how to slip away somewhere where you could be alone with him, away from the eyes of everyone so you could continue your conversation uninterrupted. Suddenly, a thought permeated the fog in your brain. It wiggled through and lodged itself right in the forefront. An opportunity to get him alone... This was it. If you could use this to your advantage, you could make an unfortunate situation into something worth remembering. "Don't worry. I don't mind—"

You cut your sentence off, bumping into him purposely. Your glass almost slid out of your hand, deep burgundy splashing over his coat. He caught you, a true gentleman, as you widened your eyes and flew into a flurry of apologies, as you quickly set down your— now empty— glass. "Oh my God, I am so sorry! I don't know what happened, I must've been more inebriated than I thought. I'm so sorry!"

Liam was a picture-perfect opposite to your hysteria of movement. He calmly grabbed his coat and slid it off. The dark burgundy stain had bleed through the outer layer onto his white shirt beneath, and he let out a chuckle as he inspected his coat and the stain on his chest for the damage. "Don't worry, it was an accident. Such things happen." He sighed at the coat. "Although, I suppose I can't show myself in front of our business partner tonight like this."

"Please let me do something!" You pleaded, doing your best to show him how remorseful you were. It wasn't all for show, you did feel kind of awful for staining his clothes. "I have a handkerchief, I can help you. Please, follow me." If you fail to plan, you plan to fail— or so they said. Life was about making the most out of unexpected situations, and you were not about to waste this opportunity that had been given to you. You grabbed his arm and tugged him along with you as you slinked by the walls and made your way out of the hall.

You entered the first room you saw— a study, it appeared— and pulled him with you to sit down on the couch. Quickly taking out the handkerchief, you grabbed the coat from his hand and started dabbing the stain. Luckily, his coat was dark, so it wouldn't be too noticeable in the candlelight. All the while, Liam said nothing and just observed you with an unreadable gaze.

"I expected you to be more cross with me," you said after some time, finally daring to glance in his direction. You hoped he wasn't, otherwise, this plan was all for nothing.

That gave him a pause, and he blinked at you, as if you said something unexpected. "I am afraid I don't understand. This was just an accident that could happen to anyone. There is no reason for me to be cross. Were you, perhaps, afraid I would be?" He smiled at your frown, and you averted your gaze back to the task at hand. A contradictory enigma. This coat was of very expensive material, yet he made no complaints. Chose kindness, instead of anger. You were definitely right to get this mysterious man alone, even now you felt the inescapable draw of his presence.

"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both," you murmured absentmindedly while still gently dabbing away on the stain, doing your utmost to try to get rid of it.

"Oh, you are familiar with Machiavelli's works?" He leaned back, placing his arm on the armrest of the couch and resting his jaw on the back of his hand.

"I've read some here and there. Why? Are you an enjoyer of his books?" You raised the coat up to the light and observed it. This had to do for now until he could get it cleaned.

"I too have read them here and there." His gaze was sharper now, both cunning and amused. It made you shiver— but not unpleasantly, you realized with a start. "I find his takes on the authority and aristocracy most fascinating."

Laying the coat aside, you scooted closer to him, the couch making you all the more aware of your proximity, the dim lights making it all seem more intimate. This close you could even smell a faint tinge of his cologne, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol you spilled. This turned out to be a perfect excuse to touch him, to feel him. Everything went precisely by design.

Dizzy from the heat of his body, now so close to you, you slowly started to dab at the stain on his shirt. "You truly are an enigma, Mr. Liam, are you aware?" He only continued to observe you with his slight smile, the rising of his eyebrow the only indication that he was listening. Taking that as an invitation, you prattled on. "You seem like someone of noble birth, yet you appear to disprove of the class system and disregard any titles. You seem awfully intelligent, and yet I have not seen your name in any field of research, not even math." You took this opportunity to smooth out his collar, fingers gently grazing the skin of his collarbone. "And you approached me, and were able to accurately ascertain things about me I gave you no indication of." You looked up at him through your lashes, then quickly glanced down again, resuming your attempts at trying to clean up the wine.

You felt him let out a little contemplative hum, as he leaned closer to you. "You are an enigma as well, Miss Y/N. You have followed my every move since I appeared here, yet refused to approach me the entire night. You still don't seem to trust my words, but you have not yet inquired into anything I've said. It is almost as if you enjoy this little game." He raised his hand, and you watched with bated breath as he caught a strand of your hair and twirled it around his finger. "Tell me, is it fun trying to uncover my secrets?"

Hands falling into your lap, the stain and handkerchief long forgotten, you felt light‐headed again. Like a snake dancing to the magic flute, both your body and your mind were charmed, following his every move. This little plan of yours might be working better than you anticipated. If you actually survived until the end of this game, of course, because if he kept looking at you like that, giving you his undivided scrutiny, you doubt you could last. "You followed me here without question as well." You managed to whisper out. "Did you perhaps have some ulterior motives with me too, Mr. Liam?"

He gave a little tug at the lock of hair wrapped around his digit. "I wonder..." His sharp eyes were now unfocused and thoughtful as if he himself couldn't really understand his actions. "Whatever compelled me to do that?"

You glanced at his eyes, then his lips, wondering if this was such a smart idea now. Maybe you shouldn't even be here, shouldn't entertain your wicked thoughts. Your draw to him was too powerful, dangerous even. It felt like too much and too little at the same time as if you could ignite and burn and blaze down to smithereens with a single word from him, drown with a single touch.

At that moment, the door slammed open with a loud creak, cutting off your train of thought. Both of you reflexively jerked back from your compromising position, the moment gone and magic ruined. The room now felt infinitely colder without his proximity, the couch impossibly wide. Your startled gaze fell on the culprit who had barged in so suddenly, finally able to breathe without Liam's cologne tampering with your thoughts. It was him, the man Liam introduced as his friend earlier. He glanced sharply at you both, eyes staying on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary, studying you. Contemplating. You could see the same mysterious intellect you saw in Liam in him, the same razor-sharp mind, the same murky and vague past. His eyes widened imperceptibly as if taken aback by your inspection, then filled with something akin to grudging understanding. Then he swiveled towards Liam and pointed behind him. "Liam we have to go. Work's calling."

A sigh, no louder than a disturbance of air left him, and he rose, giving you a remorseful look. "Sorry, dear. Seems like our time is up. Hopefully, I will see you again one day, under more fortunate circumstances." He quickly donned his coat, adjusting it to best cover up the stain, then with a hurried gait followed his friend out the door.

"I am sure you will." You whispered, as you watched him leave, him only turning back once to shoot you a conspiratorial grin. As if saying to keep what happened here a secret.

Checkmate, you thought. You will be seeing him again, you were sure of that. There was just something about him that sang to you, some kind of kindred warm flame, like fire burning in a hearth. But in his calm gaze, you also caught a glimpse of something else beneath, another fire, blazing hot, ardent, and dangerous. All of it made you even more curious, made you crave him more. You had to arrange a meeting with him again.

You couldn't lose.

Truly, nothing moved faster than time. It was outstanding, mind-boggling, how it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. And now, two years later, you found yourself with the hard wood of the door of digging harshly into your back as you leaned back to let Liam deepen the kiss. The soft rustling of clothes and your quick breathing were the only sounds permeating the room of Liam's and Sherlock's shared apartment in Brooklyn. Barely any light illuminated your two silhouettes, only the moonlight and a rare street light outside of the window providing any illumination.

Gasping for breath, his lips still chasing yours, you attempted to put some distance between you. "Wait, what about Sh—"

"Do not worry." He whispered, still eager to continue. "Sherlock is already on his way to London as we speak. So is Billy. No one will bother us."

"That means we have to leave for London soon, too." You gripped his shirt in your hand, raising on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. "How convenient that we are free to spend our last night here as we wish." Pulling back, you looked back at him, face full of mirth, lips splitting into a cheeky grin.

Cupping the back of your neck, he gave you one last kiss before leaning away. "Call me an opportunist."

Gently, his hand slid down to your waist as he moved you from the door and laid you achingly slowly on the bed. Your own hands moved from their position on his chest to intertwine in his hair. Soft and exactly as silky as you thought it would be two years ago. On that magical night. A night so much like this. His gaze was soft, and melancholy, as if he too was remembering that time. Most days, you were scarcely able to wrap your head around the fact that so much time has passed and that you've won the affections of such an ethereal being. That you yourself were able to set the wind to your sails that first night, to not just play the role of a pawn, but to be the king instead.

He regarded you in silence for quite some time, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your waist, your hips. His face was unreadable, haunted. "I would ask what you're thinking about, but I'm terrified to know."

He let out a quiet chuckle and rested his forehead against yours. "Oftentimes, I think night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving, and dreaming. Maybe I was always meant to dwell in the night, to plot. At night everything is more intense, more true."

"Enough of your philosophy." You grumbled. "If you wish to scheme and think you can do that with Sherlock." Using your hands in his hair, pulled his face closer to yours, your lips barely brushing. "I think, currently, your mouth could be much better occupied."

He gave you a deep kiss, making you forget how to breathe, then bit your lower lip teasingly. "I never scheme. You must be confusing me for someone else" So saying, he chuckled. "But I must admit, I enjoy seeing you so flustered for me."

Well, two could play that game. When his lips traced a path from your kiss-swollen ones downwards to your neck to shower it with countless marks you'll surely have to cover up tomorrow, you decided to entertain yourself as well. "What if I told you that none of this was accidental?" It was nothing more but a breathless whisper, a silky melody in the darkness of the room. His ministrations didn't stop, but you continued, eager to fluster him at least once, even if it meant sharing your biggest secret— a secret that you had sworn you would take to your grave. "Were you aware that the first night I saw you I decided that nothing was going to prevent me from getting closer to you? You were like a blazing flame and me but a simple moth drawn to your brilliance. So I conspired to get you alone." It was getting harder and harder to form coherent thoughts when his kisses felt so hot, almost burning and branding your skin wherever they landed, but you persevered, tightening your hold on his hair and enjoying his slight shudder. "I... purposely spilled wine on you that night." You swallowed against a sudden lump in your throat. "I knew I had to lay down the groundwork if I wanted to catch your attention, knew I had to set it all up like dominoes." A sudden nibble on the junction of your neck and shoulder made you gasp.

"I was aware."

You were so thoroughly distracted by the feeling of his lips on the skin of your neck that it took a few seconds for his words to register, and when they did your whole body froze. "Wait... You knew?!"

You felt his lips pull into a smirk against your skin and he slowly pulled away, his eyes dancing with barely concealed mirth. "Darling, I knew the entire time."

You were rendered speechless. Shock. Disbelief. The feeling of the world freezing in its tracks. That's all you felt as you stared wide-eyed at the man above you. Your body felt weightless and stone-heavy at the same time. What does he mean: "He knew the entire time?" Every encounter that you two had raced through your mind as you tried to remember if he ever showed any indication of being aware of your little game. There were none. "You're lying," you stuttered out through your suddenly dry throat.

His smirk was downright devious now. "On the contrary, dear. Not only was I aware of your schemes— I was the one who orchestrated them. From the very start, this has been a chain reaction of countermoves on both sides."

"But then-" Every world felt like sandpaper as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Steering Sherly in your direction under the guise of talking to some aristocrats the first time I saw you, just so I could be in your field of vision the entire night. Purposely asking around about that painting I knew nothing about to start a conversation with you, then letting you bump into me so you could have an excuse to talk with me in private. Accidental meetings. All actions of a desperate man, who had been completely and utterly enamored ever since he first laid eyes on you." Each sentence was followed up with a kiss— to your neck, to your cheek, to the corner of your lips. One of his hands slowly made its way upwards towards your face from its place around your waist. Still in shock, all you could do was lean into his hand when he gently cupped your jaw. "But it was incredibly enjoyable, this little game of ours. I never believed that there would be someone who would go to such lengths for my affections." His gaze softened and he traced your cheek with his thumb. "My sweet, vicious mastermind."

You felt your chest squeeze under the crushing wave of pure love that washed over you. This man— this brilliant, extraordinary, incredible, magnificent, breathtaking man— he was yours. And he had been from the beginning. Or, more accurately, you'd been his. For you weren't the one who had been setting everything up since your first encounter– you were the one being strung all along. Happy tears prickled at the corners of your vision and you couldn't help but beam up at him. "I guess this is checkmate. It's my loss."

With a matching smile of his own, the hand on your cheek then slowly moved down to your chin, and he pulled you into another kiss. You closed your eyes and melted into it. It was painfully sweet— maybe the sweetest kiss you two have ever shared.

Looks like you were no match for the former Lord of Crime after all.

#ynm #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #mtp william #fanfic #fluff #sherlock holmes #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #mtp x reader

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fakesimp · 1 year

Text

Twisted Passion

Warning !

Nsfw ; Yandere! Eki ; Dark Sorcerer! Hikarino ; Mentions of Blood, Killing, Kidnapping ; Mentions of Cursing ; Knife play ; Unestablished Poly Relationship

I am writing this, outside what I usually write, I will write a bit of gore at the beginning in this fic, and if you're uncomfortable with it apologies

A/n !

Seeing everyone want to read it so willingly, I am glad everyone is up for the Idea fuu..

And this, might be almost the same with The Sorcerer or The Demon fic, split into parts so—

➶◜◝➴

Laughter, the sound of flesh getting stabbed again, and again,

And again,

Soon followed with the sound of fire burning, something, or a person to be exact.

The sound of screaming, can be heard echoing from the dark.

. . .

Trembling, closing your eyes tight, covering your mouth, trying not to let any sound out from your lips.

Footsteps slowly echoing louder, and louder, going towards your direction, soon it stopped, stopped right behind your hiding spot, taking a deep breath, you were planning to peek over, you see a shadow looming above you.

But before you could react, it was already too late.

"Found you, little bunny."

. . .

Gasping for air, as if you were drowning, looking around you, scanning the room you're in, none of this are familiar to you, you're all alone.

But then, somebody walked into the room, his eyes are green, he looked over at you, his stare felt cold. He walk up to your figure on the bed, his hand slowly reaching out towards your face. Making you flinch backwards, and that successfully made him stop half way.

He retracted his arms, eyes narrowed slightly, he then massaged the bridge of his nose, you can sense the annoyance in his action, he then turned around, walking back towards the door, he look over his shoulder, "I'll confront him about his actions, now rest." His voice, sounded angelic when you heard it, despite his, not so friendly appearance.

After he said that he walked out from the room and closing the door behind him, "... How did I ended up here..." You whispered to yourself as you stared down at the blanket covering half of your body.

. . .

Hikarino, slams the door open with a bit of force from his sorcery, "Eki." He said as he barges into The grey-red haired male's room, "What the fuck Hikarino? Are you trying to split my door into half?" Eki, growled.

Eki was wiping his lovely knife in his hand with a napkin, wiping the blood off his beautiful knife. "They flinched when I tried to reach out to them, what did you do to them before they passed out? They're now scared to be touched." The green-purple haired male bites back, making the other look over at him, blankly staring at Hikarino. Slowly a smirk creeps up, "Yeah? They're lucky I didn't cut their legs off" "Eki." The dark Sorcerer growled.

"Okay okay, I maybe a bit rough on them before I bought them here" Eki admitted, making the sorcerer sigh, "Next time, I'll be the one to pick them up if they are to escape our grasp" Hikarino walked out the room, leaving the door open behind him, also a grumpy Eki.

"At least close the damn door Hikarino, fuck sake."

. . .

Hikarino went to the kitchen, summoning his shikigamis to cook, and no, he doesn't really trust himself to cook for humans. After awhile, the food is done and he led the Shikigamis to your room.

He knocked and walked in, you're nowhere to be found. "God, now where did they go." Hikarino wave his hand towards his shikigamis to put the tray of food down, Hikarino walked out of your room.

"meht dnif." Hikarino chanted, and with that his shikigamis spreads throughout the mansion, it doesn't take him more than a minute for him to got information from his shikigamis that you're with Eki.

"Not again." He sighed in frustration and immediately went to the red head's room.

. . .

"Aww.. are you scared little bunny?~ I haven't even done anything bad to you" He said, but may the Gods help you, since lord that sinister sadistic smile of his just. Make you feel so much emotions.

Afraid?

Interested?

Only you and God knows what's happening to you, You don't know who to trust amongst these guys, that man with a piercing green eyes? Or this man in front of you who had the most sadistic smile.

"Oh don't worry, as long as you listen to what I say, nothing. Nothing bad will happen to you, at least." When I tell you his knife is dangerously drawing closer and closer to your neck, and he slowly showed his wicked smile.

"Eki."

Your body slumped down as you heard a familiar voice coming behind the grey-red haired male, making this man called 'Eki' dropped his knife down, his smile also disappeared. "Get off" The green purple haired male demanded and then, "You're no fun Hikarino, Maybe I should've gone out from the Mansion so I can have much more fun" Eki said as he moved away from you.

Hikarino blankly stare at you, "How did you got here" "I, I was told to come here.." you replied a bit hesitant. "Who told you to?" You didn't reply, instead you just glance at Eki who's been staring at you sinisterly on his chair, his chin resting on his palm. Hikarino, doesn't even need to spare a glance. Even only for a moment, he knew who's the culprit.

"Why did you told them to come here," he paused, "Eki? " Earning a low chuckle from the red head, "Again, It's because I want to have fun and," he trailed off for a moment, "Know them even more" he smirked as he stare at you before glancing over at the green-purple haired male.

You stare at these two men glaring at each other, burning holes to each other. You gulped, then gather up some courage to ask, "Why, ...why am I here?"

Both of them stopped and look over at you, Eki' stare is so, cold, also threatening, for a moment. "Little bunny want to know?" He asked, making you now regretting your choice to ask. "It' simple," he shrugged and leaned back to the chair even further,

"It's because I am interested in you" he said, it took you a moment to process what he just said. This psychopath? Interested, in you? Why? Does he want to torture you and find pleasure from it? Questions after question started to appear one after another.

"Don't mind him, come, I'll take you back to your room" Hikarino said as he gently put his hand on your back, leading you out of Eki's room.

After walking in silence for who knows how long, you've finally arrived at your room. "Am I, going to be.. killed?" You hesitantly asked Hikarino who's reheating your food, "No, what made you think of that?" You went silent. "Don't mind Eki, he won't kill you. You're lucky enough to get into his good side"

His good side?! What good side is there from him smiling like a sadist while pointing his knife at you???? Or perhaps, maybe you do kinda like how he threatened you. Maybe.

"Once he said he's interested, that means you're on his good side, because, if he's not. You won't be here, breathing." The green-purple haired male continued bluntly as he put down the plate and placed a small table in front of you, "Eat, I'll wait for you to finish"

And somehow, you peacefully ate the food, also his presence, Hikarino, bought you solace even for a moment. His aura, is just different from Eki.

Hikarino have only been minding his own business in the room, silently reading a book? No it' some type of scrolls. He noticed you staring at him, "What? Are you also Interested in dark sorcery?" You blinked and immediately shook your head. "N, no.. sorry for staring" you apologized as you averting your eyes away from him.

He's quiet for a good minute, but then he spoke up, "It's fine"

. . .

If only you can see his eyes glisten in curiosity, seems like you got yourself some handful men to deal with.

"Stop smiling, To see how down bad you are, made me pity you, for not being able to receive anything back from me" Eki said, "Who am I talking with?" He smirked, "You, of course."

"Yeah, you who's reading this, and stop looking around like an idiot, stop smiling too, that smile only reserved for me no one else should see that, even the fucking ghosts in your room"

Wew ! That's quite a journey, I'll post the next part after a few days ! And It'll probably the last part fufu~ but who knows, we'll see..

|| -> Part II

A/n !

#nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji #luxiem x reader #luxiem #shu yamino x reader #shu yamino #shu hikarino #ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #eki eveland

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jayalaw · 10 months

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Nimona Deviation: What if Ballister Saved The Queen?

@ashleybenlove @fictionalnormalcy

Ballister sees the laser. His training takes over, and he redirects the laser. The problem is, he over-corrects because some part of him knows that a laser should not shoot out of the other end of a sword. He shouts, "Look out!" but can barely hear it in his ears as he spins the blade.

So the laser hits him square in the shoulder. He screams as he is falling, feeling it go through his flesh. The armor takes most of the blow, but it is clear that he is injured.

People scream as well. The knights pull the Queen out of the firing range as the laser rings out, hitting willy-nilly. Ambrosius slices the sword in half to kill the laser. He then cradles Ballister, telling him not to move, that he will be okay. A spark of vengeance lies within him; someone tried to kill his boyfriend, and in public no less.

No one suspects that the queen was the actual target. She got a mild graze from the blade, but was otherwise unharmed. Not a drop of blood on her outfit.

The Director is shocked that Ballister managed to avoid gaining the reputation that he manufactured. Instead of being a queen-killer, there is a manhunt for whoever tried to kill the "knight who was not quite right" in this realm. Far from turning him into a villain, she has turned him into a hero. No one knows if he can pick up a weapon again or even if he will survive the attempt.

Ambrosius alternates spending days between being at Ballister's bedside, as the latter is semiconscious. He talks to his boyfriend, promising that they'll find the bastard that gave him a rigged sword. The queen also visits, making sure that the guards are sent away while she strokes his hair. They had to shave his face to apply medical attention, and the queen is sorry about that. She promises that she will find a place for this commoner who rose all above the rest.

A girl appears at Ballister's bedside. He wonders if she is a hallucination brought on by the pain meds and the occasional alcohol. Ballister wonders how close he is to dying. That's why he accepts the booze that she sneaks into him; doctors can't tell him to not drink if it's only a hallucination. Yet the burn feels real.

Her name is Nimona. She doesn't explain how she got past the guards. Ballister, thinking she is some sort of angel of death, mutters that he needs to talk to the squire. The squire gave him the sword. But why would the squire want him dead? Nimona promises to get the answers, and blood on his behalf.

Turns out that she didn't need to do much; she brings the squire, all terrified, to Ballister's bedside. He had been meaning to come, but had been too scared. Not of Ballister, or of what he calls the "monster" with pink hair. But of someone else.

Ballister is confused. Who would threaten the squire? And who would scare him? Was it Todd?

The squire scoffs; no one is scared of Todd. But they need privacy. Nimona turns off the cameras at his request. The security feeds that are meant to keep this not-all-right knight alive. He brings out his cellphone. They watch as the Director switches the swords.

Ballister wants to show the footage to Ambrosius, begs Nimona to get it to him. Nimona promises. This time, however, Ballister doesn't think that Nimona would leak the footage. She is an angel of death, a hallucination. Sure, the squire can see her, but the Squire's life is also on the line. First rule of knighthood is that no one hurts the squires. You do, and you will get shunned for life by the other knights. They will know that you picked on one of their own who had yet to earn his sword. Even Todd, for all his bravado, would never hurt a squire.

When the footage appears on the nightly news, Ballister realizes two things:

1) He's not dying

2) He has exposed the kingdom to anarchy by showing that the Director tried to kill him.

and most importantly:

3) The girl was real. So was the meeting with the squire.

Ballister wants to get out of bed and demand explanations, and to explain that it wasn't him. He still isn't recovered, though, and his muscles are weak. The nurse that's on-call with him turns on the television, and they watch as the Queen has to address the fear, the horror. She says that she is arresting the Director and putting her on trial. The Queen still does not know that Ballister was a misfire, and it could have been her on the news when the Director made that confession. It's a kingdom that fights monsters, but they also know what to do with criminals. So they will demand an explanation, why the Director went against the Queen's wishes.

Ambrosius, for his part, cannot believe it. He has to put the Director in shackles and lead her to a cell. It is one of the nicer ones, meant for political prisoners or for naughty royal children that commit casual vandalism.

"Why?" he asked as he unlocks her shackles and allows her to sit in a comfortable arm-chair. She doesn't even deserve that much, with how much pain and suffering that she caused.

"It was for the good of the realm," she responded, looking him straight in the eye. "A commoner would cause a crack in the wall that protects us. You should know that as a descendant of Gloreth."

When he comes to visit Ballister the next day, the first thing he does is apologize. He can't believe that the Director would hurt one of their knights, and she didn't even give a good reason.

Ballister can barely hear the apology. His shoulder is throbbing; pain is good, and he can move it a little. He wonders if he can even move his toes. But he can start therapy soon, the nurses reassure him. Luckily, the laser missed his spine. He can go out there and try to figure out how to go in and make justice happen. More importantly, he can figure out who that girl was, and why she decided to help him, while sabotaging the realm. Generally, strange teenagers do not just wander into hospital rooms and leak information online.

He asks for Ambrosius to find the girl. To tell her to hide, and to hide the Squire. The Director may be in jail, but she may go after the Squire in some twisted form of revenge. They don't know what she's capable of if she had been able to switch the weapons. If she could sabotage a sword that would go for a knight, the sky is the limit regarding what else that she can do. There is too much at stake, too many people that could or couldn't get hurt. Prison can only hold a traitor for so long.

To humor his boyfriend, who has probably had a rough night dealing with betrayal and having some bad night terrors, Ambrosius agrees. He is certain that a little girl could not get in and out of the hospital while avoiding detection. The queen has ordered Ballister under protection.

Trial dates are set, and people are waiting. People have sent flowers to Ballister. All sweets are inspected. The Queen assigns the Squire a retinue of bodyguards. Some of the knights, like Todd, mock him for needing protection, but still others are impressed that the Squire had the balls to leak the footage. He tells them that he didn't, that a girl took his phone. No one believes him. The news asks who is loyal to the Director, after she tried to kill a commoner. People have questions.

Sometimes Ambrosius, when he visits, sees a cat snuggled up with Ballister. Unusual color, but resting on his heart. Ballister breathes more easily on those nights. Yet the cat never appears on camera. Those are the nights that the camera goes out, and the flowers are eaten. Ambrosius wonders why the hospital would have a therapy cat that isn't well-behaved. He has had no luck in finding the girl from Ballister's nightmares. That is until he hears the Squire with exasperation telling his story again. That he was talking to a girl with pink hair. The same one that Ballister mentioned.

The cat has to be the clue. It only appeared after the video leaked.

So Ambrosius comes one night after hours. He doesn't go to Ballister's room where his boyfriend is sleeping. Instead, he watches the cameras. The guards doze at the monitors. He stays awake. When the cameras flicker, he goes to inspect. The cat slips out of Ballister's hotel room, and Ambrosius follows.

She changes into a girl in a storage space. Hospital mattresses are here. Ambrosius's jaw drops. No one has seen monsters since Gloreth's time. But it's clear what she is. Only a monster could change like that.

But she exposed Ballister's would-be killer. That had to mean something. So he sheathes his sword, and knocks. She turns, hair whipping. Ambrosius says he doesn't want to harm her. He wants to talk. And thank her.

He and the girl talk; she demands pizza first, with no anchovies. Yes, he's scared of a monster, but this monster is helping his boyfriend recover. Plus, he wants answers. Who is she? Why did she leak the video? Why is she staying with Bal?

They talk through the night. Nimona is suspicious, but she realizes that he's the real deal. There are things she doesn't say, like what she is, or how far her powers stretch. She doesn't explain her backstory. But she says that she saw Ballister was like her.

He asks how; she says that Ballister wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to kill the queen. And he would have become the villain of the kingdom.

Ambrosius needs to sit on hearing this. He asks how is Nimona sure. How could she be sure? Nimona says that she saw the footage. If Ballister had stood still, the laser would have hit the queen. As it was, he turned it in record time. Any sooner, and the queen would have died.

He can't believe it. The Director wouldn't do such a thing; Ballister was her pet, her favorite student. How can Nimona make those accusations?

Nimona tells him how they can prove it. They just need a cellphone.

In the Director's cell, the Queen enters. She dismisses the guards and asks to talk to the Director alone. She is reading. The Queen asks her why she switched Ballister's sword, presenting the blade. The truth this time, no more lies. Tell the truth, and maybe she will get clemency during her trial. The Director was a loyal employee for years.

The Director's eyes flash. She considers the sword and answers. That blade was meant for the queen's stomach and not the director's shoulder. Just as it was meant for now.

She impales the queen, who keels over. The Director calls her out for being a weak ruler, one that went against Gloreth's original intentions. She bribed the guards so they would look the other way. With the laser in the sword, there is no blood or fingerprints. They'd deposit the queen and make it look like she was murdered in bed. Chaos and bedlam, and they would need a strong ruler. Ambrosius can never be king due to being a knight, and they'd need a ruler. The guards loyal to her would help the Director secure a pardon and direct the city.

It all seems so final. Then the Queen stands and pulls out the blade. She tells her thank you for her honesty. Then she changes into a girl with pink hair and gives a thumbs-up.

Ambrosius got it all on camera. He's sweating, shaking. The Director would have killed the queen and nearly got his boyfriend murdered. This monster was right. And there are corrupt guards on staff. He and Nimona leave, seeking an audience with the real queen. Nimona uploads the footage, of course.

No friendship born from hiding in the shadows, no pizza parties with sharks or otters. Instead, a trio working with a ruler that truly wants change and will listen to the truth. Ambrosius sneaks into pizza, and properly gets to know Nimona.

Consider what would have happened if Ballister's reflexes had been faster.

#nimona #nimona film #nimona 2023 #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #nimona spoilers #nimona fanfic

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will-o-the-witch · 2 years

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Jewish Angel Work

I don't see a bunch of writing about angel work in general, and what I do find is often heavily Christianized! I wanted to talk about what angel work can look like from a Jewish perspective.

(Gentiles may interact and enjoy, but understand that this is for educational purposes and not an invitation to appropriate! 🤍)

A Jewish-Specific Perspective

Judaism views angels in ways other traditions may not share! Some examples:

Angels aren't former humans. They are their own distinct beings just like demons, cows, land spirits and butterflies. People who pass away, even children, are not considered "angels returning home." These angels have specific forms and looks depending on the type, some more humanoid than others.

Angels don't have free will. This does not mean they are held hostage or can't have their own personalities, but their will is an extension of HaShem's Will, serving a specific role in making that Will manifest. Kind of like employees in a corporation doing their tasks!

They don't have names. Or at least, they don't have names we're supposed to know or ask for. They may be incomprehensible to humans, or maintaining a level of anonymity as to not distract from HaShem. Either way, asking for a name is often discouraged in traditional texts.

They AREN'T all here to help you. While it all serves a Divine Will and is therefore Good in the grand scheme of things, many angels serve completely neutral functions from a human perspective. Some could even be considered harmful to humans, the most prominent example being HaSatan. (Even still, HaSatan isn't seen as a true villain. He's just doing his job.)

Some of them are ONLY here to help you! Historical Rabbis were big on the concept of guardian angels. The Talmud says "Every blade of grass has its Angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'" (Midrash Rabba, Bereshit 10:6.) Every living creature, including you, has a guardian angel to help you along your path. Some translations say the angels hit the grass, and that's not the only story of angels smacking things, so that guidance isn't always gentle, but it's always in the right direction.

Types of Angel Work

Spirit guides. Like mentioned above, guardian angels can help encourage you to "Grow! Grow!" and keep you on a path in line with spiritual health and lovingkindness.

Communing with HaShem. Gd is extremely esoteric. Angels help us send and recieve messages in an easier-to-conceptualize way! Meditation and prayer can also play into this. Beyond every-day applications, angels can also appear unexpectedly with important messages.

Communicating with other spirits. As angels are often messengers, I also think it's helpful to call upon their aid when working with other spirits!

Working with angels of various functions. Modern day Rabbis often marry angelic theology with scientific phenomena, with angels overseeing the process. By that extent, we could ask those angels for help/guidance when relevant!

Protection. Psalm 91, often recited for protection, depicts HaShem commanding angels on your behalf to guard you in all ways. One bedtime prayer names the four archangels to surround us.

Shalom Aleichem is traditionally sung on Friday nights before Shabbat dinner. It invites angels of peace to basically come and hang out with us during shabbat, then to leave in peace once shabbat is over. Many arrangements also make a good lullaby.

Other Notes

Metatron (מֶטָטְרוֹן) is a specifically-Jewish angel who gets appropriated a lot in spiritual circles. He does not appear in the Tanakh, but is mentioned in the Talmud and largely fleshed out in kabbalistic literature! (Islamic literature does mention him by different name, ميططرون, Mitatrun/Mitatrush. Solidarity.)Lots of people recognize Lilith as closed, but the same attention hasn't been given to Metatron. He's a very complex and ambiguous figure worth a whole post of his own so I won't get into it here!

This post is by no means comprehensive! This is just a very "quick" overview of a very rich field of study.

Further Study

On My Right Michael, On My Left Gabriel: Angels in Ancient Jewish Culture-- Mika Ahuvia

A Gathering of Angels: Angels in Jewish Life and Literature-- Morris B. Margolies

Ascending Jacob's Ladder: Jewish Views of Angels, Demons, and Evil Spirits-- Ronald H. Isaacs

#angels #angel work #angel magic #spirit work #jewish #jewitch #jewitchery #jewish witch #angel magick

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starlitheaven · 2 years

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: ̗̀➛ RAW — SATORU GOJOU

note. for @dearestgojo. thank you so much angel, it means a lot for you to say that :’) I hope you like this btw. automatic morning sex thoughts when I heard the song. for the 1k follower event. based on raw by loony.

tags. thigh fucking, consensual somnophilia, unprotected sex, lovedrunk gojo.

1.8k

rays of early morning sunlight filtered through the gently drifting curtains, bathing you in a soft ethereal light. the breezy sunrise of santorini was an unbelievable beauty; the distant sounds of the glistening azure waters and wind chimes in the streets below—but to satoru it didn't compare to the sight of you asleep beside him. half-naked and entangled in the high thread count bedsheets, letting out sweet little snores.

the aegean sea had absolutely nothing on you. all of greece couldn’t hold a candle to his baby resting peacefully like an angel after a long night of being ravished by him—your bare shoulders and nape littered with the lovebites he greedily marked you with. satoru traces his fingers over the exposed skin, getting the phantom feeling of his teeth sinking and suckling into the soft flesh. he licks his lips and brings them down to your shoulder, nosing along your throat and inhaling with a low groan at your scent.he settled his large hand over your hip, rubbing small circles and nuzzling into your neck.

satoru couldn't have enough of you that it made him dizzy. ravenous. it wasn't just in a physical sense, it was all of you. he wanted every bit of you every single day. his love for you often made him feel untethered and a little clumsy. so aware of how precious you are and how lucky he was.

while you continued to sleep and the sun rose above the horizon, satoru was getting hard.

he looped an arm over your stomach, easily pulling you against groin with your back flush to his chest. satoru had woken up aching for you—dreaming that he was licking and sucking that delicious rizogalo from last night right off of your sticky tits and belly.

suddenly, you had been riding his cock by the shore; pretty neck bared and tits bouncing under the greek sun as you sweetly cried his name over and over. (he ignored the fact that the old driver talking about his foot fungus also appeared in the dream).

you smelled of your body wash, similar to the rose petals that littered your bed last night. they were part of the catalyst to several rounds of fucking all over the hotel suite, and it left him reeling how insatiable you both were for the other. and how many times you did it after exploring santorini—bent over the bathroom sink, against the balcony doors, riding him on the plush loveseat, in the jacuzzi as you sipped on champagne.

he wasn't surprised at all that you’re in a deep sleep and unaware of him grinding his clothed dick over your backside. you’re in nothing but a t-shirt, making this all too easy for him. you're not even wearing underwear.

asleep like this, you looked so soft and vulnerable. satoru couldn't help himself, humping you dry until precome was leaking through his underwear. he has permission but has never actually touched you in your sleep, so giving your tits a squeeze has him buzzing with excitement right now. he continues to fondle the soft flesh, feeling sneaky and dirty.

it was only turning him on more to use you like this.

you shift briefly at a rough squeeze and satoru coos in your ear in response, hushing you back to sleep. once your breathing evens out, he leaves a kiss behind your ear. “shh, don’t mind me.” he murmurs playfully, reaching down to pull thick cock out of his boxer briefs. he gives himself a few strokes, groaning at how wound tight he feels.

it hits him then that he's doing this. he’s doing this and you have no idea. the perversion of it makes his pulse quicken, and he could probably get off on that alone.

blindly grabbing the lube on the bedside table behind him, satoru pumps himself to spread the jelly over his throbbing cock. keeping your thighs closed on your side, he slowly slides his wet dick in between. the sounds of the early morning waves are drowned out by his long groan, eyes rolling back at the soft skin of your thighs closing around him. his arm tightens around you and he can't help biting down on your shoulder again, right over a bruise.

it’s even better than he imagined. he’s always loved your thighs but this? satoru whines low in his throat as the his cock begins rubbing against your bare cunt with the drag of his hips. “oh shit—” he shuts his eyes, leaking even more precome. he pulls the covers down to get a good look and the sight is so lewd. “you’re killin’ me, babe.”

obviously you say nothing, and the thought of using your sleeping body like this only raised his high, encouraging him to pump his hips faster. he rocked against you, looking over your shoulder at the tip of his cock sliding out. satoru felt hot all over, consumed by lust and depravity. your body was heavy and motionless, aside for the soft noises you unconsciously let out every now and then.

it seemed your body enjoyed being thighfucked.

a part of satoru wishes he had grabbed his phone to film this. to capture his own overbearing desire and the filthy sounds of your slippery thighs enveloping his drooling dick. a tight knot was forming in his abdomen, building and building as you remained unconscious. his large hand began to move up your body, pushing his t-shirt up to expose your tits. he pinches your nipples until they harden, pulling on them rough the way you like it.

breathy moans slip from his lips as he continues fucking your thighs, right into your ear but he just doesn't care anymore.

“yeah, that's it. fuck.” he rambles in lust, sucking at your flushed skin. his pace is getting sloppy now as he feels himself reaching his limit. it consumes him and now all he can think about is how good it’ll feel to come all over your thighs. how pretty they’ll look sticky with his load. knowing you, you’d probably make him lick you clean and that thought alone has him going at a rougher pace. “baby, baby. oh, you feel so good. shit. you’re being so good for me.”

the sounds of the sea grounded him before he went too hard on you. the tides pulling in and out reminded him of your soothing voice bringing back to earth. you were the only one who could keep his frivolousness at bay. you lived in his mind and he loved it.

satoru had been so lost in his ardor that he hadn’t noticed the soft noises escaping your lips. even in your sleep, it seemed that his cock sliding over your cunt stimulated you. in fact, it hit him then that you were wet. messily wet. well, that’s hot, satoru thought smugly.

“mmm?” you moaned, voice groggy with sleep. you turned halfway to face him with one eye still closed. it seemed your mind was just catching up to the way your body has been reacting to him. “toru, what’re you doin’? oh.—k-keep going.”

cute. he placed a kiss at your temple, not stopping his fervent movements. “ah, good morning, baby.” he hums breathlessly, going back to holding your hips. “was I being too rough? kinda lost myself there.”

you were all too used to satoru having normal conversations in the middle of sex. that and realizing exactly what he was doing, while you were asleep no less, was arousing you. “I’m kind of sore from last night,” you confessed.

he stopped his movements instantly at your words, bringing his hand over your stomach to rub soothingly. “shit. my bad, babe. you feeling tender?” he frowned. he recalled the massage oils in the bathroom. “what do you want? a massage? a bath? i can make a bubbly one, y'know.”

the concern in his voice was endearing. as much as satoru was coming undone from using your sleeping body to get off, he missed having you responsive. it’s one of the reasons he rarely ever gags you, because you’re his favorite person to talk to so why would he take that away?

still, now he’s just laying there with his cock still hard and on the edge.

it had taken you some time to get used to taking a cock as big as his. even then, you’re still quite sore afterward, especially after multiple rounds like last night. not only that, but he kept spanking you and as he told you how good your ass looked in the dress you wore. still, you couldn’t deny it felt oddly good to ache from lovemaking.

“it’s not that. you handled me like a rag doll and now my body is all sore,” you snorted. satoru pouted and mumbled an apology into your shoulder, giving it a little kiss. he looked fucked out already— white hair sticking to his forehead, blue eyes low and hazy with lust, cheeks hot and pink, and lips swollen from biting on them. to think you made that happen, and you were asleep! you maneuvered yourself onto your back, pulling his arm towards you. “can we just do it like this? just don’t call me your starfish again.”

satoru nodded frantically, removing the sheets completely and uncaring that they fell over the side of the bed. your legs spread invitingly for him, treating him to the sexy visual of your glistening cunt. dripping and swollen with arousal, it made his mouth water as he slipped his raw cock inside of you.

that pussy of yours had him seeing stars. dying and coming back to life. you squeezed him and sucked him in like you wanted his soul. he could do nothing but continue fucking into your sopping cunt, nothing but a slave to your body. it took no time for him to get back into that space, that unbelievable high that had him groaning over and over, cursing under his breath as he watched that little hole swallow him. he was obsessed with watching himself slide in and out, seeing your puffy pussy stretched out just for him.

he leaned down to give you a quick kiss before nuzzling into your neck once again, whispering praises as he pounded into you. good girl, you were made for me, i was made for you, take my cock, just like that, yeah that’s it, you’re so wet for me babygirl.

your slick thighs were pressed against his flank, quivering as you panted out breathy moans. satoru felt like no other. even when he’s sloppy his rhythm still gives you pleasure and he never forgets to stimulate your clit. your tits were brushing over his hot skin as his rough pace continued.

“fuck me, fuck me,” you moaned, digging your nails into his lower back. “satoru, satoru, satoru!”

satoru began to nod eagerly and then—

he let out a long deep groan, the same way that he does when he...

the room was suddenly quiet, save for the sound of him trying to catch his breath.

“pfffft,” you snickered behind your hand, wrapping your arms around his broad back. it’s almost like he…yeah. there’s no doubt about it, you feel his hot spunk inside of you. he’s weakly thrusting into you, milking his cock with your tight cunt. “sa-satoru, already? it’s been like two minutes...”

it’s almost unthinkable, but satoru’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. there's tears in his eyes! he’s never come so fast, not even when he lost his virginity. it should be embarrassing, but he quite honestly finds it hilarious. soon, you two are laughing together as the morning sun continues to rise over the sky.

#wish I was in santorini now #the ending was not planned and i'm sorry if it's rushed #i've been blocked over this for like two weeks cause i CANNOT write smut to save my life #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #summer mix event

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